Dear Diary, It's Me - Lucinda Lamont

Dear Diary, It's Me by Lucinda Lamont

Book excerpt

January 3rd 2019

Dear diary, it’s me.

I know we haven’t spoken in a while. Ok, maybe ‘a while’ is putting it lightly, but I think I’m ready now. I think it’s time. I’m scared, but I will always be scared until I just come out with it.

I don’t feel confident, but I do feel as though I can make the leap from the edge I have been teetering on for some time now.

I don’t know where to start. Ok, maybe if I just start with:

‘Hi, my name is Alice. I’m a twenty-five-year-old primary school teacher and I’m …’

But wait, what if I’m not? What if I’m making this out to be bigger than it is? Deep down I know it, but I haven’t had the courage to say it out loud before or even write it down. If I say it, if I write it, will I accept it? Will I surrender to it because right now I feel like I’m fighting it. It has become a constant battle that consumes my thoughts from the minute I wake up.

I’ve been fighting it for about eighteen months now. I’ve mentioned it to a few people who have mostly laughed it off. They would dismiss it and say I was overthinking again, or that many people were the same, but you’d get the odd person who would ask for more information and then raise an eyebrow when you gave them a story that was, shall we say, played down ever so slightly.

# Confession number 1 – I tell lies.

I should elaborate. They are not massive lies. Just lies that make me feel better about myself. Lies that avoid public shame but contribute to increased internal shame. For example, ‘I drink a bottle of wine most nights.’ The truth? I drink a bottle of wine every night. Sometimes more, but honestly, I try to limit it to that. What scares me is that I can’t go less. I can’t open a bottle of wine and not finish it. The first glass takes the edge off the night before and settles the anxiety that was caused by said stupid poison (see, I know it’s poison and I know it’s stupid, but I still want it). ‘Second-Glass Alice’ is up for some fun and suddenly enjoying the day at this point more than any minute previous to it. The second glass is much more enjoyable than the first and brings my personality to life. ‘Third-Glass Alice’ is a different Alice again. The third glass makes me feel sad and thinking about texting him and wondering why he is not texting me and then finally, Alice needs the fourth glass to knock her out and make her go to sleep.

I have on occasion tried to buy a couple of beers because I don’t like beer. I drink them and then walk—ok, cue shame—maybe drive to the garage and buy a bottle of wine and drink the whole lot, and you can only guess what tomorrow’s Alice is going to need to feel ok about it all again? Yup, more wine.

Ok, let’s try again. Hi. I am Alice. I am twenty-five years old and I’m … God, why is this so hard? Just say it, Alice. Once it’s out there, you can live a more honest life.

I think for a moment. I step up from my desk and walk in a circle around my bedroom, hands on hips, and biting my bottom lip.

Are you sure about this, Alice?

‘Oh, fuck off,’ I retort at the bully living inside my head.

Once again, I sit back at my laptop and begin writing again.

I am trying to tell you that I think … I think I’m an alcoholic. Possibly a high-functioning one. That’s the first step.

My head goes tingly with the confession, as though I can feel particles of relief exiting my body and immediately I feel slightly brighter. I feel empowered suddenly and pull the laptop closer to me and being typing furiously away.

Where do you want me to start? My story is no different from anyone else’s. I was allowed the odd drink at family gatherings as a young teenager but by the age of eighteen, I was regularly getting absolutely smashed. I was the loudest, the wildest … had to drink more than anyone, had to have that extra shot, had to be one of the lads, had to be at the centre of anything. I was raucous. A hoot. The entertainment. Then, the morning would come. I would be devastated when I would hear rumours of people claiming I was attention-seeking and full of myself. I actually wasn’t. I was trying desperately to fit in. To feel ok in my own skin—when I didn’t.

#Confession of an alcohol dependant number 2 – We are not comfortable in our own skin.

How did that happen? I was a smart girl. I had lots of friends at school. I was into sports. Then, I hit fifteen and started smoking and drinking. I gave up taking care of myself and did what all, no, most of my friends were doing. Living for the weekend. Over the years that followed I became insecure, shy in a group, jealous, untrusting, bitchy, paranoid, and worst of all? Ignorant. Now I’m twenty-nine with a decent enough job, drinking a bottle of wine every night, but worse than that, thinking about drinking from the moment I wake up until 5.00 P.M. Sometimes, 4.30 P.M. Ok, sometimes a glass of wine with lunch. And that’s what makes me in control, right? Wrong.

#Confession of an alcohol dependant number 3 – I am concerned about how much I think about alcohol.

I know what you’re thinking. One bottle of wine a night is not an out-of-control alcoholic. I know that. I go to work. I pay my bills. I wash and iron my clothes and keep a clean house.

What if all of the things that aren’t going brilliantly for me are a direct result of my alcohol abuse?

Allow me to clarify.

• I don’t trust anyone.

• I don’t think I’m attractive.

• I don’t think I’m clever.

• I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere.

• I yo-yo from crippling anxiety to not giving a damn about anything.

• I feel disconnected.

• I can’t concentrate.

• I have memory problems.

• I have mood swings.

• I feel grey, as if I am in a constant lull.

• I used to be happy.

• I’m bored of my job.

• I am in an unhappy relationship.

• I have an opinion, usually controversial, on pretty much everything.

• I am definitely not easy-going.

What if I am not any of the above? What if my time spent poisoning my brain has left me with a number of venomous passengers? There is only one way to find out. It has taken me a long time to get here, but today I begin.

My name is Alice and I’m an alcoholic.