So I've been sailing along, feeling really strong and good - invincible! So together! So very functional! So healthy and happy! Oh clever sober me.
Had my 40th dinner out, a lovely long posh meal at a very expensive restaurant (will never do that again but it was a real treat) with Mr D. Started with tasty fruit cocktail and then sipped sparkling soda water for the rest of the meal. Mr D had 3 glasses of expensive wine, I even sniffed each one to get a sense of their beauty. Oh get me ... drinking problem? What drinking problem?!
That was Thursday night. Friday afternoon at the mall little thoughts started creeping in. "Nothing to look forward to tonight *sigh*." "Boring, flat night ahead.." and "Why can't I have a bloody glass of wine."
Pushed them aside, squashed them down, got through and went to bed at 8.30pm.
Then yesterday, Saturday, even stronger, jumbled together, a wave of thoughts, "I would love a glass of wine it's not fair why can't I drink one it's Saturday night I should be able to have a drink everyone else is having a drink and having fun am I really not going to have a drink again ever my whole life why am I doing this again I should be able to have a drink what harm would it do the whole world drinks alcohol was I ever really that bad I could probably moderate I'm sure I'll be able to moderate now it's only wine it's not heroin I was never that bad no drunk driving close relationships all functional didn't lose jobs or friends because of drinking is wine really that bad it's Saturday night for god's sake everyone has a drink on Saturday am I the only sad sack in the world why am I doing this again I wasn't that bad was I it's not fair oh my god
SHUT THE FUCK UP. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.
Sorry about the language but Jesus fucking christ the inner dialogue is like a bloody drill in my brain. Honestly PISS OFF. What is it talking? The wine? The addictive part of my brain? The naughty teenage me that never grew up? Some sort of depressed person I've never known was there?
Why is my Saturday night boring without alcohol?
Why do I care so much about alcohol?
Anyway, I bloody beat the demons by just starting to talk about it out loud to Mr D (poor long suffering Mr D is probably bored of the whole thing by now. No I'm sure he's not but it is dominating my life isn't it.)
Remembered out loud I didn't want 1 or 2 wines I wanted 8. Remembering that I would sleep like crap and wake up really really regretful that I drank, with a hangover, feeling depressed. Remembered that I'd get back on that daily treadmill of wine acquisition, drinking, recovering. That awful wine fuelled nightmarish life.
And then I cleaned. Between 5pm and 7pm I cleaned this goddamn house until it gleamed. I vacuumed, polished, scrubbed, sorted and straightened. Until I sat on the sofa at 7.30pm puffed out (yes, I was puffed from all this hard-out cleaning!) with a ginger beer and read recovery blogs from other people and ordered recovery books from the library catalogue online. It was hard, but I won.
Love, Mrs D xxx