Dear Reader,

Dear reader, 

Every time somebody comes to see me, they always bring flowers. Roses. Daisies. Lillies. Are flowers automatically supposed to get rid of my addiction? I wish they brought me flowers when I was clean. Way before my addiction. Way before the extreme alcohol abuse. Way before I met her. I’ve attached photos of some of the flowers, please check. I hate them, but they’re beautiful. The perfect shade of pink. The right amount of green.

Anyway, dear reader, let me take you back to how my addiction started. Nobody ever thought I would become an addict. I was always the kinda person who had a plan and was in full control. But no one ever has full control. No, not even the most successful person in your friends’ circle.

Anyway. It started in 2015, I was 31/32? Thirty-something was when I spiralled out of control. It was shortly after October, some three months after I woke up one morning to find her gone. She had left no trace, I had attempted every possible mean to get in touch with her, but she was gone. After four years of dating her, two years of living together and one month of being engaged to her, she disappeared without an explanation. She came and left me questioning what went wrong. November came and left me fully dependent on alcohol. Before the addiction, alcohol was more of a social thing – I drank during parties, dinners sometimes. Once in two to three weeks. That slowly turned to once a week, then twice a week, then five times a week, and then every day. Alcohol had a way with me. It made me feel alive. It was my safety blanket. I drank till I forgot, slept, fell sick, was hospitalised, there was no stopping. I am surprised no one saw the warning signs – like when I started filling my water bottle with wine, or when I would buy bottles and bottles of vodka even though I lived alone. Everyone misses the warning signs. Everyone thinks it will pass. To chase my addiction I would end up at random clubs, miles away from home, and later wake up in a random flat that smelled of fresh paint. It was always fresh paint. I have forgotten what life was like back then, I don’t know what mornings feel like. It is almost like time has lost all meaning. It is like someone took my life turned it upside down till all the contents fell out, put me back the right way round and filled the emptiness with alcohol. I don’t even recognise my body anymore, even my tattoo is disfigured following the weight gain alcohol comes with. Nothing is the same anymore. But I guess that was a given when she left. “You can’t make homes out of human beings,” she had once read out to me.

It was a line from Warsan Shire’s ‘For Women Who Are Difficult To Love’. She read poetry out loud every day, “are you listening?” “I am,”  I would say.

But, maybe I didn’t listen hard enough.

“You can’t make homes out of human beings.”

She sure as hell proved that right. She was my home. Now, all that’s left are walls adorned with memories of what life was, this addiction, and the goddamn flowers.

Bye, reader. 


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