Went to the doctor, guess what he told me?

I did indeed go to the doctor yesterday, at the Community Addictions Unit (CAU). He didn't tell me to go out and have fun no matter what - and he's not a fool.

He's very nice, kind and patient; willing to listen and non-judgmental, which I guess goes with the territory. I assume doctors chose their specialisms and I do wonder why anyone would chose to work with addicts - I'm very grateful that they do and always end up wondering if they've experienced the problems themselves, maybe through relatives.

Anyway.

I stopped into the library on the way to the CAU and got out a book on meditation. I started to read it while I waited and felt calmer straight away - I know I've got to try and do something to find a way to get back in control of my mind and maaaaaaybeeeeee this might be something I'll actually follow through on.

So, in I go and report my progress. My self-administered detox, my new job, my seven days off and two days on the booze.

"Why did you drink again? " He asked, and I must admit I was momentarily stumped.

Really, I should just have said, "Because that's what I do, that's what I've always done, and I can't imagine doing anything else."

I can't quite remember what I did say now, although I know I mentioned habit and that I was in a social situation. We talked around my history of social drinking - I have, occasionally in the past, drunk like an ordinary person, although it hasn't been for very long.

I also told him that I was really scared of sobriety, I'm really not coming to terms with that idea very well at all. I said I didn't want to go onto antabuse (a drug which deters you from drinking by making you as sick as several dogs if you do drink) because I was frightened of it, really, I think I should have said, "Because you can't drink on it, d'uh!"

I think he read that to be honest. And, gently suggested that abstinence may well end up as the best option for me. He also agreed to write to my doctor to ask him to think about further increasing my Trazodone dose and also to prescribe me Acamprosate - a drug said to reduce cravings for alcohol and repair brain damage. I've taken it before and I did find that while I was on it, but still relapsed, the relapse was less serious than when I came off it completely. I'm also to ask for a referral to a skin specialist to check out what I've been believing to be a side effect of the Trazodone but which he says should be investigated further.

A referral to group therapy sessions which would normally follow a detox should be on the way too and I also get to go back to the CAU to report on my progress.

I was told I could go get a fast track for detox if I felt I needed it too - I'd said that at the moment I don't think I do and I didn't want to take a place on a list that someone else could be using.

I was relieved actually that I didn't simply get turfed out of treatment as I thought I might have been.

If you read or have read the last post you'll know I subsequently had a slip up, but, all in all the appointment itself went well, perhaps the relief was part of the reason for drinking. Excuses, excuses, excuses.

Hey ho,

I hope you're well.

The Cardiff Drunk.

The morning after the turkey shoot before.

I woke at 9am, which is good for me. Then, pleasantly surprisingly, I had a shower - I was going to the doctors you see and wanted to do something to improve my self-esteem.

I needed to get my prescriptions redone - the steroid cream for the rash started by the antidepressants, the antidepressants, the moisturising cream for the eczema precipitated by the rash started by the antidepressants.

One plus was the weather. "There's Simpsons clouds," my girlfriend said as she encouraged me out of my pit. And, indeed there were, it was bright and breezy and cold and bracing.

The surgery waiting room was mercifully empty. I can't stand crowds and need a fair amount of personal space, panic is never far away in a group scene, (one of the reasons I drink, and drink even more if I'm forced unwillingly, and it is almost always unwillingly into a social situation) I'm absolutely dreading Christmas shopping and I've put it off for that reason, meaning the crowds will get worse no doubt by the time I get around to it.

The surgery I attend is a big one and I've never seen the same doctor twice. Does this matter? I guess not, I'm sure that in an ideal world and when being treated for mental illness and addiction you would - I've read coverage of advice for mental health treatment and I seem to recall the words Treatment Plan looming fairly large. Now, I'm not complaining, I do fairly well from my GPs and the only real downside is having to repeat the whole sorry story each time to a new face, but for Treatment Plan, it seems you should really read Prescription For Happy Pills.

And that's what I got again today, but with added bonus pills too! I'm going to rattle. The doctor was as sympathetic as they come, as keen to help and listened patiently.

I told him where I was, and my fear that I wouldn't be able to make it through to the 8pm finish time in the job I'm supposed to start on Monday without serious physical symptoms of withdrawal - and by this I'm sure I'm not exaggerating - last night's chest pains, panic and difficulty breathing were a real shock to me.

He's prescribed me Diazepam to help me put back the starting time of my drinking and I am so, so, grateful for this. He also prescribed my a higher doze of Trazodone - despite not yet receiving the letter from the Community Addictions Unit recommending this. To add to my rattle I have thiamine and a multivitamin - common practice for alcoholics, who often don't eat properly and are taking a drug that destroys vitamins and nutrients.

With a relatively stress free appointment and the sun still shining I felt able to stay out in the outdoors for a little longer. I feel relatively safe at home, but, not completely. The neighbours can be noisy - and it's aggressive sounding shouting a lot of the time - and it makes me jumpy.

I strolled off towards leafy prosperous Penylan.

The people I spoke to in the Brighteyes forum* recommended feeding myself well - treats even, a bit of self-indulgence in one area to combat the loss of my ultimate and self-harming indulgence. So, I trolled along to the supermarket and got a big bottle of a fruit smoothie, one of those posh looking cartons of soup for lunch and some broccoli and stewing steak for a comfort food dinner.

The good folk in the Brighteyes forum - mostly recovering or on the road to recovery alcoholics - also set great store by having a good hot bath. I didn't manage that last night but will try again this evening - it's not recommended for the skin problems I'm having, but it is comforting indeed.

The prescriptions from the chemists were, "Too big for a pharmacy bag, so I've had to use a carrier," the pharmacist apologised. Crikey. I must be ill.

I made it back home by about 11.15 feeling pretty bright, and almost confident that I'll be able to make a further step in reduction and delay in my drinking this evening. The GP told me to take one Diazepam at lunch time and maybe one later: "But we don't want to get you off alcohol and then find you're hooked on tranquilizers," he said.

One of my acquaintances from the C takes Diazepam, he says his doctor is a 'mate', and to be honest I think he abuses the tranqs, but that's no skin off my nose and I would guess it's fairly common. I've only taken them, well the similar Librium, during detox, and yes, they feel lovely. But, I've got a tendency towards addiction and I need to be careful.

I stopped off at a bakers on the way home and got some cake too.

It all went a little awry when I got home. My girlfriend had put some washing on and rather than leave it to fester as I so often do I actually got off my arse and hung it up outside - I know it sounds stupid, but apart from walking to the pub or shop, I've really been struggling to go out, even into our own back yard. Of course it's raining now, and I'm stuck here - stasis - I'll have to get off my arse soon. The awry started with making a huge pot of very strong black coffee. Caffeine's not recommended, in fact it's positively discouraged, in detox, and, as with every substance I've ever encountered with even the slightest effect on my brain I've had a tendency to abuse and overuse it. As it goes, it's probably the least harmful of my addictions, but it still make me jittery and nervous.

The Diazepam is starting to kick in now and I feel drowsy and comfy, I can even feel a nap coming on, but I think it's best to try and stay awake till this evening. I still feel confident I can make my starting time later tonight - 8pm or 8.30pm is the aim, but with the tranquilizer and the higher dose of antidepressants I reckon I might even not need anything.

We shall see, and I shall no doubt report it here in long and tedious detail.

Thanks for your time if you spent it. Drop a line or a comment, (even if it's only an insult) if you're suffering too or have any advice or whatever.

*I submitted my blog to a network of mental health bloggers yesterday. They have accepted it, but did express some concerns about my linking to the Brighteyes site because they charge for their services. I have no link with Brighteyes at all (if they wanna advertise on here and give me money for it, hey, great). They charge for counselling and I haven't paid a penny to them, I use the free forums for alcohol help, and, I wouldn't hesitate to recommend those if you're looking for some interaction (and all I've seen has been loving, supporting and encouraging) with other people with alcohol problems. There may well be other free counselling services and forums online and I'll add whatever I find if I think it's helpful.

What happened on Wednesday - part two, Community Addictions Unit assessment

Have no doubt, the services that deal with addicts of various stripe are stretched and could probably hoover up a whole pot of further funding.

What this means for the patient, service user or (shudder) customer of these services is simply that there's a fair amount of waiting around to be done.

After my counselling on Wednesday I went home waisted (as I do far too readily and far too often) a couple of hours on the Guardian's Comment is Free website and then headed back out for my first appointment with a doctor at the Community Addictions Unit.

And there I sat. The appointment was at high noon and the letter confirming it had told me to expect it to take around an hour. I left in the end at 2.45.

Not that I minded. I avoid going out of the house, partly through anxiety and fear and partly because I know if I do I will sooner rather than later end up in the pub. Sitting in a dingy NHS corridor is at least harmless. It also humbles and shames me: I see others struggling with far harder problems than I have and who are in a plainly evident far worse state in terms of physical or mental health. I sometimes feel a fraud: you should be able to pull yourself together I tell myself as I watch people collect their methadone scrips and read the posters about open wounds and the safest way to inject and clean works using water from a toilet.

The doctor was Asian and quietly spoken and patient. He ran through a long list of questions - asking about my history of drinking (I started pretty early in my teens, developed into a heavy binger and from there to pretty constant and addicted drinking from my late 20s onwards, it's been a problem for 20 years now), use of other drugs, family relationships, mental and physical health, my suicide attempts, where I am now and what I hope to get from the process.

It was all rather cathartic, it's nice to be able to speak openly and honestly to a sympathetic ear. He told me the options: basically in patient or outpatient detox using diazepam. I told him I'd prefer an outpatient detox because that's what I've experienced before and I'm nervous about being admitted to hospital.

In reality, I know this is unlikely to get the thumbs up. There is a risk of fitting during detox and with my girlfriend at work I'll be on my own during the day. I must admit I dread hospitalisation - there surely aren't many people who look forward to spending time in hospital - and the attendant group therapy: I find it very hard to open up to a therapist in one-on-one situations, competing for air in a group is something I'll find incredibly hard. But, perhaps that's something that has to be got through and will induce the sort of cathartic breakdown into real tears that will help cleanse me.

I raised the idea with the doctor that I was a self-medicator; that I find my thoughts very hard to control, and that drink really is the best way I've found to do this. He nodded, but it's early days in the process and the first aim is to get me off the booze, that's the only aim really, the rest may well be down to me. He certainly accepted the fact that I'm currently depressed and said he would write to my GPs to ask them to raise the dose of my antidepressants. "It could be prolonging your problems with alcohol," he said.

I wasn't able to provide a urine sample but had two sets of blood tests down - all I heard was renal and liver function. Despite everything, I think I'm probably in relatively good physical health and I hope there's nothing serious hidden under my irritable skin.

My blood pressure was taken and is apparently good, my pulse was 74 I think, which is a bit high but there's a certain amount of stress in having needles stuck in your arms and I should imagine that would account for that.

I left feeling lighter still. Something's moving at least. It'll be slow I know, the doctor told me to expect another appointment in three weeks and asked me to think more about the treatment options and also to think about reasons why I've relapsed three times before after detox.

(If you are reading this thinking, "You feckless waster of NHS resources that could go to people that are really ill and who chooses the path of addiction," I have every sympathy with your view. All I can say is the hatred and opprobrium of others merely confirms my own opinion of myself (although I doubt anyone could hate me as much as I hate myself), and that I really don't want to be like this anymore and I will try as hard as I can. I want desperately to be a useful person.)

I left at 2.45, knowing I was going to go straight to the C. As I've said, I've avoided the place of late, it's been getting me down, it's the only pub I use where I have people to speak to but they too have their problems and that tends to be what we talk about. As it happened I bumped into my best mate from the all-day-drinking gang, he'd just left the C and was on his way to one of the social/working men's/sporting clubs in the area.

I didn't want to go. The last time I went there was bad. My girlfriend was working away as she often does. While she's here I do much better, I desperately want not to upset her so my drinking stays relatively stable. With her gone the brakes come off. I'd gone out to watch football that time and ended up spending 12 hours on the pop, I'm sure I got mouthy and obnoxious in the club and couldn't remember much after arriving and certainly couldn't recall getting home. That was Jack Daniels. I rarely drink spirits, almost never in fact, I drink pints far too quickly - I drink everything far too quickly and even when I've been dry I've chugged through pint after pint of soft drinks when I go out, it's all to do with nerves I think - so spirits vanish even faster.

As it happened I did fine. Four pints, relatively slowly, after downing the first two.

Again, it was a sobering experience. Most of the pubs I use are filled with habitual drinkers and the club was no different, I see faces not so much damaged as completely wrecked by alcohol. People on the margins and with troubles, often unemployed and with money troubles who spend all day drinking and desperately staring at the horse racing on the screens waiting for a much-needed winner.

A man came in with a terrible facial wound - his left eye was hugely swollen with an open wound beneath it. He said he'd had a plate put in.

"I haven't had a pint since Monday," he said, "so don't look at me I've got the ******* shakes."

The barman offered him a straw.

The place stank of weed after a while. No-one inside was smoking, but it was drifting in strong and unmistakable from somewhere.

I'm angry with myself for trying to score some weed through my mate - which was easily arranged. I've been without for maybe two weeks and I should have accepted that that's a good thing. But, when I'm in my cups I do crave it. I was weak and stupid.

Onwards and upwards nevertheless.