OFM DINING

Introducing A Queer in Recovery

Hi, my name is _______, and I am an alcoholic.

Those words are still hard to say. Even after bargaining, wavering, and battling with my addiction to alcohol for more than 15 years, I still don’t want to believe that I can never drink like a normal person. Yet, I have to admit to myself and to other human beings that I believe in the depths of my soul that to take even one more drink will surely be the death of me. So, here we are, I am admitting to myself, and to you, that I’m a drunk.

I have chosen to write this column not because I am an expert in recovery from substance abuse, but because I am doing everything I can to save my own life. As dramatic as it feels to say, I was truly on my deathbed that final night of my active addiction. I was drinking close to a half-handle of vodka a day; my body was shutting down, and my mind was mush.

While divulging the facts of my alcohol consumption will likely be one of the most scary things I will ever do, I only tell this to give you some background information so that then I can then inform you of my mission.

It’s simple, really. I am on a mission to share my story in hopes that I can someday help someone else who is struggling. I am not trained in any therapeutic methods or holistic approaches to substance abuse treatment, nor do I condemn the use of alcohol. I am simply here to share my own story of addiction and recovery. That’s one of the bitter truths about this “getting sober” thing, I have to remember how bad it was so I can never convince myself that I can drink again.

Any addict has an insane gift: we can convince ourselves it’s not that bad so that we can continue using. I admit that my stubbornness has gotten me far in life; however, it is also my most destructive quality. I must talk about the negative impacts without minimization because if I don’t talk about it with transparency and honesty, I will absolutely drink again. And for me, to drink is to die.

As of the day I’m writing this, I have 72 days clean from all mind-altering chemicals. Alcohol was my drug of choice (DOC), but that doesn’t mean that was the only substance I was using before I got sober. I am an addict, after all, so one vice definitely won’t suffice, but my relationship with alcohol was the drug I always went back to and was the thing that was ruining my life.

In my active alcoholism, I did demoralizing things that have left me with a ton of shame, guilt, embarrassment, fear, and unrealized potential. I hurt people I cared about; I took advantage of people’s kindness and generosity; I missed opportunities and obligations, and I have done major damage to my body, all for the sake of staying drunk. Perhaps the worst part of it all is that I didn’t care, not while I was in my illness. All I really cared about was when and where I was going to get my next drink.

For me, alcohol wasn’t about having fun, and it hadn’t been about fun for a long time. It wasn’t just a means of temporarily altering my state of mind, softening the rough edges of my personality, and letting loose. It was the only means of survival.

When I took that first drink of the day, it finally felt like I could breathe. In order to feel at ease and OK in my own skin, I had to drink. It wasn’t a want, not in that final year at least; it was a necessity. The hangovers felt like death, and the only thing that would calm the tremors in my hands was taking another shot of vodka.

How had it gotten this bad? I asked myself that question on a daily basis. I was ruining my life; I was hurting those around me who cared about me, and I was slowly and painfully killing myself. It’s not that I didn’t try to stop, but every attempt to quit or cut back was then met with an even larger amount of alcohol consumed and for an even longer period of time. I was desperate, hopeless, and willing to completely succumb to the consequences of my alcoholism.

Perhaps it was COVID that set me off on this spiral, or maybe I was just a ticking time bomb. Who’s to say? All I know is that I was at the depths of a bottom that I no longer had the energy to try and claw myself out of. I lived to drink, and I drank to live; it was as simple as that.

It took an intervention for me to finally put down the bottle. I was not able to stop on my own; I desperately needed help so I went to an inpatient treatment center. I also recognize that attending rehab is a complete privilege which many folks don’t have access to. In my opinion, this by no means the only way to obtain and maintain sobriety; this is just what it took for me.

Perhaps you are reading this because you yourself are in recovery and are curious about what I have to say. Maybe you think you have a problem or suspect that your substance use is getting to a point where it’s too much to manage. Or you may know someone whom you suspect is suffering from the disease of addiction. My only piece of advice would be this: don’t wait. Get help now. Many of us don’t make it out of this illness alive. Who knows; in the long run, I may not be one of the lucky ones who survives it, either. All I have is today.

As I mentioned earlier, my mission is simple, but simple doesn’t mean easy. My hope is to use our time together to offer some insight into the life of an addict in recovery, provide some education around the disease of addiction, and offer some LGBTQ resources for those who are seeking help with their own substance abuse issues. This queer in recovery may not know much, but I do know two things:

1. I am an alcoholic.

2. I am ready and willing to be honest so that I no longer have to suffer in my illness.

It’s great to meet you, reader. I can’t wait to start this

journey together. -An anonymous queer in recovery

Follow @queer.in.recovery on Instagram or email a.queer.in.recovery@gmail.com for additional support and resources.