Detox

“If you think I’m bad drunk, you should see me sober…”
Grandad M

My body in the river
My trying, failing limbs
my breath beneath the water
Failing eyes.

All the things it is unwise to discuss with a Crisis Team.

I have been in hospital seven days.  Today I got out.  While I was there I… detoxed.  Pills for nausea, cravings, vomiting.  Cravings.  The drinking had become heavier than me. It was scary.  I have known for a long, long time that I had a problem.  But to have it medically treated?  That’s not “a bit of a problem”.  That’s physical dependence. I held my hands out and they were a bit shaky. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of” but of course I am.  Of course, I am.

It’s the longest I’ve been without a drink since 2006.  Yes, the physical stuff was horrible and the cravings hurt.  The worst realisation was how cruel I am capable of being.  I stopped loving the people who love me.  My gratitude shrunk.  My mind warped and I felt disgusted by, spiteful towards, anyone who wanted to help.  Some of the things I said will haunt me long after they have been forgiven.

I wrote a suicide note before failing to leave the world.  It was only full of love.  I didn’t know I was capable of such hatefulness… and it wasn’t “the drink” but the lack.  Desperation.

I had a medication with a complicated name.  Zopiclone to sleep.  Lorazepam for anxiety.  Lamotrigine (as usual) for my ever unstable mood.  Now anti-biotics for a cut I re-opened and a wrist I poured boiling water over.  I smoked and pressed the ends deep into my skin.

It was so good meeting other people who’d been through similar things, who understood, didn’t judge.  Understood that the whole thing is as much a pisstake as a lifesaver.

I met a girl there.  We got on well, we kissed a few times, I like her.  My head space is too fucked to sustain anything.

Tonight, I went to sleep early.  I woke unbreathing, struggling to speak, scared.  I want to be sick now.  I want a drink more than I thought possible to want anything, more than I want to be proud of seven days detox and hands steady enough to paint my nails with…

Discharge letter:  “Bipolar and ?? personality disorder”

Why the personality disorder???  Is it the self-harm?

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