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Seven days

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Day one:

I'm not quite sure how I should even address this. Dear journal or dear diary seems inaccurate seeing as this isn't so much a journal as a log of sorts. Addressing it in general feels counterproductive because I don't intend for anyone else other then myself to read this.

I suppose I could just leave it with no introduction or address of any kind as I do eith my various experiments. After all what is this is not an experiment of sorts? Albeit a ridiculous one. I was speaking with Alyssa the other day and she told me that I had a problem.

No one else would be so bold. Part of why I love her so much is that she says the things no one else can say. But this time it was just infuriating. She seems to think I have a problem with alchohol.

Which is stupid. Utterly insane. I am at the top of my class. I have not committed any I have not recently committed any crimes.

All things considered I am relatively put together, or as put together as someone like me can possibly be. So I sometimes drink during the day? It is not completely unheard of. So I get drunk by myself? It's certainly better than going to loud parties.

And besides, I'm eighteen years old just like she is. It's perfectly normal for me to be getting drunk and passing out. I'm not a child and Alyssa was supposed to be the one person who wouldn't coddle me. So after picking me out of the bushes last night, (and after I ended up throwing up on her new shoes) she issued me a challenge. Or an experiment as I've been calling it.

Go seven days without drinking. Easy.

It shouldn't even be a challenge.

Day two:

Doing fairly well so far but I am starting to get prominent headaches. It is unclear whether they are connected to my sobriety or not. More data is required.

Something I am noticing is I miss the numbness that alchohol affords me. Now whenever I feel angry or sad or lonely about Livvy or school or Ki other things, I need to bare it instead of replacing it with a nice fuzzy warmth. I also used to drink to deal with sensory overload. If  things were to bright or too loud I could dampen that a bit. But oh well.

It's not like I need it.

I keep having this phantom twitch in my fingers everytime I want a drink which I first dismissed as a stim. And maybe it is, but I did notice that it is usually accompanied by that burning feeling under my skin and in my skull which means it's time for another shot or another can of the latest fruity concoction Alyssa has gotten me into  (in a way this is technically her fault she should know better by now).

It always starts the same, no one stops me (which is a good thing) and then by the end of the night she and anyone else around me are giving me those looks. The look that is part pity part annoyance.

I am all too familiar with the look. And it makes me so furious because why are you so upset? This is what people do. They drink and have fun. Why should I be any different? Alyssa stopped suggesting we go out after she found the empty vodka bottles under my bed. After that I had to convert to more unconventional methods of getting around her.
I started filling water bottles and thermoses with vodka and seeing as she was the one with the actual ID, I had to resort to using my glamour rune to steal alchohol from the nearest convenience store. Perhaps I should feel guilty but it was a victimless crime, the corporation is worth millions.

As Ali would say, "be gay do crime."

I'm going on 72 hours now. I'll be fine.

Day three:

Fuck this. Why am I doing this anyways? I don't have anything to prove. Fuck Alyssa. Fuck Anush. Fuck everybody.

I haven't been able to sleep which isn't exactly new, but usually drinking helps. I am so fucking exhausted. I skipped my first class which is something I've never done before. But skipping one isn't a disaster. I just needed to sleep.

Not that it actually worked though. I just found myself staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing against me.

I just feel so angry. At everyone and everything. Livvy keeps disappearing and I can't figure out why. And then there's the thing that I never let myself think about.

Fuck Kit Herondale.

Based on what I've heard someone already is.

See this is why I don't like being sober. Apparently sober me is kind of an asshole.

But I don't think I used to be.

Day Four:

And now I can't run from what I was avoiding. I miss him. I miss him so much and it hurts.

Everything hurts. My head, my skin, my muscles. But most of all my heart. I miss Alyssa and Anush actually talking to me instead of treating me like a time bomb. I miss Livvy actually being here and being able to hold her. And I miss Kit. More than I would care to admit.

I feel so much of everything and I just wish it would stop. I try to do what I've always done, bury myself in school work or a new project or sex or my special interest, but it seems now that even Sherlock cannot save me from this because everywhere I go and everything I do I just ache.

It burns. In the way where I'm furious with him, and also in the way where I blame myself. If I wasn't sober at the moment then I wouldn't be able to recall the way he cried and the way his voice broke when he


No I'm actually not doing this.

Day five:

I am not the biggest fan of Sherlock adaptions overall, mostly because they have a tendency to be terrible. But perhaps BBC Sherlock was an outlier that should not have been counted.

However I do have a certain fondness for Elementry. It is not even particularly faithful to the source material and yet there is something about it.

My favorite thing about the show overall is most likely a quote from Sherlock (or the show's version of Sherlock) discussing his sobriety.

"My sobriety is simply a grind. It's just this leaky faucet that requires constant maintenance, and in return offers only not to drip. I used to imagine that a relapse would be the climax to some grand drama. Now I think that if I were to use drugs again, it would in fact be an anticlimax. It would be a surrender to the incessant drip, drip, drip of existence."

I think I understand that now. And I think I am tired of the drip of existence

Day one:

Ok. So I screwed up. Last night is a bit of a blur but I think I may have called Kit. I have no memory of what was said. I can't decide if this is better or worse then the alternative.

I just remember missing him. Feeling angry. Feeling betrayed. Being in love, the cause of all my fucking problems. I just needed to to stop.

I remember seeing Alyssa though. I thought that she would be angry, but she just seemed sad. Anush too. It wasn't until the morning when she tried to find my stash that we started fighting.

I tried to beg, to plead with her not to take it all. I told her I needed it but she said that was the reason she needed to get rid of it. And that was when it started to sink in.

Maybe she was right. Maybe I do have a problem. But even if that was true. Where do I go from here? How am I supposed to be sober forever?

How could any autistic person ever be sober forever?

I could never give up on life, never kill myself, purely for the reason that I honestly don't know what might happen to Livvy if I died. However, this isn't sustainable. One way or the other.

How am I meant to survive the rest of my life like this?

In the meantime I have the worst hangover.

Day who even gives a fuck two:

I feel a strong sense of deja vu.

Apparently experts state that I should be dealing with the issues that cause me to drink to get to the heart of the problem so to speak.

In that case, we'll be here until I am eighty. Provided I live that long of course.

Ok fine. For the sake of my sister. For the sake of my family and my friends.

I have an abandonment complex combined with severe trauma over be raised to hate and feel shame towards myself for being autistic by my father who was then murdered in front of me by my older brother. My mother died of cancer when I was eight and I have been inadvertently treating Alyssa like a replacement ever since we met which really isn't fair to her.

Do to being rejected mocked or dehumanized by various people I am now so utterly convinced that I am undeserving of love that I often refuse to examine my true emotions around people out of the fear that I might realize something I cannot handle. I might realize that I need someone. That I love them. I have also been involved in two wars now and they were both before I had turned sixteen. My twin sister was murdered right in front of me and as a result I attempted to revive her but only was able to ressuruct her ghost which keeps disappearing and I can't figure out why.

And then there is also the other thing. The thing I never let myself think about. I still can't. I think I would rather drink. Hell I would rather lose a hand then have to face it.

Over my lifespan, I have developed a talent for putting up barriers between me and my emotions. For pushing painful memories down into a forbidden locked box and leaving them there. Compartmentalizing was how I have survived all these years, along with avoidance and trying to think my way out of my problems. And when that doesn't work, I find something to take me away.

Because I don't want to be here. Not like this.

I remember one night after Dru told me Kit had a girlfriend I drank two whole bottles of tequila and I despise tequila. Not to mention some other strange substance that smelled vaguely alcoholic, so I downed that as well. I remember physically wrestling that bottle out of Alyssa's hands like it was my lifeline. I suppose in a sense it was. I ignored the looks from Alyssa, Anush and my other classmates from the scholomance as I committed alchohol robbery from their party and retreated to my dorm.

The room blurred and swirled together as I finally reached my bed, but I remember feeling at peace. Not happy neccesarily. But the absence of pain, and that was enough.

What if nothing else in the world provides me with that feeling?

But I got through another day.

And I am still alive.

At least that's something.