In fact, while I'm on the subject of alcohol, here's something I wrote (as part of a barely audible monologue for a piece of related music) while I was in the middle of the difficulties I refer to in the previous post. I make no claims for any kind of facility with words, it might read really badly (which is fine by me), but it did seem to sum up where I was at.
Blind to my own thoughts: blank
Bruises sustained in ways unexplained
(must have eaten, fallen or worse)
Some things are lost (like whole sections of time spent)
A case of memory versus imagination
Panic at something which triggers off the merest suggestion:
A balance between what might have been/what I'm capable of;
What other people might have seen
What's the worst thing I could be guilty of (there are no signs of anything telling)?
Plenty of unturned stones ready and waiting,
Once the pain has eased and thirst has been sated
The first moments of realisation, the opening lines of a little eternity:
Nameless and shapeless, yet capable of harm more than anything else
The smallest thought, the slightest suggestion
The merest aside, the darkest elation