The Bottle That Changed My Life Forever

This is the bottle that changed me for good.

My name is Darla. I am an alcoholic.

I stand in the rubble of what should have been a reasonably good life, with the very sledgehammer I used to destroy it in my hands.

I have a drinking problem.

I had a drinking problem.

I've been sober since April 22, 2012. I quit. I had to. I finally found the bottom of the bottle. As one might expect, it's hard, cold and painfully transparent.

I gave the past decade of my life to drinking. I've never needed it, but it's been around, so I've succumbed to it as a necessary evil. It did keep me from having to focus on myself, my loved ones, my emotions, my past, my future. It allowed me to sail from one day to the next on mostly fun though somewhat foggy seas.

I started drinking at 4, when my dad would give me sips off his Coors. I liked the taste of it a lot. He became a minister when I was in junior high, though for several years prior he had already given up his habit. But I remembered the taste of it, and craved it.

My mother's dad died of alcoholism at 46. His kidneys didn't just shut down, they exploded. That's what the doctor said, anyway. Three of his brothers struggled with alcoholism, one to the point that he was the laughingstock of the town, ending up naked in the ditch far too many times. He had to move out of state and spend years in AA to stay on the wagon.

The first time I got drunk as an adult, I was 20, and downed half of a fifth of tequila in 30 minutes on an empty stomach. I can't even imagine what horror my pal Jesse experienced in the hour before my blindness finally turned me over to sleep.

I blacked out another time after drinking too much at a Halloween party. The sexual assault I found myself subjected to resulted in six athletes being dismissed from university. I became a pariah the likes of which the town had never known.

In the past two years I've blacked out more times than I can remember. Each time I've thrown myself around like a dog, leading my husband to believe that I have no moral compass whatsoever, and that I am intentionally trying to smash his heart to bits.

This last episode was the worst yet in regard to his feelings, and finally made me realize that I have a serious problem.

So I quit. I did it without God, I did it without anyone. I did it because my remorse shrouds me at all times. I will never again touch a bottle. I can't retrieve the past 12 years of my life, but I can for damned sure ensure that my problem won't rule me the rest of my days.

Life is hard here lately. Facing your weaknesses is painful, crippling, devastating. Having to do it quietly while still trying to work, raise your children, struggle to save your marriage and get a band out of the garage is...a little harder.

Thankfully, I'm strong. I'll make it through this, and I won't always feel this broken. For now, though...