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Just sayin’ hi

2:06 pm

Happy 2023, everyone! Just stoppin’ by to say hi!

It has been way too long, I must admit. I think my last post was back in June of last year, so this is a long overdue check-in.

Welp, it was a long, hardish fall and winter, so I’ll spare you the details. BUT, the outline went something like this: we went on an Alaskan cruise in June; came home to being forced to dive into a house hunt; almost bought a house but the deal fell through; and ended up staying in our current rental. I went states-side in September; we had a few tropical storms but no big deal (it’s been a really rainy season, though, which is good for our cisterns); and we attended a wedding, once again, on the mainland in October. I think I overdid it–finally admitting that I am not superhuman and need much more mental downtime than I’ve literally been able to afford myself the past few years, at least in my mind–such that, by the time Thanksgiving, my partner’s birthday, Christmas, and New Year’s were done and gone (we took a trip to see both our parents this year; it was tiring, actually), I was burnt. I still am burnt.

So burnt that the first two weeks of this year, 2023, sort of feel like I was in a blackout. Haha.

Anyhoo, I wanted to check in and say, I am still here. And I hope you are, too.

I haven’t thought of my “word” for this year, but a few weeks ago, I kind of wanted it to be, “me”. Haha. What I think I mean is, I want to spend more time with “me” this year, give myself more time and space to just be–and to be me, the real me, the me that is not work or thinking or self or ego. I think I need that. How? Maybe meditate more, maybe reach out to others more and commune in group meditation and yoga. Lately, I’ve been told I’m negative, and I guess I have to accept and own that; though, a lot has gone down these past two-plus years that have made me definitely “earn” my being 48 (and the cynicism that has crept in), and not 45 or 46, which feels like light years away.

In any case, while I may get cynical from time to time, I am STILL HERE, still fighting for…me, I guess? The light, I suppose, which has been a little bit lacking lately.

It’s sunny, so I’m heading out for a hike. See you all more this year! Happy 2023!

Tags: 2023, burnout, burnt out, downtime, happy new year, hope, introvert, lighter mind, me time, New Year, overthinking, ruminative thinking, thinking, word of the year

Comments 3 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Change, Choices, Coping mechanisms, Death, dementia, Depression, Holidays, Life, Long-term sobriety, Meditation, Recovery, Sobriety

It’s been too long

20 Jun

11:04 pm

And things have happened since the last time I posted!

For one, my father passed away on March 20. I guess I just didn’t have the words–let alone the heart or mind–to write about it then. I mean, it’s been three months now and I still feel a bit, well, confused by the new reality of, he’s not here. His long, horrifying struggle with dementia ended pretty quickly for him–unceremoniously, as it were, but I suppose that’s how it ends for everyone with dementia. One day, you’re up and about, talking, even if no one can understand what you’re saying, and the next day, you’re slurring your words and your bladder and swallowing functions start to deteriorate to the point of no return.

It really was as if–and “as if” is the key phrase, because dementia was slowly but very surely taking my dad down over the past 18 months–Dad was talking “normally” on a Friday and slurring his words and talking nonsense on Saturday. I’d say it took about two months for him to go from being somewhat coherent and able to at least engage in a relatively one-sided conversation, to getting a UTI, having his bladder function turn on him, and then, watching his ability to swallow both hard and soft foods, then finally liquids, disappear. TWO months, and he was gone.

My twin brother and I were able to fly to his bedside on the Wednesday before the Sunday he died; we spent three days with him, sitting vigil. By the time we got there, he wasn’t conversant; even still, we were able to be with him, watch him, and begin to process his death, which, um, wasn’t pretty… By Saturday afternoon, Dad was breathing very hard, trying futilely to cough up this green-colored Phlegm From Hell, which was filling his lungs beyond our control to fix or stop or clear from his airway. My brother lost it, and I barely held on. We decided to not come back that evening, and he passed the next morning. I don’t even remember now if our step-mom stayed all night or went home in the wee hours. In any case, I think it was meant to be–he didn’t want us around when he passed, I am pretty sure of it.

Even now, I think back to those few nights, checking under the sheet to see if his legs had started to show mottling, and remember being more shocked at how frail and thin his legs had become than the fact that the splotches meant imminent death. This was my DAD, big and strong and frankly, really quite overweight toward the final years of his life. How could it happen?

After the service, we had him buried at a local cemetery, next to his grandfather, whom he really loved and probably considered more of a father figure than any other man in his life. Gramps, as we called him, was a good 20 years older than Dad when he died. My dad was only 75; I can’t help but zone out once in a while these days, wondering, how did he get this dementia? Why did it take him down so fast? What could he, we, anyone have done to prevent or stop it? It’s just really hard to believe that at 48–just turned a few days ago; I feel tired, not old–my dad is already gone…?

I wish I had more to say about my dad’s passing, but I’m sure it will come. It was and is a lot to process; the whole thing was so draining over the past almost 2 years, and the whole downturn from bad to worse happened even faster, over 2 months, that it’s just hard to accept. One shocking surprise to seeing him the way we saw him on his death bed was, the forgiveness came hard and fast. I mean, 48 years of anger was just whiffed away, like the breath knocked out of me; it went easily, quietly, with no resistance. I had no idea that it would happen that way, and my brother felt it, too; for that, I am so grateful. The other good thing is, while friends who have had parents die talk about the profound shock and grief–I can say that, with dementia, there isn’t that. What I felt was profound relief when Dad finally passed; we had already lost him, as it were, 2 years ago, and we had that entire time to grieve (and writhe, and be angry) as he entered a new fresh level of dementia Hell every few months, as he descended deeper into realms that NO ONE deserves to know. We already lost him, and his death was a letting go, a release; FINALLY, he is at peace. Or, if he isn’t actually at peace, wherever he is now has GOT to be better than where he was, living inside dementia’s walls.

Fast forward three months, and we just got back from a 10-day vacation, where we hit Seattle for a few days and then went on a week-long Alaskan cruise! Wowie, SO gorgeous, quiet, and profoundly pristine up there! Of course, I had a plethora of SHIT go on, everything from a sciatica flare to severe insomnia (more severe than normal; I only got 2 hours sleep every night for 4 nights in a row! Might as well have drunk, if I’m going to feel hungover, right? Haha…not), seasickness, a stye (taking a second glaucoma–yeah, did I mention I have glaucoma?–eye drop, this one with BAK, and predictably, it gave me a stye), and, whoops, COVID! Must have gotten it maybe Tuesday (about a week ago now), but I guess it’s a “light” version because my main symptoms–nasal congestion, bodyache, and dizziness/fog brain–well, I was able to trek around Alaska while having them. Anyway, all that stuff is over and we have a lot of great memories and great pics from this adventure.

As these past few years seem to be going, things just keep piling on: We got home yesterday and this morning, we received a text from our landlord that they want to list our place, so…we have to move again!? ARGH. We’ve only been in this rental for a year! I mean, we are ready to buy, but there isn’t much of anything on the market down here (slash, anywhere). A real estate friend in Vegas told me that the market is about to crash, which would be great news if it hurried up and did so before we are forced to spend money on a place that we only half want! Anyway, I know it will work out for the best, I’m just feeling COVID-wiped and still getting my land legs back, so it all feels a bit overwhelming.

OH, and I almost forgot–as I’m sure you did, too, since I don’t write that much anymore–it was my TEN-YEAR blog anniversary on June 14! Wow; well, all I can say is, this blog has meant the world to me, more than any other writing project I’ve ever done or taken on; AND, I just want it to go on! So, thanks, everyone, for reading these past DECADE of years, for helping me get and stay sober, and for sticking with me even when I only post a few times a year! I really do promise to post more this coming year…

Tags: alaska cruise, alaskan cruise, blogging anniversary, blogiversary, blogoversary, covid, covid-19, dad death dementia, dad dying dementia, decade, insomnia, letting go of anger, moving, release of anger, rental market, rental market crash, ten years

Comments 14 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Change, Death, dementia, Family, Insomnia, Life, Long-term sobriety, Parents, Random, Recovery, Sobriety, Travel

Staring into the distance

30 Aug

6:06 pm

I’ve been staring into the distance lately, unsure of what will make me feel better. My “grief”–in quotes because, I guess I never really fully understood that grief can entail a bunch of different feelings, not just sadness or an ache for what once was–seems to come and go; today, it really came, and I was kind of surprised by how it’s tired me out. Hence, just staring into the distance. (A really pretty distance, too, with the “witching hour” sunset colors covering the sky in pastels.)

I took a long walk today, and well, honestly, I reached a point along the way when my slight crying turned to weeping. It was a much-needed processing of my feelings for my sweet, precious friend (our dog) having passed almost three weeks ago this coming Wednesday. It did not help–or, did it?–that I walked where I used to take the dogs, when we both were younger. I’ve finally accepted that my brand of grieving entails anger and a feeling of “what’s the point” before it dissolves into sadness. And, I understand now that in losing someone–including a pet, since they are someone to me–the sadness and nostalgia that comes along with the loss is as much about you getting older and confronting your mortality as it is about that person or pet having gotten older and died.

(Speaking of grief, there is a lot of loss going around these days, and uncertainty; that doesn’t help either, for sure.)

I feel undeniably older these days, and even before our dog died, I couldn’t help but fixate on how I used to be, how we used to be, what we used to do, what we used to like to do. Of course, this has been made worse by the fact that we literally moved home again when we come back last November. I mean, we live in the same house as we did eight years ago, and we walk the same roads, so to speak, but we are definitely different. And that is jarring. I’m grateful that we’ve come a long way, and generally, I like how we’ve evolved! Yet, it all feels gone, sometimes.

I feel mentally strong enough to handle it, though. And, by that, I mean, let the episodes of grief and feeling brain-dead simply wash over me and then…NOT drink and actually move on from the pain. I don’t dwell, like I used to; I don’t drink, like I used to–both of which just reinforced the other, and allowed me to stay stuck in the moment. It has taken over eight years to get to this point, though; and, it’s been a daily struggle to become able to bounce back more easily from bouts of grief, nostalgia, and other emotional pain.

Deep thoughts on the road today, is all. Hopefully, I’ll be able to sleep this off and wake up, reset, tomorrow morning. It’s a new week–all will be well, I have to remind myself. All will be well…

(and, because my coping mechanisms aren’t that awesome, I spent most of last night making a homemade white cake AND homemade ice cream custard; I mean, if one takes five egg whites and the other needs four yolks…what are ya supposed to do?)

Tags: aging, anger, best friend, death, dog, getting old, grief, grieving, how long do you grieve, how long does grief last, loss of a pet, mortality, nostalgia, sadness, walking

Comments 5 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Death, Life, Long-term sobriety, Mental health, Mortality, Recovery, Sobriety, Sugar addiction

Our girl is gone…

14 Aug

6:21 pm

…and, it feels like the end of an era. It kind of is, the end of an era. She was with us for almost a decade (8.5 years from the time I met her until the day she died, which was on Wednesday)–during that time, she lived her entire life…and we, too, lived a decade of our own lifetime. I think that’s what’s most jarring right now, is that we aged a decade, too; we saw a decade of our life disappear, too. A lifetime, in an instant–that’s how all those years of fun, growth, and love seem to me. Lifetimes are instants; the mind cannot comprehend, truly, the passage of time.

What did it all mean, I can’t help but wonder? Sure, she was my higher power; she was literally my entire (albeit small, I see that now) world, after I moved here and got sober, but before I got the courage to re-enter the “real” world (of work and friends and all that comes with stepping out). She, along with our other dog and my boo and my neighborhood–they were my world, for years; and there was nothing more I wanted, truly.

I feel a bit guilty that I “outgrew” only needing this dog, this world! As she aged, started to hurt, became more subdued in her older years, um, so did I! I mean, I grew up, so to speak, alongside her. When I looked through pictures of myself from back in her younger day, I, too, looked so much younger then, it seems: brighter, happier, more smiling. I was beaming, probably out of love for her, my new life, my newfound sobriety, maybe just the giddy youth that you don’t realize you still very much have in your 30s. My 40s have forced me to grow up and stop shitting (as many) unicorns, as it were; I still loved her with all my heart up until her very last day. I know she knows that, and I know it was her time, yet, I still feel a tad guilty.

But I also feel relieved. Her final night was really hard, and I woke up convinced that neither she nor I ever wanted to see her in so much pain ever again. So, we called the vet out to the house, and, surrounded by our loving arms, looking out at the water in her favorite spot (dating back almost a decade)–our girl passed, very peacefully.

It’s been quiet around here, that’s for sure. I am relieved that after about 1.5 years of tending to her needs 24/7, I don’t have to worry about what she’s doing and if she needs me. The final few weeks were really painful to watch, wondering with every passing second if she was in pain, if she was now deaf, if she was overmedicated or experiencing some kind of dementia or just in distress. Now that I have all my time and energy back, it’s like, what do I do with myself?

I was thinking that, it’d be a shame to not get another dog. You hear people who have gone through this say, Oh, I can’t do that again. Same thing with humans who lose a spouse–there will be no one who can replace him/her. Yet…we are made to love. And, to spend the rest of your life not doing what you were meant to do–I can’t see it.

I mean, what do we have to show for our lifetime together? It’s like, we’re back in the same house, the same place, and I feel like nothing happened; yet, it all did, right here. It all went down here, years and years of love. Is that all there is, really, is the love, the act of loving–and there is nothing tangible (unless you have babies or create art) to show for that, and there shouldn’t be. That’s the nature of love; that’s the nature of life. We come, we love, we go.

So, why do anything then? Are all our pursuits outside of loving each other and our animals simply neuroses, compulsions that propel us to work, strive, achieve, accomplish? Who knows?

Anyway, I’m glad she’s no longer struggling, and, I’m joyful, truly, that she got to live out her fierce, fun-loving life until the very end.

Tags: all you need is love, dog, dog is higher power, euthanize, higher power, love, love is all there is, pets are family, put dog to sleep, to love is to live

Comments 10 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Death, Family, Higher Power, Life, Long-term sobriety, Recovery, Sobriety

A prisoner in her body

10 Aug

2:59 pm

I wrote this yesterday, but, last night was the same and this morning, it’s been the same, so, it still applies. I guess the only difference is that, while our dog is still alive, she’s struggling hard–and, I realize that we’ll probably have to put her to sleep within the next few days.

From yesterday:

Well, that wasn’t a fun night. I went to bed around the usual time, 2:30 am, and was woken at 3, then at 4:30, then probably around dawn, then finally at 9–by our dog, trying to get comfortable in a body that has seemingly become a prison overnight. I mean, over the past few days, she’s gotten much worse: she can’t get up, she can’t walk, she can’t get comfy in any position (as in, no position seems to take her pain away). Granted, we just started her on two more meds, both antibiotics, and I sort of want to “blame” those for messing her up, but…I haven’t found anything linking lameness and back legs crossing and giving out to a sulfa drug and doxycycline!

It just sucks. We had our neighbor over–she’s like family, and silly as it sounds, if our dogs were our kids, then she would have been our dogs’ aunt–and, as a longtime owner of many different dogs and other animals, she was urging us to just get it done. Take her in, she’s suffering.

It sucks.

What’s more? Not that it bothers me, but it sort of makes me chuckle, ironically (we’ve spent so much on this dog over the years, from endless pain meds to laser therapy!): it’s going to cost us about $700 to euthanize her and then, have a private cremation here. Everything is more expensive on an island, I suppose.

Writing about it, talking about it–I guess it makes it more real.

I was thinking, would I get more dogs after this? I moved here about eight years ago, and our two dogs were such a huge part of our early life together, as a couple; of my own early island life; of my sobriety. The one died a painful (horrific, actually) death from lymphoma over two years ago, and this one has been a bit lame all her life (she has had hip dysplasia since she was young, as long as I’ve known her), but has been getting progressively worse for the past 1.5 years.

Anyway, these dogs were the loves of my life. I’m not sure there are any other dogs out there that I could love as much, that would compare to these dogs. We gave them everything, and they gave us their all. What more could you ask for? Is the pain of their long, horrible deaths worth the joy that we exchanged over the years, the nonstop love? Probably. Doesn’t feel like it right now. Would I be able to love other dogs the way I loved these two? And, would I even want to try? I guess we’ll have to get through this and see…

I wonder, do others consider their dogs more like humans? This is my third dog, and each one suffered a drawn-out, painful end; I mean, maybe the end is always painful, no matter what species, if you’re experiencing old age or an age-related disease.

I don’t even know if words will cut it, but I will miss my best girl, my fiercest friend; a found (discarded) object, beyond precious.

On that note, yeah, not a great morning, but, it’s still sunny and I should get outside to absorb some of the light. Good news is that my hormones are settling down (going away, drop by drop–haha), so the night heat and insomnia have improved (not the heart palpitations, though). Bad news is that our area has seen a significant increase in positive COVID cases, so we’re probably going to see some sort of enhanced lockdown again soon. Fingers crossed a few job leads pan out and/or I can keep collecting a bit of unemployment–this week is going to be a wash if we have to put our dog down. I’ll need at least a day or two to zone out and collect what’s left of my shattered heart.

Through all of this, the great news is that I haven’t even thought about drinking. I haven’t once even considered it. I made a cake last night, kind of in preparation for filling myself up with, well, something, when she’s gone; but, eh, my binge eating days are long gone, and I most likely won’t feel like eating at all when we finally do make the call to our vet.

More soon. Thanks for listening, friends.

Tags: best friend, canine, dog, dogs are family, dogs are human, euthanize, osteroarthristis, put dog to sleep, put down

Comments 6 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Anxiety, Binge drinking, Change, Death, Life, Long-term sobriety, Mortality, Random, Recovery, Sobriety

Do what you want, and do it now

24 Sep

10:53 pm

Well, it’s been a while since I’ve posted–per usual; I have never been so busy in my entire life, it seems, with work! BUT, I wanted to get this quick one in because well, it can’t wait:

Someone in my family unexpectedly, and rather unceremoniously, DIED this morning, and it was quite shocking!? It IS quite shocking. I mean, one minute you’re doing something in the back yard, the next minute, you’re dead.

Your big, huge, amazing life–the one that you spent countless hours trying to live, to not live, to outsmart, to hack, to tweak, to overhaul, to fill and fill and fill–is gone. In an instant. And no one really cares that much; no one outside the people who knew him, or you, or her. (I mentioned it on a work call, because I was a bit blown away, and my colleagues were like, Ohhh, I’m sorry; and by the next split second, they were laughing about something, and we had all moved on. The momentous event–the most important event of your life, I might say–of his death was left behind, dissolved in memory even as my mouth was still hot from breathing it.)

What did I conclude, then, today, as I felt alternately sad, angry, and well, selfishly pained for my own self, imagining a similar loss that will one day happen to me, and how it might rip me to shreds? Well, one, don’t waste time on bad people. You and only you get to make the call as to what that means, but to me, it means toxic people, or people who don’t want to help themselves. Two, do what you want, and do it now. It’s as simple as that.

Do what you want, and do it now!

I had an interview today that put me further than ever on what I think I want to be my new path–a career change into the nonprofit world. Pretty happy about that, actually. And, we done gave our notice weeks ago, so we’re definitely packing up a trailer of stuff and towing it to our next home in November–a place that we have yet to determine, but will probably have things like water, and trees, blue and green…and humidity, sweet Jesus, humidity!?

Tags: death, dying, follow your bliss, toxic people, toxic relationships

Comments 6 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Change, Death, Life, Moving, Recovery, Sobriety

Our bear passed on…

21 Mar

10:58 am

On Saturday, March 17th, our “son” (beagle mix, almost 10 years old) passed on to the next realm, or whatever you believe exists after our brain turns off and we take our last breath. We were beside him on the bed as the house-call vet (who happened to have gone to vet school in the islands, which was actually quite comforting–we just moved here, and it still feels quite foreign) stabbed some “feel good” drugs into his heaving frame, and then followed that with barbiturate. I have had people and pets die, of course, but I have never been in the room as the creature took its last breath.

I almost took my last breath as, a moment later, our dog stopped breathing and his eyes went glassy and still. It was heart-wrenching, and it was seared into my brain.

As I’ve written, he was such an intimate part of my island life, and was everything to me for the 6 years that I knew him: coworker (I work from home), confidant, best friend, higher power. Once, when I was still drinking and had just arrived on island to visit the man who is now my fiance, I drank and blacked out and yelled; and our boy was so scared he hid outside under the truck. That was before I knew what a gentle, sweet soul he was, apt to cower at even the slightest expression of frustration, the smallest rise in voice. I vowed never again to scare him like that, and it was that memory, along with so many nights of love, comfort, and simply his presence that kept me from uncorking a bottle of red wine.

As my mind, however, begins to do what I could not imagine a few days ago–accept the unacceptable, normalize the horrific, move on from death–all I’m left with is a sense of awe and anger: the mind is an amazing, if not entirely effed up, place. Haha.

As we moved through the first hours without our little man, I couldn’t help but recognize in my actions the similarities between coping with death and dealing with a hangover! I spent the day clinging to “micro-goals,” like, breathing, like thinking about my next breath without having a panic attack; putting some food down my throat; paying my bill; rearranging the pillows on the couch; forcing a smile just to know that my face was still there.

And I gasped when I suddenly realized that EVERY one of my hangovers was a small death–a little death, but a death all the same. And, of all the horrific events of the last few days, that realization was kind of the most horrifying–that we, as alcoholics, put ourselves through a death every single day, for months, years, decades. How cruel are we to ourselves! Our bodies, minds, and souls deserve so much more; we deserve to be sober, we deserve to live.

I have wanted to smoke a cigarette the past few days, when my heart has felt so tight I could barely think; but not drink. I can’t imagine going through this trauma and being drunk or hungover. I still think about my old drinking buddies, some of whom are still using booze to coat, soothe, forget; and I wonder, how is it that I got here, that I GET to be free, to actually live through this pain alcohol-free–such that I can, again, transform it to something else, something positive, something light?

It was interesting to watch our other dog sniff at death and then immediately move away; it was saddening but also interesting to watch myself caress my boy’s corpse right after he stopped breathing, check his eyes (I was like, Is he definitely gone?) a couple times, and then…move away. We instinctively move away from death. Likewise, eventually, we instinctively move away from drinking alcoholically; drinking alcoholically is death, and we move away from it to life, to light, to clarity, to actually processing our reality.

I miss him, but I know I have to be grateful for all the life he gave me, the love he allowed me to see in myself, the thing that we conjured together by loving each other–that lives on, I have a strong sense. And for that I am grateful.

Tags: accept death, canine lymphoma, death of dog, dog, dog is higher power, dying dog, hangover is death, hangover is like dying, higher power, lymphoma, mortality

Comments 6 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Coping mechanisms, Death, Gratitude, Hangover, Higher Power, Life, Mortality, Psychology, Recovery, Relationships, Sobriety

Life is too sweet to be bitter

25 Jul

4:52 pm

I came across a story today that about Kris Carr, and it totally inspired me. Here’s her final quote of the piece:

I think that life is just too sweet to be bitter. Once I was able to change my focus, desperation led to inspiration. I made so many changes, and I thought: This is an awesome life. I mean, honestly, I don’t think anyone has a better life than me. How can you live with the knowledge of cancer? I might not ever be able to get rid of it, but I can’t let that ruin my life. . . . I think: Just go for it. Life is a terminal condition. We’re all going to die. Cancer patients just have more information, but we all, in some ways, wait for permission to live.

For many reasons, this struck me as relevant to sobriety. It strikes at the core of what we avoid as drinkers: we wait for permission to live, we live in fear, we don’t just Go For It. Once we change our focus, we can go from desperate to not drink to inspired to live life.

Today, I’m reconfirming my commitment to running more, embracing the challenge of developing balance in my life, and giving up (trying to) the Diet Coke. If there are small things I can do (juicing might come soon, why not?), then let’s DO THIS.

Tags: alcoholic, alcoholism, anger, balance, binge drinking, change, choices, death, Diet Coke, don't be bitter, drinking, fun, go for it, goals, health, health food, healthy diet, healthy living, juicing, just do it, Kris Carr, leafy greens, life is good, life isn't fair, living in fear, mortality, recovery, resentment, sober, sobriety, soda, vegan, vegetarian, wine, women

Comments 6 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Change, Choices, Death, Fun, Goals, Health, Life, Mortality, Recovery, Sobriety, Soda

I wonder, how long was I running on fumes?

6 May

5:37 pm

Cuz these days, I have no motivation. Sure, I do stuff, I’m planning stuff, but only if charged on sugar and caffeine. And, I could be doing SO much more. The natural spring of ambition I had in college? Good Jesus, that’s over. The kind I had in my mid-20s, when I was spending 12 hours a day working for startups in the Valley? Man, I can’t remember that girl. In my late 20s and early 30s, planning my “escape” to the Big Apple, where I’d then spend 5 more years running around, going to grad school, becoming a new career? I’d be amazed to summon the ghost of that person, let alone an ounce of that sort of oomph.

I just don’t care, is how I feel right now. None of it really matters. I will go, one day, and so will you. And likely, there is no benevolent consciousness waiting to engulf me. I wish there was, but considering how many people believe this, it’s almost a sure bet that it’s going to be nothing like that in the “afterlife.”

I don’t know. It’s almost like, when I gave up drinkin’, I lost my recklessness–a large amount of which HELPED me. Helped me to get jazzed about life. About change. About movement, and action. Helped me in ways big and small to do the job of a journalist, that’s for sure.

I’m waiting, and nothing’s happening. I want another “big adventure,” but honestly, I don’t have much desire to look into it, plan it, and go for it. No reckless energy to fuel an insane sort of curiosity. Maybe it’s called getting old? Middle age?

This…inertia…has been with me all my life, though. This darkness–psychological and physical in symptoms–it’s a constant companion, and all I can say is, some people know it better than others. I’ve learned to deal with the twitchy mind: It doesn’t get better the next day; you MAKE it better. You get through, grit your teeth, hoping that you appear “normal” enough to get by in the outside world. It’s partly why I drank. For me, though, it’s always there, looming WAY louder than wolfie’s “I want wine” voice. I want wine to quiet the booming wind tunnels blowing inside me.

Sigh. I guess I can keep waiting for it to get better, but…man, it’s been a year, and I feel the same as I always did, only with more acceptance around this mentality when it strikes (which seems to be often, to varying degrees, these days).

The dogs have it easy, I assume; maybe, though, they, too, are bored with life? As an old friend once said to me, “Well, it’s a good thing life is short.” Isn’t it.

Tags: alcoholic, alcoholism, binge drinking, death, depression, drinking, inertia, motivation, psychology, recovery, sense of purpose, sober, sobriety, wine, women

Comments 10 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Death, Depression, Mortality, Psychology, Recovery, Sobriety

Healing is boring

21 Jan

2:42 am

Or, maybe I’ve just let it bore me, and therefore, define me as “bored.” Who knows, but I’m ready to rock and roll on out of this “thinkin’ about drinkin'” phase.

I feel a lot like my old self, now that I’m well past 90 days–made it to 100 last night. I’ve been having some GREAT days, with lots of coffee, running, swimming, dog walking, cooking, rastafarian food fair-going… What I mean is, I’m not sure how others feel, but quitting drinking has allowed me to literally go back to who I was. Where I left off, so to speak. Ready work, to play, to run around like a chicken with my head cut off again.

Really?, I secretly dig at myself. Or, is it the opposite? I don’t know, and that’s where I’m going to simply have to say, I don’t know myself right now and I’m going to have to live around that fact. Live anyway, y’know? Work, dream, plan, move forward, minute to minute, day to day.

See, I used to have a lot of well-defined needs, wants, and goals. Now, however, I feel like I’m not sure which, if any, of those needs, wants, and goals are even of any value! I think quitting drinking, actually, is but ONE SYMPTOM of the transition that is staring me in the face, like a disease: the disease of mid-life, of mortality. I could not both survive this disease and its symptoms AND drink, so I had to quit. And, now that I’ve quit, I see this crisis for what it is–a lot of work to do, a lot of information to parse. Sigh. I don’t even know if I’m making any sense, which is why I haven’t written in a few days.

All I know is, I’m feeling my way forward, with blinders on, and it’s NOT because I’m drunk and confused. And, I’m starting to feel like my old self, and it doesn’t mean that I want to down two bottles of wine. I might, if given the chance, though; but that’s MY CHOICE.

(Yes, this is the problem of having to go to bed sober; thoughts are still whirring, a lot of them negative, but only YOU can turn them off because you realize they’re meaningless; you can’t use The Wine, and it never did a good job anyway.)

Tags: alcoholic, alcoholism, binge drinking, death, drinking, insomnia, mortality, psychology, recovery, sobriety, wine, women

Comments 6 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholic, Binge drinking, Death, Disease, Insomnia, Life, Mortality, Psychology, Recovery, Sobriety

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Drunky Drunk Girl

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Staring into the distance

Our girl is gone…

A prisoner in her body

Do what you want, and do it now

Our bear passed on…

Life is too sweet to be bitter

I wonder, how long was I running on fumes?

Healing is boring

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