Bottle

I don’t know why it is such a hard thing for people to understand. Just because I’m twenty-one does not mean that I HAVE to drink, or that I want to. But whenever I say that people look at me like I’m crazy. I’m not crazy, I’m just scared.

I’m afraid that if I take a sip, I’ll turn into my father. I do not want to rely on the bottle for my happiness, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to fight it. My dad couldn’t. I used to look up to him, admired him even. When I was little, he was my superhero; always there when I needed him, never a bad word to say. But as time went on, things began to change.

I think it all started when Mom left. It was a week after my fourteenth birthday. I heard them arguing in their bedroom (I later found out that she had had an affair) and it ended with her leaving. She never came back. She phoned a couple of times, tried to keep in touch, but it was over within a year.
Dad did not adjust well to Mom being gone. He managed to keep it together for a while, only cracking into the beers after work, but he slowly started drinking more and more, until he started to wake up drunk. He died last year, and I have been on my own ever since.

So no, I do not want a drink, and I am certainly not a baby because of it. I am avoiding alcohol in order to stay strong and stay in control. I am not drinking so I do not turn into my dad. I am not drinking in order to stay myself.

2 thoughts on “Bottle

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