The girl you lost to cocaine.

'We're looking for an evolution, not a revolution.'

 Disclaimer, this is a fucking awful post to be writing and I'm struggling to get out the words to convey the pain felt this week. 

These are the words my dad gave me, when I erupted through the doors Tuesday night. A tornado of tears and anguish. These are the words that broke me at the time. The realisation that there is no quick fix, not one that will mend my faulty brain for the long run. I'm not going to be better any time soon. It's a case of taking baby steps, crafting a solid foundation to build upon. What initially killed me, has now brought me peace. No one expects the fucking world of me. If I can have one good day a week, then we're all laughing.

I'll begin at the main point of the post, my big declaration: I'm going sober, T-total, completely dry, for a year at least. Until I feel like I can have a beer and stop at the one. My relationship with alcohol (and drugs) has become a perpetual cycle of turmoil, and quite simply if I don't stop now, I'll not only kill myself, I'll kill my family. It's not something I ever imagined myself to be declaring, if I'm honest I was never really sure that I had an issue until I woke up in hospital, unsure of whether or not I wanted to leave on my legs, or in a box. I have only been sober for a matter of days, and already I am struggling, my chest gets tight, I get a thirst at the back of my throat that tea simply will not quench. It's all I have thought about since Wednesday. I'm counting down the days until I will allow myself to have another bev, and that is concerning if I'm honest. Perhaps I will only consider allowing myself a tipple when I am no longer counting down or craving.

Now, at 23 this is a difficult admission. I'm scared that I will be referred to actual AA meetings, where I will presumably the youngest. People wondering where, in so little time had I gone wrong. If they will be sat, silent in their judgement. Now I know this is probably not the case, that many more people in my age group will have issues that aren't openly disclosed and they will all be supportive, but the anxiety is holding me prisoner. I have been referred to the alcohol support team in the NHS and let me tell you, it's fucking embarrassing. I have spoke previously of my reliance on alcohol and drugs to take me away from my somewhat, broken heart. In reality, I use (used?!) alcohol and drugs to deal with any emotion. Good day at work, celebrate with a bev. Didn't have a meltdown today, two bevs. Bad day, drink the fucking lot. This sounds as though it is manageable, that most people do the same? I don't stop at one, I end up on a bender, determined to pull the next human that speaks to me and crawl into work on little to no sleep.

I'm not sure if my colleagues picked up on me having an issue or just thought 'she's just being young and rather reckless' In reality, I didn't want to be alive. At all. Not in a dramatic, I need to go home and have a long soak and chill, in a I REALLY DO NOT WANT TO FUCKING BE HERE way. I have been trying, for a long time to escape myself. My friends and family know that any issues I encounter I do not directly address, I would rather stick my head in the sand, until it explodes in my face. Alcohol (and drugs) have greatly assisted with my ability to do this. I cannot remember the last time I had a truly clear mind, nor the last time I can remember a whole week.

After being discharged I still wasn't truly sure if I had an issue or if the crisis team were just complying with due diligence. I fucking know it now. I put in a few hours at my sisters pub yesterday evening as a way to keep myself busy, to see other people in. I nearly caved at least 8 times in two hours. Every day since Wednesday I haven't gone more than 5 waking minutes without thinking about alcohol. This is by no means me exaggerating, I cannot stop thinking about it. As I am typing my chest is tightening. I need a fag, or fresh air, or a run through the fucking park. Anything to stop myself from going downstairs and getting a large G & T. (post discharge, my sister invited me to stay with her for a while until I feel stable enough to go home and not collapse into a gallon of Guinness and a gram of your finest Charlie) Most would say that living literally above a pub whilst going dry is a fucking hilarious idea, but the fact is here I am with other people. I am warm, eating three meals a day and having a soak, winding down every night with people who give a shit if I live or die. As I'm typing I'm sat at the dining table with earphones, glancing up occasionally to watch them interact as a family. I'm jealous, I want the ability to be that family, it fucking hurts me that I cannot chose a another human over a bottle of beer. I actually worked out the percentage of my wage that was spent on losing myself today. It was over a third. I spend more on alcohol than on rent and food combined. I once thought that was normal, fucking normal?

If you knew the amount of times I'd eaten either nothing or dry pasta for tea because I had to buy that bottle of wine before payday you'd probably cry.

This is my first step towards recovery. It is my biggest demon and I suspect it may be a rather large piece of the grizzly, grey puzzle that makes up my mental health. It's one that in public I am laughing off, but at night in bed, it's always there. Lurking in the bleak, lonesome darkness.

To round up on a brighter not I would like to highlight the most beautiful thing I have ever encountered. Forgiveness. Fortunately, this week I have been on the receiving end of an awe-inspiring amount of love and support. My family, although I broke their hearts again, are there, literally feeding me, loving me and minding me through recovery. Friends, the ones I would never have suspected, coming through, listening to me delve into the deepest parts of my broken soul and helping me hold them together. Offering to come keep me company when I'm alone, even just asking if I'd like to go for coffee. You are all saviours. You have no idea how you are saving me every day. That one text/snap/invite means more to me than you could imagine. (-shout out to Gem for sending me the sober mulled wine recipe, expect a batch shortly) I'm currently incentivising sobriety to myself now. My Amazon basket is full of positive poetry books in preparation for payday and Friday nights in. I have chosen a tattoo to celebrate one month sober. I am planning getaways for when I'm back living solo and feel safe enough to leave lil' old Sheff alone for a weekend. I am going to get a clear mind.

It's going to be a long, torturous road, and I'm certain I cannot do it alone. Thank you for your patience. I love you all, and I'll try my best to hang in there, for you.

Off for a brew and a fag, all my love,
Soph. x