It didn’t work, my plan. My plan was not to drink, but I drank. I had so much support and good advice from my friends here, and still I drank. I could feel the plan beginning to crumble on Friday morning when yet again I stood in front of the shelves of wine in the supermarket and chose several bottles. I still had the crazy intention of somehow not drinking them, but the voice was very very small and I knew I would overpower it. By 6pm I poured myself a glass and thought that nothing else mattered: the blog didn’t matter, my health didn’t matter, it was absolutely meant to be that I was going to drink and I was a fool for ever thinking differently.
But slowly slowly I do feel that I am climbing towards a place where I won’t want to think like this. Primrose directed me to one of her posts (see her comment on my last post) – it rings true for me. As I was drinking last night, I tried to examine what was going on, and how I was feeling. The taste was irrelevant, and the buzz not so great. Sure, I quickly launched into ‘meaningful’ conversations with my husband (gossipy talk, Friday night banter) but then I kept wanting more wine. My 6pm glass had been by myself, and when I heard my husband coming home I washed up the glass and put it away. As I was doing it, I knew I was right back in that secret behaviour which is one of the biggest warning signs that my drinking is out of control.
I was struck by the extreme nature of the feelings I have surrounding alcohol: either elation at achieving one or two sober days in a row, or utter depression at the thought of not drinking, and joy when I decide to drink again.
On top of this, I had a headache all day yesterday, my fourth sober day, and I couldn’t get rid of it with pills. It just wouldn’t go away. I felt more sad and depressed and hopeless than I’d felt in a long time. Are you ill? asked my Mum.
I feel as though I am slowly piecing together a picture of what is happening to me. I am sure it’s completely obvious to everybody reading this blog, and in some ways it’s obvious to me too, but in the moment, in the dark afternoon, in the very moment when I open that fridge, or buy the wine, or decide that drinking is brilliant – in that moment the picture is blurred.