Yuck. My blue sky euphoria has shifted, and I’m back at the familiar 4pm struggle. It is quite incredible how different I feel at this time of day, compared to the fresh, upbeat mornings. I was so thrilled to wake up to Day 6; now I feel deflated and doubtful. Of course I know that I’m doing the right thing, but I feel leaden, horrible.
I listened to The Bubble Hour on my dog walk. It is so good. I’ve been listening to it for 2 years now, and it never fails to strike the right note. Everyone’s stories are familiar to me: their drinking patterns, their downfalls, their cravings…and I get much comfort from their strength and the way in which they have found a way out. And yet, I find myself in this teatime pit where the evening stretches ahead mournfully, a yawn of grey in which I think I am giving myself too hard a task, making my life more difficult than it need be. I read of this often, this feeling of overreacting, of creating hurdles which need to be overcome, of trying to be perfect.
I’m not sure what I’m trying to say; I’m just trying to describe the discomfort, to try and get my head round it, and to avoid getting in my car and driving to the nearest place which sells alcohol, buying it and drinking it, losing myself so that I don’t have to think about it anymore.
I am like two different people, and I need to listen and pay attention to the blue sky person I was this morning, not let the grey version get a hold of the situation.
P.S. I’ve just been distracting myself by reading back through my blog, and it was the most depressing thing ever – so many day ones, so many cravings on day 6s, so much endless naval-gazing. Aaaaaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhhhh.