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Comparing Addictions: Alcohol vs. Kratom

Having recently relapsed on alcohol, I was starkly reminded of just how bad a drunk I am. Seriously, it’s a spectacle. I turn into a walking emotional liability. I already cry a lot. Drinking just makes it less optional.

Having said this, you’d probably expect me to say alcoholism is worse than kratom… especially since most people don’t even know what kratom is (though thankfully that’s starting to change). But honestly? I don’t know which is worse. It doesn’t really feel like picking sides, more like comparing two very different kinds of mess.

Immediate vs. Gradual Consequences

Alcohol hits hard and fast. The fallout shows up right away—fights with friends and family, trouble at work, even run-ins with the law. My relationship with drinking left a trail of damage. I didn’t wake up one day suddenly addicted, but the consequences showed up long before the real spiral began.

Kratom is slower. It sneaks in, almost quietly. It didn’t wreck my friendships, but it did put a real strain on my marriage. I didn’t lose jobs or end up in court, but I did dig myself into financial holes and carry around a lot of emotional weight.

If I had to compare the two, alcohol feels like a panic attack—loud, chaotic, impossible to ignore. Kratom is more like chronic depression—quieter, heavier, and easier to hide in the moment. Neither is a good option. You just don’t get a prize for surviving one over the other.

The Jekyll and Hyde Effect

Kratom never really changed who I was. Alcohol, on the other hand, turned me into a full Jekyll-and-Hyde situation. With kratom, it wasn’t that—I was still me—but it dragged me into a depression so deep it ate away at everything. Alcohol blew things up right in front of me, but kratom was the loneliest experience I’ve ever had. Try explaining to people that you’re falling apart because of something they’ve never even heard of. At least with alcoholism, people recognize the word.

When I did open up, friends would shrug and say, “Well, at least it’s not alcohol.” And I’d sit there thinking, “Yeah… I guess?” It’s strange, comparing one addiction to another, like I’m weighing them on a scale. But that’s the reality—two completely different nightmares, and somehow I lived through both.

Quitting: A Tale of Two Addictions

When I quit drinking, I pushed through the first 24 to 48 hours and then I was basically fine. No AA, no sponsor—just therapy, willpower, and vibes. was so determined that being around alcohol didn’t even faze me. When I decided I was done, I was done.I almost checked into rehab once, but I freaked out during detox and left. I wasn’t ready yet, and I knew it.

Kratom was a whole different beast. Even when I was ready—really ready—my determination meant nothing. Quitting felt like actual hell. I only went cold turkey once, on my honeymoon of all times, and it was a nightmare. Sweating, depression, insomnia, restless legs, the full package. Truly a romantic getaway.

And the fun didn’t stop there. Once the physical part was over, my serotonin and dopamine were basically in shambles. About 30 days later it somehow got worse, thanks to PAWS (Post-Acute Withdrawal Syndrome). I got stuck in a cycle of quitting and relapsing on kratom, even while on Suboxone, which is not a great place to be. It made me feel like a hardcore addict for something you can buy at 7-Eleven.

Eventually, I got so fed up with the cycle that I went back to alcohol. Not exactly a gold-star decision, but it forced the kind of intervention I needed. So, do I regret it? Not completely.

The Trolls Come Out

Once people started to learn about kratom, the trolls emerged. They made it seem like we were trash for getting addicted to something from a gas station. Just to clarify, that’s not where I picked up my kratom habit, but once I needed more and more, the convenience of smoke shops and gas stations became my go-to. I felt like people thought I was trashy for being addicted to it. The irony is that kratom is marketed as a “healthy” alternative—to coffee, to alcohol. A mood boost, a little energy, a better option than drinking. Perfect bait for someone like me, just looking for relief. In reality, what they did was target vulnerable people, call it wellness, and cash in when they get addicted.

Then there are the pro-kratom advocates, which makes navigating this whole situation even trickier. The substance has had such a profound negative impact on my life while seemingly being positive for others. For the record, I don’t think kratom shouldn’t be banned, but it definitely needs regulation, especially extracts like “Feel Free” and “7-Oh.”

Final Thoughts

So while I’m mostly focusing on kratom since that’s what’s fresh in my mind, I can’t forget that I did recently relapse on alcohol. It took five years to get there, and strangely, that’s part of why I feel more solid in my sobriety now. I don’t have that voice in my head anymore—the one that used to wonder if maybe I could drink again someday and be fine. I can’t.

Alcohol created reckless situations that kratom never did. But kratom drained me in a different way. It left me hollowed out, with suicidal ideations I had never felt before, which was unsettling after all the progress I’d made once I quit drinking.

This comparison doesn’t really give me an answer. It just reminds me that addiction, in any form, strips you down until there’s not much left.

When Your “Alcohol Alternative” Brings You Back to Drinking

May 21st was supposed to mark my 6-year soberversary from alcohol. Instead, I’m acknowledging a different milestone—about one month since my unexpected relapse. And trust me, no one was more surprised by this plot twist than I was.

What led to this unexpected detour? Well, it turns out my kratom addiction (which I’ve written about before) completely wrecked my body chemistry. When I finally quit kratom, my serotonin levels absolutely tanked. And I don’t mean just a little dip—I mean the lowest I’ve ever felt in my life.

On paper, my life was fine—great, even—but I felt worse than I ever had in my entire life. And I’ve been on antidepressants for years, so that’s saying something.

I later discovered I’m not alone—in recovery groups I’m part of, kratom users report suicidal ideation with alarming frequency, both while using and especially during withdrawal. The mental health impact of this substance is seriously underestimated.

For those unfamiliar, PAWS (Post-Acute Withdrawal Syndrome) is the gift that keeps on giving after you quit certain substances. Your brain chemistry goes haywire trying to rebalance itself, and it can last for months. Fun times.

In my infinite wisdom, I decided alcohol seemed like a safer alternative to going back to kratom. I told myself I could handle “just one” to take the edge off. Part of me even had been romanticizing my past reckless behavior, wondering if maybe, just maybe, I would be ok if I drank again one day.

What started as “just one drink to take the edge off” spiraled into a two-week bender. Maybe part of me thought that after almost six years, I could handle it. I couldn’t. The second alcohol hit my system, I became a completely different person—like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but with more drunk texting and fewer Victorian vibes.

I wish I could say I blacked out and don’t remember much, but no. I remember just about everything. And let me tell you, the embarrassment is strong. But in a weird way, I’m grateful for it. Seeing that version of myself again was a harsh but necessary reminder of why I quit drinking in the first place.

The truth is, I could have prevented this spiral if I’d been more honest—with myself, my doctors, and the people around me.

I had a suboxone doctor I’d only met with twice (virtually) who gave me way too many subs with little guidance. I was essentially making up my own dosing schedule (and often skipping doses because subs scared me). Meanwhile, I didn’t tell my regular psychiatrist about being on suboxone. I mentioned needing to up my antidepressants but didn’t explain why until it was too late.

I saw the train coming but didn’t move quickly enough to get off the tracks.

I’d gone on autopilot with my mental health—just going through the motions, not really engaging with the process or being honest about how I was truly feeling. That’s a dangerous place to be. Mental health requires constant vigilance and active participation, not passive management.

On the bright side—I’m about a month past that bender now, and I have zero desire to drink ever again. That little voice in the back of my head wondering if I could ever drink “normally” has been silenced for good.

I’m kratom and alcohol free, attending therapy more regularly, being transparent with my doctors, and I’ve adjusted my medication. The difference is night and day—I’m feeling 200% better. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this… normal?

I also learned a lot about how people handle situations during this time. I’ve become extremely grateful to a handful of people who showed up for me in ways I never expected—especially my husband, who has dealt with quite a bit. Though I’m starting to remember that I too have a lot to offer and am deserving of that level of effort and compassion (even if I’m a little unhinged at times). When you’re vulnerable, it’s easy to let people into spaces they haven’t earned access to, but not everyone deserves that proximity to your healing process. And not everybody wants to be a part of it… and that is ok too. Find your people and move on. I’m so grateful to have found mine.

This experience taught me several important things:

  1. You don’t need to be embarrassed by being on antidepressants. It’s not big pharma just trying to drug me up—imbalances exist, and it’s ok if you need assistance to feel your best.
  2. I need to check in more with friends. I leaned heavily on some people during this time, and their support meant everything. But I also learned they were going through their own struggles—you truly never know what someone else is dealing with.
  3. I can control whether I have that first drink, but once alcohol is in my system, all bets are off. And I hate who I am when I drink, so it’s a hard pass from me.
  4. Never go on autopilot with your mental health. The moment you start disengaging from your own care is the moment things start to unravel.

Here’s the thing: relapse sucks. But it is a part of recovery. And when I did the math, I realized that if you include the six years from my original sobriety date and subtract those two weeks of my bender, I was still sober for 99.3% of that time. That’s pretty damn good.

So, I’m choosing to live without shame. I’m focusing on stabilizing, being honest, and just trying to be a good person. Here’s to starting the counter again. Regardless of the reasons or circumstances, I take full responsibility for my actions. Turning back to the bottle was a poor and unsafe choice—one I won’t make again.

Sweenbrioty

Last Thursday I quietly celebrated a huge personal milestone. There were no champagne corks to be popped and no shots to be had though. This wasn’t the type of milestone you celebrated that way for because Thursday, Nov. 21st marked 6 months of abstaining from alcohol. Full disclosure, I did gleefully eat my weight in Froyo.

I have a strange relationship with this newfound sobriety. Part of me wants to scream on top of rooftops, proudly declaring to anybody who will listen, that I don’t drink anymore. The other part of me wants to shrivel up and hide in shame and pretend I never had a problem with alcohol, to begin with.

A few days into my sobriety or a few days before (I cannot recall) I wrote a post finally admitting that I had a problem with alcohol.  I kept it up a few days but did not share the post to any of my social media accounts.  Then after mulling over it agonizingly a couple days, I changed the post to private. I have not reread the post since. I’m actually sort of afraid to. I was in such a different headspace than I am in now and it’s hard to bring myself to relive that shame.  “Shame”…. there’s that word again, it haunts me.

It’s kind of weird how open I am about my struggles with anxiety, but I am also more secretive about my struggle with alcohol. I feel like there are so many more negative connotations with being an alcoholic and at the end of the day is it really a stigma…or is it just the reality of it?

I was a really shitty person when I drank and the severity of my drinking isn’t something I usually openly ever shareabout…maybe it should be…. maybe it shouldn’t. Just trust me, it was bad. Like shakes in the morning, drinking pints of vodka straight bad. Anxiety is hard enough. Now imagine having an anxiety disorder while withdrawing. That was my reality.  I cringe when I think about my behavior in the past decade (yup…decade, wow) due to drinking.

But whats a newly 6-month sober girl supposed to do, get down on herself 24/7 because of the past? I’m not saying I don’t reflect because I do but for my sanity, it is so much healthier for me to look at the present and future. So now that I’ve opened pandora’s box and shared this post I definitely plan on sprinkling in posts about sobriety here and there. I can’t change my past but I can learn from it. and hopefully, I can help others struggling to be less afraid to open up.

❤ Sweeney