Three glasses in is when I realized it. Each glass had gotten progressively more alcohol than juice. It felt like every breath was being forcibly pushed from my chest. I realized I was crying when the skin on my cheeks was feeling tighter and tighter...
I hate not being perfect more than I love being happy. If everything were right with me, then everything else would be right, right? My best friend wouldn't have to be strong for me, my boyfriend wouldn't have to walk on eggshells for his honesty, and this bottle of Triple Sec surely wouldn't be empty.
I want to blame my father for leaving my mother. For cheating on my mother. For taking away my security in family, my faith in faithfulness. I want to blame my mother for taking out her sadness and anger at him out on me for so many years. But I'm grown now. Who's to blame for the mess I've become but me?
The points where I feel I have no control. The moments when I beg God to make it stop hurting. The moments where I feel so alone and misunderstood are the moments where the alcohol is comforting. But with every sip I'm reminded how weak I am. How much a liar I am. I said I wouldn't drink to soothe anymore. Said I'd focus on being happy, focus on what I can do instead of what I can't.
Relapses sneak up on you, just like happiness and love, and force you back into that place with the heavy locked door. Relapses, just like your points of joy, force you to take a look at yourself and what you're doing. Some people fall prey to them, letting the relapse pull them back into bad habits and terrible mental states. Some people never get out of those. I happen to not be one of those people.
I have work in 7 hours. I have a best friend going through something. Bills to pay. Plans to make. A trip to take. I don't have time to feel sorry for myself, to feel remorseful for the probably hurtful things I've said or the folks who, if they knew, would be let down by my broken promises. I have to go on living and act like these bruises and burns on my little soul are soothed with one night of over zealous drinking.
Relapses, thought disappointing, happen. It's important to remember to just keep breathing through it. Renew your promises once your tears have dried and work through it all in the morning. Don't let one bad night be the deciding factor of your life, or let one slip up turn your whole perception of yourself.
You're stronger than your vices. Stronger than the sex, stronger than the liquor, stronger than the drugs; they wouldn't be able to do anything, make you feel or do anything, if you didn't allow them to. Don't give up. Don't drown. Find your joy...you know, just not in your vices (or the people who provide them). Pull yourself up and begin again tomorrow.