S Note 14
It wasn’t hard to quit because I hated myself drunk. I did. I hated the way I slurred and begged. I hated how I cried in public places and always had some dramatic speech like I was in a movie no one asked to watch. I hated how I looked, how I acted, how much I needed more and more just to feel normal.
That part wasn’t hard. That part was easy. The self-hatred ran deep and wide and familiar.
What was hard – what is still hard sometimes – is coming to terms with the fact that I became someone who can’t drink at all. Not now. Not ever. That I crossed a line I didn’t even know existed until I was already on the other side of it.
Like, yeah, I got too drunk and made mistakes. That’s not unique. That’s not even scandalous. People do dumb shit drunk. But I didn’t just make mistakes – I made a pattern. I made a mess. I made a version of myself that couldn’t be trusted. Not just by other people but by me.
The run-ins with the law were humiliating, sure – but what stings deeper are the thoughts I had when I was drinking. The way I thought. The entitlement. The hopelessness. The cruelty toward myself and sometimes toward others. I don’t think people realize that it’s not just about behaviour – it’s about mindset. And my mindset drunk was dangerous. Not fun-dangerous. Not party-dangerous. Just sad and toxic and spiraling.
I used to say things like, “it’s not that bad,” or, “I’m just emotional,” or, “everyone has a wild phase,” but at some point, I had to face the truth: my “wild phase” came with too much wreckage.
And I think that’s the hardest part of sobriety. Not the withdrawal. Not the cravings. Not even the loneliness or social awkwardness.
It’s the acceptance.
Acceptance that I became a person I don’t want to be again.
Acceptance that my relationship with alcohol is broken and no amount of “moderation” or “trying harder” or “only drinking on weekends” is going to fix it.
Acceptance that I can’t drink like other people – and maybe never could.
That kind of acceptance isn’t a one-time thing. It’s not something you land on like, ah, yes. I accept this now. Next! It’s a constant re-accepting. A quiet reminder. A choice you make over and over again – on the good days, sure but especially on the boring days, the lonely nights, the celebrations, the heartbreaks, the Tuesdays where nothing feels like enough.
I used to think I’d stop drinking and everything would fix itself. But really, I had to fix my relationship with reality. With honesty. With myself. I had to look in the mirror and see the truth: that I don’t hate myself now – I hated myself then.
And even though it hurt like hell, I’m glad I saw it. Because now I get to be someone else. Someone real. Someone present. Someone I can live with.
Sobriety wasn’t hard because I hated myself drunk. It’s hard because I had to admit that I let it get that far.
And still – I’m here.
Still – I’m trying.
Still – I’m sober.
And that counts for something.
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