Just a 20-Something Year Old Female/Alcoholic in Recovery — Day 1

“It’s not your job to like me. It’s mine.”

“You look like shit, even now in your eyes I can see you had a rough night last night!”

These words are from Peter, my boyfriend at approximately 8:30pm Saturday night, just after we attempted to have an ice cream together at the upstairs pancake restaurant in the center of the city.

I even tried to deny that: “No it’s because I’m sad, that’s why my face looks like this!” And I was. I was crying. But the excuses never end when you’re an alcoholic in denial.

This fight happened after he picked me up from my house. We started talking about stuff and I told him a story about some alleged sex tapes. I heard that some men gang bang drunk girls in a upper-class club here in the city, and then they take photos and videos of the act without the girls’ consent or knowledge. Turns out to be a bull-shit story, but I have my doubts.

Of course my boyfriend has the right to be angry. I am a full-blown alcoholic even though, thank God, none of those things have happened to me. Yet.

Let me tell you about Peter. He is the kind of person that cuts anything that doesn’t work for him from his life like overgrown toenails. It’s just who he is. I’ve learned to look past how cold and full of shit he can be, and to love him for his heart because he has a big heart, a beautiful big heart, but also a very very selfish heart. A selfish heart that does not allow people in and out like a Toys R Us in Christmas shopping week. You are either there, or you are not. This scares me a lot, but I do not think I have respected anyone more in my life before.

So it’s pretty obvious where I stand with us in this two-some on this one-way street. The worst part is that he is right. I looked like like shit. 10 drinks was written all over my face as clearly as the vodka in my too-often-empty-glass down at one of the bars in the narrow streets of Bisserweg road. Just another Friday night.

“Who the fuck wants a drunk bitch? I want a lady, not a drunk woman. What kind of man likes a drunk girl? In the beginning I thought ‘Okay, she likes to drink.’ But I didn’t know how much. You drink a lot. And I mean a LOT, a LOT. And this, I’m not even saying about a guy, I’m saying this about MY girlfriend!” The words sting. So much that lucky me gets to remember word after word like they are still busy coming out of Peter’s mouth.

Do you need any more convincing that I have a drinking problem?

My previous partner fought with me about the same issue often too. Every week I had to listen to his cries about my partying. For four years. We started dating when I was 22 years old. Not nearly ready enough to become a real woman. A woman who spends her Friday night’s going to the movies or watching TV, or reading. Or worse, raising a child if we ever ended up having one. But as the relationship progressed and we both grew a mustard seed size wiser, my drinking just got worse. Significantly worse. I tried to cool it down, and I did, but it was never enough for him. He wanted me to cut ties with my friends, and give up alcohol for good. So I guess I started rebelling. Fuck this guy, who does he think he is?? And I rubbed it in his face with every lonely weekend he had to spend inside the house by himself. Not to mention, his father was an alcoholic before he committed suicide.

What kind of human being am I? What kind of person does that to the people she loves? What kind of demons are so bad that I can not face them? I am 28 years old, I am sharp like a razor, and I have fantastic genes (thanks mom!) but that’s not enough for me, is it? These are the questions I am asking myself today because finally… enough is just enough.

Before today, sugar was the one thing that makes me the most miserable person to walk the floors of my everyday life. Today alcohol is. I quit sugar, but can I stop going out on weekends?

And this is what I responded to my boyfriend: “Would it make you happy if I quit drinking?” Because it was the only logical conclusion to our discussion/me listening to what a shitty person I am.

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay, then I quit.”