Dammit!
I’ve been drinking small amounts of alcky-hole, in the last week to ten days. By and large it’s been ok. Small amounts, and I’m alright.
But on at least two occasions, last night being one such, I went too far. I’ve got a bit of a sore throat. And that and my general low mood prompted me to buy another small bottle o’ Napoleon brandy.
And, predictably enough, just like last time, this proved foolish. Fortunately only extreme depression, loathsome tidal waves of self-pity, and a heightened desire to quit this wearisome life were all that followed.
I say ‘fortunately’ there, when perhaps one might wonder why, because it could’ve been a lot worse. I could’ve relapsed into other worse forms of self-abuse. I could’ve blown more money, that, as ever, I don’t have.
I wound up waking up at 3am, this morning, and having yet another chat – they’re daily at present – with The Samaritans. This time over an hour long.*
I worked yesterday, and that part of the day was good-ish. But sandwiched between extreme depression, total a-motivation, and a newly arrived weird sore throat, it didn’t stop me from re-lapsing into alcohol abuse.
So it’s back to tee-total, for the fore-seeable. Perhaps for good?
Teresa overheard some of my telephonic misery, about which I feel pretty awful. One good outcome of that, however, is that she’s taken a day off, ‘compassionate leave’, to keep an eye on me.
* If I ever attain sufficient levels of stability and happiness- not looking too likely, to be honest – maybe one day I could volunteer as a Samaritan listener?