Bravery In Sobriety

May 10th, 2017 was the day that would inevitably change my life. It was two days before my eighteenth birthday, and my mom had been asking me for weeks what I wanted. Each time she asked, I gave her the same smart-ass answer, half as a joke, and half 100% serious. And each time I said it, I saw the pain in her eyes as she asked, “seriously Kelsey, what do you want?” Eventually, she just stopped asking.

I don’t know what it was about this particular day that prompted reality to set it, but it hit me like a ton of bricks. Something needed to change, and it needed to change now. I pushed myself out of bed, walked out of my room, and leaned over the banister as my mom sat on the couch. 

“Mom,” I said, my voice shaking far more than I expected. “I know what I want for my birthday.”

“Kelsey I really don’t to hear—”

“I want to get sober.”

I am Kelsey, and I am an alcoholic.

I started drinking when I was 14 years old. People always want to know why. Was there a death in the family? Were you abused as a child? What made you pick up that bottle for the first time. God, I wish it was that easy. Something traumatic happens and bam, you start drinking. If it were that black and white, it would be easier to fix, right?  But the reality is, it’s just not like that.

I really don’t know why I started drinking. I had a great life: two loving parents and a great younger sister, Makayla. I had a good group of friends, and a lot of people who cared about me. But I guess I just wanted more. The first time I got drunk, I hated it. I felt out of control, like my body and my mind weren’t working together. But everyone convinced me that was normal. Eventually, I began to like the feeling of intoxication.. Then I loved it. Then I became dependent on it. 

Your high school years are supposed to be a time of growth and finding yourself, but when I look back, I hardly remember any of it. The occasional night out turned into getting blacked out once a week, to once a day, until I forgot what it was like to truly feel like myself. I didn’t know who I was and God I despised the person I had become. I was so mean to my parents, the people who had given me everything. I craved the attention of being the loudest at the party, the butt of the joke. I had been convinced that the people who egged me on over the years were my friends, but I now know they were far from it. 

For the longest time, I didn’t realize I had a problem. I thought I was just doing what every high school student did. One day it finally occurred to me that this wasn’t normal. Filling up my water bottle with wine (sometimes something stronger) before my 8am class wasn’t normal. Constantly canceling plans with friends because I was too drunk to get out of bed wasn’t normal. Not wanting to exist without feeling the numbness of alcohol wasn’t normal. But I felt like I had dug myself a hole that was too deep to ever even think about escaping. I was stuck, and this is who I was now. I was the drunk. The loudest at the party. The butt of the joke. The one who had lost all true relationships with people who truly cared about her. That was me. And it was terrifying. 

I don’t ask for help. I’ve always prided myself on my independence, often to a fault. I’m a Taurus for God’s sake, I am as stubborn as they come. It took me a long time to muster up the courage to admit that I needed help, that this was not a beast that I could tackle on my own. There were so many times I wanted to ask for help. I would see the pain in my family’s eyes when I stumbled in a room. I looked at my little sister and would pray to God that she turned out better than me and that this monster wouldn’t get to her. But whenever I would try to ask for help, I stopped myself. What was I without alcohol? People liked me when I was drunk. I was popular when I was drunk. That’s really all any high schooler ever really wants. More than anything, I was comfortable being drunk and numb and so disconnected from the world. I was terrified of giving that up. 

There were times when I tried to stop on my own. I would go a day, maybe two, and then I would cave. It was hard. The weeks leading up to my eighteenth birthday, my mom would ask me what I wanted. On the outside, I would say “I wanna get drunk!”, but on the inside, I was screaming for someone to save me. 

When people think of bravery, they often think of a knight in shining armor, or a superhero, or someone jumping in front of a car to save a child. For me, acknowledging I have a problem and asking for help was the bravest thing I’ve ever done. Getting on a plane the day before my eighteenth birthday and flying to a rehabilitation center in Utah took an amount of courage I didn’t know existed inside of me. Being one of the youngest people there was humbling, and I learned so much from people who were going through exactly what I was. People in rehab told me all the time that I was so strong for acknowledging I had a problem and making a change while I was still young. And four years later, I now truly believe them.

I lost a lot when I decided to get sober. All those “friends” I had that would egg me on during parties wanted nothing to do with me once I stopped drinking. The only good quality about me was being the loud, fun, drunk girl at parties, right? But even though I lost those people, who were never truly my friends, I gained so much more. I gained an appreciation for the little things in life. I regained the trust of my family and made friends that I know would love me for the person I really am. 

I’ve been sober for four years now, and nothing about it has been easy, but everything about it has been worth it. I think about little seventeen year old me at her lowest, finally admitting she needed help, and I’m so proud of her. Bravery doesn’t have to be some big, grand gesture. Sometimes it’s simply admitting that there are challenges you can’t face on your own. 

I’m Kelsey, I’m an alcoholic, and I’m damn proud of myself.