I initially typed my story out and it ended up being an almost 4,000-word document. I don’t plan on sharing that one, because it’s full of things that really aren’t pertinent, or I feel are just too personal for me to share at this time. I wanted to share my story so that you can get to know me a bit better, and possibly see glimpses of yourself in it. My story isn’t astounding, and another addict might read this and relate to every single piece of it. But, it’s mine and I’m glad that it lead me to where I am today; sober, writing this blog with a new outlook on life, and in a place where I feel like I want to share. I am not writing this to excuse anything I’ve done, rather trying to explain the curvy and treacherous path I took to get to this point. Maybe you can gain some insight, or maybe you can just laugh at some of the stupid things I did. Either way, welcome.

As a child, I was very anxious. I had panic attacks most nights of the week and I cried a lot more than my peers. I was diagnosed at a fairly young age with anxiety and shortly after depression. I don’t remember receiving those diagnoses and feeling any sort of relief that I wasn’t crazy, or relief at having a name to the monster that was plaguing me. I just knew I was different. I felt different, and sometimes acted different.

Middle school and high school were really tough times for me. I mean, aren’t they for everyone? I found myself very agitated and angry at life for being so bland. I had managed to get my panic attacks under control, but the depression had taken a driver’s seat. I was irritable, fatigued all the time, in pain, and generally held a pessimistic outlook on life.

Being from a small town in Texas, I struggled to fit in. I don’t think I tried very hard if I’m honest with myself, but deep down I think I wanted to be like everyone else. Wouldn’t life be easier that way?

The friend group I discovered was one that partook in some extracurricular activities that I won’t mention. I wasn’t drinking at this time, but I was partaking in the one drug that almost every high-school aged person was doing. It wasn’t that bad; everyone was doing it! I enjoyed hanging out with them because I was part of a group. I felt carefree and had fun. Depressive thoughts didn’t cross my mind while I was hanging out with them. After graduation, I had to grow up. And, shockingly, I discovered that the friend group really didn’t care to keep in contact with me after I went away to college. Who woulda thunk?

For the first time in my life, I was truly alone. I lived in a dorm with two girls that I didn’t know. No one from my high school went to the same college I did, and to be honest I probably wouldn’t have spoken to them if they did. I lived an hour away from my family. I felt the depression really kick into high gear. I attempted to find friends, but it was hard because I felt different on the inside, so I assumed they could see that and wouldn’t want to hang out with me or would think I was weird. I was dating a guy at this time who lived in a neighboring town to where I was living and found myself driving that long stretch of Texas road every single day after class just to feel the comfort of being around someone I knew. Eventually, I started skipping class and spending the entire day with him. And then I had failed out of all of my courses in just one short semester. I was guilty because my grandparents had paid for my tuition and my dorm, but if they couldn’t see how happy I was now then maybe they were toxic and needed to be cut out of my life?

This was the lie I told myself. I wasn’t happy. I was empty and had no sense of direction for my life. But, instead of reaching out for any sort of help I got a job waiting tables and lived in a two-bedroom apartment with my boyfriend and his parents.

I’m sure you’ll be surprised to know that relationship failed. I ended up back home at the age of 18, living with my sister in a house next door to my parents. I attended college courses on and off for the following years, but I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do with my life, or who I wanted to be. I just knew that the thought of having an 8:00-5:00 job made me want to claw my eyes out. How could people be happy when life seemed so mundane?

This is when my drinking really began. I didn’t become an alcoholic overnight. Everyone my age seemed to be partaking, and I had access to it because my sister had just turned 21. I drank on weekends and maybe the weeknight if my friends were and I had nothing to do the next day. Something I will note is that from the get-go, I was a heavy drinker. I didn’t have one and call it a night, I always drank in excess. But again, it seemed like most people were keeping pace with me, so I didn’t see an issue. Though alcohol gave me a sense of confidence to trick myself into thinking I was happy and carefree; the next day was always harder. The monotony of life was crushing me, and I sought out moments of peace like I was searching for the fountain of youth. None of these moments involved healthy coping mechanisms like therapy, meditation, prayer, or yoga. No, that was too hard. It was easy to reach for a Four Loko and become giggly and fun.

My young adult life was filled with terrible choices. I don’t care to run through them all, because ultimately, they don’t matter. What matters is that I did them all because I was searching. Searching for peace, searching for normalcy, searching for happiness, or for assurance. Retrospectively, I see how my drinking increased over time with each poor decision. However, there were some points where I wasn’t drinking. I was able to say no or limit myself, so in the moment I yet again did not see it as an issue.

My last bad decision took the form of another relationship. He was the first guy that actively sought me out and asked me to date him over and over again. I didn’t like him at first, not in that way. He was a friend, but I thought to myself that this must be the one since he kept asking even after seeing my faults. We dated for several years, and over that time my drinking increased to a near-daily occurrence. That relationship was emotionally abusive, on both sides. It was two people searching for something in the other that we couldn’t provide. We didn’t know what a healthy relationship looked like, and we put absolutely no effort into making it one. I gave up. I thought this was what life might be like for everyone, they just kept the bad parts off social media so no one could judge. I took a pointless job as a secretary, running to the bathroom every hour to pinch myself or splash cold water on my face so I didn’t fall asleep. It was the worst job, but it paid the bills, and it was easy. I was hungover at my desk every day. My coworkers thought I had an unknown health problem, at least that’s what I lead them to believe.

“I don’t know why I’m tired, I guess I need to go get blood work done.”

I knew why I was tired. I knew every time.

That relationship ended, and alcohol- while not the only factor- played a major part in its demise. I moved back home with my parents, and decided it was time to turn my life around. What did I really want to do? Who did I want to be? What did I want my life to look like in 5 or 10 years?

I went back to school. I got involved with church again. I spent time with my family. I met up with old friends. I visited my grandparents regularly. I was on the right track, but alcohol stayed in the side car the entire time.

I still did not identify myself as an alcoholic. I didn’t have a problem. I was heading into my mid-to-late 20’s at this time, and all others my age were drinking! I went to happy hours with friends, brunches, and even baby showers where they all kept pace with me. I knew I drank more than the average Joe, but I just thought I had a higher tolerance. Which any alcoholic will tell you is a bold-faced lie that we tell ourselves.

I graduated from college, got my first job in the field that I love, met the love of my life, and had everything going for me. But, I continued to drink. Daily. Even as I sat in a therapy session on Zoom telling my therapist how well I was doing, while I poured 2 White Claws into a dark cup so she couldn’t tell what I was drinking.

I didn’t feel sadness everyday like I used to, and I was able to manage my anxiety or panic when it rarely arose. I had a job that I loved and was doing well in. My relationship had its rocky moments, but we were in love and happy for the most part. So, why was I still drinking? I still can’t answer that question.

Anyone familiar with the course of addiction will be able to predict what happened next. My intake increased. I was drinking every night, and waking up hungover every day. I would look at myself in the mirror and swear that I was not going to drink that night only to crack open another one at 4:00 pm as soon as I arrived home. Once I had the first one, I didn’t stop until my eyes were closed, whether I chose to sleep or it just hit me like a freight train. I knew that I had a problem managing my drinking, but I never ever thought that I was an alcoholic, much less that I needed help.

My life continued this way until I was 29. I was depressed by how bland everything seemed and used alcohol as a way to “spice things up,” not realizing I was perpetuating the cycle that seemed so bland to me. At this point, I would sometimes have the thought “maybe I can’t quit this on my own.” I began to research treatment for substance abuse, even though I really didn’t think that’s what I was dealing with. I called several places and tried to verify insurance so that I could do therapy from home. However, each place I called told me the same thing.

“The doctor is recommending you go to inpatient treatment.”

I was terrified. There’s no way I could do that. I worked full-time. I had a dog. I had bills to pay. What would my friends think? What would my parents think? What even was inpatient treatment? A room with padded walls where they drugged me and made me sing Kumbaya, my Lord in a circle with a bunch of addicts. No thanks. I could do it on my own.

Saturday May 26, 2024 I hit a breaking point. I remember that evening. I sat alone on my couch and didn’t have any alcohol in the house. I was fatigued, but it wasn’t quite time for bed. I remember thinking that I didn’t want to drink. No part of me did. I was fine just sitting on the couch watching YouTube videos until bedtime. But, within a few minutes I had driven to the store, bought a 12 pack, and cracked open the first one. I don’t know why I did. I chose to do it, but I can’t even begin to identify the thought process, or lack of one.

At 6:30 am the next morning, I had finished my 12-pack and gone on the drink a few of my boyfriend’s beers. I passed out on the couch and woke up around 9:30 am to stumble to my bed. I couldn’t go back to sleep. I was shaking, vomiting, crying uncontrollably, and begging God (or anyone) to please make this stop.

I called several friends. I was hyperventilating, and I don’t even know what I said. But I do remember one friend encouraging me to go to Detox treatment.

““Hannah, you haven’t taken a breath or a break in I don’t know how long, and you deserve to.”

She referred to inpatient treatment as a vacation for me, and I hadn’t thought of it that way. I got off the phone and made a call to my sister and brother in-law. I had made up my mind; I needed to go to detox.

We got on a three-way call with an inpatient treatment center in Austin, Texas and within the hour I had a plan, and a bed secured for me.

Monday May 28^th, we arrived at the center. I was shaking uncontrollably, and felt like I was going to vomit out of fear. My siblings dropped me off at the door, said their goodbyes, and I was left alone.

It has been 1 month since I entered treatment, and I have not had a drink of alcohol since that awful Monday/Sunday. My life has completely changed in the best way.

I learned so many things about recovery, myself, anxiety, depression, addiction, renewal, guilt, shame, love, being present…I could go on. That’s why I started this blog. Whether it’s addiction or some other form of self-torture you find yourself struggling to break free from, you deserve better. I wish that I had learned that lesson sooner, but I am thankful for my journey and where it has brought me today. I don’t know where I would be 5 years from now if I hadn’t sought help, and I don’t even want to know to be honest.

Whether your story includes detox or inpatient treatment is up to you. But, I do hope you take from parts of my story and know that you aren’t alone. And if you leave here with anything, I hope it’s this: You deserve to feel happiness, joy, and peace. Do what you can to achieve those things, whether it’s in small steps or giant leaps. Do it for yourself, and don’t look back.