A short/long story of my life

I'm going to apologise in advance for this post.  My thoughts are scattered, I'm an emotional wreck and this writing is going to reflect that.  

The last week has been hard.  Really fucking hard.  There's this hole inside of me, a void that no matter what I do, I can't fill.  The only way that I can manage is to numb myself by drinking.  When I drink, I feel good for a while, I forget about my problems for a while, and the emptiness goes away.  I don't even know how to describe this emptiness.  It's vast, it consumes me, it makes depression and my anxiety  seem like those were the good times. 

I don't even know where to begin.  I've been a mess for as long as I can remember.  I was angry all the time.  I used to live up north and my parents have told me countless stories of how I would throw temper tantrums and flail about in the snow in -30 degree weather.  When my brother was born I hated him.  Then my other brother was born.  I hated both of them.  They're 4 and 6 years younger than me.  I know that every child at one point or another hated their siblings.  I hated mine all of the time.  I couldn't control it.  I used to beat them.  Not play fighting but it was me trying to kill them.  When someone caught me I would turn on the tears and blame them.  It was easy for me.  They didn't have the vocabulary to express what I was doing to them.  I knew it was wrong even at such a young age.  I just didn't have control over my anger.  Soon enough my brothers were old enough to verbalise and to fight back.  So I turned to my friends.  I manipulated them, I'd find someone who was weaker and physically assault them.  I knew they wouldn't tell.  They needed me.  This is only the third time in my entire life that I've ever talked about this.  The first was when I was in rehab shortly before I left.  The second was when I called my one brother and apologised.  I still have to make at least one more apology.

I'm so ashamed of what I've done.  I hurt people who didn't deserve it.  I'm an asshole.  I've beat myself up for years because of this.  Now I know why I did this but it doesn't make it right.  It doesn't make me feel better.

As a teenager I started really expressing my anger.  My mum was basically a single mother.  My dad worked in another province and only came home one weekend a month.  My mum did her best but I didn't respect her.  I couldn't.  I should have with all she's been through but I found I could only respect intelligence in the form I knew it...book smarts.  She has epilepsy, has undergone two brain surgeries to remove tumours, sees a neurologist 2-6 times a year, and has been closer to death more than many people combined.  She's a survivor and I should have respected that but I didn't.  Because of all of the medications my mum took as a kid her book smarts stopped at about 10 years old.  She couldn't learn new skills, couldn't talk about anything emotional, or intellectual.  I know she is smart but it's so different from the way that I'm intelligent that I can't really relate.

When I was 12 I had to call 911 because she just about died (again).  She was taking a nap and my nana called.  I tried to wake her but she wouldn't wake up.  She then started mumbling and rolled off the bed and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't wake her up.  I didn't know what to do.  After about ten minutes of agonising I finally went back to the phone and told my nana (thank god she was still on the line) that mum wouldn't wake up.  She told me to get the neighbour to call 911.  I did.  All I remember after that is Jackie in our house trying to wake up my mum, and then the paramedics wheeling her out to the ambulance. I have no recollection of what happened after, if my dad came home, if I visited her in the hospital, when she came home.  It's all a blank.  What if she had died because I waited too long to tell my nana?  She could have died because I panicked and didn't know what to do.

Shortly after that, I started lashing out at my mum.  I would yell at her.  I even hit her a few times.  I'd punch holes in my bedroom wall.  Once again, I knew I would get away with it because my dad wasn't around.  I was/still am terrified of my dad.  He recognised early on that I was smart.  I wanted to please him.  I didn't want to be like my mum, weak.  I wanted to be like my dad, smart and successful.  He didn't go to university.  Well he tried but he drank too much and ended up dropping out.   He always wanted to make something of his life though.  Work for nasa, be an expert in physics and mathematics.  Because I emulated him so much and because he was living his dreams through me I tried to live my life in a way that would make him proud.  Unfortunately, I don't have a head for numbers.  I get confused with division.  When he was helping me with my homework he would get so frustrated with me he would end up throwing my text book across the room and yelling at me for not understanding something so simple.  He's smart but not the best teacher.  If you don't get it right away, he'll flip out.  He has no patience.

I did everything I could to make him proud.  Physics, Chemestry, and Mathematics 12.    I couldn't do it.  Ok, well I only tried 3 times but after only getting 41% on the third final, I gave up.  I never stopped trying to please him though.

The summer after grade 12 I was raped by my best guy friend.  I thought it was my fault.  I still do.   Then I did was any teenager does.  I rebelled.  I don't mean drugs and alcohol because that would have been okay with my parents.  I did something that made them so mad, I still don't know if they've forgiven me.  I went to bible college.  It was good for me.  I had fun.  And I only had one suicide attempt in the year and a half I was there.  I had been self mutilating and attempting suicide for years.  My parents (when I did tell them) would tell me to go to sleep or take a walk or something stupid like that.  They didn't understand that I was hurting and crying out in the only way I knew how.  Too bad everything got brushed under the rug.  We didn't even talk about my mum's illness in my family.  I brought it up once.  I thought a book should be written about her.  About how strong she was.  My dad's perspective, my grandparent's, my mum's.  Initially they thought it was a good idea, until my mum started crying and my dad started yelling at me for making her upset.  I dropped it shortly after that.  I still want to do it though.  Maybe, I will one day.

After that my life consisted of moving, job hopping and sleeping around...oh and drinking.  I moved 19 times and held over 30 jobs in a 7 year period.  Finally I fell into the career that I'm currently in.  I liked it because I'm really good at it and I was doing something that not a lot of females do.   I don't like most girls.  Most of my friends are guys and I prefer to work in a male dominated work place.  Maybe I was trying to prove to my dad how tough I was, I don't know?

After being diagnosed as bi polar, schizophrenic, depressed, and a million other things I was finally diagnosed as having borderline personality disorder.  I did what I do best - research.  I read every book and article about bpd.  At first I was in denial.  Then the truth dawned on me.  This is me.  I have this. But it's just a label, I'm a person and everyone is different.

Initially I was discouraged.  The success rate for curing bpd is not very good.  There are 8 classifications.  I qualify for every single one.  You're "cured" when you fit 4 of the symptoms or less.  It takes extensive therapy.  It's basically trying to teach you how to walk properly when you think you've been doing it properly for years.  It was a blow.  But I wanted to be a success.  I could make it.  All I had to do was study the books and eventually I would change my thinking.  I went to a company that only treats bpd.  It cost a lot.  I was paying over 2000 a month for the treatment.  The problem was I didn't have the money and I started feeling better so I left.  That's when I started drinking heavily.  I told my parents that I was still going to therapy and I couldn't afford it.  They started giving me 2000  a month.  I used it all on alcohol.    I still owe them about 3000$.   I now know all of the clinical terms.  I can tell someone when I'm splitting, or acting out.  The problem is I can't change my behaviour.  Maybe it wasn't a good idea to read about it.  The way my brain works is that when I understand something, I therefor an expert.  If I know all of these terms and I can catch myself when I'm doing them, I can thus cure myself.  It doesn't work that way.  I catch myself and keep on doing it.  At least I'm aware.  That's a step in the right direction?  Or maybe not.  Maybe my understanding and intelligence is stopping the emotional and mental healing process?  

I missed a lot of work.  More than usual.  It got to the point where I was missing more work than I was there.  One evening I got really drunk and fell in my washroom.  I ended up with a serious concussion.  So I took time off work and drank...from morning till whenever I passed out.  For some reason no one accused me of being an alcoholic.  I thought it was obvious.  I knew I had a problem.  No one called me on it.  Finally, I got fed up with myself and stopped drinking.  Then I went to rehab.  While in rehab, we did a lot of meditation.  I confessed to my therapist that I thought something was wrong with me.  I've always been angrier than anyone I know.  I learnt to suppress it but it came out as depression or self harm.  We went through a meditation exercise where I envisioned my childhood.  All I saw was the shadow of a man who was hurting me.  I couldn't continue.  The next day, we tried again.  I found out then that I was molested as a child.  I always had the body memories...the fear of men, the anger, and a million other symptoms and as much as I suspected it was true, I couldn't put a voice to my fears.  I left rehab shortly after that.  It was about a week or two before I started drinking again.  I didn't leave so I could drink.  I just thought that I needed one on one therapy, not group.  How could I say that I abused children when there were mothers in the group with me?  And with the way I was, I couldn't come out and say something as big as this.  I've cried wolf so many times.  Although in my head I wasn't crying wolf, I was asking for help in the only way I knew how to.  My parents thought my cutting and suicide was a phase, they thought my moodiness and anger was attributed to teenage hormones, then I moved and they didn't see me very often so they didn't see the signs I was giving out.    How on earth was I supposed to talk about something that I'm pretty sure that happened but the only proof I have is from body memories and a vague recollection during meditation? 

Since then, I've been at a loss.  I'm having nightmares about being raped.  I keep seeing a man in my apartment.  I'm too afraid to go outside because people are going to hurt me.  I'm angry again.  I haven't felt this kind of rage since my childhood.  I'm hearing voices in my head.  I've cracked.  I've reached my breaking point and I'm having a mental breakdown.  I made the decision to check into the psych ward (after two suicide attempts).  I leave tomorrow morning.  They'll help me with my psychological issues and eventually send me back to rehab once the crazy is under control.  I know I shouldn't drink but this is kind of the only thing I have left.  I'm sober now and just trying to make it till tomorrow.  It's the only way I know.  I don't want to go crazy.  I can't handle the voices or seeing the man or having the rape dreams, or thinking I'm not good enough.  I want to drink because it's the only way I know how to survive.  Tomorrow morning, I go to the hospital.  I'll be safe there.  They can help me.  I just need to make it through tonight.  Please, God, I hope that I make it.

I want to survive.  I really do.  It's just a life time of hurt has finally caught up with me.  I recently read a quote that's helping me.  "You survived the abuse, you can survive the recovery".  Oh and here's a video I frequently watch because it makes me feel like I'm not the only one out there that feels like this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qt9SOvILMI8

I cried the first time I saw this video.  I couldn't believe that there were other people out there that understood what I was going through.  I know it's kind of cheesy but it means a lot to me.

I heard someone once say that "no matter how softly you touch a burn victim, it's still going to hurt them".  That's what it's like for me all the fucking time.  You mean well, but sometimes your compliments hurt me.  I know rationally they shouldn't but I'm not rational.  Everything fucking hurts me.  And sometimes the pain feels better than the emptiness so I'll end up seeking the pain.  Feeling bad things is better than feeling nothing.  Oh, God.  I wish I could be normal.  I hate the emptiness, I hate the pain, all of the emotions, the self destructiveness.  I just want to be normal.  I tried.  I tried to emulate the normal people, but my thought process is so different.  They do things that are so foreign to me.  How do you love someone who has hurt you?  How do they see the big picture?  Why is it either love or hate for me?  I want to see the in betweens.  I understand they're there but I can't fucking see them, let alone understand them.

Ps. I'm moving out of my apartment into my parents garage.  It happens when you drink away your job, money and everything else.  I'm 37 grand in debt.  I'm going to declare bankruptcy.  I'm lucky in the sense that I have a place to go to.  I'm not going to end up on the streets.  I don't have to give up my three cats.  I'm lucky.  I told my folks in December that I was going to be moving back in with them at the end of January.  They freaked out.  Understandably.  They have to convert a garage into a living space for me.  Then last week I sprung the big bomb.  I'm checking into the hospital so they have to finish the garage and pack up all my shit without my help while I dillydally in the hospital.  I feel really guilty about this but it's life or death for me.  Either I go into the hospital asap or I don't make it.  They didn't understand.  I recently shaved my head because I felt like it.  Impulsive behaviour without thinking about the consequences...that's me in a nut shell.  Anyhow, my mum came over yesterday and helped me pack up most of my shit.  I later called my dad.  Big mistake.  I was emotional, depressed, guilty, anxious, and wanting to drink.  Here's our conversation.

Me: Hey, had mum made it home yet?
Dad: No. She's staying at your place tonight.
Me: No, she left.  I have some things at your house that I need before I check into the hospital.
Dad: Well she's not home yet. What else do you want?
Me: We got a lot of packing done here.  How's the garage coming?
Dad: Your brother is still asleep.  I've been doing everything by myself.
Me: I'm sorry.  You know I didn't plan this?  I just need to do what I can to get better.
Dad: Yeah, well you could have given us more notice.  It's not fair for your mother to be packing up your apartment while you're sleeping and I'm working my ass off trying to insulate a garage for you.
Me: It wasn't my choice.  I'm not right in the head.  I'm seeing things, hearing things, I can't sleep, I need to go to the hospital so I don't hurt myself again.
Dad: More crap about the garage and what an inconvenience I am to him and my mum.
Me: DO YOU WANT ME DEAD?
Dad: no.
Me: Well that's what's going to happen if I don't get the help I need.  Remember 2010, when I just about died?  That's what's going to happen again if I don't get help.  I don't want that, which is why I'm doing this.  I'm sorry for inconveniencing you guys but I can't control when I have a mental breakdown.  I'm doing the best I can.  I wanted to check in last week but I felt too guilty.  I stayed and helped pack.  I need to go to the hospital on Monday.  It is life or death for me.
Dad: It's just not fair to your mother or myself.  I don't see why you have to be so dramatic.  You're brothers had the same upbringing as you and they're fine.
Then I hung up on him.  I hate him.  But I know in a while when I cool down, I love him again and I'll start bending over backwards trying to please him again.  We have such a parasitic relationship.  I only get love about 5% of the time, yet I keep calling him, hoping to get that approval.  I have serious daddy issues.

Guilt

The guilt is eating me alive right now and I don't even know why.  What have I done that I should feel guilty about?  Is it justified guilt, or unjustified?  I've meditated, apologised to those I've wronged recently, forgiven myself for falling off the wagon and I still feel this pit in my stomach.  I'm at a loss.  I don't know what to do to make it go away.  Why do I feel things so intentensly?  Whenever I have an emotion, it's always over the top...happiness - I'm so happy and hyper that people think I'm on drugs, depression - I won't get out of bed, sadness - I won't stop crying.  I just want to feel emotions in the normal range that everyone else feels them.  Usually writing about my feelings helps me.  It hasn't.  I feel guilty.  AND I DON'T KNOW WHY!  It's starting to make me angry at myself.  It makes me want to drink, to do something to lessen this emotion or take my mind off it.  I'm jittery.  I don't like this at all.  Please, Universe help me with this guilt that I'm feeling.  Take it away.  I can't deal with it.

Ask for help. Depression kills.

I used to hate God. I hated all religions especially those of a Christian nature. It stems from me going to bible college, being miserable, not able to face my demons and failing the courses. Religion didn't work for me because I didn't make it through a religious college. Logical eh?

I used to scoff at religion, now I'm starting to fucking believe in God.

I'm an alcoholic. I was sober for three months and two days and then I fucked it up. I'm a self-saboteur. When you've struggled with depression, suicide attempts, self-harm, abuse, and alcoholism for so long, you forget what it feels to be happy, to be normal. I see others and attempt to emulate them in the hopes that I'll feel happy too. It never works. Which is why when life was actually starting to feel good, normal I chose to pick up the bottle again. The guilt and shame of ruining everything overwhelmed me. When I'm in that mind set, I don't think logically. I'm irrational and incredibly impulsive.

So there I was drinking alone with guilt eating me alive when I decided to get help. Not in the way most people ask for help but the way that someone who's so lost and doesn't know what to do does. I took some of my anti-depressants, called 911 and told them that I attempted suicide. I was hoping they would take me to the hospital, and then lock me in the psych ward so I wouldn't drink anymore. That didn't happen. I got taken away, handcuffed to a hospital bed and then kicked out at 7 in the morning. I was sober for two days after that when someone said something to me that I didn't like. I don't like being told what to do. So I did the opposite and I went out and got drunk again.

For quite a few days I lived in a drunken haze. I didn't eat, take my medication, or sleep. I just kept drinking, causing problems, fights, acting out like a child having a temper tantrum. On the plus side, I didn't have sex with anyone, get arrested, drink and drive, steal anything, hurt myself or attempt suicide. The whole time I was drinking, I was reaching out to those in AA, asking for help. And you know what they helped. I got sober again.

Unfortunately the withdrawal process was quite bad again. I neglected myself, I didn't eat, shower, drink enough water, or ask for help trying to get sober again. Somehow I made it through. If you're an addict, don't fucking relapse, it's so much harder to get sober and climb out of the hole.

By today I was feeling well enough to eat my first meal...holy shit has my stomach shrunk! But I ate, I went to an online meeting, I made plans with friends and family. But the week or so of neglect on my body took it's toll. I was sober but so incredibly depressed I wasn't sure if it was worth it. I wanted to drink, to cut, to take my life. And then I went on the internet and a read an amazing blog post about depression and it made me feel less alone. I've been asking for help for the last 15 plus years. Some people have been there and understand, most don't. But my problem is that I don't like bothering people. If you ask for help on the same problem that you've been yet to find a solution to, I feel that's taking advantage...mostly just irritating. That's the last thing I want. I have very few people I can ask for help which is why I didn't ask. I'm asking now. If someone is willing, I just need a hand up....again.

I know there is someone out there looking after me, why else would I have stumbled upon help from strangers on the internet. Maybe this will help someone else. You're not alone. It hurts, and when it starts to feel normal, you feel that you don't deserve it so you sabotage. I get it. I've sabotaged every good thing in my life for many, many years.

Anyhow, I'm back on the path of recovery. I'm going to keep falling, but I'm also never going to give up. Maybe one day, I can even learn to love myself. How can you form meaningful relationships if you don't even like yourself? Meditation, AA, trying to ask for help, and maybe starting to learn more about this God (Buddha, Universe, Monkey in the sky riding a unicorn, whomever is out there) because I sure as hell can't handle life by myself.

Thank you universe for helping me make it through the day.

There's always a honeymoon period in everything you do, whether it be a new job, a new relationship, a new way of life, and I'm pretty sure mine just ended.  Initially everything is perfect, it's bliss.  Then there comes a point where you notice faults, flaws and you have to work at it if you want to keep it.

At first sobriety was great (aside from the withdrawal of course), I could drive my car because I wasn't drunk, I didn't make a fool of myself in public quite as often, I didn't wake up naked in a strangers bed, I paid all of my bills on time, life was pretty awesometastic.  Today I woke up and I hated being sober.  I wanted to be drunk so badly it felt like I was suffocating. 


Yesterday I decided to throw a little party for myself.  It's not something I do very often, I'm very bad at planning and I always manage to throw a party at the same time as another major event.  This time I was sure it would be great.  My friends and I would drink tea, eat good food, celebrate my two months and three days of sobriety, celebrate my birthday and Christmas (because both will occur while I'm in rehab).  Too bad there was a major sporting event happening at the same time.  Most people chose to go to other parties so they could drink and watch the game.  I get it, I understand.  It was bad planning (again).  A few came and we had fun.  I should be grateful for that but I wasn't.  I wanted more.  I wanted people to care about me and my accomplishments instead of a silly game. 

Later on I had plans to meet my friend (whom I'm considering asking being my sponsor) for tea and then we were going to go to an AA meeting together.  I canceled.  I didn't even call her, I made up an excuse about my back hurting and sent a text.  For the first time since I was sober, I seriously contemplated suicide.  Every other time, I thought about it or attempted it I was drunk.  I even went so far as to plan it and what I would wear.  Silly, I know.  Maybe it's a girl thing.  But then I remembered how the last time went.  I died but they brought me back a few times.  The next few days in the hospital and psych ward weren't fun.  Maybe I'm here for a reason?  I might as well stick around and see what it is.  You can't stop watching a movie halfway through.  I went to bed early and ended up sleeping for over 15 hours. 

I decided that I was going to sit around and eat all of this food that I made for the party.  I don't want it to go to waste and since life sucked, I might as well get fat along the way.  I called a friend of mine to tell him that I wasn't going to do anything until I had to go to treatment.  He basically told me that there was nothing wrong with me and I shouldn't give into the psychosomatic symptoms and lethargy I was feeling.  He was right.  I could have laid around and done nothing or I could get up, stop feeling sorry for myself and do something.  He also gave me some of the greatest advice I've heard.  "No matter how late you get up, how screwed up the day gets, you can always just start it over.  Hit restart and from that moment on, have a great day". 

So that's what I was going to do.  A few hours later, I got ready to go to my meeting.  Along the way a man started following me very closely.  Even when I stopped, he did too.  I made it to the bus stop which was on a busy street and he bumped into me and walked away.  I started having an anxiety attack.  I needed a drink.  I was freaked out and I needed a fucking drink like a dehydrated man needs water.  I got on the bus instead.  I just about got off the bus half a dozen times so I could get booze and drink.  I made it to my meeting.  Outside there was a girl I had met previously.  I confessed that I really wanted to drink, I didn't want to be here, I wanted to be at home...drunk. 
Her: Stop feeling guilty.
Me: How did you know I was feeling guilty?
Her: I'm an alcoholic too.  I've been there.  Hell, even after 3 years I get the urge.  Just because you thought about drinking doesn't mean you need to feel guilty.  You're here.  You're not drunk.  You have two months of sobriety under your belt.  You should feel proud of yourself.  You've accomplished so much.

I still wanted to drink.  I went into the meeting planning on getting beer after it was over.  The only reason I was there was because I made a promise to my friend to go tonight.  For the first five or ten minutes I couldn't concentrate on the speaker because of the overwhelming urge to drink.  Then something happened.  I started listening and relating to the stories.  Then I got up and took my two month chip even though I didn't feel that I deserved it.  Then at the end of the meeting I read the promises, held hands with my neighbours and said the serenity prayer.  Funny, I no longer wanted to drink.  I wanted to go home, make a cup of tea and read a book. 

Being sober is hard.  It's a lot of work.  I can't just sail through this.  I have to start meditating, praying, going to more meetings, doing the steps, find a sponsor, get a home group, and I need to stop being so hard on myself.  I made it through today.  Someone once said something that really resonated with me..."I'm not going to drink today.  If I want to drink tomorrow, then so be it.  I'm not going to drink today".  One day at a time.  Even one second at a time, whatever it takes to make it through the day without a drink.

Mind the cliches

Today I had a complete and utter meltdown - one of the many I've had in the past month. Perhaps I was naive or just plain stupid but I was under the assumption that once I stopped drinking all I had to deal with was the constant cravings, and the effects of withdrawal. Boy, was I wrong.

Being an alcoholic consists of drinking and figuring out how you're going to get your next drink. Paying bills, meeting deadlines, treating others with respect and integrity, going to work, cleaning, eating, seeing your friends and family, not drinking and driving, going to appointments, putting on makeup, doing your hair, wearing nice clothes, all of those go right out the window. So when you ignore all of those you end up with a huge mess to clean up.

Some days I see the light at the end of the tunnel (excuse the cliche but it seemed most appropriate) and then others, like today, are so overwhelming it's hard to ignore the urge to climb into bed and pull the covers over my head.

I had finally been paid, a very small portion of what is owed to me, but none the less it was enough to pay the over due bills and keep my head above water until the rest of the funds came in. I also had a new bank card as my old one was fraudulent. I went to the corner store to buy my mandatory pack of smokes. Don't judge, I can only deal with one addiction at a time. I inserted my debit card, entered my pin and learned that my bank account was closed. I rooted through my purse, came up with enough change to cover the cost and then went home. Once home, I took off all my clothes (temper tantrums are always more satisfying when done in the buff), closed all the windows - lest my neighbours think that someone was being murdered when I started screaming, and let forth my rage which included the throwing of couch cushions, angry tweets and texts, and of course screaming/hysterical sobbing.

Once finished, I realized my tantrum, although thoroughly satisfying was completely unnecessary. I've had a lot of days like this and I got through them with the help of my friends and family. Perhaps the freak outs and tears weren't needed? All I was doing was venting my frustration and anger in an unhealthy way. Most children grow out of this stage and learn to cope in a healthier, more mature way. Why was I regressing? Or had I never developed adult coping skills?

There are going to be a lot more days like this. I can't behave like a child any longer. I don't need to add any more stress to the pile I already have. Instead of bitching and moaning I'm going to take the hand I'm dealt and use it to my advantage. Enough of letting life control my emotions, I'm going to take charge and control my life. It's time to dust off the heels, pull out the red lipstick and not only live my life but enjoy it. I might as well, I could end up as a dung beetle in the next life. I've got to take advantage of this one. I've got more than most. I have a support system, a great job, a roof over my head (albeit a crappy one that leaks in my living room), a car that is mostly reliable and a closet full of really great clothes that I haven't worn in months.

Watch out world, I'm back with a vengeance.

19 Days sober

The day after I drank the one beer I went out and bought more.  I drank them all.  I was drunk for two days straight.  That's when I realized I need more help than I currently have.  I called my parents (drunk) and told them I was drinking again.  They assumed that I had stopped back in 2009.  I hadn't.  I just told them that I did.  So of course I lied to them and told them I had been sober for a year and had only started drinking in the last few months. 

My mum was really supportive and asked what she could do to help me.  I kept apologizing over and over again.  She kept responding with "It's not your fault, you're sick, we'll get you the help you need."
Then she put my dad on the phone.  I apologized and he said sorry doesn't cut it. You need to take responsibility for your actions.  I kept trying to explain in my drunken stupor that this is what I was doing by telling them.  He yelled at me a bit more and then hung up.  Thanks dad, that doesn't make me want to drink again. 

At 3:48 am, September 24th I stopped drinking.  I've been sober ever since.  I know 19 days doesn't seem like a lot but it's a hell of a lot better than 1 day, or 0 days.  I'm proud of myself.  It's still really fucking hard but my friends and family have come through.  I'm getting the support I need.  I'm also going to go to rehab.  I'll write more about that later.

I'VE BEEN SOBER FOR 19 DAYS AND IT FEELS AWESOME!!!!!!

I failed. But tomorrow's a new day.

Earlier tonight, I got a phone call from a friend of mine asking if I wanted to go out for coffee.  I told him that I was still going through withdrawal and it was really hard for me right now.   He asked what the problem was.  I had already told him I was an alcoholic.  I explained again that I was an alcoholic and needed some time.  He then asked me why I was having such a hard time since he only invited me for coffee. 

Some background.  This guy is in his early 20's, still lives with his parents and entire social life revolves around cars.  He has NO other interests.  Needless to say, he's quite sheltered.  He didn't know what an addict is like, or how they feel when they decide to be sober.  It really frustrated me because I'm going through hell right now and he didn't fucking get it.  I know most that haven't been there don't know what it's like but most have a general idea.  This kid didn't.  To him it was the same as if I had the made decision to stop eating cabbage or something.  IT'S NOT THAT EASY!  I ended up hanging up on him because he was frustrating me. There are only so many ways you can explain that you're an addict. 

About an hour later I got a text message from my ex.  Not the ex that I'm still in love with but one that I dated last year.  We hadn't had any contact since we broke up.  This is the text he sent me verbatim. 

Weird random question since I know were not dating but r u still sexually attracted?

Number one: he knows (as well as everyone else I come in contact with) that I hate the short hand text messages.  Why can't you spell out you, or are?
Number two: I'm not that desperate for sex that I need to come back and sleep with him.  Why now?  The timing is horrid.  I'm trying to get sober, I don't want to deal with an ex that wants to sleep with me.

I told him to never contact me again.  I don't need this shit. 

Otherwise today was good, I had no cravings.  But for some reason I drove to the beer and wine store and bought a six pack.  I didn't want it or need it.  I was feeling good (craving wise) but for some reason, I bought beer.  I don't know why I did it.  But I did.  I felt guilty the minute I parked my car, and it got worse as I bought the beer and brought it home.  I left it in my fridge for an hour while wrestling with my conscience.  I wasn't waiting for the beer to get cold, it already was.  I made the decision that since I bought it, I might as well drink it.  I cracked open the first can and took a sip.  It tasted horrible.  I didn't like it at all.  I drank it all though.  I don't know why.  I then opened the other five cans and poured them down the sink.

I guess it's good that I didn't get stupid drunk but I shouldn't have even bought beer in the first place.  I feel so stupid because I was doing so good.  I guess I have to start the count down over.  Day one starts tomorrow.  

I finally figured out why I'm not hung up about my ex.  This break up doesn't feel real.  We still text each other almost everyday.  I need to realize it's over.  I can't keep hoping that once I'm sober we'll get back together.  He has his life, he's going to move on and I should as well.  I guess I should stop texting him.  But he's the only person that I told that I drank again and he didn't judge me, he made me feel better.  One beer in 216 hours isn't bad, baby steps honey.  He doesn't deserve to have me constantly bugging him with my issues.  I need to let him go.  Okay, reality just sunk in.  This is going to suck.  I'm now crying over our relationship.