Rockbottom1964

Not even five in the afternoon yet and the old man is already drunk out of his mind. Even a five-word sentence has to have at least two F***’s of F*****g's in it. Screaming his one-sided rage at the world; racist, politics, racist, racist… God, I really hate him sometimes. I pity him, but when he’s drunk, I hate him more. And stepmom keeps pouring them – she’s not far behind…In an hour from now he’ll be passed out, and she’ll follow half an hour or so later. By 7 on a Friday night I’ll be in bed, watching a movie with my door closed, afraid I’ll wake either of them.
I really, really could use a drink – or a dozen, right now. It will knock me out and I’ll forget all about this/my s*** for a few hours. Maybe for a night.
But that (drinking) will start a whole new hopeless cycle for me, all over again. Tomorrow Dad and Stepmom will welcome me back into the “comfort zone ” of their/our alcoholism with open arms and a I-told-you-so smile to one another; I’ll join them when they go buy the day’s bottle and buy my own again; I’ll draw the curtain back over my brain and again live in a drunken daze most of the time; I’ll throw up almost every day; I’ll wake up a dozen times a night – to either go to the loo or because I’m wet with sweat or because I had (another) bad dream or because I’m thirsty (again), then lie awake for hours or have another Scotch with tepid water at three in the morning, and another, and another. There will be blood in my stool most mornings; my body will feel like a hundred-year old’s, tired and blotchy and itchy and ugly; I’ll have nose-bleeds, I’ll bruise easy, I’ll have headaches and muscle-aches and stomach-aches and joint-pain and cramps; my eyes will be bloodshot and dry, my liver will hurt all the time. I’ll buy less food and eat less, but I’ll take a slow walk to the shops at a quarter to nine every morning, so I’ll be there at nine, when the Liquor Store opens. I’ll also start swearing and spewing hate and racist c*** with my dad again and pass out at seven or eight each night. I’ll lie about the amount I drink – even to my dad and stepmom, and hide my empties again, like stepmom does. I’ll lie about a lot of things, including my finances, which I’ll see getting worse each day –which is why I’ll just drink more – and lie more – so I can forget more…
So maybe it’s worth it? Drinking again? You tell me.

86 Days sober...

FreddieGeorge

Hi,

86 days is such a great achievement and you'll kick yourself if you do. Can you not get out of the house and get some fresh air and avoid watching them drink thereselves into oblivion?

Rockbottom1964

Perhaps I should also add that I"ll be grumpy, ill-tempered, short of fuse, miserably, moody, forgetful and (sometimes)-worried; worried about things I said - and things I forgot I said, and did. But it will be alright when I drink again - so of course I'll drink again, because who gives a s*** about tomorrow when he or she is drunk, right??

Rockbottom1964

No, Freddie. In South Africa you don't go for walks at night, especially not by yourself. Unless you want to end up in a hospital or morgue. And I don't want to wake them up when I get home... Them sleeping means bliss, peace...

PeaceManic

Sorry to hear that, sounds like you're in a really hard position. I lived with my dad for a while whose not particularly nice, so know how suffocating it can be. But I guess we all know there are no difficult situations that drinking can't make worse.

JK130

If you're looking for something to do...did you know that you are a writer? You already know, and reject, your future if you go back to drinking. You see and live it, so that's not an option. You are brave and talented - and just about healthy enough to make big changes. What are your dreams ?

Stayingsassy

Congratulations on your hard won 86 days.

WE are tremendously proud of you, even if your family is not.

Consider doing anything you can to move out of that home, it’s toxic for you. you deserve peace, and a chance to enjoy your sobriety.

Rockbottom1964

Thanks, JK, for the reminder. The vision of that beach-house is what keeps me sane a lot of the time, believe me. And I'm writing most days, yes, but sometimes the drunken surrounds and atmosphere just aren't conducive to letting my mind go and laying down the words. But I'll get there.
Right now the two of them - hungover of course - are cleaning the chest-freezer. They've been scraping away for more than an hour, but when I suggested, when they began, leaving the freezer open for a while so the ice can get soft, which will make the job much easier, my suggestion was met with scorn. It would take too long... So, now, after an hour, a lot of swearing, sweat, grunting, and the old man's false teeth falling out and into the freezer - followed by some more terrible cursing - they have achieved minimal progress. But I won't even consider a "I-told-you-so"... What's the bet they'll soon reward their efforts with a stiff couple of Brandies? It's half-past-eight here, Saturday morning...
Just another Saturday in Springs, Gauteng, South Africa...
Enjoy your weekend, all Sober Recoverers