Detoxification Day Three

In a strangely landscaped park in the middle of Canary Wharf, under the shadow of the Citigroup or whatever building, I sit on a bench swallowing the menu of pills I have been given: Thiamine (deficiency of which can be a factor in alcohol-induced brain-damage), Vitamin B (most alcoholics need more of this) and Chlordiazepoxide (as explained below), washed down with an overpriced latte from Carluccios. I bought it feeling entitled as just two weeks ago, I wore smart clothes and was let into corporate headquarters - interviewing people at investment banks with titles like Head of Corporate Social Responsibility, or attending job interviews at the newspaper group on the 9th floor of Number One Canada Square.

But now I feel removed from it all. Security passes round their necks, men in suits and women in wrap dresses and ridiculous heels talk on phones, smoke and drink coffee from sucky cups. I am in an ill-fitting, garish dress with messy hair, a bit shaky and keep almost crying.

I gave it up voluntarily and I'm glad I did but I am sure there will be points in the next few months when I will wonder what the hell I've done: In an NHS centre with people just released from prison, or who have never had a job. People going through the same thing as me.

I think about drinking all the time. It's there at the back of my mind like tinnitus. I would almost go so far as to call it evil - this repeating urge to go into that off licence and buy a packet of fags and a bottle of rum - the thing would make it all go away for an hour or two but potentially, eventually, destroy me. It is terrifying but I am trying to not even entertain the idea. Self actualisation: I am now a non-drinker. Not drinking is what I do.

It's taken a long time to get here. To accept that this is my story. Of course, when I was 18 or 19, it was not my plan to be in rehab when I was 29 and it's only in the last few months I've come to realise - a banal observation probably to most people - that life does not turn out how you expected or wanted. I guess I've been lucky up til now.

Although I'm not at work, I am finding things hard to manage. The plumbing in our house is broken and all the sink water - noddles and grease and brown stuff - is filling up the bath. I am waiting for the plumber to arrive. I have to sort out finding a new flat and going onto (incapacity?) benefits: phonecalls and forms and emails. I've got a friend coming round to stay tonight but I can't wash the bed sheets as the washing machine's not working. It all seems too much - but I have to remember that I'm medically sedated right now, so no wonder I'm overwhelmed.

An AA saying, particularly for the early days, is "Keep it Simple" - but that's hard when things just don't stop. And without getting pissed to break life up, the days and hours and seconds are even more relentless.

FOOTNOTE: Infinite Jest update. I woke up early after another dreamless night of drugged sleep and read (densely-written) pages 1-16 ('Year of Gold') which I have forced myself through at least twice before yet remember little of. So far it seems to be mainly about tennis and contained words I was unsure of including 'lapidary', 'fourier', 'mimetic', 'tertiary' and 'gurneyside'. However, I liked the simile of a nervous chest that "bumps like a dryer with shoes in it". More literary criticism tomorrow!