My folks are going away for a week. I welcome this because it gives us a much-needed break from each other and I appreciate having the house to myself. Usually I would plan on having a binge and relish not having the olds looking over my shoulder. I imagine drinking exactly how I want to drink… which all too often means ridiculous amounts of beer. However, I know I can’t drink now. It’s not even an option. The doctor at the hospital sternly told me that if I had a drink again it would be lights out for me. I’m taking that warning seriously. It was the wake-up call I needed. So I’ll be having a sober week, with the support of some benzos my doctor prescribed.

This is the recurring problem with every place I’ve lived. They always end up falling apart, essentially because of my drinking. I tell myself that as long as I can hide it from mum and dad, then I don’t much care what other people think. I need to get this out of my head and stop letting it pull me down. Dave… you can never drink again! I don’t want to anyway. The mere thought of drinking now makes me feel sick. I want nothing to do with it. It has harmed me again and again. As I have written in my older blogs, I have no cravings or temptations to swallow that poison whatsoever. I’ve developed a genuine hatred for it and I’ve cut off our toxic relationship for good.