I’m almost about finished with a 12-pack for the night. I tell myself, oh! I tell myself lots of things, but I tell myself I’m done. But I’m only barely buzzed and I’m out of beer. I think, “At least I switched to beer.” No. No. No. None of this is right. I’ve finished my 3rd 12-pack in three nights. My excuse “to get through this breakup”. I saw my counselor today. She asked how much I would drink when I told her I WOULD be drinking tonight to cope with the pain. I said probably a 12-pack. She asked if I was thinking of killing myself. No, hell no. I wouldn’t do that to my children!!!!! But I kind of am, aren’t I? Slowly killing myself and increasing the odds of the boys being raised without a parent? I had chest pains today. Not my usual shooting-down-the-arm pains but when taking in a breath I felt a sharp pain in the center of my chest. I just suffered through. Who would watch the kids? I don’t have insurance. I can’t afford a hospital visit. It wasn’t as bad as the one’s I’ve felt before after all.
But I’m sitting here typing this thinking about the smiles on those boys faces. I think about the reason for waking up tomorrow, hungover or not. I think I don’t know how really bad I’m hurting myself, the boys. There’s an AA meeting down the road in the morning. I’m no longer dating a drinker. I don’t have to be tempted any longer. I don’t have to be accepted any longer. I just need to accept myself. I need to accept the fact that I need to be a mother and fuck this shit. I may not wake up in the morning. What would happen to my kids? They wouldn’t know to wake me up. They’d probably start playing downstairs. Mom’s just sleeping still (hungover). They’d try to wake me up because they wanted milk or something to eat. What would they do? I’ve showed him the emergency setting on my phone but really, would they know what to do? Feeling so cautious I feel obligated to stay awake all night but what good would that do?
I want to lose weight…hey, guess what would help! Or hinder…I hear you gain weight when you swap alcohol for sweets and treats. I picture my father looking down at me and shaking his head at me. I’m shaking my head at myself. When is too much too much? When is enough enough? What the fuck has to happen to me to make me wake the fuck up? I don’t want anything to happen. Right now is the perfect time to stop drinking. Hopefully, about to start a new job, I want to lose weight, I’m not dating a fellow alcoholic, I could jump on this opportunity as a chance to start over COMPLETELY.
If only I had enough drive and will-power. If only. All I know is I’m wanting to wake up tomorrow. Dark and gloomy and hating the time of the start of school and cussing at the boys to buckle up and give them the ok to unbuckle in the car drop-off school line so that they each can give me a mouth-to-mouth kiss, while they still don’t know that’s disgusting for a mom-son kiss. I type all of this but I don’t know what I’ll do tomorrow. I know tomorrow is 24 hours. I know I’m supposed to take it day-by-day. There’s a Buddhist program for addiction. It’s at baby-sitting hours or else I’d go. Maybe the AA meeting in my own little city would help me. Maybe I’ll identify or recognize fellow addicts and keep a secret. If Dad did it. Granddad does it…go through each day without alcohol, I surely could do it, right? I wish I could feel strongly enough about myself to stop this madness and do the right thing. I wish I had the discipline. The drive. But FUCK! I have two drives! Eight and five. Why can’t I stop? Do I not want to stop bad enough? I’m unemployed. I’ll tell myself I can’t afford to drink anymore. Step one. Because truthfully, I can’t any longer afford it. I don’t need to waste the money.
I say all of this tonight and can talk a good talk but what will happen tomorrow? God only knows.