As I peel away the layers of my onion skin that have grown around me in regards to being my authentic self. peeling slowly back the layers of grief that grew fast after John died, then the layers so thick of wine that had been growing before he died… I am getting to where I might be. I wonder… who are my friends? Who do I say, help to? Who will come around? Who knew already? I’m avoiding book club because I just don’t want to be around everyone having a drink but me. I don’t want to hurt around that drink that I cannot have. So then I wonder do my friends miss me? They say they do. but would they give up the drink to spend a couple of hours with me? One drink does not really cause problems for most apparently. Even in public, one drink would not cause me a problem immediately, but I can almost guarantee it would be the trigger that would lead me back into that grocery store into that wine aisle to get myself some secret wine. Then that secret wine might be guzzled in the car, while breaking 2 laws… open container and drinking and driving….
So where are the friends that I have even told. no one checks in. Alcoholism is something that apparently is close to grief, you don’t want to get to close to it. It might sting.