A Life Drenched in Alcohol

I've been an alcoholic for as long as I can remember. It started innocently enough—just a drink here and there to take the edge off—but somewhere along the way, I lost control. What began as a way to unwind turned into a necessity. I was drinking every day, morning till night, and I didn’t care who knew it. My life was soaked in alcohol, and I couldn’t imagine living without it. But then, something happened that I never saw coming: my body started to betray me.

It began about a year and a half ago. I was in a fog that I couldn’t shake. My thoughts were sluggish, my body moved like it was trapped in molasses, and I couldn’t make simple decisions. Panic attacks came out of nowhere, and I’d sit on the floor shaking, feeling like I was falling apart from the inside out.

“I lost my appetite for three weeks straight, and I had no idea what was happening to me.”

The fog eventually lifted, but then came the swelling in my abdomen. It felt like a balloon was inflating inside me, pushing down on everything. I thought it was my stomach at first, but then the bowel problems started—mucus in my stool, cramps, all kinds of issues. At this point, I knew something was seriously wrong. The fear crept in, but I still couldn’t stop drinking.

I went to the doctor, hoping they’d tell me it was something minor, but after all the tests, the only thing they found was a severely enlarged, fatty liver. It was grossly swollen, and I’ll never forget the look on the doctor’s face when they told me. But they didn’t tell me the truth I needed to hear. No one said it was my drinking that caused it. They just shrugged their shoulders and said they didn’t know why my liver was that bad.

“I kept drinking because no one told me to stop. I thought I could just carry on like normal.”

It wasn’t until I started doing my own research and talking to another doctor that the truth hit me. My liver was collapsing under the weight of years of abuse. The doctor explained that my liver was pushing against everything in my abdomen, causing the discomfort and the bowel problems. I was devastated, furious even—how could the other doctors not tell me this? Why did they let me believe it was something else?

I finally quit drinking about six months ago. I didn’t have a choice. My body couldn’t handle it anymore. But the damage had already been done. My swollen liver still hasn’t gone down. They told me it could take over a year for the fat to work its way out, and I’d have to be patient. I’m trying, but every day is a battle.

“Quitting the bottle was one thing, but waiting for my body to heal feels like an endless punishment.”

I never thought I’d be the one to talk about liver disease. I was the outlaw, the one who didn’t care about consequences. But now I’m paying the price, and it’s a heavy one. I don’t know what’s ahead, and I’m scared every day that I’ll never feel normal again.

“It’s not just the physical pain—it’s the guilt. I did this to myself, and now I have to live with it.”

The mental fog may have lifted, but the emotional fog is just beginning. I’m learning to live with the consequences of a life of indulgence. I hope others will listen to my story and make changes before it’s too late for them. I’m still waiting for my liver to shrink, for my life to get back to something resembling normal, but the road is long, and I don’t know where it will lead.