I’m about to go to bed, Friday night. These damned Fridays. I had a few drinks. I was worrying about what I was going to write here in the morning, so I decided to write now. It was silly, really. I didn’t need to drink, but I drank anyway. I quite enjoyed it, I didn’t hate it, but I just didn’t need it. As I hadn’t told my husband that I’d given up again, he was totally unaware.
Now my head is heavy, and my soul is weary. But I want to try again tomorrow. I am not going to give up. It may take many attempts, but I think I can do this. Before I had those drinks, I read and reread all the comments people kindly left me today, and I heard all these voices and felt connected to you all.
I need to work on this. This afternoon, I was listening to a Bubble Hour podcast about truth and a contributor was speaking about how many times she had tried and failed, and that eventually she had just KNOWN it was time for her.
I want this to be my time; I need this to be my time.