When I drank compulsively, there was always a reason.

Life was good, so let’s celebrate!

Life sucked deeply, so let’s drown that crap.

And eventually, life was just life, and drinking was simply part of it.

So I did it every day.

For many years.

Until it stopped being fun (and way beyond).

Of course, I wanted to stop, of course!

Of course, it was absolutely evident that drinking was nothing but living in chains, and it brought me many situations that were painful and harmful.

It was like real-life groundhog day, from waking up with a hangover and a bag of guilt, to trying to fall asleep drunk and ashamed.

Day after day.

I REALLY wanted to quit, I wanted to quit SO badly every single morning, but in the afternoon the ambition always faded away and I did what I did.

Of course, there was always tomorrow.

Tomorrow would be the day!

Yeah.

But after many tomorrows that didn’t turn out to be the glorious end of my alcoholism, there were sometimes days that were different, days where a brand new life seemed closer and more realistic and almost inevitable.

On those days, I made plans.

While being intoxicated (and fucking high, most of the time) I typed long, emotional Word documents with endless lists, deep into the night.

All my goals were there, the things I’d have to change, the stuff that would be the result of those changes, all the traits of the New Me, and what my days would look like months from now, and years from now.

I often cried a lot during those sessions.

The change felt so close and so important, and this time felt SO different!

Then, in the first morning light, I went to sleep.

Wasted as always, but also infused with hope.

Now I had a plan, a solid plan, and I’d put it in place ‘next Monday’, or ‘at the beginning of the new month’.

These days somehow had a ceremonial quality that felt supportive and hopeful.

A new life never starts just now, was the idea.

The plan would make finally get me back on track!

Although it didn’t…

Sometimes it worked for a day, sometimes a week, and once I kept it going for a month.

But it always collapsed.

The pride faded, the ambition got lost, the days grew darker, and since I had no skills to cope with that, the solution simply stayed the same.

‘Just this one.’

‘Come on, just this one, or, well, just get totally fucked one last time, and THEN the moment of change will be there, THEN you know why you want to do it!’

And that was it.

One, and another one, and eventually many more.

Groundhog day all over again.

Back then I didn’t know the mind as well as I do now.

I wasn’t able to expose its tricks and recognize its false voice of reason.

Because for the mind, it’s always about ‘just this one’.

The mind is never fulfilled, never content, never done, and never complete.

It wants more, and it will make you feel broken and stupid and unfulfilled and lacking, to make that happen.

It keeps sprinkling promises and judgments, hope and feelings of defeat, and it doesn’t care about the consequences.

Back then I didn’t recognize the repetition, the lies, the cycle of doom that always started with the same suggestion.

‘Just this one.’

And then, one day, I simply said ‘no’, out loud, and kept saying it for months until it stuck.

Without a plan.

It was time to move on.

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(Photo by @viniciusamano, for Unsplash)