I am laying in bed on the eve of my year long sobriety, high on vicodin. “You may have a glass of champagne, not weekly, if you have something to celebrate.” Is what the rheumatologist said. Other than that, I am alcohol free while taking the methotrexate.
It should not be that big of a deal, going sober. I drink. I have probably drank more, more recently than I have in the past, because who isn’t already a slight alcoholic while in their early 20s but especially so when going through difficulties.
No, it’s not the quitting drinking that has me bothered, it’s the taking of the last bit of what I have to hide myself from others so I can just hang out that is upsetting. That makes it sound as if I can only be around my peers if we are drinking–that’s not it. It is the last thing that I had to distinguish me from being sick or not sick. Me being able to drink with my friends hides my reality from them. If I am hanging out and drinking, then nothing must be wrong! If I am hanging out and not drinking and have to explain why then the reality of my situation is discovered and I am no longer just Heidi–I am broken Heidi.
My friends aren’t stupid. They all know, or should know, what I am going through. But this “no drinking” is going to unveil a reality I have been trying to hide.
This is my emotional and physical battle. My friends are wonderful and supportive. It’s me. I am trying to hide from myself.


Author: heidi

I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up.

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