day 323: dust trails

One year later.

I want a drink so badly. I’ve been wanting a drink for so long. I have nothing else to hold up. No more responsibilities. No more promises I’d have to break. I don’t care about the accountability, instead I’m glorifying the tragedy. Writing the Instagram post in my head with the picture of the empty bottles. Showing the world that I fell. But I am imagining this from a place of sobriety. And it’s crossing my mind that I may not ever get back there if I take this first drink.

One year later.

I’m researching relapse. I’m Googling what the signs are (https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4553654/). I’m wondering how it happens. I’m so deep in the month(s) long process of relapse at this point I’m even more motivated to just go to the store and get it over with. I’d buy a whiskey and a vodka. Maybe a bag of ice. I’m imagining sitting at my kitchen counter staring at the bottle. The sound of that bottle top opening. The squeak of the cork. The pour. The snap of the ice cube. And god the aroma. The smell of the whiskey. The burn of the vodka.

One year later.

I walked out of my job exactly a year ago. I started therapy a year ago. I promised myself I’d stop drinking a year ago. My last drink may have been a month from now but the corpses I shoveled that layer of dirt over are poking through the washed away soil. They are still there. I’m not fixed. I’m not amazing. I’ve not solved any of life’s great mysteries. I’ve kept busy, that is all. Fucking busy. And now…now I’ve got nothing to lose because nothing else is required of me.

One year later.

I think my therapist knows. I keep wondering if she’s going to text me today to see if I made it. I keep imagining her thinking about me. Knowing something is slipping in my mind. Knowing from yesterday’s session of all the good feelings and all the accomplishments listed that this is the textbook moment of failure. Knowing that the way I described losing the tug-o-war battle was too close to an admittance that I’d given up to be coincidence.

One year later.

I know I’m calling for drama. Laying on the living room floor last night wondering if I should text New York back when she asked if I was okay. Wondering if I should stir up her suspicion. Wondering how great that would be to make her worry about me. Shit it’s so fucking textbook – I’ve done this shit since grade school. Creating drama and lies to get attention. I’m still the same asshole as I was, as I’ve ever been. I’m still the same child needing to be taken care of but not knowing how to ask. I’m still the lonely kid locked in his own house, in his own fucking room, afraid to leave because the people you are supposed to trust and love will only hurt you and fail you. All this therapy has brought me to a place where I can fake that I’m getting better, can put a few things down on paper that I’ve made progress, but it hasn’t gotten the chance to reach the core yet. I’m still rotten in the middle.

One year later.

I am all the way through this writing exercise and I feel more ready to go end it all. Dark clouds are rolling in outside my windows and I wish I would’ve had the bottles here to open for the storm. I don’t know that this helped. And that’s INSANE. I can list the reasons that I want to drink and identify how stupid they are. The websites can list the reasons that I want to drink and SHOW ME what to do right now. I know it’s a bad idea and I know it’s dumb but I’m still sitting here shaking because I want a drink so bad. Fucking shaking.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop. I thought a while about how to word that sentence. I think that’s the best way I can put it. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop after the first bottle. I don’t know how often I’ll drink. It could ruin everything so easily.

One year later.

Am I really supposed to wait this craving out? I’m supposed to call someone. I’m supposed to have started going to AA and should have a fucking sponsor at this point. But I won’t call. And I won’t go. And I don’t have a sponsor. And I want. so. badly. to just drink this away. To rip the bandaid off and get to it. I’m supposed to meditate. To do yoga. To eat healthy.

Look at that rain fall. I don’t think I’ve seen it come down this hard before.