By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes. I have been having flashbacks lately to a lovely assortment of drunken events. I can just pick and choose! Ooooh but there’s so many, my inner self says greedily, may I have more than one? And apparently, yes I may have as many I can remember. The one that stands out today is when I blacked out at my goddaughters christening. Yeah, that is a doozy isn’t it? Babies, churches, formal evening wear and blackout drunks. Such a lovely mix. Now I feel the need to excuse my behaviour even before I have told you. How stressed I had been at work for months before, that I during the same time pretty much had been a single parent because my husband also worked insane hours and was away most of the time, that I was finally on my own, in another city, in another country even. All bets were off and I deserved a break. I did deserve a break, but: Getting so insanely drunk that the anxiety didn’t subside for almost a week, being so hungover I threw up after breakfast, have absolutely no recollection of anything after 10 pm except me turning up the volume and suggesting we go out clubbing, having to filter through facebook friend requests and feel the absolute need to apologise to each one of them, for the first time see that look on my friends faces that suggested they had been worried about me the night before, realise with such total clarity and complete understanding that I was indeed an alcoholic and that I needed to stop it right now, boarding the shuttle to the airport still hungover, then getting the sneaky idea in my head that since I was all alone at the airport and that since I now was going to quit drinking anyway I might as well have a couple of glasses at the airport – to go out with some sort of dignity as a well travelled woman who’s standing up to the patriarchy by having drinks by herself, getting SO DRUNK at the airport, boarding the plane and flying home and feeling like the worst human being in the world. And then keep on drinking for another 6 months after that.

That isn’t a break. That’s how I got broken.

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5 thoughts on “By the pricking of my thumbs,

  1. It’s such a hands-covering-eyes-and-head-whilst-groaning feeling isn’t it when you wake up and the drunken events begin to filter in… One of the worst feelings. Sometimes it will be late afternoon before something I hear or see will trigger another awful piece of the jigsaw from the previous night. So true what you describe about the airport. I sort of think: “Ok, I know I was bad last night, but I am definitely going to quit tomorrow, so I may as well just have one last blowout”… Then the loop begins again. xxx

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  2. ‘Churches & blackout drunks’, could be a good title for a book?

    It’s the worst thing when you have to firstly remember what you did and then apologise to everyone! I have done that more times than I can count.

    Its good to write these things down, sharing the horror stories take away their power because once you have come out and said it albeit anonymously the shame lessens.

    Don’t you think it’s funny how women have been duped into believing that by drinking to excess we are giving the finger to the patriarchy? I always felt that, it’s my God given right to get wasted! I’m a modern woman who won’t be told what to do!

    What we were actually doing is falling into one of the Patriarchy’s traps.
    xxxxxx

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  3. It is so cathartic to tell the stories under the anonymity of a blog. It’s freeing and gives you that feeling of absolution. Good job putting it out there, and for storing it in your memory bank. I find my most face-hiding moments to be the best motivator to keep going!

    Like

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