These three weeks I have struggled harder than I have in a long time. For the first eight days I couldn’t sleep a wink, or had horrible nightmares when I did. The headaches were awful. Those things subsided. But I feel the cravings like a punch under the ribs, sometimes knocking the breath from me, sometimes literally making me cry. I’ve had to speak less to friends because my moods have been unpredictable and I know I can’t talk or think about anything else, so I have been steering clear. At the same time I’ve been trying to reach out to people, but that’s hard too.
Last night I didn’t think I would make it through. I told myself I was waiting up to count the hours to three weeks. In truth, I was only counting down the minutes until the Chinese restaurant that delivers vodka closed. I smoked countless cigarettes, talked in chat-rooms, spoke to friends by text. I cried my eyes out. I tried to read, listened to music. The world was falling apart. But I did it… It’s done. There are more days to come.