I almost made it to 1pm today. That was my goal. 12:40 was the best I could do. And that’ll have to be okay for today, because I can’t undrink as much as anyone can undo anything.

Had my doctor appointment this morning. It was like going to confession at church. I was prescribed Naltrexone instead of Hail Mary’s.

This is a huge step for me, since I’ve spent the last year lying to him about the volume of my consumption. I’d usually say I have 2 or 3 drinks a day. I have a feeling he knew all along. Today I admitted those drinks are actually bottles. And that I need help. I think I left my body when the words came out of my mouth, because I can picture myself sitting there as though I was suspended from the ceiling, looking down on myself.

How ironic.

I’m beginning to feel like through this entire process I keep leaving my body. Escaping the shame somehow. Looking at myself as though I’m a subject, a thing, a specimen to be examined. Something to be fixed. It’s making the coming-to-terms easier, but I know I need to step back inside myself if I want to actually fix anything. 

The only thing going inside me is more alcohol. Another drink. Another vice.

He agrees I need to find a program. And he even recommended a couple (Homewood & Canadian Centre for Addiction) – both out of the budget, despite me finding a way in the budget for bottles of wine and a pack of smokes every day. My dearest friend told me just days ago that my priorities are whacked. And she’s right.

I can find a way to support my habits, but I can’t find a way to support myself.

I suppose it’s not easy to support yourself when you aren’t even inside yourself. The spine of my soul checked out, once upon a time. Like a book trying to hold itself together without a cover. It’s hard to hold your head high when you can barely stand being inside your own head.

It’s just easier to leave.

And, that’s where the wine comes in. Every drink is another step away. I can’t even imagine how far away from myself I actually am at that rate. I must have walked miles and crossed continents, every drink another step away from dealing.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll do better.

I’ve said that every day – for years. But I guess that’s something. I guess that means I haven’t given up on myself just yet. Luckily I’m not that far away from myself that I can still see me. However small. However diminished. However unrecognizable from this distance. But I’m still there. Somewhere.

Maybe I’ll get a little closer tomorrow. 

Written by SJ VanDee

Recovery Blogger. Sober AF. Photographer. Storyteller. Writer.

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