A kind of longing

Sorry for the radio silence. I’ve been away – and I’ve been drinking – and I felt that my writing would be chaotic and incoherent. But I am sorry if you were worried about me, and thank you for checking in here and looking for me. I could see people’s comments, and I wanted to write, but I needed to find the right time; I hope you understand.

So, after my one drink error, I then began to have many drinks. And then too many drinks. Away on holiday, not drinking seemed an impossibility, so I joined in and drank drank drank. Part of me enjoyed it: the cocktails, the grown-up feeling, the choice, the intimacy. But part of me felt wasted in so many ways, and by the end of the holiday I was drinking almost for the sake of it, just drinking far too much because I could drink far too much, and it began to lose its appeal. At one point , I noticed another couple at dinner drinking just water. Look! Just water! I craned my neck to observe them better and asked my husband what he thought about their not drinking. The next night, I looked for them again, this magical couple, but I couldn’t quite see their glasses. But I was clearly interested in what they were doing, and I began to feel a kind of longing for that quiet life.

Now I’m home, and I would like to try again. Try to be sober. I have emailed patient Belle to ask if I can have another stab at the 100 day challenge, I’ve looked ahead in my diary and can see parties and Christmas looming, but there is never a good time to try this. I’m in a muddle, I don’t really know what I want, but unless I try again, I’ll never know.