i'm in recovery

notes on remembering and relearning.

FIRST THINGS FIRST

⚠️Trigger Warning: this essay includes mention of suicide, alcoholism, and relapse. Read with care.

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September is both Recovery Awareness Month and Suicide Awareness Month. As you know, per my oversharing on the internet, I've had a nasty crash course in these two worlds. September actually is the first time I wrote directly about battling suicidal thoughts, specifically those that found me on my 31st birthday, now four years in the rearview.

September is also around the time David and I parted ways, like Alex Isley sang, "thank you for a lovely time." We had spent many nights pouring glasses of sangria while staring up at the sky and into the stars, as if it were the road to the rest of the world. The same man I sat with in a blissful mix of lust and learning about each other, and eventually found myself sobbing over in Malcom X Park. September is full of heartbreaks. Briana's birthday. The birth of my grandpa. The death of my grandpa. The month I cried on the floor of my best friend's room because I couldn't believe it. Because I wanted to grab him back from the stiffening hands of death. It was so hard to breathe. I say that to say, September is a helluva month. A helluva month to avoid drinking, to stay alive, to do more than just exist. September is a helluva month to remember when sometimes I just want to forget.

Hi, my name is Kamil, and I'm an alcoholic.

You may be wondering, "Girl, but you just said you're sober." And you're right. Thank the heavens, I have very much still been sober after last year's stress-induced, made me wanna die slip-up. A slip-up I'm glad I survived, because the mental impact made it feel touch-and-go for a second. Anyway, I am what I am, and it is what it is. Except I'm nothing like what we've been taught an alcoholic looks like, and maybe that's why I need to say it and bring it to your attention.

I think there is a reason people will have been sober from whatever thing, even for a longer period of time, and still consider themselves in recovery. It's not that you're currently engaged in it, but there's a part of you that knows it's there, ready to resurface, even when you're not actively acting on it. I have to remind myself that this, alcoholism, is a disease. Someone may say, "You're giving the word too much power. Don't label yourself." And honestly, I'd say, you don't know the ways my addiction to not being present drinking, has put me under some kinda severe spell. And I don't know if it's the drink that's so potent, or it's the human brain's way of trying to protect itself, even if it's actually killing you while imitating pleasure.

I'm in recovery because, even with all the progress I've made, this will always be an ongoing process. I will always be recovering the pieces I've lost along the way. I will always be discovering the parts that I never even had a chance to suppress because I was too busy cutting off the air supply, so it could never grow in the first place.

I'm not just casually calling myself an alcoholic. But maybe someone will hear me say it or see me write it. Maybe someone will see themselves reflected back. Perhaps the reflection won't be shrouded in shame. Because shame tends to slow down, if not halt, the path forward. Maybe someone will see it and see themselves, but clearly.

I hope I never become one of those people who get sober and use it as a foothold to shit talk folks who still drink. Including those tryna do it less or stop altogether, including those who have stopped altogether, only to start again. So many first days, they've lost count. And yet they're willing to have another day one, even if they're crying their way through it. It's easy to backslide, and sometimes it doesn't take much thought. Sometimes the habit is instinctive, and next thing you know, the bottle is up to your mouth, and you barely want to part your lips because you can't stand the taste, but you open wide anyway.

When I relapsed last year, it was on Father's Day, and you would think this was the root cause. And yeah, I'm sure, with my daddy issues and all, that this was in fact on the schedule of events. But what set me off was walking out of the apartment building with my dog, to feed him the slim picking remnants of the fleshy seeded watermelon I had devoured. He wiggled out of his new harness, which I could now clearly see was oversized. The whole ordeal was quick, maybe like 45 seconds, by the time I snatched him up and stalked back up and down the many steps leading to my basement studio. Something in my brain clicked, and within 10 minutes, I was drinking for the first time in over three years.

And on went a pattern of drinking when I didn't want to drink, but my brain was telling me I had to drink. I cried a lot while I drank, like there was an invisible hand shoving the bottle in my direction. I think there was. For lack of better words, I was indeed a sad drunk. When I say I'm in recovery, I mean this is hard. Still.

I've been in a good handful of weddings, and my favorite part was the open bar. I would love to say what I enjoyed most was the unmistakable showing of love, but what memory drifts to is how much I valued having endless alcohol available to me. When I was in and attended my first wedding sober in 2022, I felt so unnerved. Surrounded by people I had been partying with for a decade, and now I couldn't even so much as peek at someone having a drink without feeling like I might turn into a pillar of salt.

Just weeks ago, I attended my second wedding, sober, and "boy, we had a time last night!" Apparently, weddings can be pretty fun without the liquor. First of all, I remember everything. Except for the parts I don't remember, because drinking aside, my memory is not always reliable. Even on what feels like the tail end of ravenous relapse months ago, I felt extra confident in my sobriety, even with admitting earlier in the day that I really wish I could drink like other folks.

And I remember the little details. I remember how the groom's face lit up as he awaited the woman who would be his wife to walk down the aisle. He wore the same smile I'd seen since my first visit to the Jersey Shore, back with my new best friend, his big sister, during our freshman year of college, over winter break. We went to New York. We bought bags and scarves on Canal Street. We had many moments that were quintessentially New York in nature. We went to 106 & Park and did our dance as Soulja Boy performed the Bird Walk just mere feet in front of us. The 2008 energy was thick. Like I was saying, my best friend's little brother wore the same smile I had always known, but this time with a bit more…butterflies? I remember this smile.

I remember how everyone filled the dance floor all night. Some on beat, others not so much. Either way, everyone is lost in the sound, and to that I'd ask, "What's wrong with groovin’?" I didn't fall going up the steps. I didn't fall asleep at the table. I didn't slur my words into a nothingness soup. I didn't see folks transform into fun house-shaped blobs. I didn't fall into someone's arms that I shouldn't have been falling into. Instead, I remember the grins. I remember the love. I remember the after-hours fry bar (excellent touch!) and the laughs and the bride's grandpa, who, at nearly 90, reminded me, and I hope everyone present, to dance through it all. I never knew weddings could be so perfect.

When I say I'm in recovery, what I mean is I'm remembering I love dancing. I'm remembering that dancing is healing. I'm remembering that the stomping of the feet and the swaying of the arms and the sweat that coursed across the creases of my forehead while I dance to disco and funk is church. When I say I'm in recovery, what I mean is I'm remembering to see the god in everything, or at least try to. When I say I'm in recovery, what I mean is I'm realizing that I won't always get it right. This is something I will be forever learning because I am a human, not some collection of codes to troubleshoot and reboot; I am not a robot. But what I am is an alcoholic. And I am in recovery.

invitation to share: what pieces of self are you currently recovering?

📸cover photo by chloe combs on Unsplash
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🧵This essay is part of a larger tapestry. Follow the threads to more reflections like this one:

The Day I Considered Dying

Liquid Liberation

I Hope You'll Stay