I didn’t make it past Friday evening, lying to Belle on Saturday by emailing her that I had made it to Day 6 (I’m sorry, Belle). I’m not sure why I did that – I think at the time, I thought I could dismiss Friday as a blip and carry on with Day 6, as I’d built up a few days of good sober momentum; and as I hadn’t been able to do that for a while, I didn’t want to lose it. But of course I had already lost it – the game was up. By Saturday evening, I was pouring wine, drinking wine, back in the pit.
One of my main difficulties with this is the constant undermining of my plans – I undermine myself. Last week, I moved through the days really excited by sobriety, intent on not drinking, and beginning to enjoy it. But as I hit Friday, I felt my resolve dissolve and I did nothing about it. And it is this inertia with is so threatening. It is as though I have no meat behind my words, that I head into an uncertain sobriety on a Monday, knowing that by Friday I won’t be able – or won’t WANT – to sustain it. This lack of willingness is what makes me fail over and over again. Because until I am willing – really willing – I won’t be able to get sober. While I entertain the idea of drinking, I can’t stop drinking. A few sober days are good, but they are not good enough, because at the back of my mind the idea of a drink still lurks, and I don’t push it away.
It is a sad place to be in. On Friday, the messages of goodwill and strength on my blog were amazing, and I read and reread them, trying to listen to them, and to act on them. Everything everyone said made sense, and their words were filled with love and hope. And yet I turned the computer off and then, later today, turned the blog off. I have tried to examine why I close my blog at these times – why not leave it open? Why turn off the strength? After all, no one knows what is happening. By closing the blog, I think I close off the possibility of help, and that allows me to sink into my own drinking world, where no one will know what is happening to me. That is the sad place.
A few people commented on the bizarre nature of my husband’s responses last week. I wanted to tell you: he is only responding to me. I don’t put him in the picture, I don’t tell him the truth. When I want him to help me be sober, I tell him that I want to stop drinking, but I only give him the half-truth: I will say that I want to stop drinking in the week, but that I want to drink ‘normally’ with him at weekends. This sounds like a good plan to him, so he agrees with it. If I were to take him along to an AA meeting, he would get a different sense of it all, but so far, I have kept him away from that, and just given him a kind of sanitised sobriety, a half-baked version of it, where I don’t drink here and there, make mocktails, then go back to ‘normal’ me, the me I think he wants me to be, the person who doesn’t have a drinking problem.
So you see, it is a big old mess. Lies, half-truths and denial, all from the same dark place, the place where drink seems like the best life. And the idea of another sort of life – though within reach – I always push it away.