The worst for me was feeling like I was in Being John Malkovich. Waking up and saying I won't drink. Pouring out what was left (usually not much) and saying that was it. And then feeling like your soul was almost on fire when you went for your lunch walk. You HAD to have it. And that is when the demon kicked it.

There were days... lots of days where I literally felt like someone was driving my body against my will. My entire brain, every logical part of me was screaming don't go in there, don't buy a bottle. But my feet just walked into the shop. Your head is screaming don't pick it up, don't pay for it, go home, go back to work. You're literally fighting yourself not to do it... and you do it anyway.

And you hate yourself. You hate that it is there. You hate that you wasted another 60 euro, you promise yourself this time will be different. You're not going to open it. You get home. You fight through dinner. Your family goes to bed. And... you just open it. You get angry for opening it, you feel your hand lift the glass and you take a huge swig and you've had so much it doesn't even burn going down. And it hits your stomach.

Elation. It's like the scene in Breaking Bad where Jesse floats off the bed. All your problems rush away. It tastes phenomenal. You don't have a problem. Why were you mad. You take another swig, bigger than before. It goes down even faster. Wow... my glass is empty... you refill a tumbler all the way to the top and head to the couch, it's empty in 10 minutes and you feel amazing. So you go get another. By now you notice the bottle is already half empty.

It's ok... I'll quit tomorrow.