I wish I could say I was in a good space tonight, but that would be a lie. I’m fucking furious because Martin, the guy who I slept with on Saturday night, has not replied to any of my messages yet, and I’m sick of waiting for him. If I weren’t a sick, co-dependent, needy alcoholic this wouldn’t be a problem, but since I am all of those things I feel like I want to die right now. Martin must have been a liar, because he said he liked me and wanted to see me again, but so far I’m not getting that impression. Men always do this – when they’re not interested they stop texting you. It’s such a classic brush off. I should have known this would happen! It’s happened to me a million times before. How ironic that it should happen again, at a time when I thought I was getting better, only to prove that I’m as sick as I ever was.
I let that man into my life, just for one night; I allowed myself to be vulnerable, and I really fell for him. Yes, I was completely stupid to do that. I should know by now that it’s not good to fall for someone the first time you meet them. But this is about more than just silly romantic emotions. This is about my whole life, because for the first time ever, I enjoyed sex on Saturday night. That is something I NEVER thought I would be able to do. So that’s why Martin has become so important to me in such a short space of time – because I learnt how to make love with him.
So I didn’t want to go to the Holborn step meeting to make tea tonight, but I had to because I would have just sat at home crying otherwise. When the meeting started all the sharing was about sex and relationships and co-dependency – I heard what I needed to hear, and I shared because past experience had shown me that speaking out would make me feel better. I fully expected to feel better once I’d said how I was feeling, but strangely, it made me feel worse. I wanted to get up and run from the meeting. I stayed through to the end and washed up everyone’s tea cups as once again the secretary forgot to ask for a volunteer to do it. I shoved all the cups into the sink, rinsed them violently and chucked them to the side, not caring if people thought I was mad. I left the meeting without saying goodbye to any of them. Dean was there, and I couldn’t be bothered to speak to him. I’ve got the impression lately that he is as resentful of me as I am of him. We’ve grown apart – I wouldn’t consider him a friend any more. Tonight I was furious with him for letting our friendship slip like it has, and I was furious with myself for letting him let it slip.
I walked home in the rain cursing the day I joined AA. I started to think about drinking, how I would relapse if I had the money, what it would be like to get wasted again. By the time I got home, I had planned out an entire relapse in detail followed by an emotional and dramatic return to AA. I didn’t have any money tonight so I couldn’t get any beer; when I got indoors I searched the cupboards for whatever I could find and stuffed my face with cakes to drown out the deep hunger inside of me. It helped a bit, but not much. Right now I feel a little bit sick. I’ve never done that before, acted out in that way. Tomorrow my latest benefit payment comes through, and it would be so easy to go out and get trashed. I could head to the off license first thing in the morning, get a couple of six packs for £10, I could drink all of those at home then go out in the evening and get really hammered. The thought of it actually excites me right now. I need these feelings to be taken away, I can’t deal with them any more, I don’t want to sit with them any more.
I’m not just angry with Martin for dumping me, I’m angry with everyone in my entire fucking life. I’m angry with people like Dean, who was supposed to be a friend. We came into AA together in 2007 and our friendship was full of promise. We were going to get sober together, we were going to know each other for the rest of our lives. What a fucking joke! I couldn’t rely on him any more than I could rely on some drunk in the pub. I’m angry at everyone in AA for being so much better at sobriety than me. Most of all, I’m angry at myself for being so shit at sobriety and life. People tell me I’m a good example of sobriety all the time – they have to be kidding! I’m a terrible fucking example. I don’t phone people, I don’t help newcomers, I don’t contribute to the tradition 7 pot that much, I don’t open up about my deepest, truest feelings. Sometimes when I don’t like someone, I find myself wishing they would relapse. I wished that on Dean tonight, I really did.
If I drink tomorrow, what would happen? Nothing good, undoubtedly. I’d go into blackout, do a bunch of crazy things, end up God knows where. A lot of the ‘yets’ that they talk about in AA would certainly happen. I might get arrested, I might even die. The thought of that doesn’t bother me as much as it should right now. If I don’t die, I would undoubtedly have to go back to AA and shamefully admit that I am one day sober once again. I can already see how upset people would be to hear that – Dean and all the others would probably feel quite bad for not doing more to help me. The sick thing is, I want that to happen. I want to see the looks on their faces, their utter disappointment in me, their shock as they realise they were wrong about me. Part of me thinks that’s what I deserve.
If I get drunk tomorrow, my mum would be really hurt. She knows I haven’t drunk for over a year, and she must have seen the changes in me more than anyone else. It would upset her if I was to do what I’m planning to do tomorrow, and I don’t want to upset her because I still love her more than anyone else. But can I really keep sober just for her? Shouldn’t I want to keep sober for myself?
I can’t see what hope I’ve got of having a good life any more. I’ve stopped looking for jobs because it’s clear that no one wants to employ me. I’m never going to have a meaningful relationship with anyone as long as I keep falling for men who want to use me. I’m going to be stuck in this flat for the rest of my life, dependent on my mum for support because I haven’t got the first fucking clue how to support myself. I’m sick of my life, I’m sick of waking up every morning worrying about what’s going to happen next, how I’m going to keep from going past my overdraft limit and getting whacked with another fine by the bank. I’m sick of being me. The really funny thing is, I honestly thought I was better. I can’t have been that much better, can I, if I’m feeling this way now? Something is still deeply wrong with me, and I cannot guarantee that I will be sober this time next week. I don’t even know what’s going to happen tomorrow, whether I really want another sober day or not.