Dispatches from the frontline. Pissed by 3!

OK , I have to record this, get this down. Dispatches from the front line. Inside the craziness, not really understanding what I have created; where it comes from, why it goes where it does.

A typical day in one sense, but it still makes NO sense.

So I wake up; all good. With my girlfriend, cups of tea, talking the sorry state of Britain today- self inflicted wounds and tower blocks burning; ruled by an elite that persists because we have all bought into the “look after number 1 culture.”

But its OK I often rant and I get up and attend a session with the charity I help out with.  I’m buzzing. Last night drank a few gins, but fairly moderate, feeling pretty pleased with myself.  Got this drinking game well and truly sussed. Monday to Wednesday no alcohol. Will of iron. Thursday and Friday a few. I’m in control. Those poor,pathetic abstainers- I could teach them a thing or two.

Successful morning, hot day. Girlfriend has things to do- free day. I know, it’s midday, I’ll call a friend, buy some beers and we can chat in my garden.  Friend says he can’t make it. Pause. Is there at the background the faintest feeling of rejection? Nonsense.  Anyway I have a fridge full of beer, lots of lovely food and it’s sunny.  I think I’m feeling good.  Make a BIG chicken sandwich. Pour a BIG drink. Sit in garden with paper.  This is living. I’m alive. Those poor suckers who don’t drink, they don’t know what they are missing.

The first beer goes down in a blink. Hey, its hot. Another beer, its Saturday, I deserve it. I try to focus on the newspaper but I am conscious that I’m thinking is this solo drinking session going to get out of hand. Fuck you, you miserable bastard. I leave the patio and make another giant sandwich, grab some crisps and pour a large glass of rose. I know where this is going. I do not like it. I cant stop it. I’m in consume mode. I quickly finish the bottle and sandwich and reach for cake and more crisps.  I pour another beer. I feel disgusted with myself. Fuck. So much for self control.

It’s 3 in the afternoon and my girlfriend will be around at 7.30. Why do I do this?  I answer by switching to spirits. Two big glasses in quick successsion. I am no good for anything now.  Nothing productive will emerge from this day. I rugby tackle myself thank god and pour myself into bed. It’s 3.30 on the hottest day of the year and I’m pissed and lying in a darkened room and all I can hear myself say is “why?”

I wake up at 6 and I write this.  The drunkenness has eased a bit so I write this.  I will shower, drink coffee and try and pretend that I have had a nice quiet afternoon sat in the garden.  It’s a lie. I have been in my own private hell.

My girlfriend will be here at 8.  I’ll start drinking again. I will make it look normal, G and T to start with followed by some wine.  I will not talk about the drinking. If I do not understand it, how could she? I’ll look at this post tomorrow or the next day and try to understand.


About dealingwithalcoholdependency

Semi retired professional working in education and social work. Exploring how I became alcohol dependent and hoping I can find a way to moderate rather than abstain. It may be a losing battle but reluctant at this stage to lose this constant companion.
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