Letter to a grieving alcoholic

My dearest friend,

All my life you have been the strongest person I have ever known, you have supported me in all I’ve done and held my hand when I couldn’t walk alone. When I’ve needed you you’ve been there without a second thought,  now all I ask of you is to let me do the same. The grief  and hurt of this has hit us all, there is no shame in grieving. 

I am here for you,  but for some reason you don’t want me to be. You still see me as a child that you must protect, you don’t have to. These last few years I have learnt to protect myself because I have had my own share of loss and death,  and am strong enough to take it. I am strong enough for both of us if you need me to be.

All I ask of you is that you try,  that you want look to the future and not let the past consume you. By all means drink if you need to but don’t promise me your going to stop and then expect me to carry you up the stairs because you can’t even see straight. Don’t make me feel guilty because I say you need help, help I cannot give you.

I can be there listen to your cries and tell you what you need to hear but if you want listen back then what’s the point?  Hearing you say “I only drink when you’re here” not only hurts but it’s spiteful as I know it’s not true.  How many times have I come home to find you drunk,  although you try to hide it. When you drink you turn into someone else, someone that I’ve come to recognise all to well and someone that I don’t like.

You put yourself and others in danger, you drink and drive,  walk around at night not knowing where you’re going.  You scare me. Constantly having my phone by my side when I’m out incase something happens,  it’s not fair. I don’t know what else to do, you won’t listen,  you won’t get help. Do you want me to just watch as you drink yourself in oblivion.

I understand you are grieving,  but grief is not an excuse to give up and give in. It’s like you enjoy having constant reminders everywhere,  shoes still in the kitchen, coats still hanging up, his clothes still in your wardrobe.  It’s been nearly a year and your not even trying to move on.  If I even suggest tidying them away you lose it with me and crack open a bottle. It’s not healthy.

I love you, but I can’t do this anymore.  I can’t sit and let you drown yourself in bottles of red every night,  sit and watch your grief take hold of you. I don’t know what you want me to do.  Tell me please.  If I can’t help you then please find someone who can.  I’m terrified of losing you, coming home to find you gone or worse, coming home not to find you.

Please, I don’t know what else I can do…



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