Dealing With Anxiety and Staying Strong

Depression and Alcohol

I started to get really depressed again, and I couldn't think straight. I wanted to go out as much as possible because I couldn't be at home. I had to get out my house.

I started drinking more. All I wanted was alcohol, and I knew alcohol wasn't the best solution, but I loved it. I loved the way alcohol made me feel. I felt like I could do anything if I had alcohol in my system. It made me feel so much better about my life, and I constantly wanted it.

I drank four or five shots of straight liquor for the Fourth of July, and then the next weekend I found myself drinking a Daiquiri. The next morning I awoke to having the worst hangover I've ever had. I was dry heaving over the toilet, and I eventually threw up. It made me not want alcohol for a while, but then my life started to collapse again, and my anxiety started to rise, and I wanted alcohol as bad as ever all over again.

I knew I had a problem. Watching my parents go out and drink since I was little took a toll on me. I thought drinking when something went wrong was okay and normal, but it wasn't. I knew what I was doing was unhealthy, but why did I continue to do it? I continued to do it because in the moment it made me feel better. Alcohol is like self harm in a way. They're both distractions from solving your emotions and your problems, and they're both addicting which is not okay.

I couldn't stop craving alcohol. I wanted it at ten in the morning or even late at night, and I knew I had to stop. I couldn't stop no matter how hard I tried. I needed it. I wanted alcohol like I wanted coffee, and I became terribly addicted. I had an alcohol addiction, and I couldn't stop.

My depression just got worse. I was living life in the shadow of my anxiety. I knew I was okay being out and about, but in the inside I was dying. I was falling apart, and I didn't know how to fix myself. I didn't know what else I could do to change. I didn't want to be like this. I couldn't handle my emotions, and my life just kept on spinning and spinning.

I got fed up one night. I locked myself up in my room and started crying. My parents and my brother were in the living room watching tv, and I laid on my bed thinking about everything I did wrong. I started to tell myself that I wasn't good enough and that I wasn't worthy of life. I told myself no one would cared if I died. I started feeding myself all these negative thoughts about me, and I cried and cried until I broke. I hit a breaking point, and I had a serious mental breakdown.

I went to my closet and pulled out a scarf. I went to go sit back on my bed, and I tied the scarf around my neck as tight as I could. I told myself I didn't deserve to live, and that I didn't deserve to be happy. I started crying even more, and I kept asking myself where did I go wrong? What happened to me? What did I do?

An hour passed and I felt myself getting dizzy. I heard my mom banging on my door telling me to open up. I quickly took the scarf off around me, and I opened it with tears running down my eyes. She knew and my dad knew, and I swear they probably thought I was crazy. They probably thought I was a complete mess, but if only they knew.