It’s taken me a few days to dredge up the courage to write this entry. On Friday my drinking problem basically came to a head and caused me to have a…well, for want of a better term, let’s use “rough night”.
I’d intended on going out with my work colleagues but not drinking a lot since I knew Devan was surprising me the next day with a day out. The problem is, my work colleagues decided to buy a bottle of rum.
If you didn’t know already, I’m an alcoholic. I cannot be put around alcohol and expected not to drink. It’s ugly, it’s childish but it’s very real. And, trust me, I’ve argued with my diagnosis. I’ve told myself “I just drink too much” or “I like a drink”. But I have to be honest. If I am around alcohol, I will drink it. ALL. It’s not a cheeky want. It’s not a thirst. It’s an addiction. I cannot say no. I will not say no. And that’s really where my trouble began.
I decided to have a rum and coke. I’ve only drank liquor twice this year and, as it was only my third time, I decided t let my hair down a bit. In other words, I gave into to my addiction.
I can’t describe it. It’s a deep rooted need to drink. To drink it all. It feels like I’m proving something. To myself, to others…to fucking God. It’s like a machine that does not stop churning. It’s a constant, get wrenching lust. It’s disgusting and vile and compulsive. It’s a bug. A festering itch that much be scratched. Cliched, I know.
So I drank. One double-rum and coke. Then another. Then another. And another. I drank until, by myself, I’d drank probably three quarters of the bottle.
To add to my “regular” drinking problem, I tend to drink very quickly. So, I drank all that in the space of, oh, I dunno, probably an hour to an hour and a half.
So it’s not that my drunkenness creeps up on me. It’s that one minute I’ll be fine and the next minute I’ll be slurring my words and stumbling all over the place.
We headed to a bar and it’s there that my drunkenness hit. I was bought shots which I immediately drank and then nursed a…cider? Beer? I honestly don’t remember.
All I remember is needing to get away. I knew that, if I stayed, I would black out and ruin my birthday surprise the next day.
Too late. I stood up and this is where is gets foggy. I remember leaving the bar and not being able to walk straight. I remember mumbling to myself and kind of panicking. I also remember not knowing where I was, despite being in an area I’ve been to a million times.
So I phoned Devan for a lift home. Of course, I couldn’t tell her where I was but, somehow, she found me. That’s when it all went royally tits up.
I remember bawling my eyes out over being an alcoholic shit-head. I remember throwing up and I remember blacking out in bed. It’s all a blur and, quite frankly, when I revisit it, I get a stab of embarrassment in my side. I know I did wrong. That’s all I need to know.
I woke the next day horribly hungover. I tried to compose myself with Alka Selter and various vomit sessions but I wasn’t in a good place at all. Shame really, since Devan had arranged a lovely day out at a beer, bourbon and barbecue event. Free food and, yup, free booze.
I won’t say I made the most of it. I didn’t. Had I been in tip top shape, I would have destroyed that event. I would have eaten EVERYTHING and I probably would have drank a skinful too.
It was nice, don’t get me wrong. I just didn’t necessarily enjoy walking around in ninety degree weather while I fought off the feeling of wanting to both throw up and shit my pants. I had a lovely day but I did ruin it for myself. I definitely didn’t deserve the day. I deserved a kick in the fucking teeth, all truth told.
And so the fight begins. Saturday was officially my last day of alcohol. Cold turkey. It sounds so silly to say it, but I’m three days clean.
I have never wanted to drink more in my life. It’s not even a drink I want. I want to get DRUNK. I feel it bubbling in my stomach…this yearning. I’m antsy and fidgety. And this is all weird because I never used to drink every day anyway. But I at least knew that I could drink whenever I wanted. Now I can’t.
Being an alcoholic is so confusing. Many days I don’t feel like one. I feel that the fact I am one is laughable. That I have self-control. That I don’t need to drink and never drank every day so how COULD I be one.
The substance abuse counselor I met with diagnosed me as a severe functioning alcoholic. That i might not drink every day but that my drinking is a massive problem.
Again, it’s confusing. I don’t know how to feel. Most days I feel like this is all a lie. Like I’m just seeking attention. Then I remember just how much I want to drink.
It’s going to be hard. Hard as fuck. My first big test was last night when I was actually offered a beer. Thankfully, none of the friends I was with were drinking either so turning it down was easy. But I think those “moments” are just going to get harder and harder.
Even now, typing this, I can feel these weird spirit fingers cramping around and invisible bottle of beer. I know that sounds silly but that’s how it feels. It’s like me aura is drinking and my body is desperate to catch up. I want a drink. I want ten.
The problem is that a massive chunk of what’s stopping me drinking is embarrassment from Friday. When that embarrassment fades, it’s going to get even harder. When I’m home alone, it’s going to be nearly impossible not to go to the liquor store.
But it’s time I try. I don’t know for how long this is going to last. I worry that it won’t be very long at all. But I’m trying. For now I’m doing what’s needed and, as dumb as it sound, I’m definitely borrowing the AA mantra of “one day at a time”. It’s just so hard. It’s like I can hear my nerves screaming. Knowing I can’t drink feels like something has sank its teeth into me. It’s not fun. It’s not an enjoyable little adventure. It’s mind-bending and…fucking GNAWING.
And this is only three days in. That’s scary. It’s going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.
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