It’s been a hard, hard 18 months. Mom got sick and died. The election was crazy. Job security diminished.

In response, well-meaning people invited me to destroy my marriage, abandon my children, get into car wrecks and die a decade or three prematurely.

No one actually said that, but it’s what I heard. Because I am a recovering alcoholic.

You who can drown your sorrows in booze for one night only and get on with your life probably aren’t bothered by the casual, jovial encouragement to “pour yourself a stiff drink” after a difficult period.

Not “snort a line of cocaine” or “inject heroin”; those our society apparently recognizes as serious hazards that are no matter for a lighthearted quip. But the one drug available almost everywhere and impossible to avoid — joke away! Added bonus: It’s the holidays, a time of joy for many (good excuse to drink) and crippling loneliness for others (even better excuse). Problem, meet solution.

Never mind the, well, sobering reality that annual deaths from alcohol-related diseases have more than doubled among American adults since 2000, according to new research.

Opiate overdoses worry people, as they should. Meanwhile, the steady hardening of our livers and weakening of our hearts from alcohol abuse — especially among adults 25 to 34, who have seen a fourfold increase in deaths — appears to have barely registered beyond the advertising disclaimer to “please drink responsibly.”

Ten-plus years into sobriety, I’ve had good practice raising a placid cup of water among the colorful wine glasses for joyful toasts (of which there are so, so many this time of year). I’ve also laughed off the drinking jokes or advice of friends to imbibe during hard times. I’m sober today, and I’m confident I will be sober tomorrow.

But that certainly isn’t true of all recovering alcoholics. Everyone has their first days, weeks, months of sobriety. And world events and holiday seasons show no consideration for your fragile station in life. That’s why “one day at a time” guides so many of us — the task at hand is to stay sober now, in this moment.

It’s a mantra I too must repeat sometimes, even more than 3,900 days since I last took a drink.

Some of us in recovery might have a harder time resisting the constant invitations to relapse. So maybe find some other way to express solidarity in hard times than telling people to drink up. “Call if you need to talk” works fine.

As for alcoholics in recovery, navigating whatever upheaval complicates your sobriety — politics, war, personal relationships, holiday joy or loneliness, you name it — all of this is to say that, for what it’s worth right now, someone sees you, even if it’s just the person writing in this space.

And right now, I’ll tell you what has worked for me: More than anything else, it’s the feeling that drinking is pain. Not in an intellectual, pros-versus-cons sense. This is a gut feeling, an association, deep in the lizard brain, of drinking with physical agony.

So when someone says “we all deserve a drink after today,” I feel pangs of hangover headaches and lethargy. I think of the unforgiving loneliness of drunkenness and the first, grueling, interminable day of sobriety.

And then I’m grateful I don’t have to experience any of that right now.

I also find great comfort in talking to other alcoholics, whether in recovery meetings (which really are everywhere in Los Angeles), at everyday gatherings or even holiday parties. We tend to find each other.

The best thing about talking to recovering alcoholics? They won’t say you deserve a stiff drink, because they know you deserve something far better: sobriety, no matter how dark everything else about the world might seem.

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Paul Thornton is the Los Angeles Times’ letters editor.

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