A ditty about my former relationship with alcohol and the people who saved me.

I was obsessed with it since 8th Grade.

It made me into a version of myself I liked.

People teased me about how much I liked it.

But I didn’t care. I was in love.

No one could take it’s place.

It was the abusive relationship I always wanted.

I loved the pain. I loved the chaos.

I loved that it held me every time I failed.

Every time a new one left.

Every time they said “don’t come back”

Every time they said “you don’t work here anymore”

“If you just stick with me we’ll get through this.” It said.

I believed.

But then it stopped showing up. The more I drank, the relief, the warmth, the friendship and safety wasn’t there.

So I drank until I found it again. But this time it was mad.

Like it dragged me around by my shirt collar everywhere I went.

And starred at me from across the room.

And at night we got into more trouble. Not the fun kind.

It sent me to the hospital.

It made me punch a cop.

It made girls cry.

It scarred my family.

It killed my ambition.

It killed my talent.

It took my money.

It took my spirit.

It told me it didn’t love me anymore and no one else would either.

But it’ll change if I change.

What about all that we had.

You don’t mean that.

Just give it time.

I’ll wait.

We’ll distance ourselves.

But it needed to abuse me the same way I needed to be abused.

It held a gun to my head one night in that basement and said “Choose.”

I chose it.

Until it left the next morning and I ran away and screamed for help.

And I found it.

They took me in. They told me that they would love me until I could love myself again.

They told me it’s ok.

They told me that I don’t have to feel like this anymore if I just keep coming back to them.

They made me laugh.

They gave me incredible strength.

They gave me hope.

They gave me my life back.

They kept their promise.

They told me about God again.

And I love them.