That's the short of it. The long of it is much longer.
I knew that one of the first things I would have to do with this blog is take a look at my life. Knowing it hasn't make doing it any less painful.
It's hard to know where to start. In many ways I'm very lucky not to be in a very much worse state. I'm relatively healthy in the physical sense. I'm not in the depths of depression that I have plumbed in the past. Anxiety's more of a problem than depression at the moment. I'm doing OK with money, I'm solvent but could do better. I have work, though I'm not yet financially independent and that fills me with shame. I have a home that's pretty safe and stable. I have a wonderful partner.
When I was back in counselling I came up with three goals for my recovery. They were to be: healthy, independent, and honest. I'd still stick with those. And I'm not there yet, not by a long chalk.
I'm drifting. I'm not focused enough. I waste too much time. I spend too much time being afraid. I'm looking for something. I'm lazy...
Really, I don't feel I'm yet a fully adult person, taking responsibility for myself and my life. That's why I'm here.
Let's take today, which has been relatively typical of the current state of affairs.
I woke up at around 8am, then lay in bed going over a familiar, depressing thought routine about a past relationship. All good cheery stuff - revengeful, regretful, angry, frustrated. When I finally got out of bed it was nearly 10am, so I had a go at myself for being so lazy, had a fag, and had a go at myself for having a fag, and so on.
Then I made breakfast and headed for the computer, where I wasted time doing nothing useful, nothing to earn money, just making myself feel bad. Mag told me she was going out, so I allowed myself to continue in the same vein for as long as I could get away with it.
Finally, at about 2pm, I left the house for the first time to take my Antabuse. It was the first positive thing I'd managed. I got a walk - the weather here is cold but bright and beautiful. I bought a sandwich for lunch, not feeling I could face cooking and washing up.
I came home. Mag was back. I ate my lunch, at the computer.
Then I started writing here. That was another positive. I'll continue for a while, finishing this post and also looking around at social media to promote this blog, watching recovery videos. Then, I'll probably arse around wasting time on Facebook until it's time to make dinner and the evening routine can begin.
We'll eat. Watch a bit of TV. Eat some chocolate. Go to bed and read. Sleep from around 11pm.
It's alright isn't it? Well, yes it is. When I was drinking the routine wouldn't be all that different. To complete it I'd just have to chuck in a couple of hours at the pub (much more if Mag was away) and a trip to the shop to get my cans for the evening.
It's not what I want though. It should be fairly obvious that I've not really managed to replace my drinking yet. There's a big hole in my life and it's yet to be filled. Fear and anxiety is still tying me down and into safe, familiar routines that, while they aren't as horrifically damaging as my drinking was, are almost as deadening.
So, that's a pretty typical day. There are those that are worse and those that are better. I'm hoping tomorrow will be one of the latter, but we'll see about that.