I bumped into a friend outside the library. It was really good to see her, nice to know I’m not alone in Canterbury, especially after A left last week. It was nice catching up.
At one point:
“I’ve given up drinking,” I said.
“About bloody time, too,” my friend said. “Not to mince my words or anything.”
I have realised, from the people I’ve told, that this is what everyone has been thinking. I haven’t told that many people because when I slip up I don’t want it to be a big deal. But the people I have told have all responded with relief and happiness. Because I am not “just” a drinker. I am not fun when I’ve had a few. I have a serious problem, and it leaves a blazing trail of destruction through all the parts of my life. It hasn’t been months or days or weeks of people telling me this. It has been more years than I care or dare to count.
I slipped up last night. Stubborn little me refuses to fail.