It’s been a week and a half since I posted my Dear Jane letter to alcohol.

I’d anticipated a certain level of support from my friends (which made receiving it no less heartening) but what I hadn’t expected was how many total strangers would respond. The Twitter messages, the emails – even blog posts – it was overwhelming. It also means that I have even more people to let down if I fuck this up.

It’s that last bit that’s the hardest. I’ve had weeks before where I haven’t drunk and it hasn’t bothered me. Mainly because I’ve always known that I could get totally shit-faced whenever I wanted to. Even in a London a few months back when I made the decision to quit, I still knew, deep down, that I could sneak a beer or ten when I needed to. And I did – mainly by hanging out with out-of-town friends or with willing accomplices. Now I don’t have that option – you know what? It’s really fucking hideous.

I never used to go into bars on my own. Or at least so rarely that I can actually list the times I have (the last was in Holborn a couple of years ago). And yet, walking back from dinner the other evening, and passing a bar, I wanted more than anything to go inside. The feeling just gripped me like an instant obsession. Just to have one (ha!) beer that no one would possibly find out about. I actually slowed down to a crawling pace, almost paralysed by the feeling.

But I didn’t go inside.

I don’t know what stopped me, but I’m pretty sure a large part of it was the thought of all the people who were so encouraging; and particularly of the people I promised I wouldn’t ever let down again.

The next day I met a good friend for coffee and she handed me a gift: Craig Ferguson’s autobiography, telling the story of his struggle with alcohol, and his eventual victory over it. My gratitude for the perfectly pitched – and amazingly thoughtful – gift was matched only by my relief that I hadn’t fucked up the previous evening.

It also made me realise that if I’m going to succeed at this fucking thing, I’m going to need to document the times when I feel overwhelmingly and ridiculously temped to secretly drink. So that’s what this post is. A confession, of sorts. That and a thank you to everyone who was the reason why I carried on walking.