Well I've done it. I've had a drink. Actually. I've had several. So here I am with nothing but excuses for what I've done. There really isn't any reason to offer an explanation. What good would it be?
About a month ago I drank after several years sober. The pain of it, I told myself, is intolerable. I have to laugh at that moment right now. This pain seems so much worse than that pain. What a ridiculous excuse for a human being.
It's funny, even as I struggle to put my fingers to the right keys I'm telling myself "You can quit again right now. Just make the choice." But I don't want to. I want to be special in my pain. Poor me. I want to feel sorry for myself so that I have an excuse to drink again tomorrow. Poor me. Poor Friday. Everything she's feeling is so bad, so horrific, so much worse than anyone could possible care about. I make myself sick. I literally cannot stand myself right now.
A few years ago someone called me "a sick and twisted bitch" and I was so hurt by that. I understood why they felt that way. I was even sorry because I did play a part in their pain. But I never thought they were right. I just understood why they felt the way they did and I was comfortable being accountable for my part in it. Now I think they were right. I am sick and twisted. I feel twisted. At the root. At the very root. How convenient of me. I'm so wounded so I have an excuse to drink and put my well-being in danger. Boo hoo.
Boo fucking hoo.
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