The Melancholic Glass

Anne - Foxboro, Massachusetts
Entered on March 16, 2008
Age Group: 18 - 30

I can close my eyes and remember exactly the pained expression on my mother’s face that day. It was any other ordinary Tuesday, except when she came in to wake me up for school I was still drunk from the night before. I gave her my usual spiel and told her that I had a headache, one of those problems females encounter once a month. I had the sheets bundled around my body like a mummy, my mouth strategically covered to conceal the stench of whisky. But today was different, because instead of getting up and walking out of the room, my mother held me tight and told me she knew I was drinking again. This shocked me; I had no idea that she even had a clue. I guess this was yet another example of how out of touch with reality I had become. She told me that I was capable of so much more in life, and she wasn’t going to let me give up that easily. Easily? In my mind, life was anything but easy, but there was no question that I had given up. I had stopped caring about my schoolwork, hanging out with my friends, and I couldn’t even tell you the last time I participated in any hobbies. The afternoons were spent either in bed or drinking, isolating myself from the rest of the world. My eyes were dark underneath and my frail body was crying out for food. I never intended to drift back into that dark place between life and death, but with each glass I knew I was getting closer and closer. I am an alcoholic. It was a big step when I finally admitted my addiction, because it meant that I had to do something about it. I know this is something that will be with me my entire life, but it doesn’t have to be a battle everyday. In order to ensure that, I attend meetings weekly and I listen. Listening to other peoples’ stories gives me hope that I can have a better life. Through hardships and failure comes opportunity. It is a chance to reevaluate ourselves and make changes that will positively impact our lives. With sobriety I know I can accomplish anything, but once I give up that fight I have no identity, my life has no meaning. I am a merlot, a flask of whisky, a vodka on the rocks. I believe that even in the most difficult times we cannot lose our hope and our fight to live. I could sit here and write for days about the impact alcohol has had on my life, but it is six forty-five, and if I don’t leave now, I will be late for the seven o’clock meeting. Tonight I will fight, this I believe.