Throughout my life, I’ve maintained an outward appearance of stability: a loving partner, a child, a secure home, and the comforting routine of Sunday roasts and prepared lunches. Yet beneath this facade, a formidable beast lay in wait—a part of myself that emerged during my weakest moments. This beast pushed me to the brink, urging me to extend my hand, only to shove me into darkness.
When I hear someone say, “I’ve conquered my addiction,” I can’t help but chuckle. Addiction is not a challenge to be defeated; it’s a constant presence. It lurks just behind you, ready to tackle you when you least expect it. Sobriety is merely a temporary gift, not a badge of honor. It feels like a loss, akin to the absence of a long-standing companion—an ex-lover who appears when you’re at your lowest but vanishes during your times of need. Addiction is a heartless, selfish adversary, and no one ever truly wins against it.
I can’t recall my first drink, but I vividly remember my last: a Bud Light Platinum on December 31, 2013. That night, though I indulged much more than that, it marked the end of my relationship with alcohol. I often wish that my final moment with alcohol had been with something more memorable—perhaps a vibrant margarita or a tropical cocktail. Have you ever relaxed on a Waikiki beach, sipping a tequila sunrise? I have, and if you decide to stop drinking, that should be your last drink.
For me, addiction was an ingrained habit. Wine became my evening companion, a ritual that began right after work. Together we’d prepare dinner, laugh at trivial celebrity gossip, and play with my son, Jamie. As the night wore on, my companion would linger, often keeping me company well into the early hours while I scrolled through the internet or reminisced over old videos. Do I miss that companionship? Every single day.
My existence now revolves around simply getting through each hour. I focus on one moment at a time, taking deep breaths and striving to remain calm. Natural joy is elusive for those of us grappling with addiction. The warmth I once felt from substances provided a false sense of happiness. They made me feel like a better employee, parent, and partner. When I wasn’t drinking, I was likely under the influence of something else, and I didn’t see any problem with my lifestyle. It was my norm. In fact, if I didn’t have something to elevate my state, it became a priority to find it.
Pride is a rare sentiment among addicts. My mind would race as I clutched my keys, desperately seeking my next high. However, during the darker days, relief was not always within reach. One night, in the throes of withdrawal, I briefly drifted into a cold, unsettling sleep, haunted by visions of my attempts to escape the pain.
As I envisioned my son Jamie—now 27—dressed in a black tuxedo with a yellow rose pinned to his lapel, I felt a swell of pride. I imagined Eric entering the room, beaming at our son, saying, “Your mom would have been so proud of you today.” Jamie’s eyes, reminiscent of the baby I held for the first time, seemed to reflect sorrow as he replied, “Yeah, I’m sure she would have.”
The thought of ending my life is not an option; I want to be there to dance with my son at his wedding.
My experience in rehab was transformative. Initially, I walked in feeling superior, thinking I didn’t belong among the diverse group gathered there—street dwellers, individuals who had resorted to desperate measures, and other housewives like me. I quickly learned that addiction wears many faces. We all had our inner beasts, driving us to seek help.
In those three weeks, I sat among 25 strangers, night after night, listening, learning, and rediscovering my will to live. The bonds formed with my fellow residents became a lifeline. Each had a unique story; some were seasoned in rehab, while others were just beginning their journey. It was a dormitory for misfits, and together, we learned invaluable lessons.
I won’t claim the past year has been smooth sailing. The road to recovery is fraught with challenges, but I wake up every day committed to living sober. I strive to find joy in life’s simple pleasures. The secret to maintaining sobriety lies in savoring the highs that don’t involve substances.
Children embody pure happiness, untainted by cynicism. Every day, I attempt to channel my inner nine-year-old, the one who dreamed of becoming a writer, loved chocolate milk, and found delight in swinging high on the playground. I return to my roots, living one day at a time, only to wake up and do it all over again.
Today, the beast no longer holds sway over me. My shield is Love, and my sword is Hope. Even if I stumble in the final battle, I will continue to fight.
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Summary
The author reflects on their lifelong struggle with addiction, acknowledging that it is a constant battle rather than a conquerable foe. They share their journey through sobriety, the importance of connection with others in recovery, and the quest to rediscover joy in life. Ultimately, they emphasize the need for resilience and hope in overcoming the challenges addiction presents.
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