Dear Alcohol (or not so dear alcohol)
After years of sobriety, you lured me back in with promises of relief and an assurance that you were not a problem, you were my friend: “You quit at such a young age” “You can learn how to moderate” “You deserve a break “You need me to take the edge off” “You can’t survive without me”. You told me I could not tolerate pain and would no longer have any fun without you. Lies all lies.
The truth is you take advantage of and exploit my vulnerabilities. With you I lie, isolate, and live a life without texture or authenticity. Oh yeah…you also took my choice and my freedom, holding me face down on the ground with your sharp elbow in my back. For 10 years I tried to quit you so many times and with every slip you seduced me back into your despair, beating me down with your shame, brutality and coercion. Little did I know that with my every attempt and success, no matter how brief, I was driving another nail in your coffin. I just kept on trying and I finally put your liquid death down.
I’m not blissfully unaware of your wickedness. I keep a sharp eye on the games you play. I have now made it without you for almost a year and am a willing participant in my recovery and my whole life. I know the wisdom of no escape and I accept my condition all the way. I willingly go to the doctor every month for a Naltrexone injection in my ass and spend that day loving me and rejecting you - Take that bitch.
Madam Champagne, you are not high class, Ms. Martini, you do not make me sexy, Ms. Margarita you do not make the beach more beautiful, Red wine you do not authenticate my Italian heritage and Mr. Whiskey you do not make me more interesting. So, when you try to sneak in thru the cracks, I swiftly take my sharp toed boot and kick the door closed on you with a not so polite fuck off.
Sincerely (or not so sincerely)