etc.

Day 20

My cleverness has gone. The day has been flat as hell.

Tomorrow marks three weeks of sober me. I'm reasonably sure I've made it to 21 days once before, but never like this. In the past I've done what, as it turns out, lots of people do. I've sort of held my breath waiting for the sober spell (typically a thousand days shorter than my aim) to pass. I've come to realise that that's not really stopping drinking at all, it's just waiting to drink again and what I really REALLY want is to stop wanting to drink all the fucking time. 

I don't know what spurred me to try and bin off the booze this time. I guess the tired, worn-out, shakes her head in dismay 'Me' finally shouted the loudest (I really hope she's not the only one left, after all the mayhem is gone, she's fucking depressing!!). There was no catastrophic event but there was an early morning wake up, dry mouth, rumbly guts and a terrible sense of regret as I pieced the evening before back together in my foggy head. Yet another Tuesday night spent sinking two (and a bit) bottles of wine, on my own, watching shit TV and working late. What a waste. 

I lay there, curled up, and actually said the words "can we stop now?" out loud into my empty bedroom at 5am, like a nutter. But I knew I wouldn't.

I've read many books over the past three weeks and have taken great power from putting into action the advised disassociation from the alcohol obsessed voice in my head. You know the one? The one who is constantly wondering if there is enough in the house, in my glass, in my glass compared to your glass, worrying that people aren't drinking fast enough and that I'm not going to get enough in time (for what, I have literally no idea!). I guess it was that inner alchi (the 'Bitch') that I was talking to.

So anyway, I soldiered on, bravely popping corks all week after that. Dragging my sorry arse to work every morning and rewarding myself every evening (afternoon more like) with copious amounts of wine. But something in me had changed that morning and by Friday, on the drive into my office, the real me asked the bitch within (must think up a better alchi voice name) if I could just have just that one night off but she didn't get a chance to answer. I did instead, the real me! A voice I don't hear often, the one who is kind and gentle and knows how hard I'm trying to hold everything together all the time. I felt like the future me (the proper grown up one) was talking to the child me. 

God, I hope no one ever reads this blog or I might be sectioned!!   

and then, THEN I said "do you promise" (in my head). I mean, what the actual fuck!!? So yes, no crashed car or fall down the stairs or getting fired or being so smashed I forgot to get my kids from school but some seriously unhappy, mental shit and I just knew, enough was enough. 

So yes, I do promise- I won't drink for at least 100 days and I hope that when I get to 100 I fancy a 100 more and that I never drink again and that the constant conflict and brain noise and missing out on life and never knowing how great I/life can be will all fuck off and be in the past. But it's a lot harder and sadder and more emotional than I thought it would be. 

Scarily, I've come to realise that not picking up a drink is probably not going to be enough. To really be free and to have a long life where I remember stuff and reach my potential and set the very best example to my kids and value myself properly (and don't have insane arguments with myself in cars) is going to require more.  

Alcohol filled up a lot of time and, more importantly, a lot of gaps. Some gaps I guess are scars and others are parts of me that I never built, because I found a shortcut- booze = confidence right (wrong) so why bother with actual self-esteem when you can buy it in a bottle, for the night. etc. 

I think that to really achieve the peace and quiet I'm craving I'm gonna have to explore this scary "etc." shit after all.