“Save Me, Because I Know I Can’t Save Myself”

“Save Me, Because I Know I Can’t Save Myself”

Inside the Mind of an Alcoholic on the Edge

A FaceThyFear Original by Malcolm Pannell

“Save me, because I know I can’t save myself.”

I wrote that line beside a stick figure drawing of myself, standing under the sun, next to a flower. It wasn’t meant to be poetic. It was a plea. That sentence would become one of the most honest things I’ve ever put to paper.

This isn’t a success story. This isn’t a motivational speech.

This is a journal — ripped straight from the chaos.

From the day I relapsed and claimed a 30-day chip I hadn’t earned.

From the darkness before I got sober for real.

From the war going on inside the mind of an alcoholic who didn’t want to die, but didn’t know how to live.

October 18, 2022 – Day 23 Sober

Meeting with Mike (My Sponsor)

Topic: “The Doctor’s Opinion”

“I cannot safely drink alcohol.”

“Craving beyond mental control.”

“Pathological mental deterioration.”

“Living just to drink.”

I was doing the work. Reading Step 2. Studying Bill’s Story. Writing notes. Showing up to meetings. But I still didn’t feel safe — not from the world, not from the craving, and not from myself. My brain knew what alcohol was doing to me, but my body still missed the feeling.

This is what early recovery looks like for a lot of us: learning the truth while still feeling the lie.

October 23, 2022 – Day 28 Sober

AA Meeting – About 40 People

“Man, I almost relapsed today. I just wanted to take one long gulp.”

“That shit would’ve sent me straight to bliss world.”

“Would it have been worth it? Fuck no.”

I didn’t want to be there that day. I didn’t want to be anywhere. I felt the craving in my throat like fire. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to be sober. Not because I wanted to drink — but because I didn’t know how to exist without drinking.

Then I wrote something that still hits me hard:

“I feel like Chief Keef — ‘I hate being sober.’”

That wasn’t a joke. That was real. I didn’t know how to live yet. Sobriety felt like being exposed to the elements with no armor. I was sitting in a church, trying to keep it together… when a guy walked in with a gun on his hip.

“WTF? Plus you have a drinking problem — you should not be carrying.”

Then I looked down at my own shirt.

“I just realized I’m wearing a t-shirt with various guns on it. Lol.”

That’s the madness of addiction. Hyper-aware and totally disassociated at the same time. Judging someone else while forgetting I was in a full-blown internal war myself.

But I didn’t drink that day. I survived it. Barely.

October 24, 2022 – Day 29 Sober

Meeting with Mike Again

“No real alcoholic ever recovers control.”

That’s what I wrote after a meeting. I smiled. I nodded. I did everything “right.”

Then I walked out the door and went straight to the liquor store.

I was 29 ½ days sober.

I drank.

And I claimed a 30-day chip the next day.

That lie haunted me. Not because I drank — but because I couldn’t face it. I wanted so badly to be better, to feel proud, to prove something.

But this is the page I left behind that same day:

“Save Me” (Original Journal Page)

(Drawn figure under a sun, next to a flower)

“Save me,

Because I know I can’t save myself.

End.”

That was my cry. Not for sympathy — for something bigger than me to take over. I didn’t know how to quit. I didn’t want to die. But I couldn’t keep living like that either.

The Relapse: What Really Happened

“The relapse was terrible. I had no warnings. I felt the liquor go down my entire body.”

My liver was already swollen. I was in liver failure. I didn’t care. I kept drinking.

One sip turned into blackout days. No memory. I’d wake up in sweat, or in a pissy bed. Sometimes both. I could never tell. It was like hell was leaking through my skin.

When I tried to stop, I would hallucinate. My nightmares would rip me apart. I wasn’t just detoxing — I was dying.

“The night before I went to detox, I had my 9mm in my mouth.”

And even after that, I woke up and drank.

I walked into detox drunk. Met another alcoholic in the lobby who told me there was a liquor store “around the way.”

Let’s just say I left the lobby twice before being admitted.

That night?

Withdrawals hit like demons tearing through my body.

I was locked in detox with junkies, drunks, and broken souls. And for once… I was just another one of them.

“That night — those withdrawals — that was the closest to death I’ve ever come.”

November 17, 2022 – Day 1 of the Real Me

That’s when I got sober for real. That’s when I stopped lying.

I’ve been sober ever since.

And as of today — March 24, 2025 — I’ve been sober for 858 days.

No fake chips. No skipped steps. No pretending.

Just one hard-fought day at a time.

What I Know Now

• One sip doesn’t lead to bliss. It leads to hell.

• Lying about a chip doesn’t make you a failure. It makes you human.

• You don’t have to save yourself. But you do have to ask for help.

• Sobriety isn’t peace at first. It’s war — but it gets better.

• 858 days later… the sun in that little drawing? It finally feels real.

If You’re in That Moment Right Now…

I see you.

If the silence is too loud…

If you’re faking it at meetings…

If your hand is on the bottle…

If you’ve already slipped and you’re too ashamed to say it out loud —

You are not alone.

I wrote this for you.

Because I was you.

And if I made it out?

You can too.

FaceThyFear: From Darkness to Light

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