Drinking was fun for a while. For years, actually, it provided the push I needed to go about my days and nights.
It was the Friday lunch lubricant that soothed tensions from the weekly job doldrums.
It was the rhythm that catapulted me onto a dance floor, whirling me into a frenzy of blundering sweat dripping steps, leaving me exhausted the following day with barely a memory of my indulgence the night before.
It was my social director and a tie that bound together the relationship between myself and the man who became my husband.
It was my comfort when I was sad, my celebration when I was happy. It was my fulfillment.
Then, suddenly it seemed, it wasn't.
It wasn’t fun driving home with one eye closed in an attempt to combat my double vision.
It wasn’t fun being unable to recollect chunks of time from the previous day or evening.
It wasn't fun applying eyeliner with trembling fingers, or holding back the bile that threatened to release itself on a regular basis.
Then, as my soul was dying and my spirit slowly eroding away, it wasn’t fun hiding from myself, from the truth of the obsession that had crept into my very being, waiting patiently to consume the remainder of my existence.
Twelve years ago, I entered the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, terrified, angry and confused, looking for answers that my bottle could no longer provide. There I found love, acceptance, strength, and the hope I so desperately needed to move forward in my life. Today I am a changed woman. I am no longer the needy, insecure forty one-year old girl attending countless sessions of therapy, testing innumerable variations of anti depressants. Today I have a life vastly different from that of twelve years ago. I am no longer married to the man who was my constant drinking partner. My home is no longer settled in the midst of a bucolic property. I have no contact with anyone from my “former” life. While it may appear that I have less than in my past, those were material possessions only. They were my guise, my ruse of a happy and good life. A life that held me captive. Today, I am free. Free to dance, to drive, to socialize- to do anything, all without the help of my formerly beloved drink. Today I am sober.