Time to take my medicine.

Seriously.   I have 9 bottles of medicine on my bed-side table.  Six of them being vitamins.  Two of them are prescription drugs.   One of which I am constantly having a hard time figuring out when to take.  That being said, there are days I just don’t take it.  I have to take the other script.  If I forgo that I would be in miserable pain.  And the other is Tylenol.

Right now, it is the miracle drug, (at this time), that I am taking.  Along with Tylenol.   I need sleep.  And, a bottle of rum.  But that is nowhere to be found.

I done cleared my room of all of those hidden empty bottles.   A hard task that consumed a whole day.

I felt exposed.  Beaten.  Down-trodden.  Embarrased.  Foolish. Stupid.  Ridiculous.  Dumb.  Useless.  I could go on.

The first two big trash bags bursting full of empty bottles?  I was so weak physically and mentally.   I opened my bedroom door and there pops my partner.  He says to me “It is okay.  Don’t worry” as he took the bags and went to deposit them in the trash bin outside.  My body was so haggard at that time that I couldn’t even walk them outside on my own and put them in the bin myself.  And here he was, per his usual self, Johnny on the spot, coming to help me.

I closed my bedroom door and cried.  Then, I put them big girl panties on and finding bottles in my room that I didn’t even remember were there.

Six more big black trash bags later, with my partner showing up as soon as I opened that door, I was satisfied all those stupid bottles were gone.

I was sloshed at one point, I honestly cannot remember how long this was before I decided enough was enough, and I had fallen in my room in the middle of the night.  I was stumbling back to my bed and grabbed my bedside table looking for support.  What ended up happening was I tipped it over on top of me.  I got a very impressive goose egg on my head.  I tipped it up and at that time there were so many bottles behind it that it sat precariously there, teetering on falling again.

That table sat there like that for a great while.  I would be up at 7 in the morning, drunk by 10 or 11, carrying on conversations with people and not remembering any of it, then slept for 3 hours or so.  I tried to be up by 3.  It usually was the time that I would go to the post office.  That is right by the grocery store.  Rum run.  I would hide the rum in a bag.  Put it in the back of my car and leave it.  Then, I would help my niece make dinner.  If I could.  I would retire back to my room.  And drink whatever I had left in the current jug until my partner went to bed in his room.   I would put my shoes on and half walk/half stumble to my car and get my new jug.  And my hands would tremble almost bad enough in anticipation of that next drink that I would sometimes drop my hydro flask before I could make my drink.  I am a night owl.  Years of working the night shift.  I would watch my Netflix and hulu shows and drink.  Then, sleep.  Pass out.  Whatever, I drank myself to that place.  And it felt good.

I would just ignore the dang table and created more hiding spots.  So, this day that I filled all of those bags, I righted that table.  And cleaned the floor around it.

Now, it is almost 2 in the morning.  Everyone in the house is asleep.  My elderly mom. My very diabetic niece.  My partner.  And his life-long friend.  I am on unspeakable terms with that P word.  Despise that word.  But, the shoe fits.

Thank goodness both of the grocery stores in this town close promptly at 8 p.m.  I could honestly find so many hiding spots here right now.  So many.  I cleared them all.  I am only 18 days being sober.  Before that one idiotic day when I messed up, had been 14 days sober.   I started over counting that next day.

I am bored being sober.