The definition of an alcoholic:
“An alcoholic is a man or woman who suffers from alcoholism – they have a distinct physical desire to consume alcohol beyond their capacity to control it, regardless of all rules of common sense.”
I read that over and over and thought, this is me. I’d known for longer than I’d like to admit that I was an alcoholic but at 24 going on 25 how was this my reality? How had I gotten here after everything I’d seen my father go through and swore I’d never repeat? Feelings of guilt, despair, disappointment and shame were feelings I’d carry around with me daily because of the way I was living my life.
All of my friends were drinkers. They’d have a glass during the week and share a bottle or two on the weekends. Not me though, I’d drink a bottle or two during the week or per night depending on how I felt. Come the weekend I’d be drunk before lunch time and this was all on my own, no social setting was needed.
I remember mornings waking up for work hungover, thinking about how if I had a drink I’d feel better. I never drank before work but the thought was there and then I’d feel shame for even thinking it. I knew I had a problem but denial, denial, denial.
I’d use any excuse to drink. I’d had a hard day at work, I needed a pick me up, I wanted a glass while I cooked, I wanted a drink while I cleaned the house, I wanted to relax, I was going to watch a movie, why not have a beer in the shower or a vodka in the bath? Thing is, it was never just one. I’d end up blind drunk and blacking out whether I was at home or out partying. I had no control over my alcohol consumption, no limits, I’d drink until I physically couldn’t anymore.