Who would have thought what began as a voluntary choice to pick up a drink, have fun, be happy would end with me being diagnosed as an alcoholic, not me! Drinking to that extent was never my intention. My drinking did not always end in disaster, in the begging I was having a ball.
Let me explain how drinking, defined me. Prior to drinking, I was shy, insecure, unhappy and self conscious. Too scared of being rejected, I rarely spoke to anyone, or held the gaze of another person.
That all changed with a few drinks under my belt, it was magic time. There was feeling alive, free, ten feet tall and bulletproof. Flirting, being sexy, and telling ‘bad’ jokes. There was, singing loudly, dancing on tables, having fun and conversing into the early
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It relieved me of me. I loved that feeling, but it didn’t last long. As alcohol defined me in ways I didn’t understand then, but do now. That’s when I fell in love with how alcohol made me feel. I wanted more of what it offered me. And that’s where alcohol became my new best friend, my lover, comforter and eventually my master.
What Happened After My First Drink?
Like many people, I was sixteen when I had my first taste of alcohol. Bacardi and Coke, my favorite drink. It was at my first work-related ball I had my first drink. Once that drink hit my taste buds, life was never the same. One minute I’m having fun then I’m legless, beyond drunk and passed out in the ladies toilet with vomit covering my new green dress. In front of other work-colleagues, like a wounded animal hanging off a pole, four male friends of mine, carried me across the ballroom floor, down the stairs to the street below.
As the parade passed by, people stopped to look. Some giggling pointed their finger my way. Others shook their heads disgusted with the passing parade. On the street, propped up on a car bonnet, I unceremoniously slide down the side of the car, hit my head in the gutter. With blood spurting down my face and shoulders, I was carried off to hospital. Didn’t look