341 Days
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Join Date: Jan 2014
Location: Seymour, CT
Posts: 132
341 Days
Three hundred and forty one days without guilt.
Three hundred and forty one days without a hangover.
Three hundred and forty one days without a blackout.
Three hundred and forty one days without a drink.
It's a Saturday at 6:00pm. My SO is out of the house for the night, chores are done for the day, a pot of sauce is simmering on the stove. The last remaining sunlight of today is streaming in through my sliding door, the window is slightly ajar, allowing the fresh air to blow in, and I can hear the faint sound of a neighbors wind chimes dancing.
Everything about right now makes me want to drink.
It's time to play my tape.
With my SO out of the house, I could sip to my hearts content without feeling guilty. I would uncork the bottle of wine around this time. Then one glass, two glasses, three glasses.. the bottle is gone around 8pm. I open up a second bottle and eat dinner alongside it. At 9:30pm it's empty. That one went fast. We're out of wine, but there are a few beers left in the fridge. I drink those. It's 11:30pm. Time for bourbon. I drink two glasses while listening to music. The music turns sad and I begin to cry. I pour another glass and I'm on the verge of blacking out now. I know my SO will be home at any moment, so I eat toast and brush my teeth. He texts me that he's on his way. Even with freshly brushed teeth, I take a shot or two of whatever we have. I get in bed and pass out. I wake up at 4:00am feeling like my head is resting against stone instead of my plushy pillow. My head pounds behind my eyes. I get up, drink water, and go to the bathroom. It tastes like something died in my mouth, so I brush my teeth again. I take five Advil and wash it down with some water. I shuffle back to the bedroom, lay down and am immediately bolting back up to throw up. I miss the toilet bowl and the mess lands to the left of it, spraying the shower curtain. My convulsions are so extreme, that I start shitting standing upright. The mess behind me hits the wall and the floor. When my body is empty of everything, I begin the cleanup, but I miss wiping myself thoroughly. When I sit back in bed, feces transfers to my bed sheets. When I realize this, I take a towel to cover the mess and I lay back down. In the morning, my mouth is dry, my insides feel like moving bodies of ants are taking up real estate, and my head pounds. I need to save face, though. I can't let my SO know. So, I hop out of bed, remove the sheets, and the shower curtain from it's rod. I claim I've been meaning to wash up the sheets for a while now. He doesn't know how much of a mess I made the night before. Everything is clean now. The night before didn't happen. I take a few days off from drinking to fully recover. Then I uncork a bottle of wine.
But for three hundred and forty one days this has not been my story.
Thanks for reading.
Three hundred and forty one days without a hangover.
Three hundred and forty one days without a blackout.
Three hundred and forty one days without a drink.
It's a Saturday at 6:00pm. My SO is out of the house for the night, chores are done for the day, a pot of sauce is simmering on the stove. The last remaining sunlight of today is streaming in through my sliding door, the window is slightly ajar, allowing the fresh air to blow in, and I can hear the faint sound of a neighbors wind chimes dancing.
Everything about right now makes me want to drink.
It's time to play my tape.
With my SO out of the house, I could sip to my hearts content without feeling guilty. I would uncork the bottle of wine around this time. Then one glass, two glasses, three glasses.. the bottle is gone around 8pm. I open up a second bottle and eat dinner alongside it. At 9:30pm it's empty. That one went fast. We're out of wine, but there are a few beers left in the fridge. I drink those. It's 11:30pm. Time for bourbon. I drink two glasses while listening to music. The music turns sad and I begin to cry. I pour another glass and I'm on the verge of blacking out now. I know my SO will be home at any moment, so I eat toast and brush my teeth. He texts me that he's on his way. Even with freshly brushed teeth, I take a shot or two of whatever we have. I get in bed and pass out. I wake up at 4:00am feeling like my head is resting against stone instead of my plushy pillow. My head pounds behind my eyes. I get up, drink water, and go to the bathroom. It tastes like something died in my mouth, so I brush my teeth again. I take five Advil and wash it down with some water. I shuffle back to the bedroom, lay down and am immediately bolting back up to throw up. I miss the toilet bowl and the mess lands to the left of it, spraying the shower curtain. My convulsions are so extreme, that I start shitting standing upright. The mess behind me hits the wall and the floor. When my body is empty of everything, I begin the cleanup, but I miss wiping myself thoroughly. When I sit back in bed, feces transfers to my bed sheets. When I realize this, I take a towel to cover the mess and I lay back down. In the morning, my mouth is dry, my insides feel like moving bodies of ants are taking up real estate, and my head pounds. I need to save face, though. I can't let my SO know. So, I hop out of bed, remove the sheets, and the shower curtain from it's rod. I claim I've been meaning to wash up the sheets for a while now. He doesn't know how much of a mess I made the night before. Everything is clean now. The night before didn't happen. I take a few days off from drinking to fully recover. Then I uncork a bottle of wine.
But for three hundred and forty one days this has not been my story.
Thanks for reading.
Last edited by Nikkabean326; 03-31-2018 at 03:33 PM. Reason: Grammar.
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Join Date: Mar 2017
Location: Colorado
Posts: 1,298
]Nikka, I’m glad you came here and played the tape forward. It was a well needed reminder of memories I want to forget, but need to remember enough to be convinced on going that there is no permission. Well done.
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