Don’t want to be here. Don’t want to be here. Want to be at home with my husband in the midst of a bad storm because I’m worries about him. Don’t want to be drinking. Don’t want to be sad. Don’t want to be having gambling cravings. Don’t want to work 13 hours tomorrow. Don’t want to be here.

God, help me, please? You’re so good. I feel guilty asking, but can you help? I’m lost and miserable and want to quit my job and duck out on life. Not suicide - just to be clear - but just to disappear for a bit. That’s where I’m at.

Well. I suppose if I had any doubt whatsoever that alcohol makes me miserable and that I can’t really moderate and I don’t drink like other people, that’s gone out the window. Only back on the sauce for a few weeks, and already the “standard” dose was a magnum of pink wine (I know. I KNOW! I don’t understand it either) and a few beers at night.

That’s 1.5 bottles of wine and a few beers. Each night. That’s excessive, I don’t care who you are. And, of course, it left me in a tattered crying mess, but I was still standing.

Standing, but sad and so close to crawling back down the depression hole. I’m so jealous of the old me from three weeks ago, the happy one who was excited to get up in the morning and had millions of ideas and projects. A few hours of knocking myself out with drinking followed by shitty sleep don’t hold a candle to where I was a few weeks ago.

So, back on the wagon...

Seemingly out of nowhere. It’s my brain thinking, “Well, since you’re off the sauce again, how about we gamble?”

I’m doing tax stuff itemizing for 2013 and the list of gambling losses is … triggery. Like, “I spent $1200 in one day; what’s the harm if I just take a couple hundred today?”

The harm is that:

1. That look on my husband’s face.
2. It won’t just be a couple hundred; I will spent thousands we don’t have.
3. Loss of trust.
4. Even more stringent watching and monitoring of my money.
5. Starting all over from square 1.
6. The GA folks will be “right” - we can’t have that, can we?
7. More stress > more drinking > more depression > self-harm thoughts

OK, resolved. No gambling today. I don’t have to do anything else as long as I don’t gamble.

I’m going to go eat a sandwich.

So, day 1 again. I was at a steady clip on day 5 but just basically decided, “Fuck it. I’ll have a beer. I don’t even like beer, but I want one.”

That rolled into another beer, and then cucumber fizz drink and then several glasses of wine. And a 1:30 a.m. bedtime for no good reason at all.

I don’t feel like death today, but I do feel unmotivated and tired and hot and sticky. I’m eager to get back on track because I can feel the monster at my back - not drinking, depression.

I think that’s an important turn for me, realizing that while drinking is harmful and not good for me, it’s really the cumulative result of drinking at this point that’s so troubling. It makes me depressed as fuck.

So, day 1 again, but ready to get some momentum behind me.

Not gonna lie, I had every intention of drinking tonight. Well, not EVERY intention, but a lot of intentions. I kept telling myself, “If you get to 6:00 and you still want to drink, you can. OK, if you get to 7:00 and you still want to drink, you can. OK if you get 8:00 and you still want to drink, you can.”

8:00 came, and I still wanted to drink, so I marched myself down to the discount grocery store and got some Daily’s pina colada mix (of all things), that I was going to mix with some Grey Goose (of all things). Something a little tropical sounded good. What can I say?

I got home, had a sandwich and somehow, thank the lord, realized I could drink the pina colada mix without vodka … which was disgusting, after I tried it. But I thought adding some milk would be good, and it was. The milk was enough to satiate me and turn me off the booze.

I looked at the clock and even though it...

Man, did I forget how these hangovers feel. It’s not bad enough to take to my bed, but I am lethargic, and sweaty and twitchy and my tummy is a mess. And a headache. Plus the guilt. Oh, the guilt.

Just, yuck. The feelings of looseness from last night were not worth what I’m feeling now. Remember this.

Because I think it will help in the future, here’s my unvarnished, post-midnight ramble I sent to myself after last night:

No one died. I didn’t. Hurt myslef 0r others. But, wow, drinking is not fun. I’m ok … no, I’m not ok i blew 90 days. Fuck me. But i tried it and realized i’m happier not drinking. How great is that? I dont have to hurt myself or anyone else to get to that place. That’s wonderful. Exqisite. Even. Go me! I’m a weird sort of scard and happy. It is best if i don’t drink again. It’s that easy. It doesnt need to get deeper than that. It’s best if i dont drink again.

It is that simple. I feel like shit today and for what? A whiskey ginger beer that would have been much better without the whiskey, and 3 glasses of wine that didn’t even taste good, fucked with my appetite and made me woozy.

No thank you. Not fun. Resolved; it’s best if I don’t drink again.

Holy shit. I think the funk has started to break, too. I feel more familiar than I have in years.

62 days without a drink, and 70 days without a bet. Damn. And, yet, what I find myself doing is deviating from the very thigns that helped get me to this point.

The cravings are back and powerful. Gambling dreams, rationalizatio

Well, shitfire, I’m one day away from the big 9-0. I’ve been absent here, mostly because of extra work and the fact that I can’t remember the log-in to post from my phone. I have to be careful because I do think jotting down my thoughts here is extremely helpful.

I broke up with my sponsor (or, I’m even fine saying she dumped me because she rightly stated I wasn’t sticking to the program). She wasn’t a good fit, and I was fine with it but I sought some validation from the Kindly Orthodox Jew, expecting a high five of sorts. Instead I got, “Well, we’ll see if it was the right decision if you don’t go back to gambling.”

That was not what I wanted to hear. This is the truth, of course, but what I wanted to hear, “Yes, very mature. You’ve got this thing licked. Well done, you.”

No go. But he did, after some forcing, finally tell me that most people get sober from whatever it is they’re...