My sister-in-law came to stay last night. She brought me a bottle of wine, even though she knew I hadn’t been drinking at the weekend when I was staying with her. Ambush! But I made her a tonic/lime/grenadine mocktail – it’s one of my favourites – and we chatted about how she was able to drink once or twice a week, a glass on each occasion, while I wasn’t ever able to drink so little: none at all was my only option.
But I didn’t tell her truthfully what I was doing – I don’t quite trust her – and I made it sound as though I was on some sort of health cleanse. Still, I got through the evening, sobriety intact.
I am sleeping so fitfully. I’ve given up drinking many times, but this is the worst I’ve ever felt, the most troubled and fidgety. I got up in the night feeling dizzy and ill. By this morning, I felt a bit better, but on a train to London with my son, I suddenly felt light-headed, ill again. I’d had a coffee en route, and I think I should have had a bun or something.
Now it’s mid afternoon, I’ve just been scratchy with my kids, and rather than walk the dog I want to curl up in a ball and cry silently.
While feeling rough is horrible, it is salutary, because I am realising quite how serious my drinking had become. Indeed, the stopping/starting routine has probably been extremely bad for me. But I’m here now, on the right track to recovery I hope.