I am an Alcoholic - A personal story of addiction, bottom, and recovery

I am an Alcoholic - A personal story of addiction, bottom, and recovery

Why I’m Sharing This

I am an alcoholic

I have recovered from this horrible disease, but I am not cured. I will always be an alcoholic. Today, though, I am sober—and I’m immensely grateful for that.

Some people have asked why I’m sharing this publicly. That’s a fair question.

I’ve wanted to write about this for a long time, but I was scared. This is deeply personal, and I worried about what people would think of me if they knew the truth. After a lot of prayer, reflection, and honest conversations with close friends, I finally felt it was time.

I’m sharing this because someone out there is struggling like I did. Or maybe a family is watching someone they love slowly disappear into alcohol and feel hopeless. I want them to know there is a solution. There is hope.

If this helps even one person, then writing this is worth it.

My last drink was June 30, 2015.

 

When Alcohol Took Over

I don’t know exactly when alcohol took control of my life. I just know that it did—and it held on for years.

Almost everything I did revolved around drinking. If things were going well, I drank. If things were going badly, I drank. Going out to dinner meant drinks. Traveling for work meant making sure there was time to drink. Alcohol wasn’t just part of my life—it was the center of it.

I didn’t drink every day. I didn’t wake up needing a drink. I didn’t think I had any real consequences…until I did.

Alcoholism is a progressive disease It’s patient. It sneaks up on you. And once it has you fully in its grip, you’re no longer in control—whether you realize it or not. I didn’t see how bad things had become until it was far too late. Alcohol was running and ruining my life.

 

The Bottom

When things started going bad, they didn’t ease into it—they collapsed.

My marriage was hanging by a thread. I lost my job. I got a DUI. I spent a night in the hospital after a welfare check that went badly. After all of that—within the span of a single week—all I wanted to do was drink. Not one drink. Twenty.

That’s how sick I was.

My wife picked me up from the hospital and drove me home. I was beat down in every possible way. She looked at me and said, “You need help.”

For once, I didn’t argue. I didn’t deny it. I didn’t minimize it. I admitted the truth: I needed help, and I wanted it. I had finally hit my bottom—hard.

She had already been calling rehab facilities, hoping I would finally say yes. The next morning, I was on my way to Jacksonville, not knowing if I could turn my life around—or if it was already too late.

I was scared, lonely, and completely broken. I had no idea what was going to happen. All I knew was that I wanted to get better, and I didn’t know how.

So, I did the only thing I could do.

I shut up and listened.

 

Rehab and a Shift I Can’t Explain

I spent 30 days in rehab. I listened. I went to group therapy, I went to classes. I met people who understood exactly where I was because they had been there too.

At some point during rehab, that constant, nagging, deadly obsession to drink was lifted. I don’t know exactly when or how it happened—I just knew it was gone.

On July 8, 2015, I had a spiritual experience that changed me forever. I can’t fully explain it, but I felt it—and I still feel the effects of it today. After a yoga and meditation class, I stepped into a swimming pool, and the only word that came to mind was “baptism.”

That’s a strange thing for someone who considered himself agnostic—borderline atheist—to experience. It wasn’t about religion. It was spiritual. It was real. Something inside me shifted. I didn’t analyze it. I didn’t question it.

I shut up and listened.

That date—July 8, 2015—is tattooed on my arm as a reminder of that moment and how grateful I am for it.

 

Coming Home

I was discharged at the end of July and returned home to Virginia. Everything was different. Very different. My wife had moved out, and I was alone.

Instead of drinking, I did what rehab taught me to do. I reached out. I asked for help. I leaned on the few friends I had left.

And they showed up.

I kept working my recovery. I surrounded myself with good people. I followed directions. It wasn’t easy—but it was simple.

I shut up and listened.

 

Life Today

Today, I am living a life I never thought was possible. With the continued help of friends and family, I am healthier, happier, and deeply grateful. I’ve repaired relationships I once thought were gone forever.

For many years, I was estranged from my family. Today, they are a big part of my life. My ex-wife and I are the best of friends—we talk almost daily and support each other through life. My friendships are stronger than ever, and people can trust me and my word.

The last thing my father ever said to me before he passed away was, “Keep doing that thing.” We both knew what he meant—stay sober. And I fully intend to keep doing just that.

Today, I am no longer a prisoner to alcohol or the pain that comes with this disease.

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If This Is You

If you are suffering from alcoholism—or if you love someone who is—know this: there is a solution. You just have to ask for help.

If any part of this story feels uncomfortably familiar, don’t ignore it. That voice telling you you’re “not that bad” is the disease talking—and it lies.

And if you need someone to talk to, no judgment and no fixing, I am always willing to listen.