If I Could Help One Person — Part Ten

If you had to write a goodbye letter to alcohol, what would it say?

My Dear Friend Boozie,

You have held me up for years, but I now know that this was a façade. It was a bandaid that didn't heal the wound — it simply let my wound continue to fester, quietly, beneath the surface, where no one could see it. Not even me.

You were the lubricant that made social situations tolerable, easier. You gave me confidence when I felt timid. You gave me a voice when I felt invisible — a boldness I didn't yet know how to find on my own. You made me think I was a perfect ten when I was an imperfect mess.

"Every ounce of confidence you gave me, you borrowed from my future self. Every moment of ease came with interest I didn't know I was paying."

What You Never Told Me

But here is what you never told me: that every ounce of confidence you gave me, you borrowed from my future self. Every moment of ease came with interest I didn't know I was paying.

You have ruined relationships. You have cost me my jobs. You made me less of a mother. You sent me to jail. You have cost me thousands of dollars in fines and restitution. You have emptied my bank account even when I couldn't afford you. You have wrecked my health. You ruined my appearance.

You made me rely on you for so many reasons, and you failed to tell me that I had other options. You failed to mention that the confidence was always mine — that I was borrowing from myself all along, and you were simply the middleman taking a cut.

Letting Go

Well, after years of relying on you, I am ready to let go. I can't say you didn't try your best to uphold me — but you were selfish, and you only ever took from me.

You no longer have a place in my life, because I replaced you with good things. Healthy things. Things that improve instead of degrade. Things that build instead of borrow. You are now replaced with a lot of coffee, exercise, and meditation. With clarity. With nights I actually remember. With a version of myself I am finally proud to know.

"You are now replaced with a lot of coffee, exercise, and meditation. With clarity. With nights I actually remember."

You are dead to me.

— Kristen