I gave up drinking on New Years Day. That night I suffered a booze-free, sleepless night for the first time in a very long time. My stomach was seized with dread; the familliar pressure accelerating and hollowing out my breathing as I grip the pillow.
Not in a funny way.
It is fear of the future; it's not knowing what happens next: I've had it all my life.
Yesterday i was allowed back home under the proviso that i arrange my return in advance and ring ahead once I reached Finsbury Park. I can no longer text for the following reasons: Kelly finds it hard to read texts as her vision remains blurred, either from the medication or brain damage and secondly because she put her mobile in the tumble dryer and it no longer works. So i'm down to one line of communication left. They implement a code for me, a sort of stone aged caller i.d. - I have to ring a specific number of times so Kelly knows it's me. On the three times i do it Kate answers anyway.
I arrive at the flat not knowing what to expect. My keys still fit the locks which is encouraging...