Some things are written because they need somewhere to go

From Soft Hands, Loose Grip

This is a book for people who drink. Who sometimes drink too much, or too often. Who feel the pull toward alcohol but do not want to be lectured about it. It is for the ones who know that alcohol can make life feel softer, quieter, freer. For the ones who have felt that first sip loosen something tight in their chest and thought Finally.

From Anger

At the dinner table, someone you love dismisses your feelings with a shrug. Your chest burns and your hands twitch, ready to slam the glass against the table. Instead, you drink. The warmth slides down your throat and dulls the edge just enough to keep you in your seat. You tell yourself, "Let it pass. Do not make it worse. Just get through the night."

From Anxiety

Anxiety is not always loud or obvious. Sometimes it is not a panic attack or a meltdown. Sometimes it is simply the hum. It lingers beneath the surface and follows you into every part of your day. It sits in your chest. It curls in your stomach. It whispers in your thoughts even when you are smiling or pretending to be calm.

From Boredom

Boredom is heavier than people admit. It is not just a lazy Sunday with nothing planned. It is the drag of hours that will not move. It is the sound of the clock that feels louder than your own heartbeat. It is the restless shuffle from room to room, picking up your phone, putting it down, checking the fridge even though you are not hungry.

From Loneliness

Loneliness is more than just being alone. It is the hollow quiet in a crowded room, the ache after reaching out and receiving nothing in return, the nights when even your thoughts feel like strangers. It is a deeply human experience, yet often carries a silent shame.

From Rejection

Rejection is universal, but it never feels generic. When it arrives, it feels personal, targeted, intimate. It comes wearing different faces and carrying different weights. A lover turns away and leaves you questioning what changed. Family withholds acceptance, forcing you to choose between truth and belonging.

From Change

But most change does not arrive cleanly. It arrives mid-sentence. Mid-habit. Mid-life. It shows up while you are still doing most things the same. You still wake up tired. You still reach for familiar comforts. You still pour the drink at night. The outside of your life does not announce anything new. And yet, inside, something has shifted.

From Drinking to Love

I wasn’t drinking to escape the relationship. I was drinking to feel it. To reach the version of her, the version of us, that only appeared two glasses in. It wasn’t just about her. I was already using alcohol to soothe other parts of my life, the overwhelmed parts, the disconnected parts, the misunderstood parts.