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The Cougar Chronicle

Why I don’t drink alcohol

Micaela Johansson, Assistant Opinion Editor

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My relationship with alcohol started at the age of 13 or 14. It had been there for celebration and heartbreaks, in secret and out in the open. It had such an impact on me, that I became a bartender  at the age of 19. Little did I know, my friend alcohol would consume me as much as I had consumed it.

 

At 21, I was in Bali with my sister, and my old friend alcohol had made an appearance as well.

 

Beer, daiquiris, vodka-Redbull and tequila shots, each glass didn’t cost more than $2.

 

One night at the five-floor nightclub, I realized that I had enough.

Before I knew it, I found myself on the bathroom floor unable to dance anymore

 

I woke up the next morning in the hospital, alone. Some strangers had gotten me into a taxi, took me to the hospital and made sure I was safe. I didn’t know who these kind strangers were, but I look back at this moment and am always grateful for the actions they took to help me.   

 

One would think I had learned my lesson, but when spending the night and morning with an IV and no hangover to be worried about, I was ready to get back to my old destructive friend, alcohol.

 

Six months didn’t even pass yet, and I had moved to Norway and gotten myself a new job. I had been excited for the first company party, all the new co-workers and the free alcohol that was going to be served made me forget to eat dinner.

 

The forgetfulness of a meal would come back to haunt me only hours later.

 

Rum and coke, my favorite drink of all time, together with tequila shots, led the way for a disaster. Before midnight I consumed so much alcohol and on top of an empty stomach that I became unresponsive to everyone around me. One of the security guards approached my friend and told her that it seemed like her friend had too much to drink, and to get her out. Outside the bar where the party was held, I apparently vomited on a co-worker. It was time to call an ambulance.

 

I woke up the next morning in the hospital, alone.

 

“No, not again,” My panic started to rise. I made a fool of myself last night.

One would think that I had learned my lesson, but a 21-year old girl doesn’t learn that easy.

My depression progressed after that incident and alcohol was still with me. It gave me that fake courage you get when you drink, the one that gets you dancing on tables, flirting with guys and singing karaoke up on stage even though you’re tone deaf. Most of all, it made me say what I really felt without any concerns for the consequences.

 

Last Halloween, I met alcohol again. Last Halloween I fought with my boyfriend. Last Halloween, I got punched in the face. Last Halloween I finally learned.

 

Alcohol, after 14 years I’m breaking up with you. I now have a scar on my face because of you. I will now always remember why I will never come back to you.
Alcohol, we’re done.

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