I got sucked back into the soup of my subconscious. The self-sabotaging drive kicked in again and over powered the system. Pulled me under. The voices… you’re stupid, no good, you’re going to fail. You’re not proper. You’re a half-baked flake who hasn’t got what it takes. No one will take you seriously. Why are you even doing this? Though not wholly conscious, explicit or specific these voices from the deep merge into a low-level hum, droning on behind the scenes. A general murk, a sludgy gloom pulling you down. A sway back to the familiar nihilism.
It was textbook. I wasn’t doing any of the things… there were particularly stressful circumstances, a lack of sleep, the running stopped, the yoga slipped alongside the meditation. The usual things. They say a relapse happens way before you actually drink that drink. A hatch opens in the brain. An opportunity arises. Something clunks into place, some neural programming realigns and a decision is laid down. A secret plan hatched. Red wine and fillet steak.
When your resolve is strong, your motivation high and your pecker up, it’s easy to live with intention. You know what you’re doing and when you’re doing it. But when there’s a gradual slide, down into a trough, the murk rises and the vision muddies. It’s hard not to skate the whole way down, hard not to roll into the tracks of the old programming. Suddenly adverse synchronicities tumble into place, a trigger here, an old friend there but now the defenses are weak and the walls crumble. Old muscle memory clicks in as ice cubes clink into the glass. And then you can’t remember going to bed.
But field research could be a necessary thing. Another lesson. More evidence for the case. Confirmation that alcohol is no good for you. The end. Case closed.
It was over six months! But it’s progress not perfection. I’ll take that right now. Another lesson, another layer, another bump in the windy road, destination unknown 😊