oh em hoyt

One of the many things that my counselor Brittany suggested I do as an exercise to come to terms with my chemical dependency was to write a break-up letter to alcohol. I realize how silly this may sound, but if you’ve ever been in a toxic relationship of any kind (like many of mine were in my early to mid 20’s), it wasn’t too hard to draw a direct correlation between alcohol and some of my exes.

I think in one of our sessions I had mentioned that I kind of felt like the experience of getting sober was similar to going through the stages of grief. Obviously, like most addicts, I had been in the denial stage for far too long. Ignoring the problem, denying that the problem even existed. I was angry that I had to stop. I felt forced into it (in all fairness, the law had caught up to me, which is another post or twelve, entirely) but mostly, deep down I think I was angry with myself for not being able to control it. For allowing it to get to the point that it did. I had been bargaining with myself, the monster (aka the drink), the universe, all of the gods, to just be able to control it better, cut back, drink in “moderation” (whatever the fuck that means), ya know, be a “normie”. Until finally, I had to accept the fact that there was no bargaining with the devil cause the devil always comes out on top. I had to face the fact that in no mortal realm or reality was I going to be able to go on with my life if alcohol was still a part of it. In my opinion, this is the best and worst stage. It begins the “moving on” process which seems impossible and to be quite honest, I have yet to feel has fully happened for me. I’m not sure that, like losing someone close to you, you ever fully move on. I really had this idea that I was mourning a huge loss. And that maybe, a part of me had died when I decided to quit drinking.

So, for months, I did not take the assignment seriously at all and put off writing the break up letter. Until I read about how a lot of people in recovery give names to their addictions. I thought it was kind of funny that people were calling their addictions “Sally and Ralph, or Darth Vadar and Voldermort” but I thought it was actually quite clever. Villainizing my addiction, personifying it, made it easier to go to battle with. It made me want to be the hero in my own story. I started to think that maybe B was on to something with this whole break-up letter. I mean, in a lot of ways, alcohol was the epitome of all of my horrible exes all rolled into one.

And so, the day after I celebrated my six month sober-versary, I wrote the letter and I’m glad I did. Like, with some (okay, most) of my exes, I never got that feeling of “closure.” Ya know, the opportunity to say what you never had the chance to, to speak your mind, find peace, or simply say a big fat “fuck you.” I was able to get that closure with alcohol.

Check out the big fat “fuck you” to alcohol here.