Discussing Sobriety at St. Lawrence

Monday, April 15, 2024, marked my first anniversary of sobriety. The last time I had any form of alcohol was during last year’s Spring- fest featuring two-hit wonder Neon Trees. That day, I consumed roughly six cans of assorted beer, four shots of vodka, two shots of tequila and a water bottle’s worth of even more vodka. I cannot properly remember anything past 3 p.m.

I began drinking when I was 16. After a lengthy breakup and a series of rebound relationships, I found solace in a stolen handle of Tito’s. I did not think of it as abuse then, but as time progressed, it became more apparent that my drinking was greater than casual celebrations with friends. The summer before I started college, my habits worsened further. I felt that I needed to build up my tolerance as much as possible; there was no way I was showing up to school as a lightweight.

It turns out I found an alternative solution to my lightweight worries: if I just drink all the time, then I’ll never need a tolerance because I’ll always have a slight buzz! It’s a foolproof plan! Once I arrived at SLU, that destructive mindset only worsened. I’d wake up most mornings and take a shot to clear my nerves, then carry around a random water bottle with a “splash” of vodka in there. Nothing soothes the body quite like a neat Tito’s at 9:30 a.m. I couldn’t help myself; the consumption consumed me.

The culture of drinking at SLU, from my observations, is defined by a mass of students who desire to fill an untapped emptiness inside. That may not be an original concept, but the extent of that desire is often glossed over. People have fun while they drink; they can become someone else, say things they’d never soberly say, flirt with people way out of their league, cuss out people, and blame it all on being drunk; it’s cyclical and sickly, like an unwarranted game.

During their first semester at SLU, a close peer of mine dealt with similar issues of addiction. Throughout a single Saturday night, they had Emergency Medical Services called on them twice within three hours. In the first instance, they vomited over a first-year common room and passed out shortly after. Later on, they were found unconscious by a group of bystanders walking past Hepburn Hall. After that night, they were required to attend alcohol counseling and remained sober for only a few weeks. They returned to drinking, falling back into the same habits. Instead of receiving help from their friends, they ended up joking about the sickly habits of addiction. Once, that friend got sober because of a bet poised by a peer. He lasted roughly three weeks before relapsing again, losing the bet in the process. It was a game, almost a sport.

My addiction is never something I’ve tried to hide – avoid, definitely, but I would never deny any questions about the topic. Several times, I had to deny pregaming with friends or casually throw a shot over my shoulder in hopes that no one noticed. But it never hindered my relationship with others, which was a prominent fear of mine when I stopped using. How was I going to connect with people if I didn’t drink? I barely knew myself sober, so I worried that others wouldn’t recognize me.

But I found myself while being sober, and I hated that person. I was more depressed than ever. My grades began slipping, I distanced myself from friends, all because I stopped drinking. By the time the summer came around, I didn’t know if I could make it through without relapsing. But through the support of friends and trusted adults who had experienced similar addictions, I was able to overcome the summer. I stopped smoking and taking edibles soon after, clearing my mind by going to the gym at 3 a.m. nightly. And, frankly, it pained me. The main reason I got through the summer was by filling my alcohol-soaked hole with anything else possible: exercising to the point of an eating disorder, a subtle pill addiction, self-harm, etc. Any addictive trait you can think of, because my issue was never drinking. My issue was with myself. Fixing my addiction was only the first step toward a resemblance of happiness, a journey that I am still working on every day.

As I am writing this piece, I still have rowdy urges to drink, and fill that void again, just to feel those bittersweet moments of blind drunken euphoria. Drinking did wonders for me, improved my writing and boosted my confidence, but it wouldn’t last. I’ve been able to translate those qualities into my sober life, working to better self-esteem and a more coherent writing style. But I’m still working through the process.

I am now over a year sober, and I am not happy. The void is concave and barren. But every day is one more step to progress, mend tattered relationships, find new and exciting addictions that truly benefit me – anything that works. I hate the actions I have committed, the substances I have put in my body, and the warning signs I still see. But as long as I continue progressing every day on this malformed path of revitalization, my drinking at SLU will all be a faint memory.