I'm coming up to the anniversary of my light-bulb moment. The moment I realised my drinking wasn't something I could take or leave. That I was, in fact, an alcoholic. I know the signs, I grew up with alcoholics, so why I didn't notice it in me until it was too late I don't know.
It's not been an easy four years. Not a day has passed where I've not wanted to have a drink. The first year was actually the easiest, because I did it for my friends who had proven they liked me and loved me for who I was, and proved it by helping me through the first year, by making me go out, by making me laugh and smile and feel like I mattered and was important to them. The last year has been the hardest, the reasons why go without saying.
The last three weeks have been almost impossible. Every time I am in a shop, I think about buying some vodka or some bottles of beer. I resent Gremlin for still breastfeeding, so on the evenings I've been alone I can't get flat-out drunk (no bad thing really).
I know this will pass, but it has never been as solid a feeling for as long before, and I'm becoming irrational, paranoid and just not nice to be around (and that is a vicious circle to be in). I want to be the person I become when I am drinking. I like that person, that person is fun and funny and not sad and depressed and such a drag to be around.