The Demon Changes Its Argument

I think one of the things I expected, without ever really thinking about it, was that once I'd made this enormous decision the argument in my head would become simpler.

Alcohol bad.

Don't drink alcohol.

Job done.

Apparently my brain hadn't read the memo.

Only a few days after the click I was feeling better.

I'd told people.

I'd started reading.

I'd started looking properly at the support around me rather than treating counselling as one hour a week where I could discuss alcohol and then go back to trying to sort everything myself.

I was sleeping more deeply.

I was waking during the night, but there were mornings when I noticed something completely bizarre.

I was smiling.

I was talking to people more too. Wee bits of banter in shops. Conversations with strangers. Nothing earth-shattering, but enough for me to notice because I've always thought of myself as quiet and shy.

Or I was.

I'm not even sure now.

Then the demon changed its argument.

It didn't say:

"Fuck everything. Get drunk."

That would have been easy.

Instead:

"You're doing really well."

True.

"You're clearly turning a corner."

Maybe.

"You did loads of good things yesterday and cleared your head."

Also true.

Then came the conclusion.

"Have a little bit. You've earned it."

Clever little fucker.

It had taken my progress away from alcohol and turned it into an argument for alcohol.

That fascinated me almost as much as it worried me.

I started noticing that the demon didn't really care what the evidence was. It cared about the conclusion.

Bad day?

You deserve a drink.

Good day?

You've earned a drink.

Stressed?

Have one to relax.

Feeling brilliant?

Celebrate.

Been healthy?

Reward yourself.

Been drinking too much?

Have one last drink before you stop.

Been sober?

See, you've proved you can control it.

The facts could change completely and somehow the answer remained the same.

Drink.

Even more interestingly, sometimes the demon didn't mention alcohol at all.

One of its arguments became:

"This is easier than you thought."

Followed by:

"You don't need AA."

"You don't need counselling."

"You're better than that."

That's clever too.

If it can't persuade me directly to drink, perhaps it can persuade me to remove the things that might make it harder for me to drink later.

I'm not claiming that's scientifically what is happening in my brain. I'm describing what it feels like from inside it.

And from inside it, the little bastard is adaptable.

And then it found something else to use.

The fact that I was writing all this down.

The thought was:

"would me having a drink at some point between now and end of the journey not make a great chapter"

That was genuinely the thought. Apparently G had literary ambitions before I did.

I could see how ridiculous it was even while I could hear the argument. Drink for the story. Give yourself something interesting to write down.

Fuck that.

These notes follow what happens to me. I don't make things happen for the notes.

If something happens, I write it down. I don't manufacture it because it might make a better story.

I've already supplied alcohol with enough excuses.