It was only after I walked away from alcohol that people thought I needed help
I finally stopped using the addictive, carcinogenic drug ethanol, known by its street name alcohol, three months ago.
I’m not counting the days anymore. Not really. Because that would be the same as counting the days of the rest of my life. But still, I know it’s been three months, and I’m ready to start talking about it.
I don’t expect a congratulations, at least not from people who still drink regularly. When I was drinking I wouldn’t have congratulated you, either.
I expect something more like crickets. Crickets, plus awkward silence. Awkward silence, followed by awkward questions, questions like:
Why in the world would you do that?
Surely, you’re not one of them?
Not, you know, an alcoholic?
Well, no, I don’t think so. In truth, I don’t find that word particularly useful, and as such, I don’t identify with it. The term “alcoholic” places the problem within the person, not within the nature of the drug. Thinking that I was the problem is what kept me stuck, hooked on alcohol, long after I wanted to be free.