The Glasses / A letter to myself

Dear Katja,

You can put on different pairs of glasses.
One of them is the alcohol glasses.

When you read these lines, you might be thinking about drinking again. About how you felt with those glasses on—or even without them. A reminder, in case you forget what it’s like to be a drinker.

Remember: everything always started with just the first sip.

But do you remember how uncomfortable the swaying was—having to close one eye just to be able to see at all?
Shaking your head so you could focus.
Not knowing what to say anymore because you were so drunk. And the next morning, being unable to find words because the hangover was so bad.

That you threw up on your expensive carpet and didn’t even remember it.
By the way, there’s still a lighter patch—you now hide it under the bed.
Your hangover was so severe that you could only clean it properly later, and the stomach acid bleached the color.

Think of all the bruises.
Think of the relationships that broke because of alcohol or drug use.
When Luki said it felt like rape because you were so out of it.
That he left you alone in the night because of the taste of cocaine in your mouth.

Think of all the cigarettes you smoked while drinking—cigarettes you never smoked while sober.
Think of what it all cost: the cigarettes, the champagne, the taxis, the drugs (November 2023: 680.– just for coke).
And then you even handed over your card so someone could withdraw money for drugs—and you didn’t even remember it.

You literally paid people to drink with you.
And you had to drink to endure them.

Think of all the hangovers, the panic attacks, the anxiety.
That you couldn’t fall asleep. That you woke up.
That you threw up often enough just so you could keep drinking.

The secret drinking in the strong room.
Staggering home. Alone in bars. Letting yourself get completely wasted.
Drinking alone at home.

Unprotected, shitty sex just for a bit of affection.
How many people worried about whether you’d get home safely.

That you tried to keep relationships alive with alcohol.
The glue that this shitshow holds together?
Not entering relationships because you’d have to hide your drinking—
not only hiding this problem, but also your true self under a coat of substances.

The falls while on medication (Rüschlikon 2022).
The bruises. Talking people’s ears off (mezcal night with Chrissy) while at the same time forgetting everything they told you.
The crying from despair. The outbursts of anger (Braschlers).
Emotional explosions.
Not being able to get up and take care of important things.

All the problems you had shared one common denominator: alcohol.

There are no advantages.

And now lift your head and look at the young guy sitting across from you.
He’s drooling onto his jacket, trying to eat sardines in oil, and the beer is almost slipping out of his hand.
It’s 5:30 p.m. in Hamburg.

You’re wearing the glasses of the best life right now.
Don’t take them off, my dear.

Warmly,
Your Katja

3 December 2023