1-12-2001 | 3:45 PM

I have a bleeding ulcer. Okay I said it. That is why I've been ordered to stop drinking. I vomit blood and not intentionally. And I have blood seeping from other not so nice places. Gross, huh? Treatment will not be successful unless I abstain from alcohol. And so I haven't had a drink in over a month. And the urges are driving me even more insane that I usually am. So I took 2 prescription sleeping pills last night. And I swear as I lay in bed I could hear people laughing in my head. But then these sleeping pills are classified as 'Hypnotic/Sedative' so what did I expect. And if my psychiatrist found out I'd finagled these pills from my MD I'd be in a lot of trouble.

Speaking of Holier-Than-Thou Mr. Cranky-Pants Psychiatrist. Really, that's his name. I have an appointment with him at 5:30 PM tonight. I may start taking one of those funky 'anti alcohol urge' type meds again.

{{Ooooo flashback: A few years ago a different psych doc prescribed one of those meds for me. But if you do drink while on them you get violently ill. Vomiting and the like. I stopped taking the med so I could start drinking again. Really helped the urges, huh?}}

So, not only do the pills seem like a waste of time, but if I do drink I'll be vomiting up more blood.

Last night I fought with myself. My Step-Dad had left out a bottle of vodka on the kitchen counter. Helpful huh? And as the urges made me want to bang my head against the wall I kept picking up the bottle and then putting it down. "Just one drink" I told myself. Who am I kidding? I'd take the bottle and lock myself in the basement, drinking until I passed out on the floor. So that's when I took the two sleeping pills, played some Radiohead and cried as those crazy voices made fun of me. But I didn't drink.

I only saw my Dad's addiction after my Mom divorced him. I was 14 at the time. I blamed my Mom. If she hadn't left him he'd be okay. My brother and I stayed with my Dad every other weekend. He'd sit and drink an entire bottle of Peach Schnapps while Jethro Tull blared on the stereo. He'd laugh and dump potato chips on the floor. My brother thought it was funny. Dad never cleaned the apartment. Food on the floor. Dirty dishes in the sink. I couldn't sleep because cockroaches climbed the walls. Two of our pet guinea pigs stayed at the apartment. When my brother and I weren't there my Dad didn't feed them and so they died. My Dad would drive us places and he'd be drunk and swerving all over the road. I'd scream at him as his eyes closed. I visited him in the hospital after he'd been hit over the head with a baseball bat during a drug deal. His boss sent him to rehab four times. And then he was fired and lost the apartment. The apartment my brother and I spent most of our lives in. He'd call me at 3:00 AM from wherever he was crashing. Every time the phone rang I jumped. I feared I'd get the call saying my Dad was dead.

My Dad has now been sober for over 5 years. I recently found out that my Dad's addiction starting earlier. Right after my parents were married actually. My Mom would ask him not to drink around her. So he'd wait until everyone was asleep, sit in the kitchen and drink himself into oblivion.

My Grandfather used to hide bottles of Whiskey in the umbrella stand in the hallway. Because Grandma told him not to drink around her.

And some say I have inherited this addiction. I have to take some blame though. I haven't let this stuff out in a long time. I'm emotionally spent folks.