It’s a Saturday night and I am sobbing, snotting and screaming in some boujee North London boozer loo. Seconds earlier, I was making eyes at the wine list, flirting with the fancies that the Reds had to offer. If I order the most expensive bottle it won’t count as a relapse. I can act a cunt. Because the money backs it. My alcoholic riddles mind convinces me of these false promises. This is how I used to drink. Alone. With the most expensive bottle. In hotel bars. Sometimes a stranger might join me. If I were to let him. With the promise of an empty fuck, if he was to foot the bill. At times I would have relationships but only with other alcoholics that accompany me by being as emotionally unavailable as I. Sometimes we would kid ourselves that we loved each other. But we always loved the booze or to use more. That always took president. Fuck everyone else. But most importantly fuck ourselves and our true values. So let’s bring this story back into the room. Or the loo. Should I say. My eyes are puffy. They are redder than the devils dick. An expression I used to love when I was blazed out of my innocent teenage mind. “When am I going to be fucking normal?” “Why can’t I just have my old life back?” I choke down the phone to my best friend. And the short of that is. Because I wasn’t living a life. I was in an empty vapid excuse of a ‘life’. Barely even struggling to get by. I wasn’t living. I was barely even existing.
Now comes the real question. That I half sob. Half scream down the phone. “Why am I in a pub on a Saturday night, surrounded by wine?”. Now that is the real question. Why am I in a pub? On a Saturday night? Surrounded by wine? I am four months into recovery. Yet I still seek opportunities to self sabotage.
In my meeting that morning, I am being asked how I am. As you do. As is polite. But these people. This family. This unit. They really fucking care. They aren’t asking it to be courteous. I am good. I am happy. I don’t feel all that healthy. I am eating a pizza every day right now and chaining a pack of twenty. So that is hardly surprising. But that will come. In time. I don’t remember the last time I felt truly happy. Recovery is working. I feel safe. I finally feel a sense of belonging. I feel a little, like I found home. I am starting to understand peace. Especially within myself. I should not put myself with people, or places, that jeopardise that. I managed to block and delete somebody who conflicts any thought of happiness I hold for myself. On Valentines day of all days. He is a sick man. ‘Stay away’, I was told from the very beginning. Did I listen? No! Did I get burnt? To a crisp. I didn’t want to leave. At the thought he may die. But it doesn’t matter if I am there or not. I can’t save him. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to save himself. He chooses using over me. As he will forever and always. The ego is bigger. The malady is louder. So I removed it. Cut it like cancer. Why now am I choosing not to remove this? Why am I sat here alone in the boozer? No mans land. Dangerous territory. Convincing myself because I can’t join in, because I can’t drink. That I am a loser. I am PROUD to be in recovery. I am BLESSED to have found a solution. For years upon years. I have felt in isolation. POWERLESS to where that first drink takes me. “Why can’t you just drink normally?” Another alcoholic ex once questioned by drinking “Nobody else I know behaves like you when they drink”. This was a time I had no idea I had a problem with drinking. Though it was blindingly clear. I deflected by blaming all the drinking on the fact he was an alcoholic and it was his drinking that drove me to such extremities. Oh the denial was bad. The denial was real. But that denial is no more.
I realised this weekend that I am no longer a ruin. I am now rebuilding, reviving, remaking, the life that I always wanted and was very much able to achieve. I don’t want the world. I want small things. I want happiness. This past week, I have found happiness. I have been lucky enough to practice it not just for pockets of time but whole day stints. The old me would have relapsed. Hated myself for days. Reeked havoc. Left a wreckage. Blamed everyone but myself for my behaviours. I had no part in it. It was you that triggered me. Not I. If I had it my way. In my inebriated mind. I would be here writing these words today. But I realised I do not want to die. I really don’t. I guess I am now fighting that part of my brain that wants to kill me. Thinks I am better off dead. I am fighting for my life. And what a beautiful life it is shaping out to be, I’ve just now got to come to terms with the fact, I have to let go of people, places and things, that are no good to me and my recovery.
SOBRIETY IN THE FIRST STAGES: holy eyes, i never knew i'd beg down at your feet.
So I'm at a talk and my brain was going a million miles an hour. Was it the craving that was overcoming me? Was it my totally inability to feel switched on? Engage with the speaker? This is a topic I am hungry on. I’m listening to every word but yours. My brains feeding me negativity. These words will drown out yours. He’s next to me and for the first time since him. I feel attracted. I want to fuck. No relationships in recovery. Not sexual. Not emotional. This is me now. Outta luck. Fuck the 12 steps. Fuck sobriety. This isn’t easy. Why is everybody in that room lying to me? I am fighting with myself now. Theres’ vodka cocktails all round. The rings are slipping off my fingers. I’ve lost four now. Slipped away. Rolled across the concrete. They belong to you now. I whisper to the ground. Who knew your fingers could loose weight? Fuck it come on listen. Pay attention. Your mind isn’t in a debate.
I went on a date after. He was charming. Beautiful. Intelligent. It was too fucking soon. I’m back in my bedroom and everything is spinning. I am angry at the world. At myself. Because you are still fucking winning. I am your damaged goods. I’m angry now. I am going to relapse. I can feel it. Everything feels hopeless. Is it time to bow out?
So I sit on the steps chain smoking on my lunch break. Breathing in the stench of piss and second hand smoke from passers by. Light my fifth cigarette of the hour. I’m running on little to no sleep now. Between twelve and two are the hours that are no friend of mine. I’ve been neglecting meetings because I can’t connect. Finding it hard to catch my breath. Trying to socialise in wet places and beating myself up because I am not ‘normal’. Crazy ain’t it? I wish so desperately I could drink like you & them. Though even one will make me weak. So I sip on sparkling water, treat myself to a slice of lime and stare at my companions in envy. And I don’t know how to pretend anymore. The ecstasy of AA has diminished. Will I be in a state of comedown forever more? And this week I have forgotten what it’s like to be happy. So again I’ll message you. And again. I’ll go knocking at that door. It’s not even you that I want. You are the path to addiction. It’s just you are all I know. Is that reason enough to want to be with you?
And my friends are doing fine. They are all fucking happy. Spending all their time with their boyfriends. They’ve found the ones they will probably marry. And that’s what I thought I had found in you. With you. Again I am at my knees. Praying please forgive me. Forget my mistakes with ease. But you hate me and I don’t blame you. I’ve done some awful things. It wasn’t me. It was the drink. But you won’t listen. You won’t have it. Nothing can jeopardise my sobriety. My sponsor is telling me. And I know it be the truth. You are bad news. But I can’t help it. I’m so lonely. And I’m embarrassed because I’m so broken. Ashamed for feeling so disconnected. It’ll get better I’m told. And I don’t deny that. Just this week for some reason I’ve gone off track. I haven’t done any step work and avoided my meetings. I just want my happiness back. But it’s been so long and I don’t remember. I just wish we could do Paris over. I wish it was September.
I hate myself that I can only validate my happiness at the hands of others. I’m a fucking freak. I am weak. I want to show the world that I am happy and this is working. And I ate three meals yesterday. Is that not enough? I guess I’m starving myself at the hopes my body will give up. I can’t seem to place myself in the face of society and I’m lucky for my job as it gives me a sense of normality. For I can function for eight hours before the emptiness once again hits me. God please. When is this pain going to end?
SOBRIETY IN THE FIRST STAGES: a lover i don't have to love.
“But what about the real alcoholic? He may start off as a moderate drinker; he may or may not become a continuous hard drinker; but at some stage of his liquor consumption, once he starts to drink. Here is the fellow who has been puzzling you, especially in his lack of control. He does absurd, incredible, tragic things while drinking. He is a real Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde.” - The Big Book
So I am now 36 days sober. If you told me I was going to part with my drinking career with such ease after 14 years, I would have probably told you to go and admit yourself. Declare you crazy. I’m not interested in such words. Scoffed at sobriety. After all white wine was my baby. The hilarity of it all, is in the insanity I face at taking even a single sip. My father said to me. Four years back. One drink for you, is one too many. But I told him to fuck off. Wrote him off as no fun, to me he was a total bore. Though he was right. I look back now and wish I could have only seen this sooner. It would have saved my mothers pay cheques. Me, severe heart ache. The soft skin on my wrist, scarred, never coming back. Trips to different therapists. Who’s words would temporarily fix me. I think in total she spent half a years salary trying to save me, get down to the bottom of it. Was I truly a lost cause? Rotten to the core?
You’ve read probably numerous times now. My final demise. I lost the only lover, I ever truly loved. That is what opened my eyes. Forced me through that door. Though this journey is for me, only me. Never him. You see. I don’t understand how I have been so blind. My only true problems have been upon getting to the bottom of the bottle. Sober – I am kind, in control, loving, in love with life and put others needs before my very own. Drunk – I am insecure, angry, volatile, sometimes violent, always suicidal. Though it is always deflection of me hating myself. I had put all my focus into his drinking problems, the shakes, the never ending bottles of wine, the drinking every day. I hadn’t realised what it was that classed you as an alcoholic. I would have never, even dreamed of classing myself as that. I don’t drink in the mornings, I don’t drink every day. I certainly do not have the shakes. Yet alcohol has always and forever bought me to my knees. I’ve always known it to be a problem but I will bow down to it, albeit unwillingly. Towards the end we discussed getting sober. A month, a week, never. It was all over. You see king alcohol won over his disciple. I’ve lost him. I’ve been gaslighted. Apparently, I am the crazy one. For wanting to get sober nonetheless. For realising that it was alcohol that caused the mess. At the heart of it we were very happy. Talking regularly of a beautiful life. But he drowned it out. Onto his next drink ticket. He can block me out whilst being merry. He’ll discuss it over bottles of wine with his mother. Slander me. I only ever got answers from his brother. Who blamed me for the drinking. Yet where was I? When he was smoking brown? I wasn’t in his life. I wasn’t even in the same town. Trying to save someone, who won’t save themselves, has been my greatest mistake. Forgetting my life is my own journey. My path is not the same as his to take.
So I sat there. In this about-to-collapse plastic chair. Removing all the split ends from my hair. One by one. Determined to ensure by the end of this hour and a half they were all gone. ‘It’s her first ever time’. I was fresh meat. Though greeted with such love and care. ‘What the fuck am I doing here?’. ‘I am not an alcoholic. Just someone who hates their life. At my wits end. Full of despair’ ‘Listen to the similarities. Not the differences’. And so it began. Then the woman giving the chair spoke. Something in me lifted. With her story. Something in me began to resonate. ‘I am not fucking crazy’. ‘It is the drink that takes me there’. I inhaled every share. As if I was living it. Then all the memories came rushing back. It was almost too much to bare. When I left. My mother held me. I cried into her arms. Just like a baby. I couldn’t sleep that night. My brain was wired. I turned to my mother. ‘It all makes sense now. I no longer have to be a liar’. At first it scared me. Having to admit. Then it became easy. The results were speaking for themselves. Now it is so loud. It is almost deafening. I’ve finished my Step 1. I've admitted that I am powerless over alcohol. Here comes the reckoning. A lot of my friends don’t understand. ‘You’ll be able to drink again one day. Don’t worry’. Though I won’t. I am powerless over alcohol. To have that first sip. Would be to sell my soul. For the first time in my adult life. I feel somewhat in control. That is the beauty of this programme and it would be insanity to stop this progression. I’ll continue my path to sobriety. Till my bones get tired and my skin grows old. You will forever remain my lover, that I no longer have to love.
SOBRIETY IN THE FIRST STAGES: to drink is to die.
"It is plain that a life which includes deep resentment leads only to futility and unhappiness. To the precise extent that we permit these, do we squander the hours that might have been worth while. But with the alcoholic, whose hope is the maintenance and growth of a spiritual experience, this business of resentment is infinitely grave. We found that it is fatal. For when harboring such feelings we shut ourselves off from the sunlight of the Spirit. The insanity of alcohol returns and we drink again. And with us, to drink is to die.
If we were to live, we had to be free of anger. The grouch and the brainstorm were not for us. They may be the dubious luxury of normal men, but for alcoholics these things are poison." - The Big Book.
I’ve spent the last fourteen years aka the longevity of my ‘drinking career’ in a perpetual state of despair. From slamming tequilas. To slamming myself into the pathway of cars. Frequenting the latest dive bars. And becoming best friends with chasers to greet my wrists with razors. My nights were a safe bet to be set of one sure thing, and that was the misery that first drink would bring. It always starts out harmless. I’ll be charming. Totally disarming. Then the sadness slowly starts to slip in with every sip. I can feel it immediately penetrating my veins. I’ll ignore it. Maybe the next drink will cure it. The anxiety is creeping in now. Fuck it. I’ll choke it with another slammer. It’s getting worse. In a few short seconds at the sense of neglect. I’ll start spitting venom. See I’ll hurt you before you ever have the chance to hurt me. “Hello”. “Fuck off”. I hate everyone in this room.
I’ll cut my losses. My boyfriend hates me. At this point my friends are only tolerating me. I’ll just split. A swift French exit. I could write a manuscript on how to ruin your friendships. They’ll sigh a relief once they realise I’ve gone. My boyfriend can keep working the room. Continue leading girls on. Without a worry that I’ll be overcome with jealousy. But I see now how that in itself was very wrong. My friends can continue getting wasted. Without a worry that I’ll fuck up the scene. I’m in the uber. I have it all planned out. Goodbye mum and dad. You did your best but your better off without me. No doubt. My lover had become obsessed with Bourdains’ suicide. I guess in my delirium this embarked upon my brain. Ingrained right in there. I know to you this will sound insane. So I get home. I slash up my wrists. A playground for my razors. I know. It too, makes me feel sick. Then I see my dressing gown cord. I see my bedroom door. It all makes sense now. I take another sip. I down my Dutch courage. My enlightenment. My only friend. I knew you would see me there. To the bitter end. I Youtube slipknots. You see I gotta get this perfect. Then my rationality kicks in. Maybe this loss of air has given me some reasoning. ‘What the fuck are you doing’ my brain cries. And I loosen it. Set myself free. Fucking hell. I don’t want to die. This time he was watching on. I begged him to stop me. But he turned his head. As if he had already forgotten me. At the time I read this as his permission to continue in the state of insanity I was participating in.
I’m loosing friends now. I’ve become insufferable. The life & death of the party. Everyone’s treading eggshells. Do we call the police? Her mental health is in meltdown! I am no longer fun to be around. And trust me I hate myself more than I hate you. But I am heading towards ‘wet brain’. I am out of control and there is nothing I can do. And now he’s left me. He hates me for reasons I can only guess upon. Though I am not oblivious. I know the main one. But he has given me no chance to right my wrongs. You see I never realised the impact suicide attempts had on others. Until I was on the receiving end. And I almost lost a brother. The sleepless nights. The what ifs? Being so powerless. So angry. Life truly is the most beautiful gift. Yet there is no rationality. No reasoning with a drunken mind. Once its made up. You go to sleep. Or you die. And I am so sorry for the pain I’ve caused. To every single one of you reading this, that it has impacted. Over time I promise you, I will make amends. Just give me a chance to heal. Give me a chance to right my wrongs. I can prove to you that I love my life. That is one thing I am sure of. That now I am of sober mind. I can promise you. I am now a month sober. My world is full of calm. It is full of peace. It is full of clarity. I see the evil that the poison does to me. And I have no desire to ever go back there. I know a lot of you won’t believe this. I have a lifetime of empty promises. A lifetime of disappearing self esteem. There is a lot of damage left to be undone. But I understand now all of my past choices have been so wrong. The world wouldn’t be a better place without me. I am a beautiful soul. I have so much left to give. And so do you. If you are in a place where you are in a state of despair. Don’t give up. I promise you it gets so much better. Just hang on in there.
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