#i’m starting a 3 week sober streak on monday

[coccyodynia]

things:

four years and a few days ago, i entered treatment for dual diagnosis care to treat my mental health and drug use

for about 4 straight years before that, i’m not sure i was sober for more than an hour at a time

i was really heavily using benzos and always mixing them with an extreme amount of alcohol

frequently confused as to who i was then, how people perceived me, and how i’m still alive

i’m extremely grateful i went to treatment, because if i hadn’t had some kind of intervention, i dont think i would have survived another year like that

i still really really struggle with relapses

and in the last two years i’m not sure i’ve managed to have a clean streak longer than 3 months

but i am trying

my drug abuse ended up being the last straw for some important people in my life, who would eventually leave my life bc of it

anyway moving on to other topics

i finally saw justin this week, for the first time in three months

it’s been a pretty weird 3 month period of not really knowing where we stood bc i couldn’t keep my feelings to myself, and he needed a break from that i guess

i understand it will never again be like it was when we first started talking

and tbh that really kills me, but i’m very grateful he’s a part of my life still, in some way

the connection was immediately really strong from the start and i really credit him with helping me a lot

he was probably the first person to verbalize “i’m here for you”, and actually follow through with that sentiment

meeting him almost exactly one year after reid left my life is probably worth mentioning here but whatever

ive finally been able to start seeing my therapist again, and i meet with her monday

right now she can only schedule me every other week, which is a really hard adjustment for me to make tbh

since october of 2019 i probably have had therapy at least once a week

im really struggling with staying sane bc my job has become an incredibly stressful place for me, which didn’t used to be the case

like work has always had some level of stress, sure, but this last month or so, i have been getting physically sick from the stress, crying at my desk every day, etc

but on the other hand, i’m also having these really meaningful yet overwhelming moments of gratitude for being where i’m at

like yeah nothing is perfect or even close, but i have created a life for myself that works most of the time

im finally experiencing a level of safety and security that i have honest to god never felt before, and i did not even know that it could improve this much

growing up i didnt have any sense of safety or security at all, which i didn’t realize until very recently

in the last year or so working with nicole (my therapist), i have finally learned that the things i was subjected to as a child were not normal, and that it was traumatic

about 6 months or so ago (possibly less), i learned i have complex post traumatic stress disorder

i had pretty much known for over a decade that i was borderline, before i was officially diagnosed

but i didn’t even have an inkling of an idea that i could be experiencing CPTSD, so when my therapist gently told me i was, my world view realllyyyyy started to shatter and shift

it has been very very difficult to come to terms with tbh

anyways i really miss writing and photographing and making art so i hope to return to that soon

i’m at work rn and i should probably start doing my job before the bosses get here so ta-ta for now thanks for reading this insane post

[bobafetts-princess]

Life in the Fast Lane Ch. 3

Hey y’all! Here’s part 3, I hope you like it!

Pairings- Reader x OMC, Future Reader x Sam/Dean/Cas (can ya guess??)

Word count- 2775

Warnings: Cursing, Emotional Reader, emotionally and mentally and physically abusive relationship, drug use, alcohol consumption, unsafe driving, abuse denial.

A/N- Hey guys, I hope you’re ready to figure out who the Reader is going to hook up with because it’s coming in the next chapter! Let me know what ya think!

Tagging- @abaddonwithyall @aprofoundbondwithdean @bovaria @but-deans-back-tho @balthazars-muse @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @ilostmyshoe-79 @just-a-supernatural-smut-blog @kittenofdoomage @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @littlegreenplasticsoldier @lovemydean-o-saur @nichelle-my-belle @ohmysupernatural @oriona75 @obsessedwith-dean-castiel-sam @oneshotwinchester @rizlow1 @ruby-loves-supernatural @stayclassysupernatural @supernaturalimagine @thewinchesterdaily @winchestersandwordprocessors (If anyone wants tagged or untagged, let me know!)

Ch. 1, Ch. 2

Another week gone, another weekend here. Things had been patched up with Patrick, but he wanted you to go to a party tonight at the same house and you were a little iffy on it. You didn’t want a repeat, but you also knew that if you didn’t go with him, it might cause a bigger fight. So you sucked it up, picking a laid back outfit for the evening. Silver flats, skinny jeans, and a white off the shoulder top was your outfit of choice and it earned you a sneer.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Patrick asked, beer already in hand. 

“Yes. What’s wrong with it?” You asked, a small streak of defiance going through you. 

“There are going to be people there that know me. They expect me to have a good looking girl.”

“I look good Patrick. It’s not my normal outfit, I know, but I don’t look bad.” You argued in your favor. Normally he liked you to dress so you were showing as much skin as possible, and you obliged. You weren’t feeling it today, you wanted to be cute and comfortable. Not that you had any objection to showing skin, it didn't feel right if you were with Patrick; you didn’t feel like you were showing skin for yourself, you were doing it for him. He would prance you around in front of his friends and they would ogle you and the whole situation made you uncomfortable sometimes. It was like you were piece in a game and Patrick and his friends were the players. 

“If anyone gives me a hard time about you not looking your best, you’re going to pay for it later.” He threatened and you would have brushed it off, but after last weekend you weren’t sure whether he would follow through. 

“I’d like to drive, if that’s okay.” You asked, trying to garner a little control . Normally Patrick drove, it was a habit the two of you had fallen into when you’d started dating and he drove everywhere. Unless he was drunk, and then sometimes he still insisted on driving. 

“No.” Was the only answer he offered and he attempted to make his point by grabbing his car keys and looking at you. 

“Why not?” Standing your ground in the kitchen of Patrick’s apartment, you didn't budge. 

“Because it’s un-manly for a dude to have his girlfriend drive him around.”

“I wouldn’t be driving you around. I’d be driving us to a party. There’s a big difference.” 

“I said no, goddamnit. Leave it alone. I’m driving, now get your ass in the car or we’re going to have a problem.” His anger flashed and he was giving you the same look he did the night he hit you, so you sucked it up and got in the car. Your injuries were still healing, only a small mark from the black eye left. The last thing you wanted to do was provoke him. The party was raging by the time you arrived, late, and Patrick let you know it on the drive over. 

“If you hadn’t been arguing with me, we wouldn’t be late.” He'd said, foot driving through the gas in his anger. You’d rolled your eyes, choosing to stay quiet instead of start another argument. The 20 second 'discussion' about who was driving didn’t affect how late you were . The two of you were late to parties anyways because Patrick thought it made him look cool. He slammed the car door, strolling towards the house and leaving you in the dust.  

“Hurry up! I need to lock the car!” He shouted from 30 feet in front of you. You shut your door, the large house looming in front of you, almost daring you to go in. You didn't want to, but your other option was standing by the car and waiting for Patrick, and there was no telling how long that would be. His temper was in full force tonight and you didn’t quite know how to react to him, especially after the last weekend. Sighing , you walked in the house, looking for Patrick to see if you could make up with him and not argue this evening. Wandering through the house, you looked for him before remembering where you found him the last time. Looking for stairs that led downwards, you were finally lucky enough to find them, when you saw your blonde coworker again.

“Y/N! Hey babe! How are you?” She asked, curls bouncing as she pulled you into a hug. 


“I’m good honey, how are you?”

“We’re well!” She grinned, leaning into her boyfriend who gave you a polite nod in acknowledgement. “Is your boyfriend here too? She asked, almost like she was fishing for information.Smiling, you nodded towards the stairs and responded, 

"Yeah, he’s downstairs with his buddies. I was getting ready to head down and ask him if he wanted anything to drink.” You were afraid to tell her that you were trying to fix an argument because you were sure she already thought poorly about Patrick and you didn't want to make it worse. 

“Oh okay! I didn’t mean to stop you.” A worried look crossed her face and you could tell that she was afraid she was getting in the way of your mission. 

“Oh no! You didn’t. I figured out where he was, so I wasn’t in any sort of a hurry. Do you work this weekend?” You asked, trying to make conversation with her and hope that one day the two of you could be friends. 

“Unfortunately. I work tomorrow morning and Sunday evening. How about you?”

“I’m off tomorrow but Jean scheduled me for all day on Sunday and Monday too. We must be down a server.” You pondered, rolling your eyes. You always were short severs, so those who were veteran servers always ended up with the short end of the stick. 

“She let two go. This next week is going to be a nightmare. Hey, you look super cute though! I love that top.” Her boyfriend sat next to her, arm curled around her waist with a drink in hand, and stayed silent. This conversation was nice, there weren't any drugs involved, it wasn’t filled with drama about who’s boyfriend or girlfriend cheated. You smiled at her, wishing that Patrick would let you have friends outside of his friend group, because she was so bubbly and you wanted friends like that.

“Thanks! I actually think I got it from a thrift store, the one on 35th?” You tried to recall where you got it, but it was slipping your mind.

“I know that place! We should go shopping there sometime, it’d be fun!” She offered and you almost fell out of your chair at the gesture.

“I would love that. It would be nice. It’s been a long time since I went shopping with another woman." You admitted, nostalgic. 

“Oh no! You didn’t grow up with sisters?” She asked, “I grew up with three, we went shopping all the time!” Her face lit up when she talked about her sisters and your throat went dry and your face, pale. This was a hard subject for you to talk about, because it hurt so much. It was a solid 30 seconds of silence before she asked you, “Did I say something wrong, sweetie? I’m sorry if I did. I didn’t mean to.” She observed, laying her hand on your arm in comfort. You looked into her wide blue eyes, full of worry for you. 

“No, it's a hard thing to talk about. That’s all.” You smiled at her, swallowing the tears that pricked into your eyes. “It’s okay. I would love to go shopping with you sometime, it would be so nice.” Trying to get the conversation steered back into safe territory, you took her up on the offer.

“Definitely. I miss having other ladies to shop with. Its always a good time!” She smiled, leaning back into her boyfriend and snuggling into his warmth. 

“We'll have to plan a day we're both off work." You encouraged, before remembering you were doing something before you saw her. "It was good to see you, I'll see you on Sunday. I gotta get downstairs and talk to Patrick.” You smiled, giving her boyfriend a small wave and her a hug before you headed downstairs. Listening for Patrick’s voice on the way down, you were beginning to wonder if he was down here when you spotted him. Making your way over to him, your sober brain noticed the same pipe from the previous weekend. The smoke hadn’t manifested itself yet, but the pungent smell was already there and it was horrible. Whatever he was smoking smelled terrible and you couldn’t imagine that what was in the pipe was any good, but that wasn't the point of you being down here.

“Babe. Come here, let’s talk.” You whispered from behind him. Either he ignored you, or he couldn’t hear you, so you placed a soft hand on his arm. “Babe, will you come here? I want to talk to you.” 

“Fuck off, Y/N. Leave me alone.” He snarled, head only turned towards you. “Patrick, come on. I don’t want to argue all night long.” You pleaded, standing firm against him for the first time in a long time.

“If you don’t want to fucking argue, go snort some coke and have a beer. Leave. Me. Alone.” This time he didn’t even turn his head towards you, instead faced his friends and hunched his shoulders away from you. His friends looked on at the situation uncomfortably, they’d never seen you like this, unwilling to go away and leave the situation alone. Maybe it was because you were sober, maybe it was because deep down, you hadn’t forgiven Patrick for hitting you, or maybe you were tired of taking his shit and decided that enough was enough. “No. I want to talk about this. I don't want to spend the entire evening with you ignoring me.” He turned, ready to say something else to you, but a loud voice coming from across the room interrupted him. 

“Yo! Patrick! Why's your bitch so dressed down? I thought you had a hot girlfriend!” His friend Brady hollered. He owned the house here so that made him feel like he owned the people in it as well. 

“Quit Brady. I don’t have the patience for it today.” You turned to him, surprising yourself with your boldness. 

“Damn. Sounds like you need to teach your bitch some manners too.” He sneered, taking a swig of the beer he had in hand before taking the pipe from Patrick. You sneered back, you weren't Brady’s biggest fan, but you dealt with him because you loved Patrick. 

“You see, my girl comes dressed appropriately for the party.” He smiled, a greasy, unnerving smile, and wrapped his arm around a scantily classed dark-skinned girl. She looked like Pocahontas, with her long black hair and dark skin, and she leaned into Brady’s embrace. She smiled at you, but it wasn't friendly. She smiled at you like she’d won a battle you hadn’t known you were participating in. You could feel Patrick’s anger radiating, and for a split second, you wondered why you were dating him. That thought left when a strong hand enclosed your arm, squeezing tight enough to leave bruises as a voice whispered in your ear.


“I fucking told you that you didn’t look good enough to come to this fucking party.” Patrick growled. “You didn't fucking listen to me, and now I look like a goddamn fool.” He turned to Brady, talking louder but with less venom. “No worries man, I’m going to take her home and teach her a lesson.” The hand wrapped around your arm began to tug. It hauled you up the stairs, not caring whether you were able to keep up or not. 

“Patrick! Stop it! Let me go! You're starting to hurt me!” You were trying to pull your arm out of his grip, but every time you got close, his grip got tighter. People were watching as you as he hauled you around like a rag doll. You made brief eye contact with Jess, her eyes full of worry again. He hauled you across the dance floor, down a hallway.  

“I fucking told you not to embarrass me. And you fucking embarrassed me.” He mumbled, almost talking to you, almost talking to himself. The crowds cleared for you, no one wanted to be in his way. He drug you all the way out to the car, throwing you against the body, knocking the breath out of you. 

“Get in the fucking car. I can’t fucking believe you embarrassed me like this. I don’t even know what to do with you.” Somewhere between the basement and the car, you’d gone numb and he'd gone insane.  You weren’t sure what was happening and you weren’t sure why it was happening. He snarled, pulling open the passenger side and tossing you in the seat. He stormed over to his side as you shut the door to yours, trying to figure out what had snapped to make him act this way. Somewhere in your mind you knew that you shouldn’t have gotten in the car with him, but you were so stunned by his actions that you were on autopilot. Patrick was still mumbling to himself as he turned the car on and pulled out of the driveway. He floored it down the street, almost nailing a stop sign and bringing you back to reality.

“Patrick! Slow down! You're going to kill us!” 

“Shut the fuck up.” He turned, glaring at you and taking his eyes completely off the road. You wanted to say something else, but you would rather he keep his eyes on the road. You gripped the sides of your seat as he flew through traffic, swerving between cars. 

“Patrick!!!” You screamed again, trying to get through to him but he pressed down on the gas pedal harder, taking a left turn at 50 miles an hour. The passenger side wheels came off the road as you screamed, scared for your life. He sped down the road that led to his house, and your stomach dropped as two things happened. The first was that red and blue lights trailed behind you . The other was that there was a sharp turn coming up that Patrick always forgot about. It had almost caused an accident before, and you were almost certain that it would be your death today. Gripping Patricks arm, you tried to make him slow down, but he threw you off , his fist catching your left eye as he swung. The lights got closer and louder, and you hoped that Patrick would slow down and talk to them, but he didn’t. He glanced in the rearview mirror and then shot a nasty look your way. 

“Fucking bitch! You fucking caused this, like you’ve caused everything else in your miserable life!” He screeched and you wondered who your boyfriend had become in that moment. This wasn’t like Patrick, this wasn't the Patrick you first fell in love with. You clung to the seat with everything you had, hoping he remembered the curve and his sweet words from the previous weekend. “And now you have me so angry the cops are following me. I fucking hate you, you worthless piece of shit. If they catch me, I'm going to make sure they know this is all your fucking fault.” His words cut like daggers and you wondered if you could ever forget the things he was saying in that moment. He floored it once more, driving closer and closer to the curve that he always forgot. 


“Patrick! You’re going to run us off the road! Please stop!” It was like he was a madman, uncaring about his life or yours. As the curve got closer and closer, you contemplated grabbing the wheel from him but you were worried about doing more damage than he would. Before he realized it, the curve was there and he wasn’t turning. As you barreled off-road and towards a tree, your world went black.

[poptarts-and-rainbows]

It’s been 96 hours.

Personal story/venting time. I’m trying to get sober.

I don’t have any friends where I’m located- which is my own fault, I have a tendency to isolate myself while I warm up to new environments enough to feel comfortable talking to people (and I’m moving again in a couple months, so I honestly don’t really even see the point in going through the effort of getting to know people and learning to care about them, just to leave and have to say goodbye and hurt again in March).

Plus, I’ve been spiraling for a bit, so the couple of long-distance friends that I *can* talk to about things are probably starting to get sick of my drama. The last few weeks have been especially difficult and they’ve had to help me a lot. Not to mention, the one is on vacation in Vegas right now and the other is hanging out with her boyfriend tonight, and I don’t want to bother her.

So… here I am, screaming into the void of Tumblr again.

I’ll keep all other details under the cut because it’s kind of a lot, and most people won’t care or want to see this all over their dash.

Anyway. I’ve had a problem with drinking for… close to the last 9 (ish) years. The first couple of years weren’t actually problematic levels, but that’s when I first learned I love the burn of alcohol. Especially vodka. Before I could purchase my own supply I didn’t really drink all of that often- it was just hard to get my hands on and I hadn’t learned how to function during a hangover yet, so one good binge could keep me tied over for a while, back before I finally turned 21.

Then, as it goes, things got progressively worse. I developed a severe problem quite rapidly. Honestly… it started almost immediately. I guess it was always just waiting.

The weekend of my 21st birthday, the very first time I legally went to a bar, I nearly died- Trexx. I didn’t know it at the time, but my friends were trying to get me to come out, so they took me to the best gay bar in all of Syracuse. Plus, Thursday nights? College night. Buy one get one free, all night, and the best Drag Show I’ve ever seen (I’ve been to a few since then- in different States and in other countries).

My birthday was on a Monday that year. That night I went out to a restaurant and my friend bought me a beer with dinner- but liquor has always been my vice (although I did foray into the world of wine for a while, as it is more socially acceptable to be a wino than drink a bottle of vodka alone), so I sipped politely on my glass of Blue Moon and just bid my time until Thursday.

When Thursday finally came, not only did I throw back 18 drinks in about four hours, my dumb drunk-ass barricaded myself in the bathroom stall (of which there were only two) to throw up, and then drifted in/out of consciousness for several minutes. With there only being two stalls, people noticed- and it was actually one of the Drag Queens got me out.

I couldn’t even see clearly when I opened my eyes, but I recognized her green wig. I’d spoken to her earlier in the night, one of my friends was a “Townie” (born and raised in Syracuse, but also going to the school) and knew her, and she’d bought me a drink in celebration of my big day, and gave me the chip for the second free drink too. When she helped pull me to my feet, she called me sweetie and asked if I was ok. I brushed the concern off with an easy smile and told her I would go look for my friends- she let me go.

When I went into the main room, the bouncer did not. I guess I was obviously out of it. I was probably stumbling and about to pass out, or puke right there on the floor. I still couldn’t see anything, but I still remember hearing him say “this one is done” and feeling him grab my shoulders. The next thing I knew, I was outside on my hands and knees in the snow. I wanted to just lay down, but I kept thinking “I’m right in front of the door. If I stay here, I’ll be in the way and people will step on me.”

So I got up, wearing nothing but flats, skinny jeans, and a t-shirt, in the middle of winter in Upstate New York, and stumbled down the road. I found a stoop about a block away and sat down. I threw up over the guard rail and stayed there until the bar was closing, about two hours later. People had passed by pretty consistently, a few had asked if I was ok- but, because I couldn’t talk, I would just hold up my thumb and they would keep moving. One group, at closing time, stopped and asked if I want to Syracuse University- I nodded, they said they would take me back to campus, and I reluctantly agreed. I couldn’t stop shivering. Then one of the girls in the group recognized me, I had pink streaks in my hair at the time and we’d also met earlier that night through my Townie friend, so she went back inside to get my friends who had been freaking out for hours. I made it home fine, but I missed all of my classes the next day and threw up until Monday.

That was just the beginning. My first real introduction ended in disaster, but it didn’t stop me.

I was recovered by the next weekend and did it again. Then again… and again. I learned not to wander off, but I always drank hard and fast. I didn’t even make it to my 22nd birthday before I had friends telling me they were worried. That summer, my mom gave me a book about drinking too much (”Smashed”). The author actually also went to Syracuse. I skimmed it with mild interest, but she started drinking when was 14. I was an adult. What I did was legal, and nothing really bad had ever really happened. I was fine.

The next semester began and I got better at hiding it. I bought bottles and drank, secretly, in my room when I was supposed to be studying- it was cheaper than going out anyways, and nobody else had to know. When my friends and I did go out, I would split off “to meet another group” after so I could go get obliterated at the bar closest to my apartment, without worrying anybody. It was college, anyways. Land of keg stands and unlimited beer pong. Everyone did it, I was fine.

Right before my 23rd birthday, I joined the Army. During the first 8 weeks (Basic Training),  there was no alcohol. Hell, we were excited when we were allowed to have chocolate milk! Through that time, I didn’t miss drinking- but, it was mostly because they literally worked us to exhaustion every single day. There was no time to miss it.

After Basic, we left to our Advanced Individual Training locations (technical training), but we still lived under a lot of rules. We could earn different privileges/freedoms, but we still technically weren’t supposed to drink, but it didn’t take long for the people who earned the right to leave base early in our training cycle to start coming back to us with stories of bars, parties, and getting wasted.

By that time, I was close to 3 months sober- and I hadn’t even had to try! I didn’t crave it right away, but they reminded me it existed. I didn’t earn my off-post privileges for a while, so I had one of my friends smuggle me back a bottle of vodka in a jug of orange juice as soon as I could- and, oh god, the first familiar burn of that liquor… it felt like going home. Getting my friends who were allowed off base to bring me back alcohol was harder than getting older students to buy it for me when I was a Freshman, though, so I was still fine.

Once we graduated and all joined the “Real” Army, however, those restrictions were gone. When I was off duty, nobody cared what I did (drinking-wise), as long as I was back by morning and able to do my job.

In the beginning, I was still new to the Army. I was still scared of everyone, this whole new world I lived it, and I desperately wanted to make a good impression. So I only drank on the weekends, Friday and Saturday nights, like a sensible person.

Did I still drink excessively those two nights a week, loosing track of how many shots I had after eight or nine? Did I eventually start finishing a whole bottle of vodka in a single weekend, alone? Yeah… and then that bottle became one and a half. Then I started to chase my hard liquor with wine coolers. Eventually, two nights weren’t enough. I started throwing Wednesday night in to the mix, too- it was middle of the week, after all! It was just to get my through to the weekend. Then it was any night I knew I didn’t have to run the next morning, because running while you’re hung over really sucks (and when you sweat it smells like straight liquor, and other people know). Then I stopped even caring about that.

There were months, on and off, that weren’t so bad, of course. I either just, naturally, didn’t feel like drinking during those times, or our training schedule was just too intensive. When things got bad, my roommate and some of my closer friends would periodically express concern,  so I would back off. I wouldn’t drink for a few nights in a row, keep it on the down low during the week, sip on more water between shots during the next couple of weekends, and learn to throw up quieter in the bathroom- until people stopped looking so closely again, because people only see what they want to see. Then the cycle would start over.

It’s the Army, though. Just like college- most of us drink, and more than we should. It’s part of the culture! It’s what is expect from us and among us. With the company I kept… occasionally there was concern, yes, but most of them weren’t much better off than me. I was still fine.

Until I wasn’t.

Last year happened- and… I’d lost my best friend (tag: “Dear A”). I couldn’t sleep. I could barely function. I hid in the bathroom and cried at work. I had headaches all of the time experienced the second most severe depressive episode of my life. I didn’t know what to do, I was alone in the beginning there too, so I turned to alcohol- the solace that was always there for me, that was never too busy, or left, the thing that could make me forget how much everything hurt- and things started to get out of control, more so than ever before.

At first it was excused, laughed off- the military drinks. In Korea we drink more. I was expected to be sloppy at first, but I never found my groove. I started ignoring my limits. I put myself in dangerous situations, and things did happen there. I blacked out more often than not. Sometimes I couldn’t even find my room. I would fall, get hurt, and not remember how it happened. I even chipped my front tooth. I spent more than one morning puking at work, for hours. My supervisor had to peel me off my floor and roll me onto my side on more than one occasion. I was sent to the hospital three times. Eventually, I was given an ultimatum- get my shit together, or be forced to see professionals. I got my shit together. For a while.

My last couple of weeks in Korea passed without any incident anyone else knew about. I still drank, but it was like before, when I could manage it and keep it to myself. I did it quietly, and nobody knew the difference. 

I got to Kentucky in the beginning of June- it’s been full two months, and in those two months months, I have literally spent more days drunk than I have spent sober. Not a drink or two after work, not pleasantly buzzed, but drunk. It’s been mostly harmless, I don’t leave my room. I’ve cried a bit, slept on my kitchen floor a couple of times, and have had to make a few phone calls to be talked off the ledge on a few separate nights, but mostly… I still thought I was fine.

Then drinking every day, it became- “hey, I woke up still drunk this morning, I’m going to have one shot- just one- before work.” Then that shot had to be a double instead, of course, because what’s one shot really going to do for me? I drove to work, without incident (“this actually isn’t that hard”), drove back home for lunch. Three more shots, no food. Go back to work. Pick up a new bottle when I was on my way home at the end of the day. Drink until I pass out. Repeat.

Last Friday, while blacked out, I apparently stumbled my way out of my room and towards the parking lot- some people who work in the same office building as me saw and asked what I was doing. According to them, I said I was going to get my cigarettes from my car- but because I could barely stand up straight, they sat me down and gave me some of theirs instead, and then made sure I got back to my room safe. The thing is, I didn’t have any cigarettes in my car. I had run out Thursday night, and knew that before I started drinking. Which meant, I had planned on driving.

Either this stops, I do better, or something I can’t take back is going to happen, and it’s going to happen soon. I can feel it. Most alcoholics don’t change until they hit rock bottom, I was reading the A.A. site, and I’ve gotten a few books, and that’s what they all say. Alcoholics refuse to admit they have a problem until there is overwhelming evidence that proves differently. They argue they’re fine, that they can do better, that it isn’t really that bad… all things I tell myself too. I don’t want to have to fall that far. I don’t want to mess up my life forever, or end somebody else’s. I don’t want to crash and burn any more than I already have. So far I’ve been lucky. I’ve been given passes I shouldn’t have been, and more time than I deserved to do the right thing.

I’m Irish and Native American. I was practically bred to be an alcoholic. My father is one, he doesn’t have his license anymore because of it. His father was too, and that contributed to his death. I didn’t grow up close to either of them, but their blood is my blood. I grew up with my mother and step-father, though, and he is also an alcoholic. A violent and mean one, and he helped raised me since I was four. Genetic pre-disposition. Turbulent childhood household. Emotional abandonment. Issues with depression and self-worth. I’m text book.

At exactly 12:00am on 1 August 2017, I dumped the last of my vodka down the drain. I have now been dry for almost 96 hours, for 4 days. It’s the longest I’ve been sober in the last 2 months, and I am craving it bad. I miss it. The first day, my stomach and head hurt (long after a hangover would typically start), I broke out in sweat, and I couldn’t figure out why. Then I ended up having to pull a 24 hour shift. I slept for 4 hours the morning after, and then was too wound up to sleep at all that night. I’ve managed about 3.5 solid hours a night, since then. I’ve been agitated since I first woke up on the 1st, especially today, I almost threw my phone across the room earlier because I kept hitting the wrong button and it wasn’t doing what I wanted it to do. I had to put it away and take my third shower today, just calm down. I can’t focus. I can’t sit still, my leg is always bouncing, my foot kicking, or fingers tapping. I feel empty and sad. Now, I’m not only lonely for people, I’m lonely for my alcohol too. The holes I’ve always had are still gaping, but now there’s no vodka to fill them.

The thing is… I’ve tried to quit before. I pretend I haven’t. I was once even asked if I had every tried to stop, and I said no. I looked back at all those times and told myself “Well, I wasn’t being serious then. I was just doing it to see how long I could go. There was no actual reason to quit. I only needed a break for a couple weeks. I never said I was going to stop forever.” and I always swore “I’ll do better now. My tolerance is back down a little bit, so I’ll control it better. I’ll just have a few, one or two nights a week.”

I never did, though. Maybe a few weeks would pass where I could drink in moderation, but then I would have a particularly bad Tuesday, or something, and drink an extra night- and, eventually, two shots became three, and then three would stop feeling like three, because my tolerance would come back, and three would become four- and after four, I stop caring that I set a limitation for myself.

Honestly, I don’t think I’m the sort of person who can drink in moderation, and that scares me. I want to be the type of person who can just throw back a couple and still have a good night, maybe have just a glass of wine to relax, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do that- if I want to get this under control, I know, rationally, I will have to stop forever. I’m going to have to give up my one constant and reliable comfort. Usually I only make it a few days, usually five, because then the weekend has come again. Sometimes I can resist during the week, but once the weekend comes, and I don’t have work to distract me… it becomes almost impossible. Outside of training, when I literally did not have physical access to alcohol, only one time have I made it to 10. 

Today is Day 4. Today is Friday, the night I have consistently been drunk since I’ve come to Kentucky. The cravings are bad. There’s a liquor store about 5 minutes down the road, but I’m laying here and typing this instead. The top of my foot has been knocking against my bed’s headboad for the last hour, and I can feel a bruise forming. I want to say “just one last night of letting go, and I’ll do better after” but I know I won’t.

I know I need to stop, but I don’t want to. There’s a voice in the back of my head that is screaming it’s ok if it kills me, if I drink until I can’t see and end up crashing my car into a tree, or downing a bottle of pills because I just don’t care anymore- but that’s wrong. I know it’s wrong, so I’m trying to stop. I’m pulling at my hair and pacing my room just to get through this, even though I don’t really want to. Drinking might kill me, but this feels like it will. I need to do this, but I feel like I need to do everything myself, or it doesn’t really count as having done it- and I don’t know if I can handle this one. 

[rueur]

Morning Pages #44 (23.03.2017)

Thursday 23rd March - 10:30 p.m.

Thursdays are always going to be rather draining for me, with the 6 a.m. start and the fact that my last lecture is two hours long, from 3:15 till 5:15. I tried catching the tram home today because I thought it would be faster, and ended up walking all the way to Bourke Street to do so. When I got there though, the trams were far too packed for me to deal with and I was starving, mind you. I didn’t have the energy to stand up like that, and I really wanted to finish ‘The Member of the Wedding’ before Evan comes over tonight, because he’s supposed to come over within the next hour. I wanted to be able to give the book back to his dad, because honestly I would like some more recommendations. I’ve finished the book now, and thought it was adorable, and kind of relatable. The way Frankie feels about her town is the way that I feel about Mill Park, and my being in Northcote very much feels like an escape from my real life. I didn’t understand why she thought her only way out was to latch onto her brother’s marriage though, because it didn’t sound like she was too close to her brother to begin with. I do understand the feeling of having no ‘we’ though; possessing no sense of belonging or a limited sense of self can be painful and it’s usually teenagers who have to deal with that whilst they still possess the belief that they’re going through it alone. That’s what makes it worse, that dual loneliness. What’s ironic is that they’re both constructed isolations rather than actual ones.

Anyway, I finished the book and now I can start ‘Treasure Island’ (or continue with it, I guess) OR I can get started on the ‘East of Eden’ letters and go out and finally buy myself a copy of the book too. Honestly though, I feel like I should read ‘Treasure Island’ first, just because it’s been a long time coming with that book too, and I have kind of already started it. But Evan got me the ‘East of Eden’ letters so I feel like I shouldn’t put it off. I don’t know! I also have a fuckton of uni work too, I mean who has time for pleasure reading during the semester anymore? I’m conscious of the fact that I’ve had a new book with me every week so far, and I do like the idea of maintaining that streak, but I just don’t know if I have the luxury of time to do that. I have to rewrite my news story because we were given some pretty wholesome feedback today and I realised that my entire story angle is seriously flawed. I went from 749 words to about 400 words today, but hopefully I can just cut and paste portions of the first draft into my final draft. I also need to write some sort of report on radio dramas, and write up my pitch for next Monday. I also have to research my Sustainable Development midterm essay, and my Stakeholder Assessment Map. What a ridiculous assessment task! I really hope that I can just get away with hand-drawing a chart because I honestly don’t want to have to deal with computer mapping. Excel and digital graph-making, anything like that. I’m not very great with it, and I thought I’d seen the end of it last year with the charts I had to make for Greening Landscapes.

Also, for the past few days I’ve been really tempted to buy some crop tops from asos, because they’re on clearance right now and they’re like five or six dollars each, and also I only just realised that my body is kind of pretty sweet right now. I’m wearing my FILA bra and my camo pants and I feel really good about myself. My hair is finally looking like itself again, I mean since I shaved it. It’s growing back thick and glossy and full of character and I love it. But that’s not the point. My point is that I want to add to my wardrobe, primarily clothes that I’ll feel comfortable going out in. I want to look really good for Evan too, I mean whenever I can. I want him to be able to show me off, I want him to feel lucky to have me. I just feel so lucky to have him. I was talking to Malith about this when he came over, about the fact that we both think we’re with people who are so together and good for us, because we are relatively not together in comparison. I don’t know why I’m talking about this right now! I was supposed to be talking about cute, cheap crop tops! I am growing increasingly tempted by it all, but that’s only if I can summon the dumb courage to spend the money. I’ve spent like three hundred dollars this month alone, which is not ideal. I only have about $1300 to live off of for the rest of this year, or until I get a job. I’m aiming to get a job after this semester, I think. I’ve been handing out my resume though, although it’s been rather sporadically. I’m more focused on getting through this semester academically-speaking, yes. The work is beginning to pile up. I think it also might be because I’m getting my period - or I should be getting my period soon - but I had absolutely no focus today. My head was all over the place, and I was painfully inarticulate in both of my tutorials. That and it might be my honeymoon brain too. It’s a likely combination of the two. I bought pads today just in case, because Clue says my period is supposed to come either tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, that is if it’s managed to stay on the 28-day cycle I was on back when I was taking the pill. It probably hasn’t though. I don’t think I’m pregnant though, even though Evan can sometimes be a little sloppy with his hands. I mean he’ll grab his dick then finger me or something, or maybe I’m just paranoid that he does that, but I’ve seen him grab his dick before sex and it makes me a little bit nervous. I don’t know why I’m talking about this.

I’m rambling. I just want to finish these pages before he comes over. It’s nearly 10 to 11 and he’s supposed to be here around 11. I was really tempted to go to his game tonight too, but I got home at like half past seven in the evening. Yes, it took me two hours to get home today. I’m not entirely sure why either! I didn’t feel like an hour and a half had passed between the end of the lecture and my being on the platform at Flinders Street. I did walk all the way to Flinders from uni, and I did stop at Bourke Street and also along Swanston Street at this Subway store where a man had collapsed. I stood there for a while in mute concern for this man, as a whole bunch of other people actually did something about it. I just didn’t want to leave until I knew he’d be okay, even if I could do nothing to help him. But then I realised that that was selfish of me, to stay in the way whilst he was being helped, or whilst other people who were more equipped to help him, were trying to help him. What was disconcerting to me was the fact that some people walked past without even realising a man had collapsed. I understand people who did double-takes or people who registered what was going on and walked ahead stony-faced, because the city can be a very isolating environment. But there were actually people who didn’t even notice, who were so caught up in the hustle and bustle that they didn’t even realise a fellow man was in peril.

So Evan’s over right now. He’s sitting on the floor at Emily’s place, petting what was a very affectionate Romulus. Romy was hiding under the bed for the past couple of hours because I had vacuumed today. I think I might wrap it up prematurely maybe, just because I am very conscious of this adorable dude sitting in front of me right now. He’s grinning over my laptop, because I may have just revealed that these pages are somewhat confidential. Okay, so he’s gone into the bedroom now because I was noticeably distracted by him. Okay, I’m going to finish this last page in record time because I want to spend time with him because he’s a sweetheart. Oh man I am disgusting. This is diabetes-inducing, honestly.

I had two twix bars today, because they were on special at Foodworks at Union House, one bar for $1.50. I have $3.10 in change so I said ‘fuck it’ and decided to treat myself, because I felt like chocolate. I have two mandarins and an apple and two twix bars for lunch, and oats in the morning. I had the rest of Evan’s curry for dinner with some of ammi’s rice. I messaged Lauren to see if she would eat the eggs, but she said she wouldn’t, which is a damn shame because I was looking forward to cooking for her for a change. But it’s also fine because at least I’m not feeding her something that goes against her principles. Evan just sneezed. I really want to be over and done with this page. I’m listening to Childish Gambino, 3005 but the Part Two version, the slower version. It’s nice but I’m kind of over this song, which is understandable I mean it’s like four or so years old now and even the original gets rather repetitive. I’m into Sober right now, because I recently showed Evan the music video for that song. I really just want to be over and done with these pages! He’s here! I want to just hug him and kiss him and ugh ugh ugh I really can’t wait, I really can’t wait to be done with these pages. This is actually ridiculous, but I need some discipline, I mean I have to get back into this. I didn’t write for TEN DAYS. That is inexcusable.

Okay, so I feel like I’m nearing the end of this! I scrolled down as much as I can and I can finally see the end of this blasted final page, so I’m feeling rather good right now. My hands are typing almost at a rabbit’s pace, fuck I just realised I paused here trying to describe how fast my hands are typing. These pages are useful in securing the discipline of writing every day, yes, but if I’m writing nothing of substance would this discipline still translate? I feel like maybe with time, these pages will start holding actual ‘flourished’ sentences. Bri said that on Facebook today, and I thought it was cute. She was talking about getting into writing, by taking a writing class or something. She’s doing a fair bit of dabbling, which is neat. I’ve been meaning to return to some drawing in my free time. I had the courage to show Isaac the drawing I did of him, and he said he liked it, even though it was rather basic. I don’t know what he thinks of me anymore, if he ever thinks fond thoughts of me. I don’t know, I just like the idea of him doing that, but I know I don’t want anything romantic with him. He’s a bit odd, and he’s been growing increasingly odd the longer I’ve known him. Sad and odd, and alone. I don’t know if he feels lonely, but I have a strong suspicion that he does, and he uses work as a vice even though work is the reason he mostly finds himself alone. His transience is also inhibiting him from securing a sense of belonging; in lieu of that belonging, he has boundless ambition. I know that he’s going to end up relocating to New York or something.

Okay I’m on the fourth page now so I’m going to go. See you bitches tomorrow, I’m going to go hang with my baby.