It’s now been three days since I last drank alcohol.

I have severe anxiety, anyway, but yesterday was pretty tough.

My overthinking has gone to a level that it hasn’t been at in a while now—black and white thoughts of situations and outcomes that normal people likely don’t think about, and rightly so.

When your mind plays out scenarios that probably haven’t happened and likely won’t, but become and feel real to you, it’s truly mindfuck*ngly brutal.

I think about death and failure in all aspects of my life when that happens. Chances are, if you know me and we’ve gotten close in any way, the thought of going to your funeral has crossed my mind when I’m like that. I think about all my failures in life: how I’ve let others down, how they’ve let me down, how could things have gone so wrong, and how I let things get to a point where there’s now no going back to the person who I was.

If it’s the lack of alcohol that’s brought these back or not, I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s helping. Just something I need to get past and deal with myself, though.

I’m not an alcoholic—something I keep telling myself and anyone who asks really. But when for the past four or five years I haven’t gone longer than two days without drinking, it’s maybe something that I need to seriously consider. It’s been a burden on my family before, and I can’t let that happen with me.

I don’t think I depend on alcohol. I’ve used it to unwind, to take the edge off, and to dive into or ignore other problems. Seeing that written down makes me think otherwise now. Maybe I have depended on it a bit too much and just haven’t stepped back enough before to realise that.

I’m hopeful now that I can keep that mindset and remind myself that I don’t need it as much as I have before. Taking it day by day seems to be helping so far, even if it has only been three days. (Not to mention all the water.)

I see now that I have depended on it. When things get on top of me, I drink. Any excuse or reason and I look to have a drink. I’m not saying that I’ll never drink again, but I really need to change my relationship with it before it destroys the relationships that I have. That feeling of being alone is all too close to me—I don’t want alcohol to be the only thing I have left.

A few beers at the weekend, when friends are calling over, a celebration, even a personal achievement or just to watch a football match that matters to me are what I’m aiming for right now (not to be sitting watching Netflix on a Tuesday night and finding myself drinking alone, again).

I seriously struggle with my mental health, and I know that alcohol hasn’t helped that. I’m not ashamed of my past with depression, and I feel like I’m an open book when it comes to discussing it with people who genuinely care and want to know.

There are people out there who do actually care, but there have been people who just want a gossip to tell their other prick friends. And that’s fine too. I’ve grown to know and understand that not everyone who puts up a caring front actually gives a f*ck in the end. Those are the people who we need to drop from our lives, if they don’t run a mile first, of course.

I quit smoking four years ago too, admittedly, with the help of vaping. Not much better health-wise, I’m sure, but using a vape as a direct substitute for something that, in my mind, is much worse is surely a good thing.

Since then, I have let myself down a couple of times. Stress in certain areas of my life has led me to paying 10 pounds for a pack of fags again, maybe five or six times. Ten f*cking pounds for fags! Madness. I do see that as a win, though. When you consider for a span of over 200 weeks, where I would’ve bought two a week, five or six isn’t too bad.

This isn’t a pity post; let me make that clear. This is me, at 3 a.m., unloading and trying to make sense of what my relationship with alcohol has done to me and my life thus far.

It got pretty depressing and ended up pretty long, but sure, if you’re still reading, maybe you care. Or you’re still screenshotting. F*ck knows.

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