Picture This

A room, shrouded in gloom, no one had bothered to put the lights on, it was semi dark and layers of thick smoke hung in the air.

Everything was stained yellow, the furnishings grubby, old and threadbare.  Two people sitting there, one man and one woman.

The woman on the chair, the man on the sofa, both had drink, glass, roll ups and over flowing ash trays to hand.

The woman had come from her home to drink, as this was her drinking buddy, someone she had met at the detox centre.  She had brought draught vodka, the cheapest you can get.  It tasted like paraffin, and took a good half the bottle till you couldn't taste it and didn't feel you were going to throw it back up.

The man was drinking special brew.  He had just staggered to the shops with his last pennies, bought the beer and nicked a tin of sardines.  It was one of those with a top like a cola can, where you flick it up and back and tear off the flip top.  He just about managed it after a few minutes of trying, the oil spilling over him.

He lifted it to his mouth, no plates, no cutlery, just tipped it up and the woman watched as the oil spilled down his chin onto his shirt and trousers, already dirty and grimy.  He managed to push the fish into his mouth with his fingers, half chewing and half gagging, taking swigs of special brew to get it down.

The woman continued to drink and roll up cigarettes, one after the other.  They both sat in stony silence, drinking, smoking and him trying to wipe the mess from himself with the back of his hand.

He gave up and continued to drink.

The woman looked around, looked at him, thought of her children, felt absolute despair, self loathing and hopelessness and would cut her arms later to hurt herself.  She hated herself and her life.

She loved her children, she had always wanted children, wanted to give them the best childhood, better than she had.  She wanted them to have security, love and happiness.

SO WHAT THE FUCK WAS SHE DOING THERE?!

She cried self pitying tears.  Not realising even this was not her personal rock bottom.

That woman was me!

I still can't tell you after all these years how I didn't stop drinking then, or why I didn't.  I can't tell you how much I wished I had done.