I've got the bottle

 I’m Sandy and I’m swimming, no, I’m drowning, in something I cannot shake. I’m a cleaner at the agency. Best job of my life and I’ve been here for well over a decade. If it were up to me I’d stay here until I’m no longer able to get on my hands and knees to make the place nice and sparkly clean. Seeing this place gleam is what powers my engine each and every day. I’m the fairy godmother of clean and would give that Kim Woodburn a run for her money, she’d be well pushed to find fault with my work.

But there’s a blot on my card that continually gets darker. I wouldn’t call it a problem, per se, and I’m totally in control and I mean that and I’m not just saying it. Okay, we all have our vices, our flaws and we all have our little whatever-it-is to aid us in pulling through those tiresome working days. This… thing… it gives me a yank and it’s like it actually holds my hand. It’s a solid and dependable friend I’ve grown to appreciate. Life has a knack of launching stuff at you and you find it tough to cope don’t you, it’s no wonder we turn to things that help us forget or help us power through.

When did it start? Gosh, we’re talking a year or so. My home life was getting disruptive, my fella was let go from the docks and we sniped and argued like it was nobody’s business. He was so laid back about the whole thing I thought he was a DFS sofa. Money issues aside, I’d been rowing with my dad over how best to care for my mum, bless her. It all piled on me and I couldn’t breathe. I was cleaning as per usual. There’d been a bit of a little bash to celebrate Paula’s birthday. I was just about to get stuck in to clearing away when I saw a virtually full bottle of wine on the side. I’m not proud of what I did but I took a swig, then another, then two more. Each gulp faded out my anxieties. Before I knew it I’d nearly wolfed the bottle back.

It's easy to hide. The wine they discard is just that – they expect it to be lashed out. I’ve come to depend on their tiny soirees after work, that’s when I know I’ll be able to quieten my stress down, just a little. My heart quickens when I get in and clock the leftover ale but just as equally sinks if there isn’t any. I know, I know, tight cow I bet you’re calling me. Oh don’t worry, I do buy my own too when I have to and keep it in my handbag. I saw this sturdy plastic bag with a nozzle on eBay you can put wine into, so you can’t hear any clanking of bottles, it was a couple of quid. Bargain.

The thought of not being able to do that terrifies me. I don’t get wasted, I’m always in control, I get fuzzy now and again but I have a bit of a giggle with it, and if you can make your job fun then that’s half the battle won isn’t it?