A Letter to My Sister
By Betsy Querna Cliff
I remember when you told us. “I think I’m an alcoholic,” your email said. You were in college, studying abroad and scared. I was thousands of miles from you, in graduate school. I had, that night, been working in the school’s computer lab, only a few weeks away from earning a master’s degree and enamored with a new boyfriend, new job and new life. With that email, I wondered if it was all about to come crashing down.
Hopeless. Lost. Misery. Pain.
These are the feelings I was living in. I woke up every morning, disappointed that I did not die in my sleep. Every day I wished that a car would hit me or I would have a heart attack, or something would happen so that I no longer had to suffer on this earth. I woke up every day feeling like this. I did even attempt suicide a few times which, I thank God today, were unsuccessful. Living in this suffering, to me, was the worst consequence of my addiction/alcoholism.