The Final Binge

So, it is supposed to be a new day. Less drinking, not more drinking- that should be the plan.

I wake up still drunk from my midnight/early morning drinking binge. And what do you know, another one of those- I need a drink to feel sober- mornings. So, I drink. Not sure what time I had my first but I know I had been drinking from 2-3 a.m., and I know that I am pretty drunk by 8 a.m. I guess I just skipped the sober thing all weekend. Not a happy drunk, not a fun drunk, not an innocent drunk. A sad, depressed, lonely, alcoholic drunk. I am literally going crazy. Crying, feeling crappy about the blur of the past few days. Not remembering much, but remembering enough to know that I screwed up pretty bad. I called people I should not have been calling in my condition, and I don't mean pregnant. I spoke with my sisters, my mom, my husband and it wasn't pretty. I am not sure what happened, but I know they all knew I was drunk all weekend, and most of them knew I was drunk by 8 am Sunday morning. Too much damage was done and I knew I couldn't fix it.

My husband and I were home alone, and I beg him to get me help. Enough is enough already. I have been a mess for 3 days. Not one second of it was fun. It left me in a depressed, disgustingly drunk state of mind and I felt that I couldn't clean up my own mess from the previous days. I need help, I say. I want to go away. I want someone to help me. I am done drinking. After this last drink. This is my last drink. They say addicts should know which drink (or pill, or shoot up) is their last. And this last melon vodka martini will be my last. And I actually mean it. Not like when I said I wont drink come Monday. That was a lie. This final drink is the truth. Or so I hope. . .