Have you ever woke up from a night of indulging far too much and sworn off alcohol for good, only to drink the very same night? Have you ever done this for a month straight?
I’m not sure what’s gotten into me. I can be a completely different person for months at time. Though I wonder if the starving addict is truly who I am and the dedicated sobriety is only the fevered dream of a mad woman. Perhaps that stable and put together girl hovering above her books, planning for her future, is only an illusion I maintain. Maintain might not be the correct term, since my mask is perpetually slipping.
I’m mixing medications, I’m finding it difficult to spend a night without a Xanax or a few beers. Most nights I allow myself both, just to be sure I don’t feel a thing. The days aren’t bad, because I wait patiently for the moment I allow myself to lose control. The moment when I let the anxieties slip away, the responsibilities, the care for my well being. My addiction gene is strong, perhaps that’s all it really is. Perhaps I am making excuses for my complete lack of restraint. When does this monster on my back become an issue? One I truly need to address, that answer hasn’t come to me yet. I still wake up every morning and I have been through these phases before. Ones where a sober mind is poison, leeching at my very soul. My blood turns to pessimism and my heart beats only for punishment. I live each morning only to forget each night. I lose my emotions in a muddle of toxins, silencing each doubt with another well placed sip. I sink my anxieties into a crater that lies dormant in the corner of my mind. Each morning they return with full force and each day I become more weary, less able to face them.
I contemplate how many days left in this body I can face.