It helps me to think of alcohol bottles with a skull and crossbones on them. Or a DON’T TOUCH- POISON warning. It’s poisonous to me. I don’t have an allergy to it like my son’s allergy to peanuts. At times I wished I did. If I had a severe reaction each time I ingested a drink, I could’ve been saved years of hangovers, humiliation, remorse, and spiritual sickness. My poor body. When it told me I’d had more than enough and tried to expel what I’d ingested by throwing up I’d just throw up and continue to drink. I’ve never heard of a normie doing that. Why did I think that was a good idea? I mean, how much drunker could I possibly be? It didn’t matter. If there was more to be had, I was going to have it. I had more than a few close calls to dying. The big one like my car crash but also all the little times. The times when I woke up choking on my vomit. When I dodged cars on highways. When I found myself in shady places with even shadier people. After I had a bit of liquid courage I’d also find some dry goods to keep the party going. I should be a mixologist because I mixed errrrrrthing. Actually, that may not be my forte. My mixes could turn lethal. Happy Friday, sober family! Keep it simple today.
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