What's Attached to Your Drink?

This disease is a trickster. It tries hard to convince you that it would be fine to have just one. I mean, you've proven that you can handle life without booze, right? That old reward center of your brain waits and waits and waits. It bides it's time, knowing that there will be a celebration or maybe even a tragic time at some point down the road. "Remember me?" it asks. Yes, I remember you. I do remember the way you made me feel. The relaxation that you gave me, how you helped me talk to people when I was shy, the escape you allowed me after a long day of work and oh, how you stopped me from beating myself up after I made a mistake. You hushed the negativity. You were like a nice, comfy blanket I curled up with at the end of the day.

Every day. No matter what. Even when I was too tired to drive to the liquor store, I became like a robot and pulled into the parking lot anyway. When I was starting to get tired of you, you tightened your grip.

The next time I am tempted to cave into your sweet offering of one drink, I will remember what that drink is attached to. It has an invisible string tied firmly to a dump truck filled with all sorts of things. Horrible things. Hangovers, embarrassment,  health problems, daily dehydration, blackouts, guilt, shame, financial consequences, maybe even legal problems. As you begin to lure me with that soft voice of yours, I will hear the "beep, beep, beep" of that dump truck, backing up, ready to unload all the things that come along with that drink. And I'll know better. I see that string now, even though you might think it's invisible. I see the light glistening on it as it sways back and forth. You can't hide anymore. I don't want what that dump truck holds.