989 days, 32.48 months, 2.7 years ago, I woke up and for the thousandth time promised myself I wouldn’t get drunk today. There was nothing special about this particular day. I had no pressing reason to get sober. I didn’t fear losing anything because I had already lost it all. I was crashing on a dirty red sofa in my best friends, boyfriends sunroom. I had about $30 to my name, a car which thankfully ran, and a rolling cleaners rack to hold my clothes, and I didn’t even have enough clothes to fill the “closet”. My relationship had ended, my job was close to ending as well and my friendships were quickly evaporating. Yet honestly none of this motivated me to quit drinking. I wanted to quit because I was certain that I was just a few days or hours from drinking a poison I’d researched and ending my life. And I was sure that if I kept drinking I would have the courage to follow through with my plans. I had not yet begun my transition.