The absolute truth is that I never want to take another drink as long as I live.  I simply can’t handle it.  I was a binge drinker from hell and I almost paid for that fact with my life a little less than a year ago.  I left my girlfriend’s apartment on a Saturday night because I thought I was suffering from a mild anxiety attack.  On my way home I got a twelve pack thinking it would help me relax and, of course, it did.  The next day I woke up with the shakes, due to alcohol withdrawal, and knew that the only way to stop the shaking was to drink more.  That cycle of drinking all day, passing out and then continuing to drink when I came to lasted until the next Friday evening.  I was in terrible shape when my girlfriend came to my place that night to see what the hell I’d been up to for the past week.  I’d avoided contact with her for the week because I was trying to hide what I was doing.  It was the moment that I saw her face that I knew I had to stop.  It wasn’t the fact that I couldn’t stop shaking or that I was shitting blood or that I hadn’t eaten in a week.  It was her face, so full of anger, worry and despair that made me truly realize that I was affecting someone other than myself.   It was something I will never forget.  For the next two days I shook, I vomited, I sweat and I hallucinated.  I really should have been in the hospital but thankfully my heart didn’t give out while it was trying to beat through my chest.  Those two days were the scariest two days of my life and 335 days later, they are still as fresh in my memory as the first week.

Anyways, that’s a small part of my story.  All feedback is welcome.  I hope life finds you well.