The first time I felt “adult” was when I signed my first lease at 20. I had sublet from my girlfriend of six years before that. We had a nice apartment – tiny, though – across the road from a park, and with a nature preserve behind it. We spent years at that place, taking in stray cats, learning how to cook, and upping our life skills game.
That’s when I began taking benzos on top of drinking… After one long binge, my girlfriend dragged me into the counselor’s office at our college and he called me an addict at least fifteen times. He was the first N.A. person I met and spent time trying to funnel me into recovery. It took a few more years of self-abuse, an intervention set up by a friend, hundreds of embarrassing incidents, and getting yelled at by men with their own alcohol/drug problems… what a disaster!
I’m guilty because of subjecting my ex to my substance abuse issues, but I resented her for not working – a running theme in my relationships. I end up being taken advantage of and don’t have the gall to express it, so I release my stress with chemicals. Expressing myself is easier now, but now I’m against being in a relationship.