A Saturday in the life of the previous me

A day in the life of the previous me:

It's 9.15am on a Saturday morning.  Had I not had my kick up the arse rock bottom, my day would have gone like this:

I'd have had a crap nights sleep, but I would have gotten up early - feeling and looking like death warmed up with a candle.  There is a purpose to me getting up and getting ready early though.  I'm already thinking about drinking booze.  The husband will be leaving to go to work soon and won't finish until 7pm.  Plenty of time.  The girls aren't home and probably won't be back until tomorrow.  I'm not expecting visitors (or, rather I'm hoping there won't be any).  I can drink and be perfectly normal by the time he gets home.

I tell the husband that I'm off to the supermarket to get the shopping before it gets too busy.  I hate crowded places.  I'll see him when he gets home from work.  He asks me to stay awake for when he gets home.  This means don't drink much.  I tell him I will .... But, you know I tell him, I was up really early and I didn't sleep well.  We both know I'll be halfway sloshed when he gets home.

I've already checked the cupboard where I store the wine.  I'm sure I had at least a glass left in the bottle last night.  I left that much so it looked like I hadn't drunk much ... But, with the help of my hidden supply, I'd had plenty.  There's no wine left in the cupboard.  I'm annoyed and irritated.  How dare he touch MY wine!

I rush around the supermarket like a mad woman.  I give no real thought about what I'm making for meals.  I buy two bottles of wine.  The one that tastes ok but has a highish alcohol content.. 13% (yippee).

I get home by 10.30am.  Plenty of time.  I put the shopping away.  One bottle of wine goes in the cupboard.  The other stays on the worktop... Calling my name.  Have just a little, then you can do some housework and then have a well deserved nap.  I pour some into a cup - if anyone does come, they won't see what I'm drinking.  I hide the open bottle behind the microwave.  An hour or so later, the bottle of wine is empty.  I'm drunk and I've done very little housework.  It's 12 noon.  I take myself off to bed for my nap.  I'm shattered.  It must be because I was up so early.

I wake up at 4pm feeling like death warmed up with a candle.  I've missed two calls from my mother and I've a text from her:  Are you in?  Your car is outside and I knocked but you must be out with .. I didn't even hear my phone ring.  It's on my bedside table.  I didn't hear her knocking at my front door either.

I make myself a really really strong black coffee and rush around (as best you can when you are lethargic) tidying up and getting tea on the go.  My husband gets home at about 7.30pm.  I've already had a glass of wine - hair of the dog and all that.

Bugger!  I forgot ...did I get rid of the empty bottle is hidden behind the microwave?

A whole day wasted.  That is what I had become towards the end of my drinking days.  All consumed by booze.

Thinking of this, I still feel a sense of shame and disgust at myself.

If you are reading this, did you have days like this too?

In a weird kind of way I am glad that I hit my rock bottom.  I know that I wouldn't have made the decision to quit otherwise.  I dread to think what I would be like now!