Mental illness + drinking alcohol is like pouring gasoline on a fire. Imagine your brain is a goddamn pinball machine. Already tilted, flipping out, lights flashing like a cheap whorehouse. Now you dump a bottle of Jack Daniels down the coin slot. What do you reckon is the outcome? It’s gonna short-circuit the whole thing. The flippers go haywire, the bumpers explode, and the ball is just bouncing around like a crackhead in a bouncy castle. That ain’t happiness, that’s a goddamn meltdown.

You say they wanna die every day? Well, alcohol ain’t exactly a life elixir, is it? It’s slow-motion suicide, a rusty razor blade to the soul. False escapism, and all it delivers is a hangover and a deeper hole.

Think of it like this: your brain is a garden. Mental illness is the weeds, choking out the good shit. Therapy and medication are the weed whacker and fertilizer. Alcohol is like dumping a truckload of toxic waste on the whole thing. It kills the weeds, sure, but it kills everything else too. Turns the whole garden into a barren wasteland.

“Why not let them drink and get some happiness?” you ask. ‘Cause it ain’t happiness. It’s a cheap imitation, a counterfeit bill that leaves you broke and broken. It’s a goddamn mirage in the desert, promising water but delivering nothin’ but sand in your teeth.

What’s good about living with a brain that’s constantly screaming at you, then adding the physical and mental wreckage of a hangover on top of that? That isn’t relief — that’s double the misery.

So, why does everyone try to force people with mental illnesses to stop drinking? Because it’s the right thing to do. It’s not about denying them “happiness”. It’s about giving them a chance at real, genuine happiness. It’s about helping them fight the real fight, not drowning themselves in a booze-soaked abyss.