I wrote this prior to today, as well as some other posts. I am merging my blogs and deleting the other. I was hesitant to share here for many reasons. I don’t like worrying about what people think about me. Generally, most people look differently at someone dealing with cancer compared to someone dealing with an addiction, although I’ve dealt with both. Slowly, I am learning to be more vulnerable and share my experiences. Everyone has their own struggles and this is mine. My decision to share though is part of my recovery.

A dark passenger (yes, I’m stealing from Dexter) is what I usually think of when I think about my addiction to alcohol (minus the murderous tendencies). This, mixed with depression, is not something I’d wish on anyone. The deep seated feelings and terrible thoughts that occur during the time I am under the influence are more than I can bear. It’s enough just having the depression but with the alcohol, it takes it to a whole other level.

Even though I am sober now, I call myself an addict because if it were within my reach, there is a chance I would cave and then I would begin my journey down a terrible path where it seems almost impossible to stop. One has to stay vigilant and uncomplacent to try and keep the darkness at bay.

Addiction has plagued me for years and was, or is, a norm for some of my family. My first drink was at 19. Back then it was fun. I loved it because it helped me come out of my shell. Having always been shy and socially awkward, I felt alcohol was actually a positive thing. But any positive feelings about it were not to last. It started to become a problem and some of my relationships suffered as a result of it. I became combative and at one point, a close friend of mine called me a “special case.”

At the age of 28, my boyfriend committed suicide. I was the last person he talked to .. I was on the phone with him seconds before he died. I didn’t know what he was planning to do. I didn’t know until the next day. This is a story I may or may not share later. We both drank heavily in the years prior to this. At the time of his death, he came up clean but I still think it contributed to his depression leading up to this point. Looking back, I would have done so much more but I did not know any better. I was naïve and a bit immature. I believe the alcohol stunted a lot of my emotional growth. It was my only coping mechanism. I wouldn’t allow myself to feel anything else except drunk.

“What’s your poison”, one would ask. Alcohol. Yes, it is a poison and despite all it has done to me, I still crave it. Thanksgiving of 2022 is the start of my sobriety, this time. “This time” … I have to refer to it this way because there has been so many “day ones”, my first days of sobriety before I relapse again. The time I became sober before last was in August 2022 for 3 months. I even ordered a keychain with August 6, 2022 in the hope that I wouldn’t slip, to make it more official. It didn’t work. But, I must say that things have improved. My days of sobriety are increasing and days drinking are decreasing. I have something to celebrate, not with alcohol of course, because I have managed to stay sober more days than I drank in 2022. That’s a first in the last several years.

I slipped three times last year. That seems like a small number but the days it cost me after my slip were damn near catastrophic. I would drink for days on days, hiding it and running off to the store at 6 in the morning so I could drink all day. Not a pretty sight. Puffy and sick, still wanting the thing that was slowly killing me.

One would tell me to go to a program. I have. Many times. The last time was in the beginning of August. It was a dual-diagnosis program. Usually, when one suffers from addiction issues, there are other issues that simultaneously occur, like depression and anxiety for me. Some sort of mental issue that puts us in this never-ending cycle of pain.

However, for all the times that I have gone to a program, my efforts were not all in vain. I walked away with bits of information that helped me out, even when I felt that the place did very little for me. Some were like babysitters though. You were there to get your sober days in but that was it. There wasn’t any useful information. I would meet some good people though, going through issues of their own that they didn’t ask for. I took those conversations with me and think of them from time to time.

So how did I get rid of my dark passenger this time? Will it stay away? To both, I don’t know. I won a battle. An internal battle. But like any battle, its part of a war. The dark passenger never really goes away, or it hasn’t yet. It’s still there, waiting for a weak moment. The inner war that goes on and on, one drink away from chaos. I just have to keep fighting for the light, keep my eye on the prize of a fulfilling life. Somehow, I will figure this all out and put the solution in a bottle and give it away for free to those suffering from this affliction.