THURSDAY

I haven’t had a drink since the 1st of July.

This in itself is not terribly remarkable-three weeks is not a great deal of time-but I haven’t done any drugs either; and even though I have been around people engaged with both, I’ve been fine. No serious cravings, and no fidgety musings as I turn over the possibility in my head. It’s a wonder.

It’s also a bit of a surprise. Or, maybe it’s a bit of medication. Such a complicated world.

My drinking, like just about everything else in my life for these past ten years or so, has been tremendously, wonderfully, erratic; the tap a torrent or a trickle. To say nothing of the drugs (not for now), my relationship with alcohol has been personal, professional and probate, sometimes in turns, sometimes all at once. I’ve been fond of it. At one time, I thought that I wanted to pursue a career surrounding its sale, or perhaps write about wine for a publication. I do like wine.

But substance abuse, we have learned, is about as close to bipolar as nuclear fission is to radiation: what famous friends with bad history; and what better example of a relationship better left unexplored? Well, unexplored further.

I stopped on the first because the first was the day I woke up in the middle of the night, after tottering home mightily bamboozled by the drink, to wrack myself with a shuddering sob of rage and confusion, as my world imploded in upon a well so dark and deep I didn’t know if I wouldn’t just keep descending, all alone, forever.

It was very melodramatic. So much so that by early afternoon the next day, I knew, definitively, that I needed some help.

So, I quit drinking. Not because I felt better, but because I needed to know what was going on, and what had been going on, all this time. I had to know if I was just a drunk or if I was crazy.

Thus far, it looks like crazy’s the winner; let’s hope it doesn’t turn out that I’m both.

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~ by A Mundi on July 24, 2008.

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