Dear Alcohol,

Remember that time you made everything better? Like spraining ankles and hurting people and almost dying and shitty pizza? It was especially cool the time you made passing out in the middle of the road adorable. What a trick. Or the time you made almost losing one of my dearest friends an exciting adventure in growing up. Remember when we accidently smoked crack in mexico at 17?

Because of the things I stole, broke, and the loss of the person I loved the most (or, a person in the collection of people my soul is attached to that I can’t be with anymore)….

I don’t need you anymore.

I’m working on being me instead.

I’m learning that I’m kind of a funny and weird person and that’s okay.

I’m learning that I have an endless vault of love available inside of me.

I feel the part of my body that still stores the pain you protected me from

And it really really super sucks.

Instead of you,

I have acupuncture and yoga and therapy and soul friends.

I don’t like my pain…

sometimes its magnitude scares me

and I still want to numb out.

I spend the entire day in bed reading Alice in Wonderland.

I watch a looottttt of feel good television shows.

Comedy and fairy tales.

I’m learning the theory and the math of Physics.

Sometimes I get real excited to take a bath.

I buy bottles of different aromatherapy oils.

They cost the same as a bottle of wine.

I don’t care about being cool

or liked

or nice

Or convenient.

Fuck those things.

I don’t care that my not drinking makes other people uncomfortable, or confused, or disappear, or makes them examine their own behaviour, and then get mad at me for it.

Or I care, but I don’t carry it.

I tried to break up with you so many times.

I need you to know that this time I mean it.

Thank-you,

J.