So, this drinking thing

I haven't regaled anyone much with anything on drink of late have I?

And for a drunkard's blog that's not flipping well good enough. It's always there in my mind though - a constant hum and siren song. Time's the trigger. Some mornings I might walk past a pub at around opening time and remember the endorphin rush of the first drink of the day.

Sport too - always a good excuse for me to go to the pub in the past - strums a few strings. I've managed to watch a Wales rugby international in the pub, but all the way through I was thinking how much better it would be if I had a drink.

Occasionally too, anxiety has made me want to drink. When the streets are full of shrieking youths in the afternoon and I'm confining myself to my room and praying for sleep, I'm aware of how much better I would feel if I could just go and hide in the pub.

But, I haven't drunk. Not a drop. And, with Antabuse in my veins I can't. Without the Antabuse I don't think I would have done it and without the supervised way I'm taking it I don't think I would have managed to stay on the pills for so long.

I'm committed to the six months I've almost managed - about two weeks now. I'm also likely to ask for an extension to my Antabuse to see me through Christmas and the New Year too.

At the bottom of all the efforts to get well is the knowledge that I want to get well so I can drink again - enjoy it, socially and responsibly, not as an instant cure for fear or a hiding place from self-hatred, but as a social lubricant.

That may well make me an idiot, but that's my feeling at the moment, that if I can fix my messed up head I won't need to self-medicate and won't be an addict. There are medical opinions both ways, but, I think most professionals would, after looking at my history with drink, advise me to not drink ever again.

The big thing is, that in a couple of months it will be my choice.

If you spent it, thank you for your time.