01.28.2026

I made it 46 days without alcohol.

And then I didn’t.

I don’t even know if “ruined” is the right word, but it’s the one that keeps showing up in my head, so here we are. Forty-six days of trying, of choosing differently, of sitting with myself instead of escaping. And then one night where I just… didn’t.

I’m kind of just over everything lately.

Over trying to do the “right” thing while still feeling stuck. Over waking up hopeful and going to bed disappointed. Over asking myself the same questions on a loop:

Why can’t I find a job that I actually love?

Why does everything feel so transactional?

Why is it so hard for people to just be decent human beings?

Some days it feels like I’m doing all this inner work—therapy language, coping skills, boundaries, growth—and the world is still out here being loud, cruel, and exhausting. And I’m expected to just absorb it gracefully.

I don’t have my medication. My brain feels like a room with all the lights flickering at once. I think I needed a release. Not an excuse—just the truth. I needed something to take the edge off the constant noise in my head. And alcohol does that thing where it hurts so good. Like picking a scab you know won’t heal faster, but at least you feel something different for a minute.

It didn’t fix anything.

It didn’t really make anything worse either.

It just reminded me how human I still am.

I think I struggle with being alone.

And I think I struggle with being lonely.

They’re two different things—but somehow they live right next to each other in my chest.

Being alone is quiet. Sometimes even peaceful.

Being lonely is loud. It echoes. It makes you wonder what’s wrong with you, why connection feels just out of reach, why everyone else seems to have someone while you’re learning how to sit with yourself over and over again.

I don’t have a neat ending for this. No lesson wrapped in a bow. Just this: one night doesn’t erase 46 days of effort. One relapse doesn’t cancel growth. One bad choice doesn’t mean I’m back at the beginning.

I’m tired. I’m lonely. I’m frustrated.

But I’m still here.

And tomorrow, I’ll start again—not because I’m perfect, but because I’m trying.

That has to count for something.