I have an on-again-off-again relationship with vodka …. it’s currently ON again. I don’t really want it to be ON again, but I just can’t seem to silence that voice in my brain that says …. “hey, girlie, all you had was one lousy martini … you need to go to Walgreens and get toilet paper anyway, right???? Let’s just have one more, ok?” And so I drive to Walgreens, during a STORM, pick up my Smirnoff, 2 packs of bacon (they were on sale!), a pint of Moose-tracks ice cream (another one of the voices in my head ….), and toilet paper. So I got home and had …. *** 3 *** more martinis. Slept like hell. Got diarrhea and pooped (a little) my nightie pants. The other day I woke up and swear I smelled like the inside of a bar. Headaches. Bloated. Black outs. Craving pints of HaloTop. Drunk calling. It’s fuckin’ stupid.
A grown-ass woman should be able to go home from work, cook a ribeye, watch a little Netflix, and NOT guzzle 1/2 a bottle of vodka. If I start early enough, it can be 3/4 a bottle.
The thing is, I LIKE IT. The taste, the little buzz. My ability to actually clean my house when martini’d up. I sing. I dance. Once and a while I make a bonfire in my little firepit. And I drink some more.
I’ve recently read the “warning signs” of alcoholism. I can’t tic off all of them — I don’t drink secretly, I don’t drink in the morning before work (or at work), I’m not irritable or having mood swings, I don’t make excuses for drinking (happy, sad, depressed), I haven’t isolated myself from friends and family. I do drink alone — I LIVE alone! And I haven’t curtailed any hobbies or changed my appearance/habits because of drinking. I stopped running when my right knee became too painful, not because I’d rather make a martini.
But I understand what it’s doing to my body. That it’s slowly killing me.
I’m not ready to die yet.
I’m not a person who can do things in moderation. I drink until I want to stop, which is usually never. I don’t eat a scoop of HaloTop — no, I eat the entire pint. If I want to start running 5K’s, I run them until my effing knee is so painful that I can barely walk. I’m all or nothing. I’m not ready to not drink. I know in my heart that I will need to stop. Sooner rather than later, I’m sure. It most likely won’t be today.