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Settling in…

14 Oct

1:26 am

The past two days have been…difficult. However, I’m strong, must move forward, and must hit the return key on the autopilot program if necessary. I am not drinking, period.

I drank on the plane and then with dinner on Thursday night, and while Thursday and Friday were productive and great (it’s really nice to see my boyfriend again!), today felt ROUGH. After spending most of the day shopping for new household items, food, and general stuff, we came home and had a quiet night here. I went for a short run and saw the most stunning “shooting star.” It looked like a ball of fire slowly streaking across the northern sky, slow enough that I thought it was an aircraft. Please don’t abduct me, I thought to myself. Even though I’m only on Day 2 (Day 3 today), I still want to win this game called sobriety.

I feel happy to be here in [beautiful island where I now live] — I feel at home, for the most part. Yet, I’ve also got this just-went-off-to-college feeling, which is strange, since I correlate this with leaving family, the nest. Isn’t this my family now, my nest? Apparently, it’s going to take time. I think giving up my place, my “single life,” my independence in a way, well, it’s left me feeling a bit uncertain. Apprehensive. Scared, even! I know it takes a while to settle in somewhere, and even longer to make friends. I just have to have patience and not let my brain get the better of me.

Tonight, I really wanted to shut it down with wine. The “it” is not the anxiety, per se; I feel like I just can’t think. Like, all the grey matter has been sucked out of my brain by a medium-sized vacuum cleaner. Even my writing is stilted. ARG. Maybe I simply need to stop putting so much pressure on myself and treat this next few months like I’ve been treating my time here, as a “temporary vacation” (during which I freelance)?

Anyway, I’m sad about not being able to medicate this feeling away, as it’s very uncomfortable. Little puffs of anxiety, a gloomy sense of lack of direction, a looming fear of what-now and what’s-next. Shit! However, I know intellectually that booze is the last thing I need. So, I resisted a very strong urge tonight, and while it still hasn’t subsided along with this feeling of having no neuronal activity, I’m committing again to 100 percent abstinence. I GOT THIS.

Looking forward to sharing more soon re: the stuff I mentioned the other night.

Day 3 today! (And unfortunately, I have the feeling that the canvas color will be long and tedious, with small pockets of mania, welcome splashes of pure joy, and speckled dots of certainty. Such is life.)

Nothing like a trip to the desert to get the juices flowing…

30 Sep

11:08 pm

And to Tire. Me. Out.

Over the past few days, I not only planned a last-minute — and cheap and fun and perfect — three-day, two-night trip to Palm Springs/Joshua Tree National Park, I went! (What girl who was a teenager in the late 80s/early 90s wasn’t in love with Bono — whatever he wants, I want! — and therefore, Joshua Tree? (Remember the album cover?) Hmm? I dare you to say you weren’t.)

A great “no duh” moment: I realized that planning — and doing — trips like these require that get-up-and-go, that “capable-ness”, that *something* that is so integral to a non-depressed, non-drinking human being, it’s hard to notice it’s even there until it’s gone. It’s like the tarp under your tent, or the roof on your house; integral, foundational. I haven’t taken a trip like this in a long time; I can’t imagine having had that decisiveness, that go-with-the-flow/everything-will-turn-out-fine attitude while drinking. I didn’t even think twice about how much energy or will it would take, I was too busy bouncing off the fucking WALLS when I booked my flights and hotel the DAY BEFORE! I’ve wanted to go to Joshua Tree for as long as I can remember, and Palm Springs (and Desert Hot Springs, for my back) just made sense. Anyway, more on that in another post, to come soon.

(And, man, the trip down was a trip. I was hung over (6th time’s a charm; today is Day 2… AGAIN.) and literally felt it until I dropped into bed at my hotel last night around 10 pm. I had been up since 4, and had gotten only 3 hours sleep. And flew, with a hangover. Flying while hung over should be made illegal; and yet, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve flown NOT with a raging hangover. What sort of masochist am I?)

Long story short, I hiked a lot today — 7 miles — and my back feels great. Not pain-free, but not as bad as even just this morning. I think it’s due to one, the lack of humidity; two, the actual exercise of all those interconnected muscles that seem to be making one another more and more sore with less and less activity; and three, the lack of Hangover From Hell. (I must say, I am committed to getting back on it; that hangover was ridic, and the more I think about what I’ve gained from sobriety, the more I really Want What They’re Having, so to speak. And, the more I know I need it.)

More on all this later, and on some of my thoughts while hiking. I’m beat, and so will leave you with a lone picture of my beloved joshua trees.

And, I’m back…

27 Sep

11:26 pm

I had to take a little break from blogging the past two days, mainly because I’ve been feeling a bit…overexposed. (And busy selling off the rest of my furniture, booking flights, running last-minute errands, working here and there as it goes). Oh, and I also drank. TWICE.


I guess I don’t really know how to explain my choice to drink twice this week except for one, I’ve already broken my count so why not, and two, I wanted to “see how it felt.” Usually when I drink, it’s in response to feeling horrible, depressed, and/or desperate! Actually, I can’t remember the last time I drank when I didn’t feel like that. Anyway, I didn’t feel that way Tuesday night or Wednesday night; I felt more or less like I could take it or leave it. (If I’m honest, I think I just WANTED to. BUT, I wasn’t desperate for it.) I haven’t drunk for so long in that mindset that I was like, Well, I wonder how it — drinking — would feel if I actually didn’t go overboard? (I had absolutely no intention of inducing the same kind of hangover I had last week, that I knew.)

Well? It didn’t feel good. In fact, it’s reinforced more my desire to not drink, and to build on what I’ve accomplished both mentally and physically over the past three months. I’m feeling the worst about breaking down, slowly but surely, what I’ve built; I work hard, and I hate to see good work go to waste. KEEP THE FAITH, I keep telling myself. THINK BACK, I say, to all those nights in [cold east coast city], all those days when you were detoxing and feeling shiteous, all those moments you had to fight so hard to not run out and get a bottle. THOSE DAYS ARE GONE. However, I can see them returning if I sneak behind my back and drink once, twice, now three, then four times a week… You can see where it’s headed; so can I.

The first night I ordered Indian food and had three glasses. I was REALLY drunky drunk after just those three, so much so that I could barely think clearly enough to book flights. It was weird; I felt more or less mentally compromised to the point of having no functioning thought process. Not fun. AND, I felt so gross that night. One of those nights where you don’t drink enough to pass out, but you drink enough to feel totally gross, toss and turn, and feel every single ounce of ethanol pass through every single cell of your liver…for hours and hours. AND, I was hung over before I even went to bed. Bleh!

The next night, same thing (with the spicy Indian food), but I downed a whole bottle. I was hung over today, and it was not fun. Not as bad as the other day, but yeah. What stopped me from overdoing it beyond a bottle was the conditioning after last week’s bender (where I blacked out and broke my glasses) — I am literally AFRAID of having a hangover like that again.

So, no, thanks.

I’m not that disappointed, as it’s just another step forward in further convincing myself — and strengthening my resolve — to not drink. If it doesn’t work anymore, there really is zero point in doing it. It’s almost like caffeinated coffee, which for me has become a distant (albeit sweet) memory: back when I had my first panic attack in 2005, I had to stop drinking coffee altogether. The panic attack seemed to have “rewired” my brain, is all I can say. I used to be a coffee FIEND, but now, it just feels like someone turned a radio station to static in my brain. I haven’t had a cup of coffee since that day in November, going on 7 years ago. I would love to, but it just doesn’t work the way it used to. I’d never go back, though, let me tell you. No more ups and downs; no more sour stomach; no more extreme hunger pangs. Sure, I don’t get to get buzzed, but that’s OK, too, especially when it comes to sounding NOT like a total meth-head when I’m talking, interviewing, and/or writing. 😉

So, moving along. Starting over. Realizing that there are big things that need to be passed over and MUCH bigger things that lie in wait. This little hamster-depression-wheel can only whir for so long before LIFE, in all its actual glory, shines through and makes drinking grape water so…boring. (Although, there IS still a small(ish) pocket of brain cells whining in the background, But, maybe… Maybe it was this one time, or maybe it’s PMS fucking with the way it works, or maybe I just need to drink with people, or, I know, maybe I need to drink in a geographical location where the fog particles aren’t messing with the alcohol content…Huh?)


(What am I, Gollum? My PRECIOUS. Jesus, get ahold of yourself, woman!)

Humming along…is the party over?

25 Sep

1:04 am

Nothing huge going on here. Which, in a sense, is good. Day 4, people.

I’m finally over my hangover (took at least two days; Jesus). I worked a little, and got into it (a little) with my editor (which makes me nervous, mainly because I don’t have that much alternate income at the moment). I checked out some new glasses frames (to recover the ones I broke; I do things like, buy the same version of what I lost, broke, or demolished while blacked out to make me feel like it didn’t happen — am I alone in this neurotic behavior?). I went to my final contact lens fitting. I sank into a mini-depression the past 24 hours but pulled myself out. I activated my superpowers. I managed to offload/sell a lot of my remaining SHIT today, including some kitchenware to a nice Jordanian woman and to a shy French boy; now, it’s just the bed (I’ve got a potential buyer tomorrow, after which, I’ll run to REI and get another sleeping mat). I talked with both my mom and dad and made plans to visit each en route to the [beautiful island where I now live] next month. I oven-baked some pretty awesome potatoes. As I was talking to my dad, I overheard the football game in the background and was like, OK, that’s enough football for me for the season. 😉

I’m ready to move, but I’m also feeling…many things that cause me anxiety. (I would usually drink at this point, for sure.) What, pray tell?

1. The [cold west coast city sex street fair]. While it was refreshing to see everyone celebrating sex so openly, that event stirs up some of my past here and makes me feel quite empty. But, more than that, everyone was fucked up. FUCKED UP. Booze, “G,” “E,” you name it. I was like, I can’t even be here, I’m so sober. I want to be cool with this, but I can’t. I felt so uncomfortable, so square. It was all in my head, and had more to do with the fact that I was there alone — again — but…yeah. Minor, but enough to cause me to overthink, and then, want to drink. I didn’t, though. Seeing people stumbling around in their underwear (literally), in the freezing cold 55-degree weather, barely conscious made me go, Hmm, now THAT does not resemble fun, and I’m really glad I’m not you.

2. I think I often feel judged and unaccomplished by my family. Why aren’t you with man/with child yet? Why have you never brought a guy home to us? Why have you never invited us over and/or cooked for us? (Well, I have, but in the larger sense: why are you not settled down beyond having roommates and dating the wrong guys/no guys?) These are much more likely questions I ask myself, and when they make me feel too scared or nervous, I drink. Drank.

2. The whole brother’s girlfriend thing, which makes me think of both my brothers. Are they happy? Moreover, should I be helping the one (more financially well off) more with banking away some money for my mom? She is on Social Security now, but up until a few weeks ago, she was working. At 66, she’s that uncomfortable with her retirement nest egg (none) that she still HAS (not wants) to work! She has arthritis in her hip and pretty severe osteoporosis, so it’s highly likely we’ll all have to chip in and buy her a home one day soon. Is my “taking some time off for me” a selfish thing to do, when I am 38 and in the prime of my professional earning capacity? It is. And, it bothers me.

The problem is, I TRIED working a “big bucks” job in “the Valley” AGAIN, and I hated it, AGAIN. And, it caused me so much grief to be doing something so passionless that I drank. All the time. Even at work. Doh.

And, now that I’ve gotten away from that life, and tasted something more relaxed…I can barely stomach a return to the grind, even one that’s “fun.” I worry, fret, worry, fret. Am I too old to go back to [cold east coast city] and work in the publishing industry? Do I want to? Can I fake it if I don’t want to? Can I handle it and the stress sans wine? Plus, I don’t want to sit on my ass all day, every day anymore.

I wish it was easy for me to have faith that I can earn a living doing what I’m passionate about. To that end, I can dream. And so, I’ve proactively come up with a few alternate careers to dream about: professional dog walker, cake baker, rare gem collector, field anthropologist, acupuncturist? 😉

I’m excited about moving (and moving on), and I don’t have to think about being productive, financially and professionally — not yet. I DON’T HAVE TO — right now. But, I will, in December or January or February, or whenever the money starts running out and I look at my grad school student loan debt and think, Oh, FUCKING HELLO. Or, I turn around and there it is again, the need to earn savings for myself, my future, my mother’s future…

It’s SO MUCH EASIER to avoid this fretting and worrying with wine. It makes me sad, in a very vague way. Life isn’t happy-go-lucky. The party IS over.

Or, is it?

Post-it note in my “wolf” voice

22 Sep

10:24 pm

Good. Enuf.
Drank 9/20
on Day 34

I wrote this on a post-it note (what, was I going to read it the next morning alongside my list of what to get at the hardware store?) to myself during the peak of my craving and right before I caved and downed a bottle and a half of wine.

HAHAHA. Oh, my. I’m SUCH a ‘tard.

Wolf, shut the fuck up! Craving, witch, demon, master of none, be gone!

AA found me last night…

22 Sep

9:22 pm

Literally. As you know, I was HUNG ovah, so decided, at 7 pm, to take a walk. And, I don’t know why, I just walked up Market to the “gay” Safeway on Church. I guess it’s got a familiarity, that ‘hood, that draws me to it; I used to live right around the corner for most of 2011. Anyway, for some reason (maybe I subconsciously thought, I wonder if there’s a meeting going on in that church? — I went to one there last year, but it SUCKED), I wandered across the street and stopped in front of the gate. A guy was smoking outside, and before I knew it or could stop myself, I walked right up to him.

“Is there a meeting going on?” I whispered. He said yes, and that I should go in. “They’re sharing now. COME ON, just go in.” So, I did.

The meeting found me, I must say. And, I really don’t believe that the speakers and people who shared could have said anything MORE that pertained to me. It was like, they were literally talking to ME, replying to the thoughts that have been raging through my head the past few days: I want to not obsess anymore, I want this craving to be gone, I want it all just out of my head, forever, for good.

I sat my arse down in one of those chairs and told myself, I am not fucking leaving this meeting without talking to people and getting numbers. So, like a good journalist, I went straight up to the front of the room after people started shuffling out and/or hugging (I HATE this, I feel like a newcomer, an outsiderget OVER it, I scolded myself) and waited my turn.

I selected the two “people I want to be like.” They were both men, but very outgoing and gracious. Long story short, I got a sponsor, got three numbers, and made a date to meet up with my sponsor on Monday. I didn’t tell her that I’ll likely be leaving the area soon, but I figured that wasn’t the important thing. What was important is that I finally felt READY to say yes, I am an alcoholic and yes, I am, I think, ready and willing to try anything.

One of the most outstanding things I learned last night was that, no, I am not alone. If I am truly ready to quit drinking, the only thing that stands between me and that is my craving and my obsessing. AND, one of the speakers said something that made total sense to me: you don’t have to be alone in this, and it will go away. If I’ve got more than myself on my side, fighting the cravings, then maybe possibly it WILL GET EASIER to not have them. Or, at the very least, live through them and come out winning (not losing and drinking up a storm again).

It felt a lot like my childhood days going to mass. I was a good little believer, and really, earnestly believed in Jesus, God, the Biblical stories, etc. It felt sort of like that, religious, but in a good way. I felt earnest, and that mattered. I wasn’t cynical (though, I’m still not sure it’ll “work” for me), and I did actually think, Man, if that guy can sit up there and tell me that his craving to drink went away…maybe it isn’t so unrealistic after all?

I also realized that I have been wrong so many times, have made so many erroneous assumptions in my life that it’s hard to imagine that everything I think I know about this disease/obsession/problem is true. Scientists thrive — the world thrives — on proving their assumptions wrong. I mean, the basic building blocks of life are quantum entities? The universe is based on string theory? WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT? Who would have imagined this reality, let alone didn’t discredit it based on the simple idea that everything is as it appears. As one of the speakers said, “You know, you guys’ll smoke ANYTHING, right? Why not smoke this?” He thrust the Big Book into the air. I was like, uh, yeah, that’s true! Why not give sobriety (and AA) and what may come a chance?

The meeting was one step forward, which felt good. Another was the letter — two pages — I hurriedly wrote this morning and mailed off to my brother’s girlfriend. I don’t care if some of my somewhat overblown compliments in said letter are sort of white lies — if I want access to my brother, I have to go through her. I’m not fixing them, they seem to think they’re fine, and well, so be it. Anyway, it was I who offended her, bigtime, and never apologized. Sure, I wrote to my brother, but I felt weird and awkward contacting her directly. Anyway, that was another step forward, a necessary step. I don’t know why I’m only now seeing the necessary steps forward, but they are part of getting sober, in a more meaningful way than just blogging in my bedroom and not drinking myself into a coma anymore. I’m relieved, I said exactly what I wanted in that letter; I hope she takes it the right way. If she doesn’t, I feel OK with her one, telling my family about the whole ordeal, and two, not forgiving and/or forgetting. At least I have taken the first step, a mature and necessary one. But, man, that was NINE months ago. I’m one stubborn bitch. 😉

I”m pretty tired and still feeling the hangover, so I’ll sign off. No, I didn’t go to a meeting tonight, but once I get back to the [beautiful island where I now live], I’m actually thinking of doing the steps. Yes, there ya have it. A convert in the making. 😉

Why, hello, Sparkle Tooth…I see you peaking from around that bush!

21 Sep

6:36 pm

Aaaaaaand, I’m starting to feel better. As in, not drunk anymore and not on the verge of having a panic attack. Still shaking and feeling like throwing up (I don’t think I’ve thrown up the day after drinking for like, two centuries, so I’m pretty sure my body is giving me a huge middle finger after putting it through that after 5 whole weeks of no booze), but I can tell the “hang” part of the hangover is almost over! AND, I somehow managed to write the introduction to this “e-book” I’m working on — I have never had to work so hard at 500 words about a science-y thing. Jesus. I can’t believe I used to do this regularly; how did I manage to function, let alone highly function? Chalk it up to age, or simple exhaustion. Whatever, I’m not doing this to my body ever again.

(I feel lonely; I should go to a meeting, but honestly, I think I’m too shaky and shaken up. Better to just lick my wounds, maybe try sweating it out, and go to bed early. Killing this day softly, as it were.)

That is all.

Oh, and yes, my sparkle-toothed unicorn is there. I see her. She’s shy, and embarrassed — maybe I harassed her last night in my blackout; I definitely scared her — but she’s smiling. A little. It’s going to be great to see her running across the sandy beach tomorrow, mane flapping in the breeze, horn piercing the bright blue sky! 😉

Shamanic journeying through acupuncture? Yes, yes, YES!

18 Sep

11:43 am

Wow. Another KUH-RAZY experience during my acupuncture session yesterday!

(Warning: Psychobabble ahead.)

So, I’ve been to acupuncture three times now (with a new, and highly trained, it seems, therapist). Each time, I noticed an near-instantaneous buzzing feeling all over my body, and an immediate “delving” into self — the physiologic calm that acupuncture provides turns on my brain and makes me able to think deeper, more profound thoughts. Thoughts I’ve been putting off — or dreading, and therefore, TURNING OFF.

Yesterday, I realized that I’m a trauma survivor. I know, I know. WHATchu talkin’ ’bout, Willis? Come ON, DDG, give me a buh-reak! Seriously. I grew up within a very volatile, ugly marriage. My parents would yell and scream and sometimes even wield knives (true story). Everyone knew. They’d often tell us to go outside and “play,” which was code for, We’re going to shut the windows and scream at each other now. It was usually my mom screaming at my dad, and it usually happened when we were in bed, “sleeping.” It usually ended with her thrusting our living room doors closed with a loud BANG, and going to bed alone while my dad slept on the couch.

This went on for as long as I can remember (from about 5 to when they finally separated at 14). It was ugly. I would often and regularly hear things like, “Go fuck yourself if you even know how.” When they’d fight at night, I would weep in my bed. Silently. I learned how to cry really hard without making a sound. I was afraid, and I was also ashamed — my brothers slept in the same room (we had no doors on our two-bedroom upstairs), and I never heard them make a sound, so how horrible would it be if I did? Repression was the name of the game.

(I often wonder why kids blame themselves, or at least, internalize their parents’ anger and guilt and sadness when it comes to divorce? Here’s what I now think (thanks to my acupuncture “meditation”): kids KNOW that they represent the connection between their biological (and perhaps even nonbiological) parents. They know that they somehow make up each, and are (or were, LOL) the union between them. Thus, if there is a schism between the two, it’s somehow their fault. Somehow, it comes back to them, and they feel/take on the responsibility to “fix it.” It’s hard to explain, but I definitely KNOW that this is true, on an emotional level, even though intellectually — even as a kid, when we were told again and again that it wasn’t our fault — I might not believe it.)

As you can imagine, this kind of environment came with a lot of not-talking-about-the-elephant-in-the-room, tiptoeing around landmines, and (guessed at) battle lines not being crossed. I spent a good part of my teens feeling VERY ashamed and full of self-loathing (I had entire notebooks of hate poems to myself), and I wonder if that isn’t related to other, deeper trauma, but anyway… The trauma was never properly dealt with, I now believe. It was never confronted, handled, resolved, on the level that I needed it to be. So, I think I’ve spent my entire life putting up that early-learned stance, the one of me crouched, gut clenched, breath held, arms covering my face — ready for the punch. I was never physically abused, but I think emotional and psychological abuse — however inadvertant — can be just as bad. I know it was for me.

As I lay on the table, I realized that perhaps I have been hiding from this trauma my whole life, as a way to “make it” or “live my life,” never realizing that I hadn’t fully embraced it. And, without having fully accepted what happened to me, I was never able to let it go. Like, it now seems that ALL of my jobs, ALL of my romantic relationships have been situations that have helped SERVE my denial, my hiding from the trauma. (Hiding from being overly sensitive? Find a partner who doesn’t seem to notice anything! Not wanting to deal with feeling unloved? Become an overachiever and work yourself to the bone!) And, drinking has not only been a way of hiding from it when it bubbled up too close to the surface, but also a way to *experience* it. Too bad I was digging in the wrong hole.

Digging in the wrong hole? There came a point toward the end (last two or three years) of my blackouts where I was wanting the release, the unguarded expression of what I thought were authentic feelings. I wanted to express my trauma, but I was using booze to do it and that only served to hide myself from it further. On the table, I saw how traumatized I was as little girl. I saw myself on the table, and I saw the little girl (almost as a dream, but more real). I wanted to go and hug her and tell her she had nothing to be afraid of, that she was protected. I felt sorry for her. Which made me see clearly that, for some reason, as a little girl I think I just never felt protected. And I never realized this could have trickled down into every corner of the rest of my life. Yet, it has. Hence, the panic stance that I’ve been carrying myself in my entire life.

It was then that I realized that the “soul retrieval” aspect to shamanic journeying is not such the load of bullshit that I thought it was! Like, I honestly felt that I had been living in two “pieces” my whole life, one being myself, the person who works and lives and loves and tries to make it through life; and the other, the little girl self, the one who has been stuck back there, living in that trauma day in and day out for the past 33 years! In journeying, they say that soul retrieval is about picking up a part of your lost self and fusing/fixing the splintered whole, or schism, within. I need to subsume that girl and make us whole again, I thought. (Have you ever seen “Insidious?” Astral travel? Along those lines.) By doing so, I realized that yes, my trauma can be ended, that it IS over, that I don’t have to keep trying to find it OR hide from it via booze and blacking out.

I felt really sad, very emotional (cried all afternoon), and well, tired. I went to bed at 9 pm and finally dragged myself out 12 hours later. I woke up with a huge headache (that may be a caffeine headache, though). In essence, I felt hung over. BUT, I felt like I really did have a powerful experience of healing that has MADE ME WANT TO DRINK TO BLACKOUT LESS.

This is profound, to me. It makes me see that rehabilitation surrounding booze IS real and CAN work. It flies in the face of “rational recovery,” which basically says that there is nothing behind your drinking besides your selfish, overindulgent hand. NOT THE CASE. I honestly believe, at this moment, that drinking to excess would NOT be preferable to me now, mainly because I no longer need to dig deep to bring out that trauma; I’ve recognized it, and now, I can let it go. Wishful thinking?

This doesn’t mean that I’m going to drink — or even want to — but it does mean that I’ve finally begun feeling the real, authentic shit behind my desire to black out, which in essence, means that I won’t be striving — secretly wanting to simultaneously fill AND empty the void — to black out when I drink. Which means, this desire may have nothing to do with the substance itself. Which may mean that in a few months, or years, from now, I WILL be able to pick up a glass of wine and put it down. Wishful thinking? Maybe. Maybe not.

The science (and art…lessness) of the Blackout

16 Sep

6:29 pm

I was in H&M the other day and overheard this early 20s kid say he’d never had a blackout. His friend saved my day by quickly snapping back, Well, your time is coming.

What are blackouts? And, why are they generally speaking so horrible for everyone? It’s like, almost everyone I’ve known or read about who’s had a blackout has experienced some kind of insane, irrational anger. Rage, is more like it. Coupled with confusion, paranoia, anxiety, and fear, in no particular order. I get that all these latter things come with deep-seated parts of the brain literally being put to bed with extreme amounts of ethanol. BUT, why does the anger come out? Why do normally happy people not only let down their guard and get pissy, they typically become raging, sometimes violent, while blacked out?

Ahem. I’m one of those ragers. I literally turn into one big angry cunt. Who has no rational brain cells working. Why is this? And, am I the angry bird, or is it the booze making me angry? Or, does the booze simply open up the spout that’s always turned off, in a way that makes it rush too much and distorts it? Or, does the booze exacerbate the anger, and make it irrational? Is my fear and anger over many big and small things being amplified by the booze? Or, is that level of anger inside me all the time, just waiting to come out?

I think the booze exacerbates and makes irrational what resides within. Sometimes. Other times, I really don’t know where that level of vitriol, that extreme hatred even, comes from.

I need to find some clinical readings on this topic. It’s been driving me insane for years. Is it me, am I that fucked up? Or, is it the booze? And, WHY does booze do this? Where did that illustrious “all-knowing” being who created humans go wrong? How could he/she/it NOT make sure to put in some fail-safe to avoid me becoming a wino (or depressed and obsessive in the first place, for that matter)? And, once that was breached, how could it possibly have created beings who are capable of such horrific, and irrational, emotions — anger being one — when overloaded on booze? One BIG hit against the god theory and in favor of evolution (which, in case you haven’t noticed, I am) — we were NOT “created” without flaws. Maybe, over time, once the human race has gotten used to consuming alcohol, we’ll become immune to blackouts. But, what about the anger? Why will the “angry drunk” just not die?

And, most interesting to me, WHY IS IT ALWAYS ANGER that is stimulated to come out when we’re blacked out? Is that our primal shutting-down state of mind: confusion, fear, anxiety, and anger? Why is this?

Unfinished business…

16 Sep

5: 26 pm

It’s always going to be unfinished business with certain people.

I have to call my brother tonight; we’ve had very little contact since “the incident” over New Year’s. I totally let out my rage on and against his girlfriend (gf) — unfortunately, it was mostly true. They hold grudges and are in, what I would call, an emotionally co-dependent and (on her part) psychologically abusive relationship. Getting her to forgive and forget is not an option. The last time I called him — or, did he call me? Yes, he called me back — he called me from OUTSIDE a store, in the parking lot. Once his gf got back into the truck and closed the door (yes, he told me that she was sitting in the truck with the door closed), he had to go.

I have to keep calling him, but I honestly don’t want to. Tonight, I will get up the courage to confront him and say, What do you want me to do? I can send a card. I have no idea what to say, how to keep saying, I’m sorry for calling your gf all those things, and I’m doubly sorry I did because both you and I know they’re the truth. I HAVE said I’m sorry, egregiously, to him; I was afraid to make direct contact with her because the way we left it. She refused to see me the morning I left, so it was just my brother and I who talked. THAT was a hard, horrible talk. The whole nightmarish weekend will go down as probably my worst, most insane, most confusing — do I really hate his gf that much? I didn’t think so — blackout on record.

Still. THEY have to learn to forgive, forget, stop holding grudges, and move on, too. They also have a long way to go in terms of HER getting help for her mental problems and personality disorder and HIM learning how to say no, stand up for himself and those he cares about, think for himself, and stop the abuse. I can’t do that, and I definitely don’t want to. BUT, even still, I feel like it’s my fault that she triggered me so horribly, and she’s definitely put the full weight of the blame on me. That is unfair, but that’s why she’s the psychologically abusive partner in that relationship. She acts like a 14-year-old girl, and while yes, I get that she’s the victim of years of abuse and trama on her end, there comes a point — 42 years old, is she? — where one has to say, OK, I choose to engage on a mature, rational level with others and acknowledge what’s going on WITH ME, and not what the world is DOING TO ME. Hard to explain this woman, but let’s just say, no one in my family can really deal with her without booze, let alone with.

It all just makes for sucky Sunday, which is the day I usually reserve for calling family. Ugh. And no, I don’t want to drink. I just want to be able to go along with my days, staying sober, feeling good about that, and not have to feel guilty every single time — still guilty, guilty forever — I think about calling my brother.

I wonder, how much does unfinished business affect us on a subconscious level?


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