In my twenties, I was quite the lush. Though I didn’t realize it then, I needed alcohol to help fuel the poor life choices I was making during that time.
Towards the end of that decade, I entered into a relationship with an alcoholic, and drinking became a daily thing. I was drinking to escape my life, but at the time, I didn’t mind. Conversations with others led me to believe that what I was experiencing was entirely normal for a young person. No one batted an eye when I spoke of pregaming before nonalcoholic events or finding ways to sneak alcohol into places where it wasn’t allowed.
One year, a few days after Christmas, I got sick. It wasn’t a usual cold or stomach bug; I wasn’t sure what it was, but I knew drinking would only exacerbate the issue. I stood at the bathroom sink, rinsing my mouth out after having vomited, and looked myself in the mirror. My stomach sank to the floor when I realized I had to be sober for New Year’s Eve, and I immediately considered not attending the same party with the same people I had been attending for years.
Really, Toni? I thought. You’d really not go simply because you can’t drink? Though I drank every day, up until that point, I hadn’t considered myself to be an alcoholic. But I couldn’t deny that if I needed alcohol to have a good time, I was dependent on it. Determined not to be true, I forced myself to go to the annual New Year’s Eve bash.
The party started like any other, but the amount of times I had to explain that I wasn’t drinking quickly became irritating. I was surrounded by people who did more than drink to have fun, so the idea of not drinking was a foreign concept.
As the night dragged on and people became more inebriated, I began to question why I hung out with those people to begin with. While they were great party “friends,” most weren’t real-life friends. Meaning I had no real connection outside of parties or drinking.
After the clock struck midnight, everyone quickly hurried outside, where they set the Christmas tree on fire. We all stood around it and watched it burn. It was magnificent and scary with how quickly it engulfed in flames before the entire tree was gone in a matter of minutes. The blaze from the fire was so hot I had to keep stepping back to ensure my eyebrows didn’t singe. Others around me commented on the strange aroma it left behind, but mostly, there was silence. It was fascinating to watch the tree burn; everyone seemed completely enthralled watching it. Casually, I mentioned that this should be a thing every year, and I was informed that it was.
The burning of the Christmas tree occurred after the ball dropped every year. I had gone to that same party only the last year there was the first time I had ever seen it happen. I was too drunk the previous years to remember watching it, but apparently, I had, always exclaiming how much I loved it. I had such a hard time believing it to be true, but it was, causing me to reflect on my behavior.
After that party, I chose to sober up. If I could completely miss a Christmas tree burning in front of my eyes, what else was I missing due to my drinking? For the first time, I was seeing my life through sober eyes, and I soon realized exactly why I was drinking so much to begin with.
Alcohol hid the misery I was living in. Though I was in a relationship that on the outside seemed great, in private, it was far from it. He was an abusive alcoholic who hated me when he was drunk. He did everything he could think of to scare me: throw beer bottles at windows, plates at light fixtures, and upturn the living room. But when I was drunk, I just excused his behavior as drunken behavior. Drunk me was used to getting on my hands and knees and cleaning up every last bit of broken glass, scrubbing the last remnants of whatever sticky contents spilled upon impact. Now that I was sober, I couldn’t help but wonder what I had gotten myself into. Brokenhearted, I found myself forcing myself to sleep amid his chaos. If I couldn’t escape my life through drinking, I would escape it through sleeping.
Of course, in public, he showed a different side. When we were around others, he was cautious to make it seem that he was the most loving, doting boyfriend. By the time we were in the car headed home, he was using verbal aggression to tear me down. He said any and everything he could to make sure I knew I was beneath him. Eventually, I had to conclude that it wasn’t my life; I needed to escape; it was him.
Being sober, I realized he was taking his mommy issues out on me, and when I tried to address it, he made excuses. He tried to convince me that wasn’t who he was and that he could and would change. When he only got worse, he decided to stop drinking too. Only he never stopped; instead, he was hiding his liquor consumption. I would find the empty bottles in the recycling. He became even more miserable and unbearable to live with. I walked on eggshells around him; his presence was like a dark, looming cloud was permanently stuck over our house. In those days, there was no laughter, no joy. When he looked at me, I could feel his eyes pierce my skull as though he was burning a hole through my head, so I tried not to look at him. It was one of the most uncomfortable living situations I’d been in.
By the time I had mustered up enough courage to leave, seven months had passed by. Nothing had changed except for my sense of self, damaged by the venomous words he spit at me on almost a daily basis. After I left, even though I was in such a low place mentally, I continued my journey of sobriety. Curious as to how I could’ve ended up in such a relationship, I needed the cold, hard truth of sobriety to teach me about myself.
These days, the allure of alcohol has lost its grip on me, and I consciously choose not to drink. Reflecting, I find it astonishing that I don’t even, for a second, miss the life or the person I once was. While I retain the option to have a glass of wine, I no longer depend on alcohol to provide an escape from my life.
Through extensive healing work, I am delighted to report that I have emerged from the shadows of my past. Sobriety has become a beacon of clarity, guiding me toward a life I no longer want or need to escape from. The journey after leaving that toxic relationship has been a testament to my resilience and strength.
With each sober day, I’ve not only distanced myself from the haunting memories but also discovered the true essence of who I am. The transformation goes beyond abstaining from alcohol; it’s about reclaiming my identity, rebuilding self-worth, and embracing a future that holds promise and authenticity.
As I navigate this new chapter, the burning Christmas tree, once a symbol of missed moments, now serves as a metaphor for my rebirth. I watch it with newfound clarity, appreciating the beauty of the flames without the haze of intoxication.
In sobriety, I’ve found solace, resilience, and a profound understanding of my strength. My journey continues, and each day brings the assurance that I am crafting a life that aligns with my true self – a life I no longer feel the need to escape.