Week 12. 84 Days...

12 weeks ago, I got home from a few lunch time Easter Monday beers… at 3am. It was my third big night out of the last four. I’d done enough shitty cocaine to dead tired, but not quite be able to sleep. This is the worst part about using stimulants, IYKYK…

At the time, I was talking with a mate of mine via text, probably up for the same reason as I was. That’s when it hit me, that I was fucking miserable. It was a strange, but certain feeling, but I knew it was what it was, I’d felt it before.

I can’t remember why, but I tweeted something along the lines of “Never in my life have I been in a better position financially, but I’ve also never been so depressed. etc”. At the time, it was a bit of a throw away tweet. I didn’t think much of it. In reality, I was probably even being a little over-dramatic. The response though, was overwhelming.

The next day, when I woke up, feeling like I was recovering from an autopsy, I checked my phone like I do every morning. I had a bunch of notifications. Wasn’t sure why. I opened twitter and saw what I’d tweeted. I was instantly embarrassed and ashamed. I wanted to delete it and pretend it had never happened. I had done this plenty before. Most weekends, in fact. As I started flicking through responses to the tweet though, I realized how fucking amazing people can be. Most of them, strangers from the internet. People who only knew me as “Bogues”, the whiny, loud mouthed, vegan prick from twitter, were genuinely concerned for my welfare. It felt fuckin’ good, that people cared.

I decided that morning that I needed a break. I HAD to stop drinking, at least for a little while. I realized I’d been drinking and doing cocaine every weekend for at least the last six months. That Easter weekend I bought and used 4 grams of cocaine ($1400). I had a bit of a moment where I realized it was super fucking hypocritical to complain about my mental state, when in reality, I was probably causing most of it myself. All my life I have struggled with people who complain about things they have at least an element of control over. I was a hypocrite. A hypocrite who lacked accountability. A trait I had, perhaps falsely, always prided myself on. I hated it. I hated that I felt so powerless to stop. I didn’t want to go on a bender every weekend. it just kind of… happened. Every, single, weekend. This might be a little difficult for people to comprehend and I don’t expect understanding or sympathy from anyone for it, but those who know, know.

I didn’t really know what to do to help myself start getting better. All I knew was, I would’t get better if I kept doing the shit that got me into that position in the first place. Something had to change. I had to break the cycle. The cycle always started with alcohol. Rarely did I use drugs without drinking, and when I did, I didn’t enjoy it. So, I started with trying not to drink.

A week went by and I hadn’t drank yet. It was hard, my memory from the time is cloudy. Given the support I’d received from internet friends a week prior, I felt obligated to to share with them that I had gone a weekend sober and that I was doing ok. I quote tweeted the the original tweet, with a bit of a thread on my thoughts, feeling and general experiences I had the previous week. Again, to my surprise, it was well received. Some even mentioned that reading it had helped them. I also found the whole process really cathartic. So, i decided I would do it every week. Predominately, a selfish act. Taking a moment once a week to reflect on the week that has been and take it from my head and onto a phone screen (280 characters at a time) just made me feel so good. It honestly helped so much. According to others, it helped them too. So I thought, fuck it, as hard as this is, I’m going to keep doing it. Too much good is coming from it to stop.

Last week was week 11. I read a blog on mental health here on substack by a guy I know (who I won’t mention) and mentioned to him that I loved what he was doing etc. He had read some of my threads and recommend I jump on here each week and share it to twitter rather than dealing with 280 characters at a time. So, here we are…

Over the last 12 weeks I have been very open about my alcohol use. I have danced around the topic of drug use with some different wording. I guess I wanted to protect myself from the way certain people view drugs and drug use. The thing is, drug use, particularly recreational drugs, particularly cocaine, is far moire common than some people choose to believe. The way I was using it was no worse than so many people (in my world at least) use it. It’s actually alarming how many people use it and how often they use it. This is without mentioning the money people spend on it.

I was convinced for a while that i dind’t actually have a problem with alcohol, and that I actually had a cocaine problem. I literally couldn’t have a few beers without becoming possessed by the idea of doing coke. Once it works it’s way into your mind you will do anything (within some kind of reason) you can to get your hands on it. 3am, $150 uber rides to the other side of town and back to spend $350 on a bag. I was convinced that if I could drink without doing coke, I could drink.

I wouldn’t say what happened next was a realization. I would rather call it, an admission of a truth that I knew all along. I didn’t have a cocaine problem either. What I have is a mental health problem.

I have ADHD. which means I am “neurodivergent”. Basically, my brain works a little different to most. I think differently. kinda like, I think from different angles. I’ve always felt a little left of centre. Like I didn’t quite fit in. Close at times, but usually just a bee’s dick off fitting in. This is where self esteem issues kick in. ADHD is essentially a form of anxiety. It’s like being in a constant state of fight or flight. forever nervous, worried, concerned, stressed, whatever. I wasn’t diagnosed until i was 28 years old (i’m almost 34 now). Whilst diagnosis and medication was life changing, for the better, I spent 28 years feeling a little different to everyone else.

I refuse to allow my condition to justify or excuse any of my behavior. I still know what’s right and wrong. In fact, I get pissed off when people use conditions like mine to excuse their poor behavior. Christian Porter, Jordan De Goey etc…

What I will say though, is spending so many years in this state of anxiety ridden, fight or flight, is not good for someones self esteem. I never wanted to talk to anyone bout how I felt because I thought I would only be a hindrance to them. So, I internalized. All the thoughts and feelings I would have would stay inside my head, festering away. All because it was my problem, no one else’s. It would be wrong of me to hinder anyone else with my problems, they’re my problems after all.

So when I drank, it took the problems away, temporarily at least. Doing coke would mean I could take them away for even longer. The problem is, the longer you take them away, or squash them down, the worse they are when they come back. Most recently. I’d been doing this each week for probably six months before it all came to a head. i couldn’t do it anymore. I was scared of what could happen if I continued on the trajectory I was on. It was getting pretty dark at times. Sitting around at home on my own at 3am, disgusted in myself for drinking and doing coke on my own, again. Only to continue drinking and doing coke on my own for a couple more hours before “going to sleep” with the aid of whatever the fuck I could find in the cupboard in a desperate bid to sleep before the sun rose.

I always that if I could fall asleep before the sun came up it would drastically shorten my recovery time, haha. How fuckin’ ridiculous.

Anyway, I felt it necessary this week to tell the whole truth about exactly where I was at. I feel like it gives my threads of the past a little more context. I also felt compelled to by something inside of me. I felt like I was ready to share this information because I knew I was ready to and felt it were important for me to share, to help me keep moving forward. I dunno why the fuck i thought or felt that way, but I did. So here ya fuckin’ go. Do what ya please with it.

I’ve only been sober 12 weeks. I can’t say I’ll be sober forever, or if that is even my goal. As I’ve said before though, I do know that I am not ready to drink again yet. I’m still struggling mentally, I always will. Just nowhere near as much as I was.

It’s getting easier, but it’s still not easy. My feeling Brain still tries to bend My Thinking Brain’s rubbery arm (one for those who’ve read The Happiness Trap). Saturday just gone for example, I had dinner in a pub and the feeling brain was trying to convince my thinking brain that I could easily have on beer and if I wasn’t drunk then I’m actually still sober... Cheeky Fucker.

Real fuckin’ glad I didn’t do it though. Rel fuckin’ glad.

I’m not planning on writing such a long winded spiel every week. However I thought my first week on here I would use as an opportunity to set a bit of a foundation and give some context to my little tale.

I’m doing well. I’ve got a big couple of weeks ahead. Moving two hours away to the coast. Renting my house out. Starting a new job (sorta). Two fucking mortgages in the midst of an interest rate rampage. All I know is, I’ll be much better prepared to kick these challenges in the dick if I stay off the piss, for now at least, keep exercising, keep surrounding myself with good people and wrestling my dogs.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for the platform allowing me to talk about my stupid feelings.

Be nice to people this week. Try not to be a cunt.

Cheers Wankers.

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