My dad was an alcoholic. So is my brother. So was I.
Last year my dad died after an 8 month battle with stage 4 cancer. At the very end, I️ got sober. I️ did it for many reasons but the biggest was that I️ knew that I️ couldn’t navigate through my grief if I️ wasn’t. I️ was becoming more dependent on alcohol to numb myself, I️ was lashing out at those close to me and I️ was peeling myself off the kitchen floor almost nightly from alcohol induced bawling. In short, I️ was losing my shit!!!! I️ woke up one morning after a brutal day of drinking with a black eye and a concussion from falling.. I️ was done. I️ looked in the mirror and was like, get your shit together girl or everything is going to fall apart!!! A few weeks later my brother decided to fly across the country one last time to see my dad. I️ knew it would be filled with drinking, my dad hadn’t stopped even though he couldn’t walk, we was still drinking. I️ went back and forth in my head if I️ was strong enough to stay sober around the two of them in that situation. I️ thought- maybe I️ just go and consider this my last binge- then come back and get sober.. But I️ had made that deal with myself many times before and failed.. So I️ didn’t go. I️ chose me. It was difficult. I️ felt every emotion you could imagine. But I️ chose me. Just as I️ imagined it was a week filled with alcohol that drove my brother into a 3 month binge. I️ don’t regret it. I’m some ways I️ am proud of myself, and I️ think my dad would be too if he could of understood my reasons. Proud that I️ was conquering a demon that he could not and ultimately took his life. It’s hard to not feel guilty when I️ am asked, why didn’t you go? I️ didn’t go because I️ chose me. Because for once in my life, I️ was more important than anything else.
Sometimes you have to choose yourself, your light, your heart, your peace, your soul – over anything else. And that’s ok.