My father died of alcoholism when I was twenty three. Years later, when my mother was dying of cancer, my brother was dying too not just from the tumor they’d removed from his brain, but from the drinking that consumed him after. The chemo, the alcohol, the weight of it all: his heart gave out. He was forty nine. I was supposed to be next.

When my mother was in her final years and my brother was spiraling, I had two small children and a grief I didn’t know how to carry. So I drank. Not during the day. Not every day. But several nights a week, I’d drink to make the pain smaller, to make sleep possible. I was medicating my way through watching my mother and the men I loved die while raising babies and pretending I was fine.

I got sober four years ago. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I did it for my kids, for my husband, for the life I actually wanted to live instead of the one I was drowning in.

My friend, I’ll call her that, though I’m not sure anymore, I met her eight years ago when our sons started kindergarten together. We built a friendship on a lot of things, but honestly, a lot of it was built on drinking. Weekend hangouts where the kids would go to bed and we’d open bottles. It felt fine at the time. We were careful parents. We weren’t reckless. But it was the foundation.

When I got sober, she seemed happy for me. Then she came to visit, got blackout drunk in front of me, and I felt something shift. It wasn’t that I wanted to drink, I didn’t. But the disrespect stung. I was newly sober. I was fragile. And she brought that into my home anyway.

Over the years, her drinking got worse. And worse. Now when she calls, she’s slurring, incoherent and rambling. My son tells me she comes into his Discord calls with her son, combative and drunk, and the kids have learned to fight back instead of taking it. There’s chaos in that house. There’s verbal abuse. There’s a lifestyle I recognize from my childhood, the one that killed my father and my brother.

Last time they visited us, it was hurricane season and they needed shelter. My husband made an elaborate breakfast for everyone. They disappeared, went to get breakfast for themselves knowing he was cooking, came back and ate in front of us without getting anything for their kids or ours. The next morning, same thing. Her husband went to get food for himself while I had to feed their children.

Then later that day Gary was working trying to install our new garage door and her husband never even offered a helping hand. It was so awkward. He just watched him killing himself trying to install it and he never even moved. They are just rude and totally oblivious. It’s like having teenagers with kids over. I was exhausted when they left bc it felt like babysitting. I was doing all the cooking and cleaning and parenting.

Since then, I’ve asked her a hundred times: please don’t call me when you’re drinking. Don’t bring this into my life. She doesn’t listen.

Two days ago, she called completely obliterated and started telling me inappropriate things about her daughter, things that should be private, things I told her I didn’t need or want to know. When I got off that phone, something just snapped. I was done. I blocked her number. I blocked her from everything. No more chances. No more boundaries being crossed.

Here’s what I know from living through this: addiction is a disease. It’s genetic. It’s hereditary. It’s the hardest thing in the world to fight. I get that. I’ve been there. But I also know that you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. You can’t love them out of it. You can’t set yourself on fire to keep them warm, especially when they’re not even trying to get warm.

I’ve lost my father to this disease. I’ve lost my brother. I almost lost myself. I fought my way back because I loved my life enough to fight. She’s not there yet. Maybe she never will be. And I can’t be the cost of that anymore.

As for the boys, I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if she’ll keep them apart out of spite or anger. But I trust God with this. I trust that He has a plan for her son and for mine. If they’re meant to be in each other’s lives, they will be. And when they’re older, if they want to find each other again, my door is always open. He’s always welcome here. But I cannot mend that friendship. Not now. Maybe not ever. And I have to be okay with that.

Gary is very relived. He’s wanted this to happen for a while. He would love for her to get help, but he doesn’t like the way the friendship has evolved. We’ve outgrown them. But despite knowing that, it has literally had my stomach in knots bc I know it’s going to really upset her. I have got to protect myself and my family though. I will continue to pray she gets the help she needs.