After a highly successful drinking career, I officially retired eleven years ago. While some may assume it was a thoughtful choice following deep contemplation and discussions with loved ones, the reality was starkly different. It was a solitary drinking episode that led me to wake up fully clothed on the chilly tiles of my bathroom floor that served as the catalyst for my decision. Though similar mornings had prompted brief periods of sobriety before, this particular day marked a definitive turning point. As I swore off self-medication for good, I knew my drinking days were over.
In the winter following my sobriety, I penned a horror screenplay filled with themes of betrayal and torment, mirroring my inner turmoil at the time. Less than a year later, I found myself in Los Angeles, co-writing a sitcom that reflected my newfound sense of lightness. Despite these positive changes, an underlying unease persisted within me. Despite emerging from addiction physically unscathed and surrounded by a supportive social circle, alongside my dream girlfriend, I, Kevin 2.0, felt a lingering sense of anxiety. Wasn’t this the life I had always yearned for?
Possibly due to my Irish heritage, ingrained with a belief that fleeting good fortune is not meant to last, I found it challenging to fully embrace contentment. Amid the relentless pursuit of personal and professional perfection in the U.S., was I denying my true self?
In my upbringing, men avoided discussing their issues, opting instead for deflection, humor, and drowning sorrows in alcohol. Outgoing behavior was prized, while quietness was viewed as a flaw requiring correction. The label of “quiet” became a deep-seated insult for me over time.
Since my teenage years, I grappled with anxiety and despair, burdened by a weight that often left me bedridden. My immersive escapism through video games in my youth foreshadowed my career as a film and TV editor, where I sought solace in a screen’s problems. Yet, a sense of belonging eluded me.
Enter alcohol.
My early relationships were intertwined with alcohol, kickstarting at parties, bars, or clubs. Gradually, I lost touch with the introspective, studious child within me, drowning him in the allure of red wine.
Upon achieving sobriety and relocating to the U.S., I believed I could meticulously control every aspect of my life. I pursued relationships with dynamic women whom I deemed fitting for Kevin 2.0. Despite my efforts to keep pace, I eventually succumbed to exhaustion. Professionally, I projected positivity while suppressing my inherent cynicism, fearing judgment as a pessimist. My relentless work ethic led to burnouts, yet I persisted. Despite abstaining from alcohol successfully, its lingering specters continued to haunt me, gradually surfacing.
In 2022, during a boat trip in the south of France to mark our 50th birthdays, I grappled with unease navigating wine country with enthusiastic drinkers. While my friends indulged on deck, I busied myself with exercise and photography. As the trip progressed, I allowed myself to unwind, only to revert to overdrive upon returning home.
During a visit from my Irish family in September, my facade of composure faltered, particularly evident to my youngest sister. Following a candid conversation, she suggested exploring medication with my doctor. Initially resistant to altering my mental state artificially, I eventually acquiesced. Surprisingly, a sense of relief washed over me as I embraced this new path.
Several months into my medication regimen, I continue to acclimate to its effects. Sobriety marked just the beginning of my journey. Transitioning from Ireland to L.A. was a mere starting point. Embracing medication signaled a fresh chapter. For me, progress lies in relinquishing the pursuit of perfection, the need for approval, and shedding unrealistic self-expectations that prove detrimental in the long run.
Learning to accept myself as Kevin 3.0, flaws and all, is my ongoing endeavor—a journey towards self-acceptance and letting go.
Kevin Lavelle, a freelance writer residing in Echo Park.