Day 58: These are just a couple of my cravings

I've given up putting on make-up in the morning. No matter how good the mood I am in, I end up crying it off by lunchtime. As I am still the only woman on the programme (and we've barely seen any tears from the guys, just some sniffs from time to time), there has been talk of me "expressing the feelings of the group". And let me tell you, being a conduit for the repressed emotions of seven raw and clucking addicts is no walk in the park. So I am exhausted, as usual.

As you can see, I've not written on here for a wee while. Blogger was down for a couple of days and then, on Saturday, it was my 30th birthday. I was a bit stressed about my birthday lunch - would anyone turn up, would me sober be unbearably awkward and boring etc - and on Friday morning, cycling into the rehab centre, I had a strong urge to throw everything in: quit the programme, cancel my friends and go away into some secret corner, alone with some bottles. I felt that the idea of me stopping drinking was laughable to impossible, and if I smiled and nodded to people on my birthday that I was happy and doing well I would be lying, because all I want to do is get pissed.

But I did not act on these thoughts and instead 'shared' them with my counsellor and in group therapy and - this is so amazing, truly incredible to me - I did not crave a drink all weekend. Despite my skepticism, it seems like something is working. I felt fairly relaxed with my friends on my birthday and so pleased that I was able to start a new decade sober, smiling, with no tears or drama. I've drank more than one person's quota in my life so far, and the second half of my twenties has been pretty miserable. I am looking forward with hope.

However, as I should have expected, the demons are not banished. Last night the drinking dreams - mixed up with pain, loneliness and insecurities from last few years - came again. To my horror, I am not perfectly cured quite yet.



INFINITE JEST: Pages 614-625
- I woke up at my friend's place on Sunday morning and felt something was missing - not my youth, but my copy of Infinite Jest (which I'd left at home). For the last two months I've carried it in my bag, kept it by my bed and am comforted by its weight and progressing bookmark. I was up early (no hangover!) and picked up a book (on the history of hip hop) from her shelf and was tearing though it before the others got up. Not only does it seem I've developed pretty serious a daily reading habit, but also other books feel easy to handle compared to DFW's elegant complexity. I think this is good.