What it’s like to lose yourself

                                                               

My first time was really great. Truly, it was amazing. A few glasses of beer and I was relaxed, refreshed and happy. Alcohol made me have fun and took away my every anxiety. It made me really confident that I enjoyed every moment that I drank. At that time, I underestimated the ability of what I drank because the highest it made me was sober and I liked it. I wasn’t walking tipsy dizzy, shouting in the streets, getting raped at parties, and walking home in a shirt and pants like my other friends did. I didn’t have the time or the urge to sympathize with their “stupidity”. I wondered why they couldn’t control alcohol but allowed it control them. After senior high school, my family moved to Accra to seek greener pastures. I found it a great opportunity since I could attend one the best training colleges in the city. In Accra, I got involved with some “cool” friends. I like them because they liked to drink. Each night, we will visit drinking spots and drink till daybreak. That was how intensive it became. As for the money to buy the drinks, we rotated. Days I had no money, they paid. Other times too, I stole enough money from my mother to spread the moment with as many drinks as possible to make us “high”.

The feeling of getting drank was great. I could dance without worrying about shyness, talk to a bunch of strangers. Life in Accra became extremely difficult when my father passed away. My mother moved to Berekuso where she had a cocoa farm from an old relative. She said it was a better support than her trade in second-hand clothes. It was in Berekuso that I realized alcohol had taken over my life. My dream to attend a training college died with time. My mother advised that I learnt hair dressing or sewing but I didn’t heed to her advice. I found myself busy with alcohol, very busy. I met more friends who drank like I did. At age 20, I had a boyfriend. I knew I had met the right person because he did what I did. We both drank. I had sex at parties, in uncompleted structures, and in his rented single room. I had my first pregnancy, the second and third but I was smart enough to abort all three. Things moved faster than I anticipated. I moved to live with him. There, I had the freedom to what I loved, drinking. Alcohol took away my life now. I had a few friends who drank as hard as I did. We prided ourselves with it thinking the rest of the world was boring. I did and continue to do things that I am ashamed of: having sex with strangers, stealing money. I now hate myself for the things I do. I keep blaming my father’s death, my mom and everyone else. But the more I do, the harder I drink to get rid of the realization.