I started this for me. I wanted somewhere that was mine, I could decorate how I liked, say what I liked and just be me with no pretence. With that in mind I want to, and really need to vent. I don’t want to send this all one person’s way, to make them responsible for how I feel. So I’ll put it here to no one, to everyone.

To me.

I didn’t realise what drinking was doing to me, that I drank to escape. I didn’t realise there was something to escape from. How can you have perspective or insight when you’re hungover and all your energy is diverted into just getting through the day?

I’m unhappy, I’m so fucking unhappy right now. How didn’t I know?

If you’ve read this far, give up now, what follows is a self-piteous rant, I’m only writing it so that I don’t forget these feelings. That I don’t minimise and dismiss them as maudlin.

I hate my house. I hate the fact that while everyone I know has climbed the housing ladder, every step we’ve made has been a mistake that has cost us until I’ve somehow managed to make my forever home a shit-hole in a street populated by people more at home on Jeremy Kyle, facing a car park filled with broken down caravans and boy racer cars. The road is pot-holed to the point of collapse and it’s made me give up. Give up on having a home that I want to invite anyone to, give up on clean walls or unstained furniture.

When I moved here 10 years ago, fresh faced and newly pregnant, I saw a family home in the country, sure the road was a bit bumpy but it was scheduled to be resurfaced and the land opposite was to be built on.

I saw potential.

But the land remained empty, taken by neighbours to park on, the resurfacing never surfaced and there was no time to dream with 3 little children under the age of 4 and a husband forced to work over 250 miles away.

I’m isolated and I’ve isolated myself. I’ve been so busy, my house is always filled with children, my own (another one in addition to the first three, what was I thinking?) and others. I am surrounded by people and yet I’m alone. I’m alone and fucking lonely.

I remember being on my knees sobbing four years after we moved here, husband away, family abroad, friends in a distant city. There was no one to talk to, no one to give me a slap and tell me to pull my socks up and get on with it.

But that changed. I always used to look forward to weekends, my husband returning and a few drinks to relax and forget the stresses of a busy week. Then he had a job closer to home and we could have a few drinks any night, we could have them every night. It didn’t even have to be just a few.

I am so pleased that I’m doing this challenge, pleased that I’m pressing the reset button and pleased that I’m taking back control.

I’m really fucking annoyed that I’ve left it this long though.

 

Pah!

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