My name is Alice and I was in love with an alcoholic.
Love is not an addiction like alcohol. But it’s superbly difficult to give up either way.
I am lucky that the man I once loved is healthy. He is still here, he is still alive, he is now healthy. But he is not mine. He never was.
Once upon a time I found myself a Prince Charming. Cinderella; the girl from the small town who dreamed of taking her magic singing voice into the wider world. And Prince Charming; the man who could make that happen. I pretended to be so many different things to impress him. Not the girl who had only slept with one man. Not the girl who panicked the moment she left her comfort zone. Not the girl who cried because she missed her home and her church and the high, high notes she could soar to in her sleep.
The woman, who dreamed of more – of a life in a city where the traipsed in her stilettos telling everyone what they were. The woman, who knew her Chateau Neuf De Pape from her Cabernet Sauvignon. The Woman to his Sherlock Holmes.
I loved him. I was obsessed with him and his every move.
And in the words of Avril Lavigne; “He was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it any more obvious?”
Two naïve children pretending to be something they weren’t.
Two naïve adults, in love with each other, too stupid to say anything more, too messed up to help one another, prepared to drown together.
I wasn’t strong enough to be your life jacket. And I hope you forgive me.
I am lucky that the man I once loved is healthy. Is sober. Is alive. And yet, not mine anymore.