I don’t really have a drinking problem.

I don’t really have a drinking problem.  At least that’s what my drinking problem keeps telling me. That annoying little voice in th back of my skull. He first started talking to me about two weeks into my sobriety. Letting me know that I’d proven my point. That impish little turd tells me a lot of bullshit like that.

“If you’ve made it this far without a drink obviously, you got it under control.”

“It’s been a rough night you could have a beer. Just one a llittle one, a twelve ouncer, just to take the edge off.”

“No one has to know.”

“You’re only doing this to be stubborn. Just because you said you were done drinking doesn’t mean you actually have to go through with this.”

“Everyone else drinks, they don’t seem to have a problem with it.”

“You think you have a problem? Look at that son of a bitch over there. Now him, he’s an alcoholic. You just liked to get drunk.”

“They all think you’re being a judgmental prick, just because you won’t have a drink with them.”

He’ll just ramble on and on at times. Sometimes I can hear him so clear I wonder if I am just a tad mental. Like the part of me that was a drunk got splintered off and is trying like all hell to reconcile with the rest of my brain. The irritating little piss-ant is always looking for a way to sneak back in. I have to keep my eye on him all the time because if he manages to worm his way through the walls he’ll be certain to start a coup, and it will probably quick and bloodless.

The frustrating part is that the only way I know for sure to clam that pathological little bastard up is to let him have what he wants. Sufficed to say that is not going to happen so for now I am stuck with him.

I am really starting to dislike that little shit.

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