I drank to escape from work stress, emotional pain, loneliness, and even my own past. I believed the lies that I told myself. I prioritized my spending on alcohol over essentials, ignored my hygiene, and gradually isolated myself from everyone. You may have noticed that I was worn down and shaking all the time, but I was quietly killing myself. Drinking gave me temporary relief until it stopped working. I couldn’t outrun my emotions or escape the root problem: myself.
It was the middle of the night, and I sat in my bed desperately crying, “God help me.” What can I say, other than, He did. I’ve talked to so many others that got sober after reaching the same internal plea with the same three words. It’s quite fascinating to me how many I’ve met, actually.
Recovery taught me to stop running. I must get uncomfortable, remain teachable, and be as willing to listen as the dying can be. Sometimes consistency gets tiring but doesn’t compare to the collapsing exhaustion of living drunk. I know I haven’t seen the best of my life yet. As hard as some days are, living keeps getting better.
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