Everything has always been all or nothing for me!
If I ate cookies I ate them all, if I liked a sport it's all I did, and if I became interested in something it usually led to obsession. This allowed me to get good at things relatively quickly, but I was always stressed. My happiness was dictated by the short term results of whatever I was fixated on at that particular time in my life.
For example, I've always loved skateboarding, but my mood completely depended on how I skated that day. Living life that way is absolutely exhausting.
This same obsessive personality eventually led to me becoming an alcoholic.
I’ve always had a problem with alcohol. My first time drinking as a kid ended in a blackout—and so did most other times. I suspect genetics, bad choices, and childhood trauma played a role, but it doesn’t matter now; I just have to deal with it.
In high school, alcohol made me feel “normal” at parties. I’d always been awkward socially, but drinking wiped away my self-consciousness and anxiety. Drinking became a competition in university, and I was good at it. Life revolved around parties, and alcohol became my only source of fun. I lost interest in everything else.
Things worsened when I discovered that drinking the morning after heavy drinking could “fix” the shame and sickness I felt. That’s when I lost control completely. Alcohol consumed my ambition, and I stagnated in work and school. I convinced myself I didn’t need to grow up, but eventually, school ended, and friends moved on. I isolated myself and surrounded myself with others who shared my lifestyle, which only sped up my downward spiral.
In a misguided attempt to escape my problems, I moved to a new city, but the drinking followed. I got a low-paying job, barely making enough to sustain my addiction. The physical symptoms of alcoholism caught up with me—shaking, sweating, vomiting, and crippling anxiety. My aunt eventually found my hidden bottles and kicked me out but gave me a lifeline: go to treatment, or leave for good.
I entered a 30-day rehab program, which was life-changing. Although I relapsed two weeks later, it gave me the will to fight for sobriety. My dad took me back to rehab for another 30 days, and those were the longest sober stretches I’d ever had. I felt hope again. For a while, I stayed sober and started rebuilding my life—I got a good job, picked up hobbies, exercised, and reconnected with friends.
But addiction is insidious. It convinces you that you don’t have it. After three mostly sober years, I relapsed during a depressive episode. Within weeks, my addiction was worse than ever. Over the next year, I cycled through detox centers, psych wards, and hospitals. I lost my job, my savings, and my self-respect.
Two months ago, I entered another 30-day rehab program. This time, I’m giving it everything I’ve got. I attend AA meetings daily, practice mindfulness, work out, and stay open with others. Writing has been therapeutic, and I’m determined to turn my experience into something positive.
This feels like my last chance at life. I know I have another relapse in me, but I may not have another recovery. Staying sober is life or death for me, and I choose life. I’m rebuilding, one day at a time, with hope and optimism.
If my story can help someone feel less alone or avoid the mistakes I’ve made, then it’s worth sharing.
Thanks for reading,
Patrick
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