Kat

Most of my life, I had been suffering from PTSD brought on by many abusive situations and events. I didn't realize how each one was like a bead on an Abacus: they kept sliding together until I could count no more. As a person who used to be satisfied with one or two drinks every so often, I was surprised at how quickly things got out of hand. There were no amount of drinks to quench my thirst. My well of coping was deep, dry, and porous. No amount of alcohol could ever fill it up and cover the growing emptiness I felt inside. When I woke up one day sicker than I'd ever been, I knew that I'd die that day if I didn't seek help. I made it to the hospital just in time. Within a few weeks I'd learn what happens when you drink your life away: I needed a liver transplant.

After learning I'd need a liver transplant and would probably not make it past another year, it was like someone had dropped me into the the middle of the ocean without so much as a life preserve. I was 48, a single mother to a young daughter, and sinking faster than the sun at dusk. I knew that no matter what happened, drinking was not the friend I thought I could rely on. It was a poisonous snake that encouraged me to let it bite me and it would take away my pain. It didn't tell me that the only way this pain would leave me through alcohol was in a coffin with my daughter's tear-stained face screaming at me at my funeral. I quit drinking. I also started living.

Life hurts. Like a lot. When you've got nothing to wash the pain away even for a few moments, you learn to toughen up, grow up, and go up. A bad day being sober is still better than a great day being drunk. I've learned this through a thousand paper cuts as I've had to let go of everything I knew and open myself up to what is unknown. I have had to have faith. It is scary most of the time.

Right now, I'm semi-homeless. I have couch-surfed through the past six months of my life after I left the nursing home I was confined to for 10 months. Most of what I owned before got tossed out like trash, save for a few small things. I could live with this except it wasn't just my stuff, but also a great deal of my daughter's childhood in the way of books, toys, clothing, drawings, and other little things that mother's hold dear into their old age. I also almost lost her. I only get to see her for a few hours twice a month. I feel like I am doing a constant penance for my sins, yet I feel forgiven by my higher power. I accept that others might not ever forgive me for being a drunk.

I have successfully kept the transplant surgeons at bay. By staying sober, my liver has improved it's functioning and is responding well to my care of it. My life has so much more meaning than ever. I am deeply grateful to simply be alive, breathe, and still find things to smile, wonder and laugh at. I am still a mother.

I wish someone had told me things could end up the way they did if I ever started drinking. Then again, I no what a stubborn old cowgirl I can be. I can't say for certain I'd have paid them any mind. All I know is that I have today. And today has been a good day.