I keep wondering why I keep falling into that same trap over and over. Why is it so hard to learn from the countless experiences in the past?

These things I know to be true:

It has always been one drink, two drinks, six drinks for me. This is not going to change.

If I keep drinking, alcohol will, by illness or drunken accident, have a devastating effect on my life. It keeps me absolutely stuck in an array of self-harming habits and squashes any attempt at caring for myself in anything other than optics.

If I keep drinking, I will never forgive myself because of how it has and will take away from my children.

Somehow, in my heart of hearts, I don’t believe that my right to a sober life in which I am safe takes precedence over other peoples’ right to a “fun and happy” me.

My husband has no capacity to support my sobriety as soon as I waver, and I have to accept that. He is not the one to lean on in this endeavor and to keep trying is at this point thinly veiled self-deception at best.

No matter what I may imagine and which glory days of drinks with friends at a beach bonfire my mind may invoke when I relapse: Drinking to me is not about enjoyment, it is about annihilation. It is about telling myself “You are not wanted here, as you are. I can’t even stand to be around you.”

What I don’t know yet is why I would treat myself like this or how to ever heal from it.

What I do know is that this makes me tremendously sad, and my first instinct is to run from that. But then I hear a little voice saying “Well, it IS fucking sad. Let yourself be sad.” and that makes me feel a little bit better.

Today is Day 2 and for that I am grateful.

Oh man. This is where I find myself, once again. Once again, this is where I am.

A morning after a night spent tossing and turning, the inside of my mouth the texture and taste of old moss. The sight of the sleeping child next to me fills me with sadness instead of joy.

I have disappointed both of us, again. And you are too small to even know it, but I do. I know that for the last three days, through my actions, I decided -once again- against being the mom that you deserve and against being the role model I want you to have.

We’re on vacation, and I was inexplicably sad, depressed, anxious and on edge. And that’s not how I wanted to be on this precious family vacation. But I didn’t even try to go for a walk, talk to a friend, take a bath, paint, or play and cuddle with you guys, or even just let you watch a movie and pull a blanket over my head.

Instead, I flipped the most reliable switch I know when it comes to avoiding any and all challenging emotions – at least until the next day when they all come rushing back with sickening force: with a month of sobriety under my belt, I poured myself a drink. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another.

And for a little while it worked. And not anymore. And I am just so, so sorry.

But I love you too much to give up, and so I try to regain an inkling of courage and hope that this time it will be different. And for it to feel at least a little different from the get-go I am starting this blog.

Today is Day 1 and for that I am grateful.