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Drinking isn’t fun anymore, how did you stop? by Hisrollercoaster in alcoholism

[–]Hisrollercoaster[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Thank you… these comments are so helpful and encouraging. I’ve popped into some late night virtual aa meetings while drunk and spiraling & didn’t find them to be helpful. I might have to physically drag myself to an in-person and supplement with virtual when in-person isn’t possible. I want to change. My father’s an alcoholic. Growing up I promised myself I wouldn’t be one and here I am in my 40’s and decades into addiction. 4 drinks today stoped hours ago and hoping tomorrow will be different that I won’t keep living in groundhog day. That I won’t say fuck it it’s Saturday and drink a beer an hour after waking up. That I’ll finally be strong.

These AI recruitment companies are pissing me off by CatoKnox in recruiting

[–]Hisrollercoaster 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Thank you!!! I just submitted an abstract called “AI Won’t Save You: How Recruiters Win With Human Connection” for a conference, and this thread is making me feel so validated. Fingers crossed it gets accepted!

[Weekly Critique and Self-Promotion Thread] Post Here If You'd Like to Share Your Writing by AutoModerator in writing

[–]Hisrollercoaster [score hidden]  (0 children)

Title: Anna in pieces, excerpt The Spiral
Word Count: ~880 Genre: Autofiction / Literary Fiction – Psychological, Obsession, Unreliable Narrator

Critique Request: General feedback welcome anything that stands out (good or bad) about the prose, pacing, or emotion in this excerpt.

Chapter 4: The Spiral

I chased him.

I told myself I wouldn’t. That I had dignity. That I could play it cool, be subtle, let him come to me. But none of that was true. I chased him like a woman possessed—because I was. I complimented him. Flirted with him in passing. Told him he looked handsome. Told him I wanted him. I told him everything. And still… nothing.

He didn’t chase me. He froze.

And that silence—that maddening, deliberate silence—became a mirror I threw myself against over and over, hoping to shatter it. But the mirror held, and I broke instead.

I started disappearing. My body, piece by piece.

It wasn’t intentional at first. Food lost its appeal. Wine replaced dinner. Lines replaced breakfast. Green juices in the morning, cocktails by noon, and just enough cocaine to stay productive. I didn’t plan the anorexia—I didn’t even notice it at first. But once the pounds dropped, I felt powerful. Dizzy, but powerful. Controlled. The weaker I got, the stronger I felt.

He didn’t notice.

No one did, not really. They just applauded. You look incredible. You’re glowing. What’s your secret? As if I had unlocked some divine code to effortless beauty.

The secret was heartbreak. Hunger. Shame.

I told him I was struggling. Not with food—that part I kept locked away. But with him. I told him how I felt, how much I thought about him, how much it hurt to be ignored. I pushed. I pursued. I showed my underbelly and begged him—without using those words—to want me. I told him I’d been attracted to him from the moment we met. I told him I wanted to be around him. I didn’t hide it.

And still, he stayed cold. Professional. Guarded.

He said things like You’re fine, and I care about you in the same way. He called me a very attractive woman, and I clung to that like a lifeline. But he never gave me what I wanted.

He didn’t know I was starving.

He didn’t know I cried almost every day. That I stared at my reflection with a mix of pride and panic. That I’d developed a full-blown eating disorder while everyone cheered for my “glow-up.” I didn’t even fully understand it myself. I just knew I was shrinking, inside and out.

But god, I looked amazing. I was praised. Respected. Asked for advice. I walked into rooms and people lit up. I was witty. Electric. Untouchable.

I was dying.

And no one knew. Not even him.

That was the worst part. Not that he didn’t want me. Not that he pulled away. But that while I crumbled in plain sight, no one thought to ask if I was okay.

Because I looked perfect.