- By girly-d
- On 14/11/2017
- 0 comments
Living with an addiction is horrific.
It's Groundhog day. Where the only thing that changes is the amount and severity of bad shit that happens to you.
I still can't believe that this is how I used to live my life.
Or that a typical 24 hours went something like this.
And that, believe it or not, this was what I would class as a "good day" ....(because I really don't want to talk about the bad)....
Welcome to a day in my life back then....
I've had better. But I've also had a hell of a lot worse.....
So this is how it feels to be blurry.....
Wake up. Pick up last nights half full can. Drink remaining luke-warm alcohol.
Look at the time. Feel sick. Finish can.
Get in shower. Get dressed. Throw up.
Open fresh can. Attempt to brush hair. Decide that it's pointless brushing teeth. Mainly because I don't have any toothpaste.
Drink can. Put coat on.
Finish can. Reach for another. Realise no more cans left. Go to Wetherspoons.
Head to bar. Buy pint. Find stool. Sit down.
Repeat above step several times.
Start to get annoyed with the strange man now moving in for the kill beside me.
Attempt to tell him that unless he takes his grubby hand off my knee pronto, I will happily break his fingers.
But realise too late that that's an impossible task....mainly because a) I am starting to slur my words, and b) I am currently seeing two of him and therefore can't be sure which hand is real and which hand is a figment of my imagination.
Only to realise that this is now irrelevant, because another strange man has come over to my table. And smacked the first guy straight in the face.
Decide at this point that it might be a good idea to leave. Try to stand up. Fail miserably. Fall over.
Hit head on table.
Pick self up. Men too busy shouting to notice me fall down. Attempt to leave bar as fight is drawing attention. Fall down stairs on way out.
Hit head a second time. Bruise face on pavement. Check face in compact mirror. Realise I have a black eye.
Quickly decide to stock up on beer from the off licence two doors down, before bruising attracts attention, people start asking questions, and the guy behind the counter decides that it's better not to serve me.
Purchase beers while keeping head down. Leave shop. Immediately drop beers onto pavement.
Attempt to pick them up. Spectacularly under-estimate the amount of effort required. Fail miserably. Sit on pavement surrounded by cans.
Knight in shining armour arrives. Picks up both myself and beers. Walks me safely to my front door. Tells me nicely that I've probably had enough to drink and asks me have I thought about A.A?
Waves goodbye. Goes home.
Attempt to get my door keys out of handbag.
Manage to locate keys but only after emptying entire contents of said handbag out onto the pavement.
Where it becomes immediately obvious that I no longer posess a mobile phone.
Can't be arsed to scrabble around in the dark. Leave most of the contents of handbag on the pavement resolving to pick them up in the morning.
After what seems like an eternity, I finally get the key to open the front door. Fall into hallway. Trip over shoes. Bang head for the third time on opposite wall. Shout to on- off utterly useless bag of shit boyfriend that I'm home.
Realise that my utterly useless bag of shit boyfriend is not here. But that neither is my TV, my stereo, my Cd collection.....
Sit down on the sofa that he hasn't been able to steal. But only because it was clearly too big for him to get out of the door.
Put head in hands.
Resolve to give up drinking.
Just as soon as I've finished the 12 pack of lager last seen rolling around in the hallway.....