It’s very rare that I remember a specific day. They tend to melt into one another, defined only by how many pages I’ve written. Last New Year’s Day sticks out in my mind because I started this blog.
I set myself a couple of goals back then. Not to drink anymore. Haul myself out of the general messiness that is my life. Finish my book. Make an effort to be gracious to people. Be nice.
While being nice is always tricky territory for me, I figured the first two goals were pretty achievable. How did I do? I failed. Miserably.
Granted I didn’t drink for the first three months of the year but by April, the stress hit me and I hit the bottle. Funny how all it takes is one little slip up to create an avalanche of sludge. I think it was at that moment that things started going downhill. That was the moment I stop believing.
A couple of weeks ago, a friend said to me, ‘things can always get worse.’ At the time I laughed, thinking things can’t worse than they are right now. But yes they can. He made that comment to me while we having a beer together. I was drinking that day because I’d had an unpleasant run-in with a neighbour. I’d lost a freelance job. Yet another. As always the drink was a quick fix. But it got out of hand.
Later that night I ended up on roof. And I tried to jump off the roof. No, I wasn’t suicidal. I wasn’t testing my Parkour skills. I wasn’t checking out the view. I’d like to tell you I was abducted and dragged to the roof but the fact is I have no idea how I got there.
All I know is that I ended up in a locked derelict room. I was possibly pushed in there. I had to climb through a window to escape.