In my young, naive, and impressionable mind alcohol seemed to elevate me up and away from all of the pain and confusion I was faced with; all of the circumstances created by the adults who were supposed to protect me; all of the events that had been put into motion that I could not control; so many things that were absolutely terrifying for a fifteen year old girl.
What seemed to work at fifteen, didn't work so well by the time I turned thirty. What began as a way to escape and cope (at fifteen that was really all I knew to do) ended as a prison situated deep down in the darkest recesses imaginable. Between thirty and thirty-four I developed a strong belief that there was no hope for me. I had somehow banished myself for life in a terrible place with no possibility of escape. My spirit totally broken, I surrendered to the downward spiral of my disease and allowed myself to slip beneath the surface of the living. I've heard it said in the rooms, "Alcohol wants to get you alone and then it wants to kill you". That was the tragic story weaving itself through my life. It took awhile, but ever so slowly alcohol had gotten me alone and cornered me in the dark. The final act had commenced; the curtain already making its way down; alcohol waiting patiently for the story to play itself out and come to an end.