Tuesday, 14 April 2015


As someone who hasn't done the whole breakup with someone, swear never to go near them again, and then wake up next to them 2 months down the line with a cracking headache, and cotton mouth that has come straight from the dryest dune of the Sahara, without any clothes and a very real sense of 'fuuuuuuck' I won't say that I have 'backslid' in a human relationship sense.
Gin whore or vodka slut? Can you not be both?!?!?

However, having completed dry January, and lost a stone in the process and got to a point where I felt pretty dang excellent, I then backslid.

73 days later, via some public brawling, moving house, casual sex, appraisals at work, falling asleep on numerous night buses, the odd secret hangover, one or two not so secret hangovers, I find myself mid-April wondering where to now...

When I finished dry January (and I did!), to say I was wary of the 'backslide' is an understatement. It felt like when I had a drink in hand that a shadow was looming over, just resting its hand on your shoulder, just waiting for you to have that one to many, and it would be back to square one. The figure was kind of encouraging the whole process - "Go on, its going to happen at some point... may as well be tonight." "Yes, you have had a really shit day at work, you deserve complete and utter inebriation, why are you even asking?" "JUST. GET. WANKERED."

Ok then.

A month went by, no dramas, a few good saturday nights out. 6 weeks - all gravy baby. In this time I decided to make some positive life changes, and move out of the flat where I have lived for the last 3 years, as I needed to move on with my life physically , grow up, get out of the funk etc, so moved away from central London, from a location that I feel has facilitated my 'bad/self destructive/ selfish/ blah blah/waah waah/ behaviour for the last five years to a fantastic flat further into south london with a good friend.

Hot yoga hot mess
8 weeks hits, and its move out day. I find myself standing somewhere in Streatham (I can see the bus stop sign) at 8am, no memory of having got there, no bank card, and just a vaaaague recollection of chinese food post Soho bar hopping, like sit down meal. Who the fuck doesn't remember a sit down meal? I have 5 hours to get home, get decent, get down to my new place an hour away to 'check in', before heading back to the old place to meet the man with a van moving me out.

That was a month ago, and today, on a mid-month Tuesday, I found myself getting home after my second 12 hour day in a row and went for a run instead of to the pub, progress indeed. I'm now trying not to put myself in situations where I don't trust myself, think it is going to be a longer process before I'm ready to try those out. I am still drinking, but trying to go for 1/2 nights a week, and drinking to enjoy myself and be sociable, as opposed to get shitfaced, because I think I have learned there is a difference.

In the same way as there is a difference between knowing your shit, and knowing you're shit, there is a huge gap between knowing what you are worth, and thinking you should settle because its easier to be lazy and not correct your behaviour.

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