I can honestly say I do not like the person in this week's Flash Fiction. You know why? Because the bitch is a raging alcoholic. I can see the signs and even if it's a short story, I swear I see myself in it. I should be so lucky to have a man who would take care of me when I'm too drunk to care about myself.
I could just you know stop drinking again.
I could do the whole controlled drinking thing that is mentioned over and over in the AA book. I wonder if I'm really doing that? Like the book says in one of the early chapters The seed is planted. This idea of controlled drinking.
You know what controlled drinking feels like to an alcoholic? Guilt, lots of it. This weird consciousness that lurks in the back of the alcoholic brain, making them wonder if they've had too much. One that hasn't hit their bottom will ponder this a lot. Since I haven't hit a bottom with my drinking I wonder about it.
So there I was several times over the last two weeks feeling very much like the depressed angry person I was before I tried to off myself. I couldn't pin point the reason for it. Maybe it's my ever constant search for someone who isn't dependent on me to validate themselves. Maybe it's the fact that my room mate has been driving me to the point of wanting to leave everything behind. Maybe it's the fact that for the second month in a row I've haven't been paid on time thus facing a possible eviction. Maybe it's the fact that my boss threatened to fire me for not talking to a client. I'm tired of stressing out.
The things that seems constant in all this is the fact that there is two bottles of wine in the kitchen. Really big bottles. For a while I confidently looked at them and didn't want to suck them down cork and all. That's has not been the case these last two weeks. Yeah I think the cork is what's going to get it.
So when the photo prompt came out last week I wrote a story about addiction. I really did not mean to. The picture here, made me think of every time since I started back drinking that I had to JUST HAD TO have junk food before I went to sleep. I though I'd make a funny little story about a junk food run. Then after I posted it and began getting feed back I saw it for what it was. My character Tracey needed help.
I got great feed back from other writers on how well I wrote that shortie. I wanted to be proud I really did, but I couldn't because I saw me in her. I saw me in the other character as well. It bothered me. It bothered me a lot.
What bothers me more is that I've been ashamed to face this about myself and even if I don't hit bottom I'm heading there. Maybe I need to put the bottle down and do some soul searching. I may not be hiding in the bottle, but I know that I'll never find the answers to my issues by dulling it with booze.
Am I stepping in the right direction? I have no idea. Is my writing telling me something? Yes, it's telling me to look at myself.