I love red wine. Far too much. It is my poison. But I hate what it does to me. The fact that I can’t stop after one glass, the fact that I have to drink so much at night that I pass out. The fact that I wake up every morning parched, with black lips, aching stomach and the shakes. I hate going to the supermarket and automatically scanning the offers on a merlot or a shiraz, never intending to buy anything, but inevitably going home with a £4.99 bottle of red. And maybe more. Just to make sure I get to sleep. Then regretting it in the morning, again and again and again. It was going to be different this time. That’s what I told myself. It started small, a glass every now and then. Then it became a glass every day and it didn’t take long before it escalated far beyond my initial intentions. If you’re reading this blog, you probably recognize this behavior.
Today is my second shot at sobriety. Who knows how long it will last, if it’s going to stick. But I don’t even think about that this time. I will simply not drink and see what happens. Writing and reading about it helps a lot so here’s to being back on square one.