I quit drinking last Sunday.

This time, not “for a month”, or “only on special occasions”, or “not at home”, or “not during the week”.
I tried all those before, many times.
Last week it hit me like a hammer: I’m an alcoholic, and have been for over 20 years. The realization what I had lost to alcohol in all those years made me weep.

And it had reached a point where I could already see the bottomless pit that would swallow my life, looming ahead, closer than expected.
I still have half my life ahead of me, so the only choice was to stop walking towards that cliff.
And that meant: I won’t drink anymore. Ever.

What surprised me was how easy the decision was. And the strength of my resolve.

But now it’s Friday. I’m off work. It’s 5pm.
And for about half an hour, all my resolve was just gone. “Hey you made it through the week, let’s celebrate and relax.”

I managed to not buy the usual sixpack and bottle of wine on the way home, which feels like a great achievement. But that half hour where suddenly something in me just casually swiped away the decision I had made scared the hell out of me.

I’m strong, but apparently at any point I can just stop being me for a moment, so does that strength really protect me?