She drank and she drank, she drank and she drank...she drank so hard the bottle ached
Written at 9:04 a.m. on Tuesday, Jun. 03, 2003
Yesterday, I came home from work, changed into my comfy clothes and sat down at the dining room table. I brought along with me a pitcher of margaritas, a bottle of vodka, a bottle of Buttershots and a beer. How pathetically sad is that?
I found on the table $650, a rice crispy treat and a letter that read...I'm sorry this was so terribly late. I'm sorry you thought I'd stiff you on the rent.
I sat there for what felt like hours, but was really only 15 mins, before he came out into the dining room. He found me sitting there drinking myself into oblivion funny. I found it pitiful.
I've never gone through a self-destructive period like this before. Its scaring me. Because this isnt me. This empty hollow shell of a person trying to fill it up with alcohol and numbness just isnt me. I'm usually the one who sucks it up and moves on. Puts on a happy face even when I think its impossible to smile.
What worries me the most right now is my eating habits. Yesterday afternoon was the first time I had something to eat since sunday morning. And for the life of me, I couldnt hold it down. This morning I'm trying to finish the other half of that blueberry muffin that I didnt finish yesterday and I have that same feeling...I'm either not hungry or cant hold it down when I do eat something.
Tonight I'm walking right in the front door, grabbing my running shoes and heading back out for a long run. The air and the exercise could do me good.