I am so grateful for everyone’s comments. I went to bed straight after writing that last post, and woke to a wave of support and love. And boy, did I need it. I have felt awful and ill all day. Not surprising; coming back from a supper with friends at which I had drunk prosecco and warm pink wine, my husband went to bed while I scrabbled around at the back of the cupboard for an old bottle of Marsala. I think it’s really supposed to be for cooking, but I drank it anyway and it’s strong stuff. Yuck yuck yuck – it made me feel so poorly today. I know that alcoholism is a disease, and I know it is progressive; I can see I’ve been drinking more, more often, and also seeking out stronger drinks: more gin, brandy, that sort of thing. The only way is down if I continue like that.
I have got so much to lose. My sweet son was clearly worried about me this morning as I lay in bed, pale and sickly, telling him I had an upset stomach. I hauled myself up late morning and got on with my day, feeling regretful and weak. But I also felt something else: I think for the first time ever, I had a real fear that I could slip into a new, more dangerous zone, one where I could imagine myself drinking more and more, for longer each day, with no more day ones, no more attempts at sobriety.
I am not going down there. That way, the dappled path is obscured, with no light gleaming through. Rather, I am not going to drink anymore. I am going to a meeting tomorrow. And I am no longer going to entertain the vision of myself as a social drinker who can stop after a couple of glasses, because I simply cannot remember the last time I did that. It is never going to happen.
A new me needs to emerge. A stronger, braver me. I don’t know if I can do it, but I feel more determined than ever before and I am reaching out, both here and in the real world.