Could I be feeling anymore defeatist today. I’m wallowing in self-pity. And it’s pathetic.
Started the day with a ‘woooo – new term, new rules!’ Tweet (#strongwoman #nomangonagetmedown, #etc.etc.etc). Which was how I felt. Is how I feel. But I still feel shit. And the fact of the matter is, I’m still coming to the same conclusion: what’s the frigging point, anyway?
I can hide behind as many self-motivational posts as much I like but ultimately I am still self-harming (‘that’s it girl, claw at your skin until you are no more’), struggling with triggers (love, life, other peoples’ problems, boredom, regret, seeing every other fucker on Facebook get married, have a baby, hit another milestone in their career…), and I’m only 2 weeks sober after having had another relapse.
Although my relapses are MUCH shorter and further between than before, every time it happens it feels more difficult to get back up – much harder to silence the voice in my head that’s telling me to just give up. Last year relapses went on for week-upon-week (sometimes months), so I know I am getting stronger in pulling myself back together quickly and U-turning back to the right path; but emotionally, getting there is becoming increasingly harder. Every time I lapse (regardless of how long for) I naturally piss someone off or do something as ridiculous as before (drinking myself into a 24 hour vodka induced coma on Bank Holiday, for example) which then intensifies the nagging voice inside me that is telling me that I might as well just not even bother getting better.
That said, after this last blip, it’s become apparent that my body has started to call the shots and, for the first time in my life, is actually starting to out-weigh my head.
What started with half a larger two Thursdays’ ago, transpired into a few vodka-cokes at the pub, which then led to 3 days of vodka. FUCKING VODKA. What normally happens (and what did happen) after a bender is my body goes into complete meltdown; every inch of me is crying out for a drink. I’m shaking, I’m anxious, I’m retching. It’s vile – but unfortunately pretty standard in terms of alcohol withdrawal. Last year I had a fit when I tried to cut down too quickly and the prospect still absolutely terrifies me. Two weeks ago today, as I lay on the couch physically unable to move, I knew that I couldn’t just stop but there was no way I was touching vodka again.
With my housemates away, and in the knowledge I wasn’t going to get any sleep for at least 48 hours, I bought 3 bottles of wine and settled myself in for the first day of recovery. 24 hours later I’d only managed to keep down half a bottle and spewed up the rest. 48 hours later (after a second trip to McColls), I’d done another half bottle of cheap Pinot and was left contemplating the remaining bottle and a half. How in God’s name had I gone from putting away enough vodka to take out an army, to one bottle of 12% wine in just 2 days?
And so I gave in to my body. No matter how much my head is telling me to do recovery safely, I physically just can’t take it anymore – my body is finally rejecting alcohol.
I poured the remaining wine down the sink. Which in itself is a miracle.
I needed to write this post – however un-jointed and incoherent it may be – because it’s made me realise that, yes, I could give up but then what do I do in between sitting here now and my Final Judgement? Allow my organs to slowly shut down, and live the rest of my days in agonising pain? Mentally, it’s a tough one to endure, but I know that I just have to keep going. Even looking at the small mercies in life I can see that I’ve taken massive steps in the right direction over the last 12 months. This time last year I was stuck with an absolute arsehole, two weeks away from breaking my leg, and heading for a Community Order. Today I’m still not where I WANT to be, BUT I do have my own place, don’t have a shitty-pot-smoking knob to deal with, and finally have a clear direction. I just need to be a little more patient with myself – and listen to my body when it says: ‘ENOUGH!’.