As far back as I can remember, I have felt different; less than, unworthy, and out of place. My childhood was marked by pain and confusion, shaped by the words and actions of those who were supposed to love me unconditionally. My mother, overwhelmed by her own struggles, often lashed out at me. When I was around seven or eight years old, she punched me in the face, leaving me with a black eye. She blamed me for her marital problems, telling me that I was the reason for her suffering. My stepfather reinforced this belief with his own brand of physical and verbal abuse. I learned early on that hiding my feelings and manipulating situations was necessary for survival.
These experiences left deep scars that carried into my adolescence and adulthood. I struggled to connect with others and often isolated myself. In high school, I kept my head down, rarely speaking to anyone. I longed to be accepted, but fear kept me from forming meaningful relationships. I felt sneaky, smarter than others, and convinced myself that bad things wouldn’t happen to me. These thoughts followed me into my teenage years, where I found an escape, alcohol.
I had my first drink when I was 16 or 17 while working at ShowBiz Pizza Place in Tulsa, Oklahoma. It was a party, a gathering where I desperately wanted to be noticed and accepted. I drank sweet wine, and though it made me dizzy and out of control, it stripped away my inhibitions. For the first time, I felt free. I don’t remember much about that night other than lying awkwardly on the floor, hoping someone would acknowledge me. No one did. I barely made it home, my vision blurred, my head foggy, but I shrugged it off as just another experience. I didn’t drink again for a couple of years, but when I did, it was the beginning of something much bigger than I ever anticipated.
On January 1st, 1988, I walked into a gay bar and ordered a Long Island Tea; the only drink I knew. This moment marked a turning point in my life. Alcohol and my identity became intertwined. Drinking allowed me to embrace my truth, but it also became my crutch. Soon after, I came out to my mother and stepfather. Their reaction was devastating. I was kicked out, told that I was an abomination in the eyes of God. My mother mourned me as though I had died, wearing black in my presence for nearly a decade. The rejection cemented my feelings of worthlessness, and alcohol became my refuge.
As I navigated adulthood, alcohol became my constant companion. At first, it made me feel invincible. It silenced my doubts, fears, and pain. I believed I had control over it; that I could stop whenever I wanted. But over time, I became dependent. It was no longer just about numbing the pain; it became my reason for existing. I began drinking all day, every day. The lies, manipulation, and isolation I had learned in childhood became tools to maintain my addiction.
Alcohol robbed me of relationships and experiences. I had almost no friends, yet I convinced myself I didn’t need them. The few relationships I formed; Ed, my spouse; Kevin, my best friend; and Margie and Calvin, my friends from college, were strained by my drinking. I hid my struggles, pretending everything was fine while my life crumbled. My self-perception was distorted. I thought I was smarter than others, that I could outmaneuver consequences, but deep down, I knew I was falling apart.
I now understand that I am an alcoholic. The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous describes it perfectly: “The idea that somehow, someday he will control and enjoy his drinking is the great obsession of every abnormal drinker” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 30). I spent years chasing that illusion, believing I could find the perfect balance between drinking and control. But the reality is, I never had control. Alcohol controlled me.
Sobriety is now my greatest goal. I am committed to honesty, self-confidence, humility, and spiritual growth. The Twelve Steps provide a path forward, a way to make amends, and to live a life free from the chains of addiction. “We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 83). My past is painful, but it has shaped me. Through treatment and Alcoholics Anonymous, I am learning to let go of resentment, envy, and fear.
I know that recovery is not a destination but a lifelong journey. I am willing to do the work, to be honest with myself and others, and to surrender to the process. As I continue to write my story, I understand that the past will always be a part of me, but it no longer has to define me. Sobriety is my new beginning, and for the first time in my life, I believe I am worthy of it.
-Eric M
Works Cited
Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book. 2002. 4th ed. New York, NY: Alcoholics Anonymous World Services.