I killed my father.
My negligence while driving took my father's life and trapped me in a guilt bubble ever since. A bubble I filled with alcohol to numb the pain. My sister, my one true friend, broke all ties with me. And I don't blame her. Every time I felt guilty or ashamed, I'd let myself drown in alcohol and life would seem a tad bit bearable. By the time realization hit me, I had turned into a pitiful alcoholic who wanted to uselessly squander her life away.
Eventually my addiction was no longer fueled by guilt but by blame. I hated the fact that people let me feel that I was responsible for my father's death. I was burning up inside. I wanted to go back to being the cheerful Chloe I once used to be. But here I was, having glass after glass. Bottle after bottle. No amount of alcohol could quench my thirst.
And then it happened — my sister finally forgave me. She insisted on taking me to rehab and as hesitant as I was, I let her take me there. I didn't want to destroy my life any further.
I proudly wear the badge of a recovering addict now. Do I still feel tempted? Yes. But every time I do, I call my sister and we go out for a run or watch a movie together. It's been 3 years now — I haven't touched alcohol and it's going to stay this way.