Day 404 of serious sobriety. It’s a stonkingly beautiful Sunday outside and, like any good person of Scottish descent, I’m rattling around indoors. I simply refuse to go out. I’ve had a major spiral. Such a mahoosive one that I’ve shut myself away. Even with the glorious sunshine teasing me through the window I’d still rather sit here alone. Right now, the walls could be closing in like a ’90s horror film, and I wouldn’t move. Rather be flogging myself with guilt and shame. Seasoned with the looming possibility of sinking into something even more miserable than where I started this morning.
By Christ, what a truly depressing twat one can become when one really puts one’s mind to it. If you are choosing to stay and read on, what’s wrong with you! No, ignore that, thank you. carry on.
The mood is entirely my own fault, of course. Instead of drinking more water and sleeping longer, deeper, I’m starting to feel agitated. I do nothing to change this and so continue on the same path. Things in and out of my control. Sometimes I am a master of my own doom. And a miserable c**t.
Not For Me, Thanks 
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