I always hear that everyone has a past. Everyone has a story to tell, and everyone has been through something that someone else has related to. But, what happens when you are only 23 years old and you have nobody to share these experiences with? What happens when you don’t know how to get better and you don’t know how to make everyone happy? I love so many people and I don’t want them to watch me kill myself anymore. I am slowly dying and I am only 23 years old. I choose every single morning and throughout my day to slowly kill myself. It is like I don’t know this person who makes these choices. I am taken over and someone else is living my life. I wake up to people literally hating me. I literally hate myself sometimes. I am not ready to die.
I use to live by the this, Fairytales are dead. I don’t even know what that means anymore. I made that up when I was 13. To tell you the truth me being alive right now is my fairytale.
The truth is I should have died a long time ago. I used to be excited for death. I was actually raised in church. I strongly believe in God. I always have and I know that he is always with me. But, I also know that God does not want me to take my own life. He has a path that he wants to live. There is a reason that I am alive! I still don’t know why I am alive. I think one day I will know, and when I know I want to say that Fairytales aren’t dead. I hope one day to look back on these words and to say that there was a reason that I lived.
My story begins the first time that I fell in love with alcohol. This is what slowly decided to take my life and destroy me. It took away over two years of my life. It filled the void of being rejected. It helped with my first breakup.
I remember that he left me without no explanation, and that always hurt me the most. He disappeared. After telling me that he wanted to spend his life with me, he wanted to have children with me, and he wanted me forever. I was only 20 years old when I met this man. And, he will never know the effects that he had on me. I can still remember me meeting him for the first time, and I never believed that he would like me. He did, though.
I am no longer going to try to make this sound romantic. What he did was wrong. He tried to make me have sex with him. I was a virgin at 20 years old, and he saw the chance to get in my pants. He said all the right words at all the right times. He was adorable, and I will never forget the way I felt about him. Falling in love for the first time is one of the best feelings in the world and it is something that you are never going to forget. But once it is gone, and it is really gone, you have to find a way to fill that void. And, I choose alcohol. We never had sex. Once he seen that I was real about that, he left, and I cried. And, I spent a long time blaming myself.
I was turning 21 when he left. I sent the last text message to him when I was turning 21. I spent weeks, months, and valuable time trying to forget him with alcohol. I would cry to my mother, to my friends, to strangers, to anyone about him! I would lay in my shower and cry until I couldn’t cry anymore. I would wake up thinking about him and fall asleep thinking about him. I would send him messages randomly. Hoping he would answer. Sometimes, he actually would. Sometimes, he would act the same. Other times, he just wanted nudes. I can never blame a person for my addiction. It was definitely the start of one, though. That was the point where I did not care anymore. I would drink in my closet. I would drink in the middle of the day. And, I would drink in the morning. I would be throwing up in the kitchen sink and crying in front of my mom.
Months went by, the alcohol followed. It followed me to the bars. Where I made out with men that are over their 40’s and police officers in the small town that I was from. I tried to fill his place with other guys. For some reason, that was the only thing that ever made me feel the slightest better.
I spent the New Year of 2015, in a bar. I met a guy. I made out with him in front of people. I fooled around with him in a car, and giggled about my virginity in his ear. The next morning, I had texts from him and I was confused. I don’t want anyone but the guy I first loved. It was so stupid for me to think like this.
It was so stupid for me to always trying to finding guys to feel the void of whatever I was missing. And you know what that was? That was the love I had for myself. It was completely something that did not exist. How sad for me to even say. And, I constantly think of that feeling that I do not have.
Where did it come from?
This hate for myself. Why am I so willing to throw myself at men who do not care for me in the slightest? Why do I care so much about relationships that lead me to nothing but damage? How did a hate become my love for alcohol?
Hi. My name is Courtney. I am 23 years old. I am an alcoholic. I am not ashamed of myself anymore. I am ready to heal. I am ready to discover my identity. I am ready to tell my story. I am ready to heal. I am ready to love myself.
I am scared to tell this story. I am ready, though. I am ready to be a better person.
If you are still here. Thank you for listening. God bless.