Each morning, my wife stands by the sink. I place the small white pill on my tongue, swallow two mouthfuls of water, then open my mouth…tongue raised, mouth empty.

Some mornings we say nothing. Other mornings, she asks if I slept well. Either way, this quiet ritual has become our truce.

It works. I haven’t had a drink in 1,366 days.

The pill makes it simple: If I drink, I’ll get sick…violently, immediately. My heart will pound, my face will flush, and I’ll vomit until I shake. It’s not theoretical – I’ve read the side effects. I’ve felt versions of them in miniature, just walking past someone with red wine on their breath.

But the worst side effects were never medical.

Before the pill: disappointing my children in front of their friends; Watching my wife’s face go still as she listened to me say I loved her – again; Waking up unsure if the bruises on my back came from falling or from someone trying to carry me.

Now, our mornings are orderly. There is the pill; There is the water; There is her nod.

Interestingly, Disulfiram has also shown some success in treating Retinitis Pigmentosa: a degenerative eye disease. In one study, rats given the drug found their way through mazes a little faster. Less bumping into walls. More confidence in the turns.

I like that.

Knowing myself as I do, I’m glad to be in such good company.

Zary Fekete grew up in Hungary. He has a debut novella (Words on the Page) out with DarkWinter Lit Press and a short story collection (To Accept the Things I Cannot Change: Writing My Way Out of Addiction) out with Creative Texts. He enjoys books, podcasts, and many, many, many films.

• X and Instagram: @ZaryFekete
• Bluesky: zaryfekete.bsky.social