This week I turned 41. It’s a day I thought I’d never see. I was sure I would be dead by 25 the way I was living. Homeless at 21, due to the choices I was making, I didn’t feel I had or was even worthy of any other options.
I didn’t acknowledge my grief. I drank. I drank until that grief became something that could be locked away.
On February 28, 2018, I got a call from my dad saying my brother died. I managed with the grief. I didn’t drink anymore.
You see, I am a survivor. I’ve had cancer twice. I’m a person in long-term recovery from alcohol and substance abuse. I survived my younger sibling’s tragic death.