Personal Narrative: My Sisters And Alcohol Abuse

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My sister Paula at one time was every thing I wanted to be. Paula was petite, pretty, intelligent, and had a caring heart. Paula is four years older than me and was considered the popular one in school. She tried really hard to be accepted by her peers and got really good grades without what seemed like any effort. At one point in time Paula had the world at her feet and all the potential in the world. Until she met a demon a demon that she couldn’t control. She couldn’t run, she couldn’t hide, and slowly but surely it reached out with its cold fingers and drug her down to the point of almost no return. Paula is an alcoholic but the best kept secret in my family is alcoholism runs rapid like a rabid dog through our veins. My father is a drinker…show more content…
I have the will to stand strong against the addiction. I have the want to be someone other than what my siblings have made themselves and I have the intelligence to know that when I pick up that bottle the only person that is going to stop me is me. I will not use my genetics as an excuse. No one poured the alcohol down my throat. I chose to drink. I could have chosen the same path as my brother and my sister. There was a time that I almost did. I watched as my demons took over. It boiled through my veins and ravaged my brain. I woke up with a bottle and went to bed with the bottle. I drank Jack Daniels whiskey straight and I drank so much it oozed out of my pores when I sweat. I would stumble to work, stumble home, and drink until I puked and then passed out. Nothing and no one was going to stop me. I went through a fortune to feed my habit and I pushed my loved ones away. I became self made. I walked away from it. With the help from a local cop and the grace of god I made it. I went to the officer and told him I needed help that I was killing myself and if the bottle didn’t do it. I was going to later that night with a strategically placed bullet. He then took me to his home and locked me in the basement and that is where I stayed by my own choice. I shook so hard my bones felt like they were coming out of my skin, I screamed so loud the neighbors feared the worst, and I cried for God to take me because I didn’t think I was strong enough to fight it. Sixty days later I walked out of his basement and I did it on my own. I would slip and start to slide down again only to be jerked back up by my will. Several times I wanted to quit and just drink until I couldn’t drink anymore but I didn’t. I crawled out of the hole I put myself in and I vowed I would never go back that was seven years ago. I am now twenty
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