Today is my day off and I’m sitting in a supermarket, writing this. Not very glamorous. I’ve got a busy day ahead but am taking a few quiet moments to write and to think. I’m going to a meeting at lunchtime. This time last year (a whole year ago) this was one of the first meetings I went to. I haven’t been to this one for a while and I’m nervous. But I need to listen and I hope I might have the courage to speak. One of the ladies I met there – the first person I ever approached at a meeting (‘I’m new!’ I said) – recently contacted me, so I hope she might be there.
I’m not sure if my husband reads my blog – he certainly can, as anyone can – but I don’t want to show it to him, because I feel I will write differently if I think he’s regularly reading it. But we do talk. Last night, we were discussing an article in The Times about illnesses which people appear to imagine: they have symptoms but doctors can’t find any disease or illness. It’s not exactly that they invent it – they feel ill – but often, once they know they haven’t got anything wrong with them, they start to feel better. Well, my husband and I talked about this in relation to my drinking, him suggesting that I may not be an addict, that I just drink too much, and that if I stop worrying about it, the problem will go away. He wants me to be normal! I want to be normal! Aaaaaarrrrgggghhh!
If only! I felt myself being lead down that cosy path where I reassure myself I’m fine, and go back to my daily drinking. I even suggested I don’t go to the counsellor – after all, why would I need to? ‘I think you should go,’ he said, ‘to talk about why this worries you so much.’
Of course I must go. It is essential I go. It’s on Tuesday at 2pm.
My husand is away this weekend with one of our daughters, so the other two children and I will be at home together. They hate my drinking so it will be good motivation to hunker down and stay sober.
These things always sound possible in the mornings.