Dear Drugs and Alcohol,
This is not easy to write. In some ways, you were the closest companion I ever had. You were there when I was lonely, when I felt out of place, when the weight of life seemed too heavy to carry. You offered me an escape. A way to forget. A way to feel good, even if it only lasted for a few hours. At first, I thought I had found a friend in you.
You gave me confidence I didn’t think I had. With you, I laughed louder, spoke freely, and pushed aside my insecurities. You helped me dance when I would have otherwise sat in the corner. You helped me sleep when my thoughts wouldn’t let me rest. You even gave me a sense of belonging. With you, I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself. For a while, I truly believed I needed you.
But over time, I realized what you really were.
You weren’t a friend. You weren’t a solution. You were a thief in disguise. Every time I turned to you, you took something from me. At first, it was subtle—the mornings I woke up foggy, the missed responsibilities, the broken promises. But then the taking grew louder. You stole my health, my focus, my ambition. You stole my trust with others. You stole time that I can never get back. Worst of all, you tried to steal me from myself.
You convinced me that I couldn’t live without you. I believed your lie. I built my days around you, making sure you were always within reach. Parties turned into habits. Habits turned into cravings. Cravings turned into chains. Before I knew it, I was no longer choosing you—you were choosing for me. I couldn’t imagine a day without you.
You drove a wedge between me and the people I love most. My parents stopped trusting me. Friends pulled away. I lied to cover for you. I stole to keep you close. I became someone I didn’t recognize, and still, I clung to you, because I was afraid of what life would look like without you.
But then came the breaking point—the nights I shook with withdrawal, the mornings I swore I’d quit only to run back to you by evening, the moments I looked in the mirror and couldn’t stand the person staring back at me. You promised relief, but gave me nothing but pain. You promised freedom, but you locked me in a prison I built around myself.
That’s when I realized: if I didn’t let you go, you were going to take everything. My health. My family. My future. My life.
So this is my goodbye letter to you, drugs and alcohol. Not because I don’t remember what you gave me at first. I do. But because I finally see the truth of what you really are. You are not comfortable. You are not escaping. You are destruction dressed up as relief.
I won’t pretend this is easy. Part of me still feels the pull of your promise. I know there will be days when I’ll hear your voice whispering that one more time won’t hurt. But I also know now that one more time could cost me everything.
I am choosing to walk away.
I am choosing my health over your poison.
I am choosing honesty over your lies.
I am choosing my family, my friends, and my future over the empty nights I spent with you.
I am choosing myself.
Goodbye, drugs and alcohol. You no longer control me. You no longer get to define my story. You no longer get to decide my worth.
For the first time in a long time, I can see a future without you. It won’t be perfect, and it won’t be easy. But it will be mine. And that’s something you could never give me.
Sincerely,
Someone Who Finally Let You Go
