The Honest Beginning

I got into the relationship thinking it would be fun. Not perfect. Not easy. Just light.
I spent most of it hoping.
Hoping she’d soften. Hoping she’d smile. Hoping she’d stop looking at me like disappointment was waiting beneath the surface.
Somewhere in the middle of all that hoping, I started drinking more. Not at bars. Not at parties. Quietly. Privately.
A glass of bourbon to soften the silence. A drink to make her bearable. A buzz to remember what fun felt like.
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. When she came along, she slipped easily into that pattern.
I don’t regret drinking. I don’t see alcohol as the villain in this story.
Drinking didn’t destroy the relationship. It helped me survive it. It gave me access to joy when it was otherwise absent. Eventually, it showed me how lonely I was in love.
Would I have stayed as long without it? No. Would I have seen the truth without it? I’m not sure.
The conversation around alcohol leaves no room for nuance. Only shame or dismissal.
Drinking to Love is not a redemption story.
It’s a truth story.
And I’m still in it.