So very fat and very rude...

Alcoholism runs deep in my family's veins. Alcoholism and it's concomitant risks of suicide. Straight down through the Scots blood on one side of our family tree is a thick vein of violent alcoholic depression and suicide.

I have faced those demons myself; both as a child with the terrifying spectre of a drunk and violent person, much larger and much, much stronger than I lashing out wildly with no regard for who or what gets hurt. Until later, when it's far too late to heal the wounds sustained. The constant fear of doing, saying, or even looking wrong, always wondering how bad it might be this time.

And, because like-breeds-like I have faced it from the working end of bottles of whiskey, cheap and dirty scotch flooding my belly and my brain with fire. And loving it. Feeling such rage and hatred for everything that all you can do is lash out.

And I've stood on that precipice, literally and figuratively, wondering if it wouldn't just be easier to let go and drop. Knowing that no matter how painful the landing, it will at least be a brief pain compared to the constant pain and torture of the present.

A long time has passed, but memories like that don't fade. And I still lie awake at night thinking and wondering and regretting. But now, as an adult, I can recognise symptoms and signs and heed warnings I was too naive, or too fucked up to notice in the past. There is no "slippery slope". That's a fucking scapegoat fallacy. There is just a step. One too many without care and it's too fucking late to back to where you were.

So, recognising those steps those feelings and those emotions, I made a resolution. Stop, before you look down and see a familiar, well trod path beneath your feet. Stop before it's too late; because it will be one day, far to late. And you don't have nine lives anymore old son. You've burned too many bridges, too many times to keep thinking that it's "gonna be OK".

I've been trying to keep it on the quiet, like. Publicity doesn't help. I assumed everyone would figure it out soon enough anyway; I mean, all I hear from acquaintances and drinking partners is "are you here every night?", or "Shall I see you next week? Oh, of course, you're always here."

I thought it should be pretty obvious why I'm not around as much. Enjoying a weekend with my girlfriend, but avoiding certain places, and people, like the plague during the week. Leaving early from events, canceling dinner plans, or returning concert tickets. I didn't expect much in response, but I certainly didn't expect the levels of disrespect I'm receiving from some quarters.

In the last couple of weeks I have been called, even to my face, a loser, a drunk, a failure, a quitter and been told in no uncertain terms by a couple of folks that I can "fuck off then!". And I have. That's the point.

Curiously, other people have been more supportive. "Good for you,", or "No problem. Let me know if you fancy a quiet beer at the weekend", or even "How about a coffee then".

To those then, Thank you. To the rest, Thank you too, for helping me open my eyes. I suggest you try the same thing one day.