I thought that the will to act, the steps taken to face the issue, would somehow support the combat against my addiction.
It does not.
Since I took that appointment at the addiction clinic, since I had my first meeting with a very sweet nurse who was 1000% more receptive and convincing than the former “mental health professionals” I’ve consulted with, I had hoped confronting my issues & deciding to address them would be a first step into helping myself. A first step into reducing, even if minimally, my daily intake. Or make me at ease with the concept of living without a bottle hidden in my rucksack.
It does not.
I’m more stressed out. I’m in constant panic attacks. I’m physically sick if I don’t have access to the stuff. And I’m feeling like I drink twice as much. Which I’m probably doing.
I know it’s a process, a life-changing one. I know there’ll be a grief period; she told me. She told me I’m the only one able to do it. No magic, no technology. Just me.
Just me and that liquid shit.
Here’s some inspiration for you.
One of my Great-grandfathers started smoking when he was 11 years old, basically smoked his entire life until one day he got a call from his wife’s doctor.
The doctor told him that his wife had asthma and can’t be around smoke anymore. So my grandfather stopped smoking cold turkey half way through a cigarette and left that half-smoked cigarette in that partially smoked pack of cigarettes on top of his dresser for the rest of his life and never smoked again.
Hey, that’s both powerful and cute.
It took me 13 years to quit cigarettes; I’m not expecting a quiet fight with alcohol tbh. But I’ve got support, both professional and close by, and I want to get rid of that crap.
Thanks for your kind words and sharing your personal story. I started cigs and alcohol at 13; one down, one to go!