It’s 1:03 PM, and I find myself yearning for a drink. Although I don’t drink frequently, today feels different. I feel an overwhelming need to escape the pain of living with a mental illness. There are days when my medication fails to provide relief, and I’m left grappling with anxiety, sadness, and a sense of hopelessness. In those moments, I turn to alcohol to help me disconnect from the turmoil in my mind.
I wish I could say I’m proud of this coping strategy. I am a resilient person, having faced numerous challenges over the past 35 years. I juggle the roles of a wife, employee, advocate, and mother, but being a part-time drinker is not something I aspire to. Yet, here I am, relying on beer and craft spirits to help me navigate life when my mental state feels chaotic. My mind is a battlefield, filled with self-loathing and unease.
I self-medicate with alcohol to quiet the chaos. When I drink, I can temporarily escape the noise and numb the pain. Living with bipolar disorder is incredibly challenging, and when my prescribed medications don’t work, I seek solace at the bottom of a bottle. The voices in my head are relentless, whispering that I’m not enough—that I’m unlovable and unworthy.
These inner critics don’t just taunt me during dark times; they also intrude on moments of happiness and stability. I drink in fear of the voices returning, to keep my demons at bay. It wasn’t until 2019, after losing a family member to addiction, that I recognized my own problematic relationship with alcohol. I come from a lineage marked by mental illness and addiction, and it’s a legacy that weighs heavily on me.
Despite understanding the dangers of my drinking habits, I have no intention of stopping—at least not yet. Alcohol has been a lifeline during my darkest days, allowing me to survive when I felt utterly defeated. While I may not fit the classic mold of an addict—holding down a job and maintaining some semblance of a normal life—I know I’m playing a precarious game.
However, I realize that I need to confront my behavior. I owe it to my children, friends, and family, but most importantly, I owe it to myself. It’s time for a reckoning, to acknowledge the harm that self-medication can cause in the long run.
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