You wake up slowly, registering the pounding head, the dry mouth, the nausea. There are chips on the bed because you made the Uber go through McDonalds apparently, but you don’t remember, not really.
You don’t remember much at all, actually. And with that realisation comes shame; all consuming, sickening shame.
"How did I get so drunk, again?"
That was me three months ago.
In fact, that was me consistently since I discovered alcohol.
I was the "party girl", always up for a good time. Out on the town Thursday to Saturday and sometimes even Sunday if my arm could be twisted enough to go (it could).
The Queen of Blackouts. Just one coaxing text message away from hopping in an Uber somewhere to blow lots of cash and drink myself to oblivion.
Right now though, I’m a few months sober.
Watch: Your body after one year without alcohol. Post continues below.
I won’t lie; this is my third time attempting sobriety. I did a year each time previously before I caved and decided to drink again (but only "a little bit, on special occasions"... except three weeks later I’m waking up hungover with five Facebook friend requests from "BFFs" I’ve made in the toilet the night before that I don’t even remember).
Alcohol has always seemed to find its way back into my life. I tell myself narratives about it that open that door a crack and let it sneak in.
Here are some of the lies I’ve told I’ve told myself about my drinking and here’s how I’m now challenging them: