6 months sober ⭐ - a reflection on choosing a new life

Lesson: Escapism is Not The Answer and Neither is Alcohol Abuse

By Mamediara Kane

I used to be fond of escaping. Things seemed easier to deal with when I evaded them, brushed them aside, attempted to bury them, and simply pretended that they didn’t exist. I guess you could say I was an avoidant lover to myself—refusing to acknowledge the work that I actually needed to do to become the version of myself that my inner child desperately needed and craved.

The funny thing about running is that everything you are running from will eventually catch up to you. You can only run for so long before you have to face whatever it is you’re running from. Nothing stays hidden forever. Either you do the brave thing and choose to confront those things head-on, or you do the cowardly thing and let life catch you, put you in a headlock, and shake you until you’re awakened. No matter what you choose, every option will lead you back to yourself. You must ask yourself whether you would rather make the journey back home sooner or later.

I was running until I couldn’t run any longer. I was running until it seemed like my past, present, and future were running concurrently—all blurred together in a way that made it seem like my life was no longer worth living. I was running until I couldn’t breathe anymore, until everything was knocking me off my feet as soon as I got back up. There was no balance or stability until I surrendered. I accepted that I had to change or my world would continue to cave beneath my feet. I knew I was done running when the person I saw in the mirror made me sick, when looking at my reflection for even a second felt too long, and when it became physically difficult for me to keep my head held high because my shame was weighing me down.

The thing about shame, though, is that the only way to deal with it is to embrace it, to grab it, tend to it, and tell it that it can no longer control you. I enjoyed drinking because, ironically, even though I felt everything with heightened intensity, after a few drinks, I was numb, and nothing mattered anymore. I was able to detach and dissociate from myself because I didn’t remember my actions. I didn’t drink daily or even weekly, but when I did drink, I drank to forget. This detachment that occurred when I was drunk introduced me to a newfound freedom—one where I could escape my past and present, and float in a limbo space where I was nothing at all—unaware of myself, my surroundings, and, most importantly, my thoughts. As I write this now, I thank my creator, my ancestors, and my friends for all they protected me from on those days when I was anywhere but on this Earth—so drunk and disassociated that I couldn’t tell you anything about anything.

Much like choosing to love someone, sobriety is an everyday choice. It is deliberate, intentional, and it takes trial and error. Since 2021, I knew this journey was one I would eventually have to embark on. I was a sophomore in college the first time I found myself concerned about my drinking. I was in a lot of emotional pain that year, and the more glasses of wine I drank, the more the pain disappeared. Now, I know that pain didn’t go anywhere but deeper inside me, balled up and curled in the pits of my stomach, a constant threat until I chose to face it. I can’t remember what exact moment triggered my visit to the Drug and Alcohol Abuse counselor, but I knew that I was concerned for myself, and that was enough to compel me to go. I remember speaking to the counselor, a middle-aged Black man, about my concerns. I probably said something along the lines of “I think I drink too much,” to which he followed up with questions about my behavioral patterns. “Does your drinking interfere with your schoolwork?” and “Does your drinking interfere with your social life?” were some of the questions he asked. The answers to both questions were “no.” Even though I wasn’t doing the best in school and I didn’t have the best social life, I never went to class drunk, I didn’t drink during the daytime, and at the time, I hadn’t lost any friends due to a bad drunk night—typical characteristics of a functional alcoholic. He dismissed me, and I went back to my dorm, habits unchanged, continuing to indulge in one too many wine nights with my friends, blacking out some weekends, and then showing up to class the following Monday as if I hadn’t just disassociated for an entire weekend. It’s easy to abuse alcohol in college because 75% of your peers are abusing some type of substance, so your problems just get lost among a sea of false normalcy.

For the past three years, I have tried to quit drinking multiple times, but I would always find myself right back where the problem started—with a drink in my hand. I can’t exactly blame my community because no one around me knew that my issues with drinking extended beyond embarrassing nights and acting deeply out of character. I would wake up more depressed than I had ever been, in the depths of despair, frustrated with myself. Even when I had a fun night, I was still confronted by my past, flooded with negative emotions, and a desire to no longer exist. I knew that this was not normal.

A lot of people know that alcohol is a depressant, but many don’t understand how profoundly it changes our brain chemistry and exacerbates our emotions— everything negative is intensified—anger, frustration, shame, and so much more. Despite the numbness I was afforded for a few hours, as soon as the effects of alcohol wore off, I was forced to deal with myself, which was punishment enough at the time.

Currently, I resonate the most with Step 10 of the 12-Step Recovery Program—a program created to help those suffering from substance abuse recover.

Step #10 - Continue to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admit it. This step is embedded in my daily practice. One of my greatest strengths is my ability to take accountability for my wrongdoings. I understand that taking accountability doesn’t mean much if change doesn’t follow shortly after. It also doesn’t mean that you will earn anyone’s forgiveness; in fact, you might be met with skepticism and outright rejection. It may sting, but none of it really matters as long as you forgive yourself and commit to following through on bettering yourself. I had to drill this into my brain because I know that as much as I have hurt myself, I have also hurt others, but I can’t carry all of this pain forever. I know that it is time to put it down. I sleep decently at night knowing that I have done my best to rectify the pain I have caused. I know better now, so I will do better.

In the last 6 months, I have become a version of myself that I am beyond proud of and would not have recognized this time last year. Discipline has become my best friend. I honor everything I say I am going to do because I am committed to myself and my well-being. I love myself, so I make sure that all of my actions reflect that. Time only moves forward, so I know that is all I can do as well.

On August 15, 2023, I decided I would never drink alcohol again. Without sharing too much of his story, I wandered to Queens in search of my childhood friend. My friend was inebriated to the point where he didn’t know where he was, but he had expressed to my family during a FaceTime call the night before that he wanted to be safe. I discovered that he was an alcoholic through a string of erratic messages, random calls, and requests for money earlier in 2023. I hadn’t seen him in about a decade, so I knew the situation was dire since he reached out to me—someone he hadn’t seen in over ten years. After walking aimlessly around Queens for an hour, trying to locate apartment buildings that might be Airbnbs, I finally made my way to a police station, considering the worst possible outcome. Addiction is frightening because you never know what might happen. The police advised me to check local hospitals, and there I found him on a bed in a nearby emergency room, facing the ceiling, completely passed out from alcohol poisoning. The sight of him brought tears streaming down my cheeks. I was embarrassed for him—for us. Two ambitious kids turned lost adults—the eldest in our households, tasked with the duty to lead by example—struggling with substance abuse: him openly, and me in private. I would have never thought this is how we would reunite. It was then that I decided I would never drink again, and I haven’t. I have no desire to. Even though I can handle being in spaces with alcohol, the smell of it takes me back to that emergency room, to flashbacks of drunken messages better suited for a journal entry, to frequent suicidal ideations, to not being able to look at myself in the mirror, and to other painful moments from which I desperately want to recover.

After he was discharged from the hospital, I begged my parents to take in my childhood friend for a few weeks, as he stated that his home environment was a trigger for him, and I knew he had nowhere to go. I now realize this was a tremendous request, and I could never repay my parents for the kindness they showed to my childhood friend. Although he wasn’t a stranger to them—we had grown up together, with our mothers being friends who worked at the same braiding shop—dealing with an addict is both emotionally and physically taxing. My mom had witnessed a few of my drunk nights, but again, no one in my immediate community knew that I also struggled with alcohol abuse. While my friend embarked on his journey to sobriety, I said I would support him and be there for him on his road to recovery. Nobody knew that I elected to do this because, deep down, I knew it was time for me to help myself. So, I attended AA with him for the first four days. It is suggested that addicts attend a meeting every day for the first 90 days of their recovery, but those four days were enough for me. On my first day, I spoke after my friend shared his story, skipping over the “Hi, my name is Diara. I am an alcoholic” introduction. The word “alcoholic” felt too heavy for me to use. I told the other participants that I, too, wanted to be sober because I realized that I needed to stop, and I didn’t want to hit rock bottom. A common theme among AA attendees was that they had lost almost everything and everyone in their lives before seeking help. I never wanted that to happen to me. I told the meeting members that I didn’t feel like I had a dependency on alcohol, but once I started drinking, it was hard for me to stop. After the meeting, a lady approached me with a book titled “Living Sober” and opened it to a chapter about refraining from taking that first drink. To this day, I haven’t read the entire book yet because that chapter was transformative enough to guide me on my journey. In the very first weeks of my sobriety journey, I felt very tempted to drink. I was still going to events with my friends, and I worked at a bar where all my coworkers were constantly drinking. Still, I persevered: I committed to being sober, and I was going to see it through.

I stopped drinking because it was enabling me to drown in my sorrows. The “freedom free I felt in my numbness was actually crippling self-betrayal. I used to dismiss and excuse some of my actions as “bad drunk nights” instead of tackling the root of the problem—the pain that drove me to numb myself instead of addressing my emotions. Sometimes, even when I apologized for my behavior, I didn’t fully grasp the gravity of my actions.

Now that I am sober, I feel free. I gave myself a second chance to live life right. I am no longer a victim of my pain. I still feel it, but that is much better than letting it consume me. When I go out into the world, I know that I am presenting the best version of myself. I am aware. I am present. I am disciplined. I am free.

I chose to be different, to be conscious, to forgive… and because of that, I have given myself a new life. I hope that reading this makes you realize that you can start over whenever you are ready. You can’t change what has already happened, but you can look forward and ensure that the life you are living is one that you are happy with—one step and day at a time.