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?