Is he finally done?

Its been a while. I have been avoiding blogging only because it didnt seem to work last time but in reality I am not sure I was ready for it to work. Giving up drinking is scary as shit. There are so many “what about’s”. What about birthdays and weddings and trips???How will I EVER stay sober? There are so many more reasons to drink than not, or at least i felt like there were. I can’t remember where I left off but i remember a lot of titles that said day 1 again, or it happened again, or some other semblance of “shit”. I don’t even want to look back at how long I have been at this, it makes a lump well up in my throat when I think about how much time I have lost that I will never get back.

The last straw was about two or three Thursdays ago? (I decided not to count this time, I figure since this is forever there is no point in keeping track) It really wasn’t even a huge event. My boyfriend and I finally got the case of wine we couldn’t find anywhere of this white wine that we had fallen in love with. I got home from work, passing my gym in a fury to get home and unscrew that cap as quickly as possible. I didn’t  care that I would get charged $12 for missing my workout class. My focus was on one thing and one thing only. You see my boyfriend was out with friends and that afforded me at least 3 or 4 hours of undisturbed oblivion. I mentally took stock of how much of that case we had left. 2 bottles from the case and one in the fridge of a special wine we bought together. I got inside and poured a drink before I even took the dogs to go to the bathroom. It felt like heaven. I could feel my body soaking up every ounce. I felt like i could finally breath and then I decided to get shit done. I normally really enjoy doing chores when I’m drunk. It makes it all seem so fun like I’m wonder woman and I can handle everything, the truth is usually the food I cook I burn, the stuff I organize is even more of a mess and the next day I have to undo what I messed up the night before. I started ironing, and cleaning up the place. I make calls to anyone I can think of and of course my grandma is the first one to pick up. She is the one person that can’t tell how drunk I am because she is 90 and that gives me license to speak my mind knowing she won’t remember half the things I say and rely it to my family.

(*Sidenote* I forgot to mention my dad was in the hospital at this time with a weird bug bite that was causing him issues but due to his severe alcoholism was in and out of consciousness and going through incredible withdrawals.)

I finish the first bottle and quickly open the 2nd. I know that time is of the essence because the boyfriend will be home soon and he will want to, god forbid, share the wine and i will have to begrudgingly pour him a glass. I can’t really remember the rest. I know I blacked out and remember fragments of crying and telling my boyfriend to leave me alone and somethings about how I am my father and will end up just like him and that he should leave me. The next morning he gets up and heads to work. I pretend to be sleeping so I can gauge his mood. When he leaves without kissing my forehead I quickly try to run through last night and piece together what happened. Did I break up with him? Threaten him? Tell him some other bullshit that has no truth attached?…Is he finally done? Has he finally had too much? FUCK.

I decided to take stock in myself. A lot of what I was crying about was actually a real possibility. I very much was on the trajectory of drunk, alone and sad just like my dad and it almost looked like I was okay with it. As long as my bottles of wine were with me, that really was okay with me in that moment. Who the fuck is okay with pushing everyone out of their life for an inanimate object? Whats wrong with me?

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