i remember sitting in English 102 at my local community college in 2005. We read a story, i cannot recall just now the author, about a man who day-dreamed about the days of knights and chivalry and sat in bars drinking to escape the modern world. i spoke up and said that i am a lot like the character since i often romanticize about past times. my professor said, "yes, but you're not sitting in bars lamenting about it." he should have said, "You're not sitting in bars lamenting YET."
i finally went to get serious help for my alcoholism. i am three weeks sober. i never had a problem admitting that i was an alcoholic; in fact, i felt emotionally free being an imbalanced, manic, drunken writer, misunderstood by the world and sought solace in a whiskey bottle. i liked the manic feeling whiskey gave me... in my early days of drinking. i was quick with a witty retort and males seemed to be taken back by how fast this little 5'2'', 103 pound girl gulping whiskey could put them in their place. I felt strong; for the first time i was not a meek little thing awkward and searching for the ease of expressing the words trapped in her head. i thought i was another Edgar Allen Poe,James Joyce, Ernest Hemingway... but, they wrote books, i just dreamed of writing books, drank and wandered in graveyards talking aloud while sipping whiskey, waiting for an epiphany that would cause me to race home and finish my novel and change the world. i have always felt a presence of something around me; i do not know exactly what it is, but it is a benevolent spirit. i feel it now as i type. i know if i speak, it hears me.
Every time i drank it was like playing Russian Roulette. i never knew for sure which drink would set me "off"- if i would loose control and go on a manic journey, both mentally and physically. i began to feel like a ghost haunting my own house, mourning someone i had loved and lost.
i did not start out this way. i had planned on being a published writer by 19. I planned to be a sober writer because i wanted it to be a pure, natural mind that emoted. I wanted to be unique in being a sober, profound writer. I began my novel at 18. I am now 26, a recovering alcoholic and still working on finishing my novel.
during my three weeks, away from home, following a regimented schedule, being forced to socialize while sober, i found that i am intelligent, witty and will stand up for myself. i learned i can still be tragic and dark and deep and wander around talking to Nature. i felt a peaceful connection with Nature, the trees especially. creative imagery became more vivid and i became more articulate when i spoke to the groups. I realized that i had stopped living. whiskey was my abusive lover. i isolated with it. i miss it. i don't want it to be sad without me because i know how it feels to be sad, alone and misunderstood.