Son of an Alcoholic

I know I shouldn't drink.

I don't know my limits sometimes.

Sometimes I take things way too far;

I lose control and drink until I blackout. 

I've scared the people that love me when they find me unconscious in a puddle of my own sick or barley breathing, passed out in bed.
I should learn some limits but once I start, sometimes I just can't stop.
I binge until I don't have to think at all.
I don't think it will spiral out of control, but it almost always does.

It sounds like a weak, cop-out answer. 

I'm the child of an alcoholic. 

Out of all my siblings (the ones that I know about anyway), I'm the drunk.
I can go periods without drinking, hold my willpower, but there are times when the sorrow becomes too much and what do I do? 

Escape into the bottle.

I know that there are no answers, no healing in a vodka bottle, but it will numb me out to all of the things I don't want to think about; all the things that I don't want to feel.

Vodka is my poison of choice.
I put in everything.
Juice. Soda. Chocolate Milk. Coffee.
Pretty much anything I can pour it into, I can.
And when I can't do that?
Shot after shot, after shot.
It slides down so smooth.
I love that it's clear.
Somehow, it somehow makes it appear healthy, even though I know it's not.

Bruises decorate my wrists and forearms.
They crawl up my knees and thighs.
I don't remember how I lost control.
I was happy, swinging around on the merry-go-round.
Colours were vivid and everything tasted magical.
I hit the ground with a bone-shattering collision.
My knees ache.
My shins ache.
Everything else feels numb.
My stomach is churning and my head is throbbing.
It feels like I can't breathe.
My lungs don't want to expand.
I don't know why I've once again done this to me.
I lay in the dark gasping, wanting all of this to end;
either get better or die.
I'm fine with both of these things.
I lose consciousness, falling into a sea of blackness.

When morning breaks, the sun burns away the cool grey of the night.
I lay curled up in a ball, my stomach on fire, my head throbbing.
I never learn from the pain.
I'm breathing easier.
I'm amazed I made it through the night.
I was almost sure that I wasn't going to wake up.
I take a deep breath and roll onto my back.
I'm glad I had the half sense to sleep on my side, rather than my back in case I threw up.
Choking on vomit is not a pleasant way to die.
I watch the sun rise high into the sky and wonder will tonight be another night I lose to the bottle or will tonight be one that I lose to a high?