I was drinking every day, and at the time, it felt like I had to. It brought a sense of fun, a way to smooth over the edges of life. It seemed to fill in the gaps, or at least created the illusion that it did. But now, I find myself in a different place. I don’t feel that same pull to drink. Sometimes, I catch myself thinking about the cans sitting there in the back of the fridge, but I know opening one would mean more than just a drink—it would open a door I’ve worked hard to close. This Christmas, I’m quietly hoping no one gifts me alcohol. It feels like a test I’d rather not take.