To be an alcoholic is to be a puppet to it’s power. When you are an alcoholic, nothing else around you is more important than getting that alcohol- to drink away whatever troubles you feel you have. No matter the consequences, rather they be social, financial, emotional, physical- all that matters is to get that next drink. You become a slave to a fermented liquid. You harm those around you, including your family, your friends- your loved ones. But it doesn't matter, because all you want is another drink. When you are deciding to get into a car, while you are intoxicated, and risk not only your car, but your life and the life of the innocent around you- it doesn’t matter. Because you got that drink. When you are being arrested for manslaughter because you ran over a child innocently riding their bike, taking them away from their bright future and their loved ones, maybe, just maybe, you will understand (finally) that you have a problem. No, to you, it’s not a ‘problem’, no- you feel you can stop drinking whenever you want.
But maybe, just maybe, being in jail for assault, for manslaughter, for a little or alot of time you will realize something isn’t right. Maybe if you are in the hospital with injuries sustained for doing stupid things while drunk you will realize you have a problem. And when you finally realize that you became a slave to this fermented drink, maybe you will get help. Maybe you will slip up, or last the rest of your life in sobriety. When you look around and see all of those whom you have hurt, all of those whom you cannot take back your actions- maybe, just maybe, it will help you on the road to getting clean. Maybe you can find a group of people whom experienced the same thing, people who will help you in the lowest of low times, as well as relish in your best of times.
Maybe, just maybe, you never got help. Maybe you felt that your problem was nothing, that you could stop anytime you wanted to, but you didn’t want to so you didn’t. And now, your family have to suffer the loss of their loved one- you. Because you were dedicated enough to continue your actions until eventually it killed you. Not only your body, but your mind and your soul were corrupted by this fermented drink. And now, because you never got that help, you have to sit back and watch as your family suffer from your lost, because you felt you didn’t have a problem. That you weren’t a slave to the stuff. But then, will you realize, it’s too late to go back. Maybe, just maybe, if you got help, you wouldn’t be doing this to those whom you cherish. Maybe, just maybe, you would have gotten clean- start experiencing life once again. But it’s too late now- all you can do is relish in the ‘what if’s’ as they lower your decaying body to the ground. Maybe, just Maybe, you will regret your actions. Maybe, just maybe, your story will inspire others to get clean. Before what happened to you happens to them. Before it’s too late for them.
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