Dear Diary,

Today is September 7, 2015

They say that the first step to healing is acknowledging that you have a problem. Telling the ugly truth that you’ve always known but didn’t have the courage or wherewithal (is that the right word? Whatever) to admit out loud. It’s supposed to feel cathartic, the moment the truth leaves your lips. Or in this case, my pen. But I’m afraid. Because saying, well writing, this down opens up a door that I’m not ready to walk through. He was. There’s alot

It all started when the drinking got worse. We went to the  It used to just be happy hours with coworkers. I’d accept invitations to go to the local bars. Then I started initiating the outings. Then I’d start going there alone. Then I’d started going to sketchy ass places around the way so no one would notice me. Just for a quick drink! I’m a working woman, I should be able to enjoy the occasional drink alone, right? And if you didn’t approve, fuck you and the horse you came in on. I have a stressful job. And I worked damn hard. And the dreams were getting worse.

Ok, I’m straying.

Ok, back to the bars. It would’ve been fine if that stupid bitch from work hadn’t shown up. She was the office drunk and everyone knew it. But her coming into my space wasn’t the worst of it. It was the way she looked at me. At first, she was shocked. I saw it all over her face. And I was already prepared with an excuse as to why a girl like me was at a bar like that at 12:34 in the afternoon. I’d say it was a stressful day- new clients coming in. Pracically everyone was on edge. But she didn’t even walk up to me. She just took her seat on the opposite end of the bar- sitting comfortably on the oldest looking stool with chipped paint and old cushions that smelled like of cheap beer and vomit. And she looked at me. Then had the NERVE to smile as if to say “it’s our secret”. And I hated her for that. This was her place. I’d only been coming there for two, maybe three months. I wasn’t like her, stumbling into the office with Jameson on her breath. I was barely buzzed but I didn’t return the smile. I downed the rest of my Jack I had to get out of there- fast. Fucking bitch. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have started going home during lunch.

And that’s why I’m here. Because today makes a month since I got fired and Dr. Evelyn suggested I start a journal to document my recovery.

I’m not an alcoholic. Well, ok. I am. Or was. But the truth is that liquor is hardly the problem. I haven’t had a drink in 23 days. I’m addicted to something far more sinister and dangerous than anything that can come out of a bottle.

And he’s coming to visit me..

The end.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s