I used to be bad to drink. My friends and family said I had a problem. I said I’m not hurting anyone, leave me alone. It’s my life. Then bad things started happening.
Drinking became my life, my only life. It was all I thought about. All day, every day and every minute. I drank at home, at work, when traveling, and if I couldn’t drink, I was plotting how to sneak a drink.
A few years later I was alone, all alone drinking. No one wanted to be around me anymore. Which was fine with me. I wasn’t hurting anyone. It’s my life. What’s wrong with everyone?
I had been drinking for four days straight. Drink, oblivion, pass out, wake up drink, drink, oblivion, wake up etc. Wash, rinse, repeat.
I woke up at 3 a.m. Reached for my bottle. It wasn’t there. I searched and searched. What I found was my loaded 38.
I sat down with it and placed it in my lap. I looked up and there was my bottle. Hidden in plain sight. I automatically reached for it. My 38 tumbled to the floor. As I tried to catch the 38, I knocked the bottle to the floor too.
I was staring at the gun and bottle like I’d never seen them before. It appeared I had two choices. I chose to live!