A Decade-Long Relationship With Alcohol

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At the age of 18, Alcohol moved in and demanded that I make space for it.

In the beginning, Alcohol insisted on only a few, small changes: swapping the wall art for blurry photos with vacant eyes, replacing all of the jeans with bandage skirts, filling the bookshelves with empty liquor bottles that served as trophies from forgotten nights. In just a couple of months, though, Alcohol went from roommate to constant companion; relentlessly whispering in my ear, reminding me of how much more fun life is when you're in a haze.

"You see…" Alcohol would say, "real, worthwhile experiences are had amidst loud music in dark rooms. Growing up is gaining sexual experiences in a drunken fog. Becoming a woman is coping with unwanted touching and groping in an intoxicated stupor. Making friends is laughing about it all while hungover the next day as you eat cheesy, melty breakfast sandwiches and take turns puking in the bathroom." And I listened. Intently.

At the age of 19, Alcohol became my best friend.

My life had been reduced to sleeping in and nursing a hangover all day in order to party and blackout all night. I woke up in rooms I didn't recognize, in bushes between the bars and home, and even in the backseat of someone else's car.

I became more concerned with having the perfect haircut, and the sexiest outfit, and the tightest stomach than I was with the college education I was paying for. If the experience I am supposed to be having is so dependent on the male gaze and attention, I reasoned, then my focus must be on embodying those ideals. The hours spent in front of the mirror primping paled in comparison to the hours spent thinking about where I needed to lose weight or how I could make myself appear prettier. No longer was my time spent discussing politics or reading books or pondering questions about life, but instead, my mind was occupied by vapid thoughts and countdowns to the next party.

At the age of 21, Alcohol temporarily kicked out my boyfriend.

The young man who had fallen in love with me for my thoughts, my love of film and books, my desire to grow and learn, needed space from me because of my jealousy, my drunken rage, and my propensity to cause scenes in the middle of parties. During our break, Alcohol and I shifted our priorities.

The few healthy habits that remained, such as going on long walks or maintaining my true friendships, fell to the wayside. Everything that was left of my home before Alcohol took up residence - the books, the movies, the music, the pens and paper - was moved to storage. I found new, fun friends, specifically, people who also lived with Alcohol, and together, with our roommates always in tow, we sought out new drunken stories and forgotten memories nearly every night.

At the age of 25, Alcohol moved across the state with us.

As we settled into our new home, Alcohol made itself comfortable in our guest room. I populated the shelves with books and hung up wall art and set up cozy nooks for our pets. With Alcohol just in the other room, I began to believe I could balance its influence with my other passions and hobbies.

Long nights spent reading were accompanied by large glasses of wine. Exploring our new city involved day-drinking at oceanfront bars, going out with new friends, boozy brunches, and wine-infused art walks. Alcohol was nearly always with me, but it looked shiny and exciting and less damaging than before. It promised easy fun and new experiences.

At the age of 27, Alcohol was sharing my bed.

Just two years later, any hope of balance had vanished. My evenings began and ended on the couch and all that unfolded in the hours between happened while finishing a freshly opened bottle of wine. In the absence of the loud parties and the chatty friends and the next-day commiserating, there was no hiding how toxic and devoid of joy my relationship with Alcohol had become.

With every hungover and panicked awakening at 3 AM, I vowed to myself I would take a break; but I never did. Instead, I turned to happy hours and date nights and going to the theater. I told myself that drinking with friends, drinking with my fiance, and drinking while watching a film were all better than drinking alone on the couch. I told myself this all looked normal for people my age, despite not seeing it reflected back to me by any of my closest friends.

At the age of 28, Alcohol threw me a birthday party.

Just a few months into quarantine, Alcohol had proved to be an essential and faithful companion in braving the ups and downs of the Coronavirus pandemic. Between the beginning of quarantine in March and my July birthday my husband and I had moved back across the state and I went from routinely working 60 hours a week to getting laid off; Alcohol was always there to help curb the stress.

My 28th birthday rolled around and our quarantine bubble was being kept very small, so with my mom, my step dad and my husband, I celebrated. And by celebrated I mean that I got very, very drunk at my mom's house and stayed very hungover for nearly two and a half days.

At the age of 28 and 8 days, I evicted Alcohol.

After spending a week feeling anxious and full of regret, I knew it was time for a change. I'd spent the whole summer trying to implement various rules and boundaries that would better control my drinking. At first, it was "no more liquor". Then, it was "no more keeping wine in the house." Nothing worked until I decided I was done with Alcohol for good.

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Without our third, looming roommate, everything improved immediately.

The books and films, and the passion and love all repopulated our home within weeks. Incoherent fights were replaced with long, gentle, patient talks that pushed into the early morning hours. Evenings on the couch with a bottle of wine ready at my side were replaced with hours on the patio tapping away at the keys on my laptop. Sunny days spent bar-hopping and day-drinking were replaced with playing fetch and laying out in the backyard, book in hand.

Day by day, my home became the safe space it always should have been. One by one, I addressed and rid myself of the unwanted memories, fears, and narratives and replaced them for the last time.

At nearly 29, my home has four occupants: myself, my husband, my dog, and my cat and we are all healthy and happy.

I feel love and joy and pain unencumbered. I don't live with the pressure of needing to have 'epic nights' or the lie that being fun means being drunk. Instead, I listen to my wants and needs as they come and go and adjust accordingly. I see friends and have conversations that I will actually never forget. I eat delicious meals that I can fully appreciate in the absence of guzzling wine. I take long, meandering walks and stare at the blue skies and green trees and think to myself every single day how grateful I am that Alcohol no longer lives here.