Yes. It happened all the time.
After a certain number of drinks, my brain would lose the ability to record what was happening. It was as if I entered some kind of automatic mode, where someone else took control.
At first, it scared me.
Then, somehow, giving up control became normal.
Normal to wake up with entire pieces of the night missing.
Normal to give away pieces of my own biography.
My memories.
My decisions.
My conversations.
Things I did, things I said, things I felt.
And then I would wake up having to reconstruct my own life from external evidence: what other people told me, the messages and photos on my phone, or simply the consequences of decisions I couldn’t remember making.
Sometimes, other people knew more about my night than I did.
And technically, I know that person was still me.
But I keep coming back to this question:
If I was there, making choices, but I can’t remember any of it… how much of that person feels like me?
Maybe what I’m trying to get back isn’t just sobriety.
It’s continuity. Presence.
It’s returning to my own body and fully inhabiting it again.
To be the person living my life, and the person who remembers having lived it.