Not a hugely scary or dramatic dream. I remember only a very small part of it. I was walking past a white tent with someone who was a good foot taller than me. I had a beer in my hand, and I took a swig of it. Then, as I walked past the tent, I realised what I'd done.

I don't even remember why I had the drink or how I got the beer. I just remember thinking, "Well, that's the drought over. Now I have to start all over again." That was the worst bit, and it's funny, because I'd forgotten about that.

Before I stopped drinking on 16-01-00 I'd had several attempts at giving up; the longest lasting four months. I remember making the decision at the end of that four months to take up drinking again. I rationalised and rationalised it in my head until I had convinced myself I wouldn't feel bad about it anymore. But I'd forgotten how bad it felt to realise that all the work had gone to waste.

I woke up pretty upset. I'd forgotten that domino-drop effect of falling off the wagon - you feel so bad about yourself for "failing", that you keep drinking to numb the pain. And so the viscious circle begins, and it takes so much to give it up all over again. That's why I know I could never have just one drink - because it would be so much more than one drink. With one mouthful I could lose everything, which sounds overdramatic, but I don't believe it is.

I'm terrified of drinking again. I'm really, really scared of it. Sometimes, I think people who hate me will secretly feed me alcohol, just to destroy me. Good old alcoholic paranoia. I'm pretty careful about who I accept drinks from; but then that's a good move for both drinkers and teetotallers.

Sometimes, to be brutally honest, I really hate drinkers. It doesn't really matter which drinkers or how much they're drinking or how it affects them, usually. I just hate them for associating with what has caused me so much pain. I think I've said this before - it's like your best friend sleeping with your ex-boyfriend, the one who totally screwed you over. It's crazy but I feel betrayed by my friends who drink, sometimes. Like they just don't get it, even though it's not them who has the problem, it's me.

Most of the time I'm okay with it. I know some people can drink, and other's just can't, or shouldn't. I have a few friends who I can see have alcoholic traits, but I would think long and hard before saying anything. Most of the time I can accept that most people can take a drink and be safe with it. I'm just not one of those people. I'm the minority, and that can suck. Sometimes it makes me feel very old and boring.

Nevertheless I stick by it. I can whine and moan and bleat but it won't change anything. And I always have the choice to drink or not, but if I want to live a proper life like other people, I don't. There are a lot of theories on what causes alcoholism (genetics, body chemistry) and I don't really know what I think about that. I just know I have the disease.

I'm probably repeating myself here. It's pouring with rain out and I'm tired and in two days time, I will have been dry for two years. Two years is such a long time, but I can still taste the drink sometimes. The smell of a good beer is still pretty intoxicating, for want of a better word. I love it and I hate it. I love drink, and I hate it.

Most of the time, the best idea is for me to stay well away from it. When I can't, or choose not to, I make sure I've got people around who know the situation. Most people are really good about it, which is amazing to me given my age and previous zest for partying, and for that I'm really grateful.