by Kathleen

(Grand Rapids, MI)

Alcohol and drugs talk to me. You may think that is crazy and it may very well be. I am not concerned with that at this point. What alcohol and drugs tell me is that I am just fine. My life is fine. My behavior is fine. My thoughts are fine. I do not need any friends or relationships because, well, to be frank, people just suck.

People have always disappointed me and let me down. People have broken my heart and it still remains broken to this day. In order to compensate for the absence of relationships, family, and friendships in my life, alcohol and drugs are the answer.

They are there for me and always will be. They make life tolerable. They comfort me when I am anxious, sad, or just in despair about anything and everything. They are always available; no need to worry about waiting.

My addictive nature wants to be holed up in my apartment as often as possible, getting high and drunk. That is all that I need and it is all that matters in life. If I must be out in the world, whether at school, work, or the grocery store, I retreat to restrooms to be alone so I can snort a line or drink some beer. As long as I have my substances, life isn’t so bad.

On the other hand, the part of me that is still alive knows that this is all a big delusion. I am delusional because my disease has taken over my mind and I do not possess the strength or vitality to disagree with anything it tells me. So I believe everything. I believe that people in AA are full of shxx and do not care about me. I believe that in order to be comfortable in my own skin, I require doses of alcohol or drugs. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

That is just the way my brain is wired. So I am in a constant battle. Part of me says no and the other part says yes. Part of me says stop and the other part says go. Lately, I seem to go along with whatever the addictive part of me says, regardless of how crazy, senseless, or self-destructive it may be.

I am a master at justifying and rationalizing my behavior. Whether it’s against the law or not. Whether or not it hurts people. Whether or not it harms me in the end. My disease always seems to have the last say. The last word.

No matter how much AA and recovery is in my head. None of that can overcome the language in which my disease speaks. It’s as though it’s my first language and nothing else makes any sense.

The only thing that makes sense and the only thing I can comprehend is to keep drinking. To keep using. No matter what the consequences are. No matter who dies. No matter how much destruction is made. Keep at it. Keep getting drunk. Keep getting high. Keep breaking the law. Keep lying. Keep cheating. Keep stealing. Keep working hard to make everything seem like it’s fine.

Even if you’re sick; keep drinking. Even if you have no money; sell your body. Because if you don’t get that next hit or drink, you won’t survive. You won’t be able to handle life. You won’t be able to handle that mind of yours that keeps racing with thoughts.

I have been sick from drinking too much alcohol. I have thrown up. I kept drinking, despite the fact that my body said no. No more poison. I continued to pour the booze down my throat because that was what my mind told me to do.