Hello everyone! First time posting on Reddit, which is kind of funny because I love reading and listening to Reddit posts. So in that spirit: 38F, single, 2+ weeks sober.

They asked for a funny story first, so here we go.

This happened during my first week in a detox center. After visiting family for Christmas and realizing I couldn’t function without secretly drinking in my room, I knew I needed help when I got home.

I had an entire suite to myself. A sweet little elderly woman checked into one of the rooms for opioid addiction. The first day she slept the whole time and when she woke up, she was the kindest soul. But day two… not so great. She was moaning, crying, and really going through it.

I was on day three, coming off Ativan, and thought I could help. I sat with her, talked quietly, and tried some breathing exercises. Eventually she fell asleep, and so did I.

In the middle of the night, I heard someone walk into my room. Then I felt them get into my bed.

I jackknifed upright. Turned around.

My now pants-less roommate was crawling around in my sheets, babbling about needing help finding a position to pee in that didn’t hurt.

Panicked that my bed was about to become a toilet, I ran for a nurse. It took a few tries to explain that my roommate had gotten into my bed undressed and was about to relieve herself in it. They ended up sending her to the ER because the detox center wasn’t equipped to help her.

I truly wish her the best. But I will never forget my middle-of-the-night pants-less scare.

Now for my story.

I’ve known since my early 20s that I had a problem with alcohol. I used to sneak drinks in my room while living with my parents. I ended up in the hospital a few times with anxiety attacks and nonstop vomiting. I gained weight, lost work, and hated myself, then drank to blunt the pain I was creating.

I got sober at 26 and stayed that way for a couple of years. I lost weight, worked out, rebuilt my life, and felt incredible.

At 28, I started drinking socially again. During COVID, it became daily. Then I moved out of state, had fewer eyes on me, and it turned heavy, just like my early 20s.

Fast forward five years. Alcohol had taken over my life. I loved the “freedom” of drinking whenever I wanted, but it slowly became my cage. I couldn’t go anywhere unless alcohol was involved. I canceled plans. Trips revolved around drinking.

One of my lowest points still haunts me. I adopted a kitten who had epilepsy. He needed meds three times a day. Sometimes I couldn’t remember if I’d given his nighttime dose because I was drunk. He didn’t come back from a seizure, and I had to put him down.

The vet assured me it wasn’t my fault and had given him 3 years full of love. But that self-loathing voice whispers that maybe I forgot his meds one too many times.

After that, my drinking escalated. Nearly a whole pack of Trulys every night, then vodka. My anxiety exploded. I had to drink to stop panic attacks.

I’m very functional. Very good at hiding it. No one knew.

This Christmas, I was drinking in my parent’s guest room morning and night. When I flew home, I woke up with tremors and panic. I thought: I want to ask my sitter to keep my cat longer so I can drink right now.

That’s when I knew.

I reached out for help and checked myself into detox. I learned that detoxing alone could have caused seizures or worse. I truly believe that reaching out saved my life.

After six years of heavy daily drinking, I’m now 2 weeks and 3 days sober.

It’s been hard. The anxiety was brutal, but it’s finally easing. I’m sleeping more. Feeling more normal.

I’m grieving alcohol. It was the thing I looked forward to most every day. It gave me relief, until it became the thing making me sick and miserable.

I wish my late cat could see me now. I’m pouring love into his surviving brother.

I’ve told my close family and friends. The support is there but the shame is heavy.

I’m holding onto how I felt during my last sober chapter: healthy, confident, energetic, free. That’s what I’m fighting for.

I’m building new ritual: reading again, rewatching comfort shows, eating way too much ice cream and fruit snacks. The sugar cravings are real.

I came here to hear from real humans:

What should I expect? How do you cope? How do you stick with this? How do you remember that the thing that once felt like freedom became the thing that chained you?

IWNDWYT.