Member-only story
Some things need to get worse before they can get better.
I found myself in the depths of hell before I realised how bad it had got. It got to the worst possible point. I’d reached rock bottom.
Lockdown had pushed me over the edge. Alcohol had become my comfort blanket. I’d do whatever I could to escape this horrible existence.
Drunken nights resulted in hungover days. Hungover days ended in drunken nights. The cycle continued. My mind became engulfed by darkness.
Down, down, deeper into the darkness I went.
I drank to suppress my emotions. There was a voice inside. Whispering negative thoughts. Every drink I had only made it stronger.
For months it grew inside me. Slowly chipping away my happiness. Pushing me further into the depths of hell. Each day was a victory for it. The more intoxicated I became the stronger it was.
I’d reach for another drink. It would celebrate how weak I was, how pathetic I was becoming.
My body questioned my drinking habits with each passing day. Each time I drank my body rebelled a little more. I’d silence it with more alcohol. Only to suffer the repercussions the following day.
Alcohol was my escape, it was pulling the veil over my reality.
Until the day came. The most depressed day I’d ever experienced. This wasn’t a normal hangover. This was different.
I wanted my life to end.
I didn't want to kill myself. I just didn’t want to exist. I needed to figure out how to erase myself from existence.
The pain of reality was far too much. I needed to get out as fast as possible.
I needed to save my soul. For the sake of my family and friends, for my life. Changes had to be made. How had I managed to drink away my emotions like this? How does one save themselves from such despair?
There was only one answer.
It was time to break off my relationship with alcohol.
I had to do it to save myself.
