I used to drink a Lot

My dearest Love,

I used to drink a lot. Back before I met you, the man I love. Not in an alcoholic way, but I’d just drink a lot. A couple of shots to relax me before bed is all. Well sometimes, I’d just take the bottle to bed with me, those nights I never really knew how much I drank. I just drank until it was quiet.

I wasn’t an alcoholic, I didn’t crave the alcohol for the buz. No. I craved the silence. You see, my mind would get hooked on things, a problem or something. I’d have a bad day or something would happen that made me question myself or something else, and my mind would make something out of nothing and spiral into a cyclone of questions and assumptions and doubts.

Then depression would join in and really encourage me to mentally beat myself up over it. My brain would never stop. The alcohol could make it stop, although temporary, it did the job. It made the questions stop, it put a hand over the mouth of doubt, and became a best friend to my depression. It gave me silence, silence from the depression that I heard screaming from morning to dusk to morning and back again.

So I drank a lot, just enough to make it to a quiet sleep and to the next morning. It took a while, but I understood. I realized why some people drink whiskey as the sun comes up, and why some drink it all day long. To silence the noise and the pain. My dear friend depression taught me all about those reasons.



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