- By girly-d
- On 14/10/2017
- 0 comments
It's Saturday night.
I'm alone in my room watching Netflix and occasionally checking my twitter account.
All of my friends are either working or doing things that tonight don't include me and so I am home alone, just me myself and I. I'm bored and don't really know what to do with myself.
I thought about going out but it's not really the same just sitting on your own. Plus I work here. I try and keep my work and my private life separate. I don't want to be sat propping up the bar on my nights off. It looks a bit desperate.
I'm trying not to look at the bottle that's on my bedside table. The bottle that has a label that reads 0.0 Alcohol Free. Because my mind can't seem to process that. It looks like alcohol. It tastes like alcohol. But it's not. Yet my tastebuds say it must be. And suddenly my head is reverting back to old behaviours. My old buttons are being pressed. Because, despite me having two similar bottles unopened in the fridge, my head is pressing me to go out and get more. To stockpile. Even though it's pissing down outside. Because my head for some unknown reason appears to want to get obliterated again. It's talking to me. Chatter, chatter, chatter. I'm determined to ignore it.
I thought that I was over this. That I've kicked my addiction.
However, this internal conversation that I appear to be having with my "inner addict" right now appears to be telling me otherwise.
I always thought that it was bollocks when they banged on about it in rehab. Apparantly not. My "inner addict" is alive and kicking if this conversation is to be believed. It's just taken a while for it to introduce itself. Almost a year actually. Well ten months and twenty one days. Not that I've been counting. It's just that the admission date of detox is tattooed on my brain.
So this is not what I wanted to find out today. That there's yet another mountain to climb.
I've been super, super careful around anything to do with alcohol since I walked out of rehab. I'm not going down that road again for anyone. But I don't want to live in a coffee shop either. Or go to meetings every night. I'm a social girl. I like bars and restaurants.
But I was so sick to death of drinking squash. It made me feel like a child. And I was sick of the questions. And the automatic jumping to conclusions by people who haven't got a clue about me or my life choices now let alone why I made them.
So going alcohol free opened new doors. I looked like everyone else now. With my beer thats not beer really.
Only it is.
It contains traces. Teeny, tiny bits of the poison that I used to try and drown myself with. My body knows it and my chemical hooks are kicking in.
This is not good. Or maybe it is. Maybe it's my inner voice urging me not to be stupid about this. That it's waving a red flag ( however small) in my direction for a reason.
I have the capacity to make stupid decisions as my blogs and my life story have shown. But the occasional stupid mistake doesn't mean that I actually am stupid. Because I'm not. Being stupid would be for me to not pay attention to this, think "In for a penny, in for a pound" and get back onto the real stuff pronto.
But that would drag me straight back to hell. And that would be beyond stupid. I learned my lesson the first time.
I get up and pour my pretend beer down the sink. Bollocks. Fruit shoot it is then.