 Dr. Sumerian's recovery log was written by me. You can find it on the SCP wiki and a link in the description. It's under a Creative Commons share alike attribution license. I sit in the bathroom stall on floor 13 of site 88. I cry for a little while and I try not to vomit. The problem started small. A few beers after work. I took a drink then another. I didn't know that feeling was possible. It was warm. I was happy. Midnight became dawn and I was still chasing it. Long since thrown out of whatever dive bar we'd haunted. I was in somebody else's house with people I don't recognize in the mirror. We laughed and I had another drink. I drove to the site. Sleepwalked through my work day. Back to where we started. I was there in the bathroom for just a few minutes to get myself together before it was time to go home. Care everything with me. This time I don't bother going out with friends. My brain will release the same endorphins in the presence of my dining table as it does with people who might care about me. And I forget. I wake up an hour after. I drink. Again. And I'm warm. Happy. Hours become months. People know I've got a problem. I have to get it under control or else I'm useless to them. I'm useless to them anyway. That's why I have a problem. Later that night I drink some more. I won't keep the voices out but it does take the edge off. This is impossible. I go to the sink. I pour out all of the bottles. I can be good. And for a few hours it's true. Then I see the empty bottles in the garbage can. And then I realize I'm not drinking because I can't drink. Not because I'm better. I go to bed. I can't sleep. I cry for a little while and I try not to vomit. Minutes become hours. I'm staring at the ceiling. Feeling like I'm dying. This is torture. I've made a mistake. I know facts and figures about this. I need to push through. The muscle shakes. The nausea. The pure distilled pain in my head. If I can just get to the other side I'll be all right. I won't go to work tomorrow. I'll call in and say I'm sick. And they'll accept the shared lie. Shivering. Hurting. This is my own doing. But of course there's a bottle in the end table. Of course I failed to find them all when I was good. But I'm not good anymore. I pull it out. There's no struggle. I drink immediately. Before it even has time to hit my bloodstream I feel better. Never good, but better. I go outside and I lay on the damp green grass. The deep black sky and cool night airs fuse my being. I am alone and wondrous and this feeling is beautiful. Stars twinkle in the night. I want to be here always. I drink again and again. I wake up on my side. The lights blinding. People are yelling. A tube is down my throat. Concerned people are trying to look into my eyes. I want to skip this moment in time. But they try to fix me anyway. They save my body because they don't know where the rot actually is. The next day I make a decision. No more. Everyone knows now. So I can just live. I don't get out of the hospital for two weeks. 14 days sober. I'm not alone at home. Foundation sent someone to monitor me to make sure I stay good. To turn 14 days into 15 days. A month later I'm back at work. Light duty for a while. Day 63 was not a particularly rough day. I had pizza and pasta for lunch. I laughed with my friends. The drive home was peaceful. Beautiful music on the radio. I go up to my apartment. I nod to my neighbor the one that called the ambulance for me. She smiles back. I close the door and I lock it. I go into the kitchen and I drink until I feel love again. I cry for a little while and I try not to vomit. I pass out on the kitchen floor. I wake up in the morning and nobody comes to save me. Thank you very much for watching. If you enjoyed the video hit the subscribe button and then hit the notification bell next to that so you're notified when I upload new videos. And then head on over to patreon.com forward slash D. Cimmerian and pledge at any level like everybody here on the screen already has including Sinjeriki who was pledged at $100. It's nice to know that I'm not alone out here and I will see you all again on Tuesday.