I count calories now, which is okay unless I’m having a night when my emotions are running fucking unruly–when I’m brimming with piss and vinegar. This is one of my alcoholic nights–when I can’t type straight–when I go over my caloric intake because I’m getting fat. But I’m not an alcoholic anymore. I know what an alcoholic looks like–she’s petite, dark haired, and green-eyed. She is my mother, and I am not mother. I don’t drink every day. I used to, but not anymore.
Can you be an alcoholic if you only drink a few times in a month? Can you be an alcoholic if you only drink a few times in a week?
Yes. If you’re drinking to get drunk, to ease pain.
I know better, but I ignore it. And I find myself hiding from my hubby.
Lately, I want to be drunk, all the time. Because I’m in a creative mood hating on my mother, the true alcoholic.
And I hate her for fucking up my life. I hate her for inspiring me.
I’m an alcoholic. I drink almost every day.
I see that now.