Tuesday 21 March 2017

Day 84. Really want wine.

Up until yesterday I have been pootling along nicely. The weekends come and go and I rarely think about wine (well, I mean properly think about it, in a longing way). 

Yesterday was Saturday and all day I couldnt shake the urge to get some wine. My brain is telling me "you've made your point, you're clearly not addicted to booze, just go and get some" and "who cares, this is a self imposed ban, no one said you cant have any stop being a drama queen". 

I drove past my local garage earlier and the urge to pull off and grab a bottle of red was frighteningly vivid. I didn't obviously. Because I know I do not want to drink. 

I let myself think about it, about what it would feel like to get that bottle of red home. And I had a vivid thought of getting one of my lovely big dome glasses out (the sort that handles half a bottle easy) and this is the crux...........of gulping it. So its not the pleasant treat feeling. I want to gulp a bottle of red = I want to get buzzed. So I am not fixed. So I hit the thought away with disgust. 

I think I know where it came from. I have been so busy with work. I mean, I have 2 kids and I travel with work so I am always busy. But this week I was especially challenged with new work, with a crushing deadline, and I nailed it. I wanted a treat. I had loads of energy come saturday,. So here I am still feeling like I want to smash down those positive feelings with wine. Fucking hell, I don't think about drinking when something goes wrong?!! Its always a celebration. A treat. 

Obviously I didn't drink and made a nice dinner instead. I was up early for a run today ( Sunday) and ran non stop for a distance I was thrilled with. So as usual the benefits of sobriety are pretty immediate. Well, the next morning. I am proud of it, but concerned.............Up until now the thought of wine has made my stomoch turn. Whatever it is I have made my brain do has been effective. I do not physically want a glass of wine. And then saturday happened. Gutted. 

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