Heavy Drinking: The Long, Slow Suicide

January 26, 2026

Kristen Crisp, Author

Tom O'Connor, Publisher

Many alcoholics don't realize they're harming themselves

Reality check. When the hospital called to talk to me about my sister, they connected me with a hospice nurse. What the actual f***?

"Why am I talking to a hospice nurse?" I asked, confused but not ignorant. "Your sister is in stage four liver disease. She has about 2 months to live," she replied, "I'm sorry."

We like to think that our drinking is casual. Normal. Not a problem. Until you get a call like this.

When I got my sister's medical records from a hospital she'd been to the previous year, it showed she was in stage one. When asked, she stated that she "drank casually." 

I call bullshit. I know my sister knew she had a problem, but her ego got the best of her. Instead of talking to us about it, she didn't want to burden us with her "problem." I wish she had.

Why? When we drink as young adults, it's typically because we are trying to be accepted. To act more adult. To be a part of the cool kids' table. To stave off peer pressure and to mask any self-esteem issues or traumas of our childhoods. But as time progresses, we continue to drink because "everyone's doing it" or it makes us feel better.

My thoughts always sounded like this: "I want to quit, but this weekend is Kristi's birthday, maybe next week. Shit, next week is Valentine's Day. I'll leave after that. Oh, wait, damn. Then there's the corporate office event and a store opening. Screw it. I'll think about it another time. I succumb, pass me a beer."

On the numerous occasions I told friends I thought I should quit drinking, I'd hear things like, "What for? There's nothing wrong with you. You drink normally."

As they did, when someone tells you your addiction is okay, it's usually because they are right alongside you and don't want to expose themselves.

It's a slippery slope. 

"Normal" Isn't healthy.

It wasn't until I ended up in the ER with the DTs after a night of heavy drinking and smoking weed that I realized my "normal" behavior wasn't healthy.

My psychiatrist happened to be on his rounds and saw my name on the charts. He walked in the room, asking why I was there, and when I told him what had happened, he blew up in anger because I was drinking while on the antidepressants he'd prescribed. I replied, "You mean that wasn't a good idea? My bad." 

The following week, my therapist and I talked at length about my drinking history, where I uncovered the truth. It wasn't "normal" to have multiple blackouts in your life. It wasn't "normal" to have countless hangovers. It wasn't "normal" to wake up in a state of "What happened? Where am I?" or my favorite, "Who are you?"

My drinking wasn't regular. But society said it was. As I aged, my hangovers became far more intense and violent. I was beating up my body, but continued down the wrong path.

Liver, Liver Chicken Dinner

When my dad was 65, he had prostate cancer. Praise the Lord, his surgery was successful, and he's still kicking at 85 today. When he came out of surgery, the surgeon asked him, "Did you drink a lot when you were young?"

My dad laughed, "I was in the Navy, that's all we did was drink. Yes, I was a huge scotch drinker for many years. Why do you ask?" "Because your liver looks like a sponge," he candidly replied. "The liver never lies," he said as he stared dead into my father's eyes. I never forgot that line.

According to the University of Chicago Medicine, "A liver without cirrhosis can repair itself and regain normal function if treatment recommendations are followed and work…However, once cirrhosis develops, the liver usually cannot repair itself."

Doom and Gloom

When my sister entered the hospital from a collapse, and I was told she was bloated and yellow, I knew what was happening. I now refer to it as "The Long, Slow Suicide."

I know enough about my sister to see that she didn't want to die. She was afraid of death. But she unintentionally killed herself.

When we continue to go out and "get wasted" in our midlife stages, chances are, we already have liver damage to an extent we don't realize. I recently had blood work done, and my liver functions are normal. But as the word liver came up, I couldn't help but think, I wonder if mine looks like a sponge, too? Like father, like daughter.

Maybe my 6-year stint of sobriety, coupled with my current 685 days off drinking, has been enough to repair some significant damage. I don't believe any of my friends who continue to drink heavily are intending to kill themselves. But as we age, the damage that alcohol inflicts upon our bodies becomes much more irreversible.

The father of a friend of mine had alcoholism. As his liver became severely damaged, he learned that to have a liver transplant, you have to be clean and sober for six months. He didn't qualify as the doctors knew he wouldn't live that long. And he didn't.

That was the first thought that entered my mind when the hospice nurse said stage four liver disease. "Oh my God, she's going to die."

The one time I wish foreshadowing hadn't been so on point. As a post-menopausal woman who notices her brain fog and has a family history of Alzheimer's disease, the last thing I want to do is kill brain cells and pickle my liver any further with a bunch of gin and tonic, followed by a morning of NSAIDs and/or heavy-duty migraine medications. Although I miss the drink, I want to live a long, healthy life.

I'm no medical expert, but if you're pondering your 401 (k) and social security statements and still getting shit faced on the weekends, it might be time you get your liver enzymes checked and think about cutting back on the drink before it's too late.

The Long, Slow Suicide is just that — long and slow. Like a new infatuation gone wrong, it starts fun and exciting, full of giddiness and joy, love and lust. But over time, it reveals its true self. Heavy, abusive, self-absorbed, and traumatic. It starts by telling you how beautiful, sexy, fun, and amazing you are, then slowly works its narcissistic ways to make you feel stupid, worthless, ugly, and less than.

Don't be its next victim. It's time for a divorce.

I am not a medical, psychiatric, addiction, or recovery specialist. All stories are based on my personal experience and are not a substitute for addiction or medical help. If someone you know struggles with drinking or drugs, don't hesitate to reach out to them and to find them professional help. You might be the help they're waiting for.

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Kristen Crisp lives in Chiquimula, Guatemala, and writes stories about life, love, loss, liquor, and the daily struggles of sobriety. Her mantra is "Find Yourself and Love What You Find." 

Kristen is the Founder of a popular podcast, Not Even Wine with Dinner (https://www.notevenwinewithdinner.com/), which is a collection of bits & pieces about the perils of alcohol, remaining sober, and how we can all help each other just a tiny bit in what is a huge struggle. 

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