Slowly

It’s not like I ever meant to develop a problem. One day, I was 14 years old and camping with a friend and her family. It was the first time I ever got drunk. I remember feeling like I could do anything, I could say anything, and it was funny. I could have confidence. I could make new friends, and nobody could really judge me right? Because I was drunk. I ran through the campgrounds screaming, trying to crawl in the water, I tried hugging everyone I seen. It was the best night of my life.

After that night, I learned that I loved alcohol. If I got alcohol, I had to get as drunk as I could, and I had to be the most intoxicated out of everyone else. That was always my goal. At that point, I was on top of the world, and nothing could stop me. I spent my teen years searching for any chance to drink. Usually, it involved friend’s parents who didn’t care that we drank. I used people at such a young age for something that was destructing my life.

I still remember my first high school dance that I went to. My mom brought me to the dress store in town. I remember walking by as a little girl and admiring all the pretty dresses. I always thought one day I could by a dress from there. At 16, I finally did! It was light blue. I had to get it altered to fit me. My chest is busty and well that always made things hard to fit. I curled my hair, I did my make-up, and my friends all came over so we could take pictures together. It was 4 of us. They were all my best friends and they begged me to come with. I always refused to go to dances because I never felt pretty and I always felt fat. I remember my friend telling me that I looked gorgeous. And, we all agreed we were going to get fucked up after.

We ended up drinking in my friend’s basement. Her parents had a bar and they left us have a couple of drinks. It ended up me and my best friend taking so many shots that we could barely walk. I remember my friend’s mom thinking it was funny and everyone laughing. We were having so much fun. It all changed when they were ready for bed. My best friend and I walked in and out of their house at least 20 times. She had a huge family and they could hear us laughing, falling, and trying to be quiet. We ended up smoking all of my other friend’s cigarettes and we actually made out. We were just goofing off.

The next morning, we were asked to leave. They did not want us there. My friend and I walked over a mile to find a phone so my dad could pick us up. That was the first time that I ruined a night with my drinking. What was supposed to be a fun night turned out to be a night I just ruined, and the pattern followed me.

I was always creating trouble, and I thought I was just creating memories that people would laugh about later. Instead, I was creating enemies. I just loved to be black out drunk.

Slowly, and gradually, it followed me into adulthood.

I would encourage my mom to buy us drinks. She would say one and I would have 12. She would buy wine, let me have a cup, and I would finish the entire glass of it. I would walk around the streets drunk, blacked out, no clue where I was going, and it didn’t matter because it was fun.

I drank on Christmas night after I turned 21. I decided it was not going to be a good night unless I was drunk. It was never a good night unless I was drunk. I feel like I couldn’t even enjoy people’s company and I couldn’t be myself. Anyways, on Christmas, I drank almost a whole bottle of liquor. I invited a friend over. My dad begged me not to drink that night, “Tomorrow, I will go to AA.” I said laughing and running up the stairs with my friend. Funny thing is, it took me two years to actually go.

I ended up blacking out, heading my head on the toilet in the bathroom, and I broke the toilet. I do remember that I laid in the shower crying while the water ran on me. That was a pattern. My family listening to me crying and crying while I was drunk.

The next morning, my friend told me it scared her how hard I was crying while I was in the shower.

One night, I got so drunk that I decided I was going to get out of the house in the middle of the night and just walk. I would go to the bridge that connected Wisconsin and Michigan, and I would jump. It was probably right around that Christmas. I can not remember if it was before or after. I never did leave. I wrote the note, though. I fell asleep on my closet floor, crying of course, and after taking a couple sleeping pills.

I always thought that it was going to numb that pain. Instead, it created more pain. It created pain for my family and friends and this was only the beginning before I even moved down south. I became a burden to everyone.

It always ended with me crying and wanting to die. I still don’t know why.

Drinking to me now is like playing a game with death. Now, in the present. I have been hospitalized twice since last September. I took an ambulance 4 times. I have been rushed to the ER by family. I’m scared to drink.

I’m scared I will never change and I am going to break people around me when I am really gone. I don’t even have a logical explanation to why I do this.

I just keep telling myself that if I drink today, I might be dead tomorrow. I try to scare myself. I don’t want to be another girl from my small town who killed herself. Who everyone pities and wishes they would have done something. The truth is no matter what anyone does or says I am the only person in control and nothing will change that.

I am in control. 

 

Where It (Kinda) Begins

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.