I was so drunk I heard the devil whisper in my ear that nobody in the room loved me.

It was my brother's wedding.

Barely coherent after chugging hot vodka simmering in the car from the Central Valley summer.

I don't remember when I passed out, but it probably wasn't soon enough. I had a knack for making a fool of myself.

The voice that was telling me how much of a piece of shit I was grew louder. It told me that I needed to leave the room to make everybody happy.

So I grabbed the keys and I left.

The keys to my brother's car.

I don't know how long I was gone before my brother caught up with me on the freeway. I could hear him roaring through the honk, begging me to pull over.

I pulled over and got out of the car, probably with my head down.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?" He pleaded through his anger.

"Everybody was talking shit about me." I groaned back with my drunken slur.

"Nobody wanted me there. I'm a piece of shit!" I said with even more conviction.

"What? Who!? Who said that!?" My brother was shocked.

"Fucking everybody. I heard someone whisper it in my ear."

I don't remember the rest of the conversation.

I remember arriving back to the wedding feeling devastated.

I might have helped clean up a little bit.

I might have stayed in the car the rest of the night.

The Morning After

What I do remember clearly is the way that I felt when I woke up the next morning.

Shocked. Humiliated.

Terrorized by the reality of my actions.

I think I woke up on my brother's couch with my parents and sister still asleep around me.

I got up and sat outside next to a tree. I was too ashamed to be in the same room as them.

I eventually went back to my family already awake and sitting together.

I sat on a couch sideways and looked away from everyone.

Everyone wanted to speak to the elephant in the room but nobody knew how.

Ten Years of Silence

It would take me more than 10 years until I would get the courage to bring this up again and apologize to my brother.  I was 6 or 7 months sober when I finally did.

January 1st, 2026 marked my first year completely alcohol free.

The abuse of it defined my 20's.

My mom even acknowledged it the other day to my girlfriend. It was the first time I heard her say it out loud.

"David really was an alcoholic. It was so hard to see him that way for so long."

Not anymore, mom.

Not anymore, world.

It Was Never the Devil

It turns out it was never the devil.

It was the critic inside my head that felt empowered through my intoxication. It was loud and proud and running the show. I gave it control. 

I've learned that for me, intoxication and meditation served similar purposes—both were sanctuaries from the aches of my mind and soul. Both helped me sink into the depths. One through intention, the other through escape.

I'll go deeper into that another time. 

If you're still reading this, I love you.

If you're struggling with something you keep behind the scenes, that's okay. Whatever you're going through isn't permanent and it isn't shameful. You're surviving in the only way you know how.

Easy does it. 

Shame and guilt don't have to be certainties or enemies. They're just interpretations of deep rooted beliefs you have about yourself. Confronting those beliefs and the memories that informed them is our life's work.

If any of this resonates or if you ever want a safe landing to release what you're carrying, reach out. I got you.

Thanks for reading and see you next time. 

P.S. I'll be sharing details there about a writing challenge I'm hosting soon. Stay tuned. 

David