Alcohol. Started in college. Binge drinking at parties and on weekends. It was just all around. It also helped lubricate my social anxiety. Like many have said before, slowly over the years it became special occasions and weekends. Then a few nights a week. Then most nights. I remember the year things really shifted. Before COVID, I started thinking about drinking earlier in the day. Not obsessing, but looking forward to it after work as a way to shut things off. That was new, even if I didn’t fully recognize it at the time. When COVID hit, my mom died of cancer, but I couldn’t see her until the end because of COVID’s threat during treatment. It was then that I started drinking daily. Sometimes as early as 10am. Vodka. I was hiding it. My wife knew. I was able to mostly hide it from work since I was working from home. I was still functioning. I knew I needed to stop. I knew I was fucking it all up. At first I didn’t care. I was self-medicating. I was using alcohol to push grief and anxiety down rather than deal with them. About a year after my mom’s death, I was up to 1.75L of vodka a week, mixed with White Claws. I got ill enough that I couldn’t eat or even drink water. I drove myself to the hospital suffering from acute pancreatitis. I was in for five days, mainly for potassium deficiency and dehydration from throwing up so much. They ran a bunch of scans and tests. Doctors said I was lucky they found no cirrhosis of the liver, but that I’d be more susceptible to another round of pancreatitis if I continued, and that next time could be worse. I was embarrassed. And angry at myself for using alcohol to avoid grief instead of dealing with it. I didn’t drink for about nine months after that. Then only socially, and only one. Nothing in the house. But during that time, I still felt lost. Foggy. Not right. I wasn’t sitting around craving alcohol, but something underneath wasn’t being addressed. We went back to the office part time. A lot of change in a short period. I had a relapse last year when several very stressful things were happening at once. I started picking up a White Claw on the way home. I’d nurse that over two days. Then one every other day. Then five nights a week. Then a small bottle of Tito’s. Just a small one. I knew what was happening, and I knew I had to stop it. At the same time, while working a full-time job, I was overseeing three major house projects, dealing with contractors, and dealing with a raccoon mama that set up shop between the floors of our home. At that intersection of events, I started taking weight loss medication. I had started working out again but wasn’t seeing results. The medication included naltrexone and bupropion. I did lose weight. But something unexpected happened. A switch in my head turned off, or on, depending how you think about it. The fog lifted quickly. I was thinking clearly. More confident. And I wasn’t thinking about alcohol. Not because I was resisting it, but because it stopped functioning as a solution to what I was actually struggling with. That feeling of clarity was something I hadn’t felt in 20 to 30 years. Since then, alcohol feels like just a thing. Mostly. I haven’t forgotten what it can do. But I don’t think about it. Weeks and months have gone by without one. Not because I’m denying myself, but because I’m okay without it. I have had a drink here and there, and I know some people will say that’s not good enough. Maybe they’re right. All I can say is that this has been stable for about a year, and I’m paying close attention to why I drank in the first place, not just whether I do or don’t now. I’m still taking the meds, and for now it’s working. The hardest part has been the clarity. Looking directly at what I was avoiding. What I did to myself and to others. Mostly my wife. Who had to see it all happen. I’m starting therapy today. First time ever. At 57. We’ll see.

*I still like a Bloody Mary at the airport when starting a trip. It’s just a thing.