My entire life I have watched people drown their sorrows in drink, or drink to be merry, or merely to pass the time. Growing up, I always swore that I would never turn into one of those people. I hated the effect alcohol had on your body and your mind. I hated the smell of it, on your breath, on your clothes. I had watched alcohol fill people with anger, sadness, confusion, laziness, depression, and hurt. I swore I would never be one of those people.
And yet, in my mid teens, I ended up turning to the bottle. In my own depression and despair, I turned to the one thing I had always despised. And I drowned myself in it. My friends would jokingly say that I was an alcoholic, but in reality, I probably wasn’t far from it. I had a secret stash of bottles of whatever I could get my hands on, whatever I could afford. I drank almost every day, I showed up at school more than once still drunk. I would host parties at my house every single weekend, and all night long, and I would get so black out drunk that most of those years are still a drunken haze or poorly put together memories and accounts from other people of my behaviour.
Looking back, I know that I had gotten to a terribly dark place, which caused me to reach for the bottle. It took me a long time to get back on track and sort myself out, and nowadays I rarely drink and when I do, I know my limits and stick to the odd one or two.