Relapse
Sometimes, not drinking really sucks.
But it is always less traumatic than drinking.
After two days of saying, "No." When I really wanted to scream, "Fuck OFF!", Dick asked me if it would be okay if he got some wine with dinner. I said, "Okay," but felt really uncomfortable. Really.
I had a couple glasses - against my better judgment and completely ignoring the guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach and we went out.
I had a glass there.
We came home. Which would've been okay, except that I decided I was going to go back out without Dick.
And I didn't come home until he came and found me at 6:30.
I lost his keys. And my sweatshirt.
I got in a fight.
I was flirting with another guy. Inappropriate, I'm sure. I told Dick that I kissed him. And I don't think there was making out, but it was certainly close enough to be dangerous. I told him that I do what I want.
I told him that I hate him. And that he won't help me. And that I wanted to kill myself. He took my sleeping pills with him. He knows better.
I can't figure out what the FUCK I am doing. Why I am sabotaging this. I was doing so well back in the States. SO WELL. And now I'm just watching it all go down the toilet.
He said he would help me out with this.
But I should be able to do it by myself.
But I think that we've seen that I can't.
A friend of mine mentioned that I should go to AA. But I don't want to. I don't think that I would be strong enough to deal with the repercussions and labels of a small island.
I told Dick that I wanted to go home. He said that I was home.
Sometimes I don't feel like I can make it here.
A lot of times I feel like that.
I cancelled our plans for this weekend. I don't want to get out of bed.
If I go anywhere, I just want to get on the plane and go home.
I know you can't run away, but you can be anonymous.
Which is something that I will never, ever be here.
Jane Says: Fill In the Blank.
But it is always less traumatic than drinking.
After two days of saying, "No." When I really wanted to scream, "Fuck OFF!", Dick asked me if it would be okay if he got some wine with dinner. I said, "Okay," but felt really uncomfortable. Really.
I had a couple glasses - against my better judgment and completely ignoring the guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach and we went out.
I had a glass there.
We came home. Which would've been okay, except that I decided I was going to go back out without Dick.
And I didn't come home until he came and found me at 6:30.
I lost his keys. And my sweatshirt.
I got in a fight.
I was flirting with another guy. Inappropriate, I'm sure. I told Dick that I kissed him. And I don't think there was making out, but it was certainly close enough to be dangerous. I told him that I do what I want.
I told him that I hate him. And that he won't help me. And that I wanted to kill myself. He took my sleeping pills with him. He knows better.
I can't figure out what the FUCK I am doing. Why I am sabotaging this. I was doing so well back in the States. SO WELL. And now I'm just watching it all go down the toilet.
He said he would help me out with this.
But I should be able to do it by myself.
But I think that we've seen that I can't.
A friend of mine mentioned that I should go to AA. But I don't want to. I don't think that I would be strong enough to deal with the repercussions and labels of a small island.
I told Dick that I wanted to go home. He said that I was home.
Sometimes I don't feel like I can make it here.
A lot of times I feel like that.
I cancelled our plans for this weekend. I don't want to get out of bed.
If I go anywhere, I just want to get on the plane and go home.
I know you can't run away, but you can be anonymous.
Which is something that I will never, ever be here.
Jane Says: Fill In the Blank.
This entry was posted
on Friday, August 11, 2006 at 1:37 PM.
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