I didn't particularly want to, and I didn't really enjoy doing so, but I did.
I screwed myself right into the fucking ground.
Things have not been good for a while now. Regular readers and old friends will already be aware that most of my adult life has been a struggle against substance misuse, and I've slid quite a long way down the slippery slope over the last few weeks and months.
Yesterday (tuesday) I referred myself to Wirral Alcohol Service. It's a step in a better direction.
Saying "No more drinking" is not in itself going to work. My whole damn life needs to change.
Here is my day today, 17th August 2011 (now yesterday) for example.
Go to bed at maybe 1.00 am. Drunk.
Wake up at perhaps 6.00 with a mouth like the bottom of a budgie cage.
Get up and go downstairs and drink about a pint of orange drink. (That's what we call it in England. Just ask Bill Hicks)
Go back to bed and try to get to sleep for a bit but fail.
Read in bed for half an hour and try to sleep again. And fail.
Get up. Go to my tiny boxy computer room and switch PC on. It's now maybe 7.30.
Surf the net for about 2 and a half hours until just turned 10.
Get dressed. Go out and wash car because I have new pupil today. Teach her from 11 until 1.
Get home at about 1.15. Switch on PC and surf until 1.45 then leave house for next lesson.
This lasts until about 3.50, and dovetails with another lesson that runs from 4 until 5.
Get home about 5.20.
Switch on PC and surf until about 6.40. Leave house for lesson at 7.
Back home at about 7.15.
Switch computer on. Surf until 1 in the morning, with a brief and unusual gap of about half an hour where I wash the dishes.
So what's that? 5 hours sleeping. 6 hours working. Perhaps an hour travelling between clients.
And 12 hours surfing the net.
OK. Bren's away, and things are a bit out of the ordinary, but it's not that out of the ordinary. It's pretty typical. Day in, day out. 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year. All spent in a tiny, cluttered, chaotic and messy box room. Convicted criminals get more space and exercise.
No wonder I'm hitting the bottle. I'm bored shitless. That's part of it anyway. But only part.
Bren, by the way, sits downstairs watching telly. She's so lonely. I feel deeply ashamed of the way I've been treating her.
I also feel ashamed of drinking. This doesn't stop me doing it. It makes me sneaky about it. I try to kid myself that I'm getting away with it. I don't want to get shouted at. I don't want Bren to know how much or how often I do it. I try to kid myself that I'm pulling the wool over her eyes.
Self respect is an important part of being mentally healthy. Without it, things go horribly out of key.
Shame, guilt. Deception. Self deception. Self loathing.
I've posted this because I want the furtive, underhand shit to stop. Now.
Tonight, I have not had a drink. I have an assessment appointment with the alcohol service on 30th August. This blog will serve as a drinks diary for the next few weeks, and I shall take my laptop along to the assessment. Apart from blogging, I want to drastically reduce the amount of time I spend online.
Life is too short.
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