I hang up the phone, my mind clouded by the haze of my recent escapades. Each apology feels genuine, yet meaningless; I’ve uttered those words too many times. “Lily, I’m in a bad place again. I’m truly sorry; I promise I’ll get it right this time.” Deep down, I want to change—at least to some degree. But “I’m sorry” has lost its weight after being repeated so frequently.
The moment the call ends, Lily occupies my thoughts. How can I feel such immense love for her while simultaneously being a source of constant disappointment? The urge to drink is overwhelming. I desperately try to block her name from my mind, to shove aside the image of her radiant smile. The pain of my failures as a mother is too much to bear. How can she still say, “It’s okay mom, I love you”? I don’t deserve her affection or her understanding.
People often ask, “Do you really want to quit drinking? What goes through your mind when you take that first sip? Don’t you consider the kids before you drink?” These inquiries echo painfully as I lie in the hospital, filled with self-loathing, missing my children, drowning in despair. I should want to stop, but I don’t. When I drink, I feel good about myself; when I’m sober, I can’t stand my own skin. I crave that comforting buzz, that feeling of being at ease that accompanies four drinks.
Four drinks make me a fun, engaging mom. With just a bit of alcohol, my anxiety dissipates, and the noise in my head quiets. Why can’t I just stop at four and wait before having more? I need to master this drinking game—four drinks, pause, then repeat.
So, no, I don’t think of Lily before I take that first drink. The discomfort of sobriety overwhelms me, and I seek the solace of alcohol to breathe and think clearly. My mind lies, assuring me I can manage just four drinks before stopping.
As I navigate the dark depths of detox, my body and mind crave the very substance that landed me in this hospital bed. Yet, something feels different this time. For the first time, I find myself more worried about Lily than my next drink. One more broken promise could cost me her love forever.
This realization is more a feeling than a thought. Perhaps I sensed it in her voice during our call. Maybe it’s a lesson I’ve learned from other mothers struggling with alcoholism. Or perhaps a higher power is at work in this room. I’m not ready to stop drinking; I’d rather lose a limb than my bottle. Yet, a shift is occurring, as if I’m being guided toward something new. I feel defeated, exhausted, and broken. I don’t want to live, but I also don’t want to die.
I find myself asking for the strength to give this one more shot. The notion of fighting for my life and learning to live sober terrifies me. It requires venturing into the unknown, confronting my fears, and trusting that the seemingly impossible can become possible. I must believe that a higher power can restore my sanity and deliver a life worth living. I have to remain in this detox bed and accept the path to rehab.
And so, I choose to stay, to embrace thoughts of Lily that drown out my fears. I journey through the suffocating guilt and shame, mourning the loss of my former self, and I commit to sobriety—just for today.
With each passing day, I grow a bit stronger, braver, and more spiritual. I’ve come to understand that true growth occurs when I face my fears head-on. I no longer gauge my worth by the number of drinks I consume; I now focus on days, weeks, and years of sobriety. Four years have passed, and the journey is just beginning. My spiritual awakening started the day I allowed Lily’s forgiveness to fill the void within me, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
Resources for Family-Building
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Conclusion
In summary, the struggle with addiction is a profound journey filled with love, guilt, and a desire for redemption. While the road is fraught with challenges, embracing forgiveness and seeking help can lead to a path of recovery and growth.
