morning head: Wednesday, 6th May, 2015

This morning is a fucking train wreck. Waking up feels like trying to drag myself out from beneath three tons of twisted, broken steel, bodies and tables from the dining car.

All thanks that the wee man is content to lie on the floor and chill. Morning on.

Cold turkey is fine, but one thing at a time. I’ve tried going all out, dumping multiple dependencies at once – sugar, alcohol, caffeine, refined carbs. I’ve made this attempt more than once.

Typically lasts about three days and then I wind up passed out in a kiddy bath full of cheap scotch, a hypodermic syringe full of cold-press coffee in one arm, and the remains of a white chocolate cheese cake smeared all over my nether regions. There’s probably a cigarette stuck in one corner of my mouth for good measure, slowly burning away as I slumber, happily sated in the aftermath of my gleeful swan dive off the back of the wagon.

As I said, one thing at a time.

Seemed like a smart plan.

They call it the reward cycle or something. Cue, routine, reward, repeat. The key, they tell me, is to recognise the cues, the impetus to get high, and then either change the routine, or replace the reward. Don’t fight the after dinner slump, the craving for chocolate bingeing – after all, with a strength of will like mine, I’m doomed to fail. No, just replace the reward, the kilogram bag of peanut m&ms, with something else.

So I did. Coffee.

And here we are beneath the bent and broken carriages of that train we were riding to sobriety.

But who says I don’t learn from my mistakes? Replacing that late-night sugar binge clearly didn’t do me any favours. You think I’m replacing this morning’s desperate need to consume a gallon and a half of thick, black coffee with something else?

Not a fucking chance.

Morning, repetitionists.