By Irina Gonzalez
Original Source: thefix.com
I didn’t know how to admit to myself that I needed help until it was too late. I lost my dream job.
Like many people with alcoholism, I remember the last drink I had before agreeing to go to rehab. I had just gone on a binge that ended with me losing a brand new job. Already knowing I had a problem—I had lost my dream job a few months prior—but still not truly ready to admit it, I bought a bottle of vodka that I hoped would calm my pre-first day jitters enough to help me fall asleep.
But I didn’t “fall asleep.” I blacked out drunk, woke up the next day hungover, and continued to drink for three days straight in my studio apartment in Astoria, Queens.
Unsurprisingly, I lost that new job instantly. I mean, what else can they do when you don’t show up to the first or second day of work? On the third day of what would have been my return to digital media in the city I had called home for the past 12 years, my mother knocked on my door and insisted that I fly back down with her to my hometown in Florida and go to rehab. I had a problem. My family knew it and I finally knew it. With my head hung low, I paid my rent for the next few months, packed up my suitcases and my cat, and left.
One year earlier, my life had been…click here to continue reading