Hi baby girl.
Come close. I need you to hear me.
I need you to open your heart, just a sliver…I need you to let these words in. You don’t have to believe me, precious girl. Not yet. Just listen. And open.
There are things I am not, and this is important. I am not willpower or brute force or self-discipline. You’ve tried all that, remember?
Right this moment, for so many moments, for all of time, you’ve known: “I don’t know how to do this, but something inside me does.”
I am the something inside you. I am real. And this is real. And that’s all you need to know for now.
Tonight, you’re going to drink 12 beers and smoke I-don’t-even-know how many cigarettes. At home. Alone. Again. You’re going to betray yourself for something like the eight-thousandth time. Tonight isn’t going to look like a [stereotypical] bottom-y moment, but you’ve had plenty of those. Let’s not rehash the worst of it. It no longer serves our purpose. Just know this: it’s been enough.
Tomorrow you’re going to feel miserable and you won’t understand why your hangover is so rough because drinking 12 beers isn’t all that much these days. You’ll lay in bed wishing away consciousness and fighting the urge to vomit and despising the pounding in your head – despising life as you’ve come to know it.
And then you’re going to trudge to the living room and slump onto the couch to smoke another cigarette.
And guess what, sweet girl? It’s going to be your last one. It’s also going to be the last day of your life you’ll ever give away in exchange for an alcohol-induced escape. Which is to say, tomorrow is going to be your last hangover. Ever.
Stay with me, love. I know you don’t believe me. But remember, you don’t have to believe me. Listen. Open. Just a sliver.
In a few weeks, you’ll write about that last day…quietly, skeptically. You’ll recognize the moment as a miracle. It was.
During that last cigarette on your last hungover day, you’re going to think to yourself, “I feel like shit.”
And then you’re going to hear me when I say, “You don’t have to.”
You’ll hear it as a whisper, even though I’ve been screaming at the top of my lungs for a long, long time. You just got lost, baby girl. You fought so hard not to listen to me. You fought for acceptance and attention and approval. You got good at running…so good, in fact, you don’t know how to stay. You don’t remember who you are. You don’t know how to unbreak yourself. But you hear me now and you can no longer deny the truth, your truth. I am the something inside you that knows how to do this, okay?
Here comes the step of faith, baby girl. You have nothing to lose. You already know I’m real and this is possible because you’ve been imagining me into existence for so, so long. It’s time.
Take my hand. Breathe in. Breathe out. Begin.
Cheers from here,
500 days sober ♥
P.S. You’re vegan now…just in case you thought life ever stops being fucking weird. It doesn’t.