Last Halloween, I hosted a party and blacked out — it was the last time I drank. This year, I'm hosting a sober Halloween party.

• Last Halloween, I hosted a party and got so drunk that I blacked out.
• I realized I was drinking to make social interactions easier as an autistic person.
• I no longer drink, and I'm hosting a sober Halloween party this year.

Last year, I went through the biggest breakup of my life, with the coparent of my child. We'd been together for six years, and I had enmeshed my existence with his.

Quickly into our relationship, I began finding ways to disassociate from my body. Much of that was with the help of cannabis and an occasional drink. We had moments of sobriety from alcohol together, but we were rarely both fully sober.

When he moved out in September 2022, I decided I was going to plan a Halloween party. I'm a trans person who's also autistic, and that party was a wake-up call.

I thought the party was a step in the right direction, but I was wrong

My new roommates were moving in, and I started to make friends with other trans people — a community I was desperate for as an isolated trans person living out in the country. I invited some queer friends from my job at the local library. I was also beginning a relationship with another trans person, so many of their friends also showed up. I felt elated — like I finally was building a community that I cared deeply for.

The party was great. I made too many Jell-O shots, took too many Jell-O shots, and shotgunned beers on the front porch. I started feeling like I belonged in my life. But the rest of the night is a hole in my memory.

The day after the party, my head throbbed, and I spent the day in bed recovering. I cleaned up the yard slowly, trying to recall moments of connection I had the previous night. What I remembered instead were my attempts at being the center of attention — showing my pre-top-surgery chest to all my friends, confessing my love to my cis, straight friend right in front of her monogamous boyfriend, talking loudly and oversexualizing every conversation.

I realized what I had spent the night doing was performing — not connecting.

I decided to stop drinking then and there

It didn't feel especially hard to quit at first. Everything else in my life was changing so drastically; this just felt like a minor change in comparison. I spent the winter sober. I didn't consider myself an alcoholic or addict; I just figured that everyone turned into a different person when they drank. Then I started realizing that when friends would bring up drinking and doing drugs casually, I felt an enormous lump in my throat — both a craving and a fear.

Over the next few months, I started to desperately crave a method of dissociation. I didn't drink or smoke cannabis, but I tried "magic" mushrooms a few times hoping for some kind of spiritual message to be channeled through me. Truthfully, the mushrooms just made me feel more anxious.

I wondered whether I had a mood disorder. After unintentionally designing my TikTok algorithm, I came across a video discussing the intersection between autism and substance abuse.

I realized my autism was playing a role in my drinking

As a trans person who's also autistic, I'm used to dealing with intersectionality, but I didn't realize there was a connection between drinking and my autism. After learning that my drinking and getting high was just a desperate act of social masking, I tried to figure out how to unmask without the help of substances. In most social situations, I still felt deeply uncomfortable, always wanting to have just one drink so that I could hold a "normal" conversation.

Then, a friend invited me to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

At first, I was overwhelmed by the environment that seemed extremely unfriendly for autistic people— fluorescent overhead lighting and being randomly called upon to share. I was freaked out.

But then I found virtual meetings where I could keep my camera off until I was comfortable engaging.

This year, I'm throwing a sober party

Through AA and making friends with other sober people — many of whom are also trans and autistic — I now feel less of a desire to pick up a drink. But I know that deep down, I love to socialize and especially love to host parties, which is why I'm throwing a sober Halloween party this year.

I still worry that I may feel overwhelmed and need to take space during the event, but I know that it's always an option to just go into my room and close the door for a little while.

This year, I can show up for those who attend in a way that feels authentic and de-centers myself. I'm still in the early stages of working the program and figuring out what I want sobriety to look like for me long term.

But I'm nearly one year sober and can actually remember the moments of connection I share with those I love. To me, that's way more precious than forcing another godforsaken Jell-O shot down my throat this Halloween.