I hate myself when I drink. So why do I drink?
This was the stark question I faced this morning, and I didn’t have a good answer. Nothing dramatic happened last night, no horror stories. Just broken sleep, empty pockets and that question, again. Why do I drink?
Drinking makes socialising marginally easy, in the beginning. But I’m one of those people that has no off switch when it comes to alcohol. I have never successfully been able to moderate myself- my social anxiety means I will drink quickly, lose my inhibitions, and then drink more and more, until the point of black out and memory loss. The combination of this with my medication which induces a quasi psychosis mixed with alcohol- frankly, I’ve been a stupid fucker for years.
There are so many points in my life which I should have, “No more”. I won’t list them- I will drown in shame. Suffice to say, they’ve ranged from the outrageous, to the humiliating, the (loud, indiscreet) boring and the downright abusive. When I think about it, alcohol has ruined almost every major event in my life. My wedding night was awful due to booze (me, and others, though the day was lovely), I got hammered on my honeymoon/birthday which ended in a fight. Of course, I barely remember this. I barely remember my wedding day either which I still feel grief about, three years on.
I hate myself when I’m drunk. I hate that drinking killed my dad and yet I still do it, and that I have a problem with binge drinking. I’ve had a few heavy nights lately- being away from the baby and (mostly) abstaining during pregnancy has turned me into a teenager again as far as drink’s concerned. And I managed fine during pregnancy and woke up remembering the night before every time, with no sense of shame. I really cane it because I’m “free” for the night, but I’m not free, not really. Just because I’m away from the baby doesn’t mean he’s not there. I wake up feeling- and I’m not exaggerating- suicidal, wrapped in self hate that persists for days, weeks, until the next binge, bigger and badder because I’m carrying that feeling with me. I hate myself when I drink, I drink because I hate myself. I reckon a fair few of my self harm scars are the result of a night of drinking.
I’ve had enough. I just bloody fucking have had enough. I’ve had enough of even the small things- checking my Twitter DMs and timeline and realising I’ve sent utter embarrassing drivel to someone (I deleted my Twitter account lately for this reason, just sheer fucking embarrassment at myself. I’ve reinstated it for this blog post)- but moreso of the big things. Hating my own behaviour and want to kill myself because of it. Hating that I don’t remember my own behaviour often and being absolutely terrified of asking or seeing anyone again and wanting to bury myself. So many apologies. Putting my health at risk- I always forgot to take my pill if I’ve been drinking, and I always smoke when I drink, when I had worked so hard to quit, and was so proud of myself for doing it. Wondering what sort of example I’d be setting my son. Wondering if I’ll turn into my dad.
I can’t moderate myself, it just doesn’t work. Drinking when you’re on psychiatric medication is fucking stupid- they interact horribly. Drinking when you’ve got a mental health issue will fuck with your brain further. But of course, our mental health issues make us more prone to problem drinking.
So I’ve quit drinking and this time asked my friends to do non-drinking stuff with me. I’ve made this declaration countless times before- that in itself is a red flag that my binge drinking is a genuine problem- but I’m sticking to it now. For myself because usually my declarations are borne out of shame at the night before, and it’s not that, it’s just fatigue, disgust, realising I’m throwing money down the toilet just to hate myself and to destroy my health. And also because my baby needs me, I want to be healthy for him, and I want him to be proud of me. I’m a natural hermit anyway so not going to the pub for a while is no loss to me, and I already have some non-boozy social things lined up instead which will be much more fun than anesthetizing myself with alcohol and choking myself with fags.
So, bollocks to booze. It’s shit and I’m done.
Filed under: Mental health
from The Secret Life of a Manic Depressive http://ift.tt/1OCMxWM