The first time I realized I needed help for my addiction was when my dad was in the hospital being treated for cancer. This was two years after my mother passed from the same thing. I had been spiraling down for probably six months in the time I was told he was sick. The day came where I was called to watch him in the hospital overnight. The women who called me there was like a sister to me, although we weren't related. I quickly panicked because I knew I would have to bring alcohol in with me to avoid DTs that night but I also knew that the hospital wouldn't be so kind if it was discovered. So I did it anyway. I had to. When I arrived, my dad's brother and she was there, she took me into the bathroom and proceeded to give me the worst lecture I've ever gotten from another person, I am talking screaming at the top of her lungs, and she was justified. That only served to dispel any of my own justification. I did end up staying the night at the hospital, being as useless as I was. It was the first time I needed to be both present as well as sober, and I failed on both counts. After that night instead of trying to get better, depression took hold. Shortly after, my dad passed. I had a meltdown at his house about a month before he did, I was so angry with everyone. My dad's last words were "I am dying, I love you". I was not invited to the funeral that I remember. I spiraled so hard, I felt that there was no reason to think things could get better, the drinking got worse. These years were the darkest of my life and I didn't know that there was help or a community.