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Being grateful and staying present

3:33 pm

So, as you know, we are about to embark on a new year, a new decade, a…blah blah blah. For some reason, I just can’t this year. I can’t try that hard to have a “memorable” New Year’s Eve this year. Granted, just being sober will make it 100 percent more memorable than a lot of my past New Year’s Eves. Kidding aside, I’m just kind of burnt this year, and tired of trying to coordinate and make it happen–in spite of my own resistance, fatigue, and other people’s inability to commit. Frankly, I kind of want to spend it alone, with my dog, watching TV (my boo has to work). I have never wanted to watch television on NYE, but this year, it sounds perfectly acceptable!

What I want for myself for this new year is to stop taking people–their actions, my thoughts about their actions–personally. I think that will go a LONG way toward being grateful and staying present. Lately, I’ve found myself spiraling down my mental rabbit hole by forgetting to be grateful for the BAZILLION things that are important–my sobriety and all the past and present struggles that have come with it; our moves and moving around, which have taught us some serious lessons about who we are and what we want; my relationship; the handful of meaningful friendships that I do have in my life; my sweet dog, who is ailing and probably won’t see another holiday season, but for which I have to be grateful, and for whom I have to stay present.

Today, my big outing was taking my girl down to our local “dog beach,” which isn’t an actual public beach so it makes for a quiet setting. There is an inlet protected from the swell where she can go swimming. It was sad watching her, and I cried. I mean, I cry a little inside every time I have to carry her up the stairs, help her get up, pick up her poop on the carpet inside because she can’t control her muscles back there that well; but I don’t “cry” cry. This felt good, and I needed it; I need to start letting go.

I am not sure what is worse: having a dog that gets cancer and goes fast, or a dog who has this horrible, progressive arthritis that gradually transforms her into one that barely resembles the pup you once knew. I know, I know, she’s a dog; but, it’d be the same emotional rollercoaster with a person (it IS the same, watching my mom), only the progression would take 20 years, not two.

I was angry for a bit, like, I am never getting another dog, why bother, I don’t/can’t go through this again. But, it got me thinking, well, that is so depressing and cynical–if I lost my partner, would I choose to spend the rest of my life alone, choose to be angry and antisocial because…life? This is life, the coming and going. This is life, and it hurts, and it sucks, but…the anger and frustration is life, too. And it all passes, sooner rather than later. What can you do but choose to accept, embrace, process? What can you do but decide that you will NOT fall into the self-defeating trap of black-and-white thinking?

This year, I want to start getting past my anger and frustration regarding this general aging shit–myself, my dog, my mom and my dad, both of whom are struggling immensely with physical and mental decline. To not let perimenopausal night heat and insomnia (though, lack of sleep is its own mental health disorder) overturn my world; to not let my mom or dad’s decline influence my emotional state so much; to just love my dog and try to let it be, accept it for what it is, let it go, let HER go… I can’t live in this state of resistance all the time, but, I also don’t want to lay down and let the world run me over, like a huge ocean wave; that might lead to me giving up. I don’t ever want to give up; I don’t ever want to stop listening to the radio (Walking Dead reference, folks…!).

Sometimes, I want to drink; most times, I think, why bother? I know it won’t change anything–it’s not going to stop time, and it’s not going to change how I deal with the passing of time and aging. So, I won’t, and I’ll keep plugging: be grateful, stay present. Cry. Whisper-scream (oh, all right, just scream, but no banging on the thighs in the middle of the night as you whisper-scream).

How hard can it be? Hahaha…

Inhale, exhale, and remember: drinking only makes it better for a split second, and then it makes it much, much worse. I tell myself that every time I have recently thought, eh, maybe this is the year I start drinking in moderation, I’m ready, why not? Um, because, it won’t make anything that is good better, and it won’t fix anything that is bad–it will just make it more bad. That is logic that Wolfie-boy, drinking-brain does not like because it makes drinking seem illogical and irrational–which is what it is and why it’s so cunning and baffling; and small and ridiculous and empty.

Aight, off my box. I wish everyone a wonderful eve, spent here, there, everywhere, and nowhere–it’s all good. Be grateful and stay present. The stars keep shining, and if you let it, your head does keep wanting to look up to see them (though, we might not see Betelgeuse soon!).

Happy 2020, friends, and we’ll see you on the flip!

Tags: aging dog, aging parents, arthritis, be here now, be in the moment, dog, don't take it personally, dying dog, grateful, let it go, letting go, New Year's Eve, New Year's resolution, old parents, osteoarthritis, stay in the moment, stay present, stop taking it personally

Comments 11 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Change, Choices, Gratitude, Holidays, New Year, Psychology, Random, Recovery, Sobriety

Who said you can’t go home again?

23 Nov

3:47 pm

I am not sure where my brain is, but it didn’t seem to make it from the check-in counter to the airplane. Wow, can someone say, brain dead? Brain fog? I have literally gone home again, and it’s like, I’ve gone through a wormhole and don’t know if I’m eight years younger or 800 years in the future, talking back to my present-day self in an alien tongue (or maybe through code, like in one of my fave movies, Interstellar).

(Just a brief recap: I moved to, we’ll just call it ‘the island’, in 2012, after a few months-long visits; during those visits, I fell in love, decided to get sober, and then spent the next five years, until the end of 2017, living and working and loving and being sober in this magical place. We decided it was time to leave around the end of 2017, early 2018, and since then, lived in two places on the mainland. We never felt at home after we left, so, when the stars aligned–our jobs worked out, our old house came back up for rent–we decided to move back. That happened this week, two days ago, actually!)

Wow.

So, I turned off all my computers on Tuesday afternoon after my work day, and I haven’t turned one on until right now. Yes, I have had my phone, and yes, I do “take notes on the day,” but in terms of processing my journey, nada. And, y’all know that if I haven’t written about it, it didn’t happen (haha). And, it’s been brewing to the point where, I was just angry last night–at the gods for making my dog have osteoarthritis, at myself for not being able to snap the eff out of it–so, here I am, starting to process the journey. And, wow, it’s sort of been a trip. Hopefully, the lessons I’ve been trying to practice over and over these past two years–living in the moment and letting go of the past–will serve me well.

To sum it up, we packed up our apartment and loaded a bunch of stuff into plastic containers, which my boo drove to a warehouse to be shipped (on the ocean!) on a palette; then, we cleared out, drove our car with luggage and dog to a port, where we dropped the car to be shipped (on the ocean!) via a car container (I think the cars are put into containers), then drove to our hotel, where we stayed the night so we could get up early for our flight the next day. While our dog lived to tell the tale, I don’t think we’ll ever fly her again. She is somewhere around 12 years old and seems to have gone from bad to worse in terms of mobility just in the past week. It has become so painful to watch her try to walk, to struggle at night panting, to seem to be utterly exhausted. She made the trip and the flight (we had to carry her through the airport), but by the time she stepped back into her old home, I’m not sure if she was glad to be home or just glad to be still, on a bed, not moving anymore.

Which is fine, because I have been a bit blown away. Like, this house is literally the house we lived in for five/six years here; this is the only place I’ve lived on island. And, it’s the house where it ALL began and happened and transpired: I got sober here, I fell in love here, I acquired dogs to love and care for again here, I committed to a freelance blogging and writing career here (all the early DDG posts, I wrote right here); I recovered here, in this house, in this ‘hood. Oh, and don’t forget, we survived and recovered from the twin cat-5 hurricanes, Irma and Maria, right here, in this very ‘hood.

I don’t quite know yet what to think or feel except, the view is still amazing, the people are still amazing, the island bush (an assortment of green shrubbery that protects the island, secures privacy, creates that magical sense of being hidden/tucked away on an island) is still amazing. It’s all still here, almost exactly like we left it, in fact–our furniture (we sold our entire household to our landlady, who rented it furnished in our absence), our neighbors/family (they even kept our spices for us for these past 22 months), the water and sun and plants and trees and rocks and jungle critters that nourished us for all those years.

What isn’t here is a young dog. What isn’t here is the younger version of me, the one who was BLOWN away by the newness of it all, as a newbie eight years ago. I mean, it’s all so emotionally charged for me because I moved here and let go of EVERYTHING I was doing and embraced a brand new life and lifestyle–I got sober, I fell in love, I got to have a house and dogs to take care of, I got nature and ocean and this place that was SO the opposite of the competitive urban jungles I had been dwelling in for almost 20 years. I was 37, so my time here then was also a time of great transition–my friends from those years, we went through the big choices of your late 30s: getting sober, committing to your partner, having a baby.

I’m 45 now, and much improved–I am recovered (mostly), so don’t need to spend hours, days, weeks, months, YEARS inside my pink cloud/sober bubble. I can go out and help others get sober, hey! Back then, it was an unnatural feat to leave the house, let alone do something huge, like write a story and get paid for it, or get a part-time job as a barista. Now, I’ve gotten my old self back–I have grown and I can’t ungrow, even if that means not necessarily feeling that same sense of excitement and achievement I once felt. I know I have to let that entire past go–the plus is that I get to cherish, appreciate, mine my past and make something of it…without having to relive the weird and awkward of my early sobriety (even though I miss that time, I really do).

Our dog is probably not here for much longer–I didn’t want to admit it this past year, but, at this point, seeing her struggle to even lift her body up on her back legs… It’s going to be really painful to let her go, too. The thing is, our dogs meant SO much to both my boo and myself; they weren’t just strays to rescue, just dogs to care for and walk and have fun beach days with–though, we did all that and more. We’ll both say, they saved our lives. And that is not an exaggeration. Both our dogs were my higher power; they both went through sobriety and recovery with me; they made me the person I am now.

With our other dog, it was too late by the time we got him to America–he was too sick to really enjoy the new place, the “world” off his little island rock that we wanted to show him. The entire nearly-two years we’ve been away, we’ve kept telling our other dog, you’ll go home again soon, girl, you’ll be home soon. Now, she is home, but…I think it might be a little bit too late for her, too (we can’t really take her on any of the walks that she knows and loves–or, at least knew and loved, as I’m not sure how dogs’ memories really work).

And then there’s me. And my boo. We’re not the same, and we have had our ups and downs these past two years. The truth is, we’ve both become bigger and better humans–and that is how it should be. I don’t want to roll back our evolution as people, of course not; what I miss is the naivity of even just a few years ago. We had no idea what to expect; I feel like I’ve aged a decade at least in these past two years.

I also have to admit that I am probably never going to recover that sense of awe, of newness, here; and, I have to admit that I sort of mourn for that; I grieve, still, for the girl I once was…while also feeling relieved that I am no longer in that place of extreme sensitivity and vulnerability. So weird, and so conflicted.

I’m not sure how I’m going to fare here, socially–I am hoping for the best, or at least, better than my first whirl. When I lived here before, I came as an active alcoholic, so, not only did it takes years to become social, but I felt like my experience had become defined by who I was before and while getting sober. At least now, I can leave all that angst and struggle and baggage behind, and approach my life here as a “normal” person… I mean, I do feel a LOT more confident and social and able to be social and to form and nurture relationships now than I did then. The question is, will I want to or will I fall back into old habits?

Eh, it’s all good, really. Aside from our dog, things are already going to be smoother (we both have friends already, we both have secure jobs that pay well, um, I am already sober!). So, what I say to my overactive mind is, let it work out, let it transpire, and think the thoughts but let them go. Let them ooze out like pus so your brain can heal and start working again. 🙂

Tags: aging dog, aging pet, brain fog, dogs, evolution of self, full circle, going home, let go of the past, let it go, letting go, letting go of the past, moving, moving on, old dog, old pet, you can go home again, you can't go home again

Comments 10 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Change, Friendships, Life, Moving, Past, personal growth, Psychology, Relationships, Sobriety

Oh, hello, 2018!

4 Jan

4:26 pm

Does it feel to others like 2018 has come in so quietly it’s almost snuck in?

This year is going to be all about transitions, crossings, and changes–and, of letting go of the reins, or at least, loosening the grip.

Welp, without much fanfare–and with some anxiety–2018 has arrived. 2017 went fast, flew by, sort of took my breath away; and, I had a feeling it would, when by the beginning of February, I had already flown across the country for work, and was embarking on the first of several (months-long) job interviews (none of which I was offered, but that’s OK). In fact, last year was all about searching–pushing and planning and striving and trying SO hard to see…the future. I took a lot of trips, my favorite, of course, being a solo journey to South America (man, I can’t even believe that happened, what with how the hurricanes have changed the course of our lives)… All this is to say that, last year was so much about trying to move the Earth, and sort of succeeding, but mostly just laying cable and putting up with all the frustrations that come with trying so hard.

Last year, I think my “phrase” of the year was, move the Earth, or something like that. I guess I moved it a little bit (I started on a big writing project, and that is the one thing, aside from moving, that I want to get done this year). I moved around it a lot, that’s for sure.

This year? Shit. Let the damn Earth move itself. Let it happen. Let it go…

Gratefully, I am bouncing back after a few weeks of pretty intense sadness: our dog WAS diagnosed with canine lymphoma, and…yup, major tears all around. Wailing tears, to be exact, for a few days in a row, and then…acceptance. This is happening, and there is no cure. He’s only 9, and far too young to be looking like an old dog now, but…this is happening. We aren’t going to treat him in favor of making his last months somewhat bearable with prednisone (though, that stuff is making him really, really groggy). I have started him on this weird diet thingie I found online, so I’m hopeful (yay, hope!) that this might turn it around and land us a miracle. There’s always the possibility of a miracle, I have to believe.

So, there’s that that’s been literally keeping me up at night. Oh, and we’re moving, too! In a few weeks! Like, a big move, across the continent! This, too, is happening. We’ve sold my car, arranged for our landlady to buy our household full of stuff (so she can rent our place furnished), and are in the process of getting flights, flight letters for our precious babes (dogs), and all the other stuff that comes with moving. My job is aight (but, another thing! it’s ending in March!), and the only thing that sucks about it is that we don’t have anything resembling a good cell service connection at home anymore (thanks for nothing, AT&T), so I have to go out looking for Internet in order to work (and write this blog post).

Mostly, I feel excited, sad about the endings that are coming up, and on edge. Like, I have been waking up almost every night at 4 am–after only about 4 hours sleep, which is exhausting and maddening–and it’s usually accompanied by anxiety. Like, dark terre thoughts. And, the next day, I feel anxious and depressed. And, it’s made me realize that I have NEVER truly experienced this before, but now I can totally see the connection between insomnia and anxiety and depression! Like, there is something about waking up at 4 am that makes me crazy–angry, panicky, and depressed the next day. I cannot control my negative thinking the way I can when I am fully rested.

And, this just makes me remember how I used to get wrapped up in drinking thinking–negative thoughts and thinking patterns that are caused by alcohol, and not a part of me. I used to think that all my complicated depressive thoughts were of me, but really, they were a part of the drinking. It’s so hard to see that when you’re not sober; it’s very easy to see when you’re separate from alcoholic drinking. Anyway, I guess it’s a reminder to be cool, and remember that it will get better.

Just a quick update to say, happy new year and that I’m looking very much forward to watching the Earth move itself in 2018. How about you?

Tags: anxiety, insomnia, let it go, letting go, New Year, New Year's resolution

Comments 3 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Anxiety, Binge drinking, Change, Choices, Events, Holidays, Insomnia, Moving, New Year, PTSD, Recovery, Sobriety

Phrase of the year

2 Jan

11:24 am

I’ve seen many posts re: word of the year. I used to do that, too, and in a way, I guess “phrase” is akin to “word”.

Move the earth. Or, move the earth, beyotches. This is my phrase of the year.

2017. It does have an ominous, heavy feel to it. Maybe because it’s closer to “20” than “15” or even “10”. Maybe it’s because I know what lies ahead: digging in, pushing out, molding form out of lumps of wet clay. Focus, and effort. And: sweet, sweet smells of dirt, of salty earth, of pepper and fire and flint–steely eyes, steeled tongue. I do not give any fucks anymore–in a good way. 😉

I’ve spent 18 months at a nearly-intolerable job in order to make money, essentially. I feel like I’ve been PREPARING and PLANNING for a long time, and that includes, thinking about and writing about getting sober. I won’t stop doing that–it seems, IS, as much a part of staying sober as any of my well-worn coping mechanisms. BUT, I can officially say that I want something more. Else. Different. New.

(Mind you, I also made my science journalism about writing about addiction, too, for a while, so maybe I’m just burnt out. Sometimes I think, if I never have to write one more fucking word in my life, I will be the happiest girl alive. And then I come back to reality: I am a writer, I am compelled to write. And I miss it terribly when I don’t write; I can’t even live my life when I don’t process it via the written word! So, I let that thought go and try to embrace the grey area, so to speak–something that becomes more challenging the more I want to make real change instead of waiting, wanting, working toward something that is coming, in due time, if I just keep plugging.)

Last year at this time, I was in a world of hurt. Glad that hell is over. Yes, I made good money and have since continued working (remotely) for that company, but man, was I depressed last year. No more. Done. I made it through. Happy to NOT be there, and to be here. Much has transpired between then and now that has helped me get happy again: I moved home (I am much more myself in a tropical than desert climate); I worked as a barista, which I really loved; we got engaged in May; we traveled a lot this year (New Orleans was my favorite!); I paid off my graduate student loans; I got into running more (I have somehow managed to keep off those 15 pounds for 2.5 years).

One big thing I want to mention is that I started taking hormones by way of the pill! Imagine: at 42, I am taking the pill for the first time. Haha. It’s worth mentioning because, I have ZERO PMS craziness anymore. It’s awesome. MANY of my worst drinking binges happened around or because of my fluctuating hormones–many women who drink can probably say that, they, too, drank when they were PMSing. No one talks about that, of course, but look, it can be as simple as taking birth control, or, I guess if you’re older, actual hormone replacement therapy–to feel way better, to NOT feel crazy, to not feel angry, or depressed, or like you want to down oceans of wine for two weeks out of the month. Not to mention, the hangovers are from SATAN when your body is not really processing booze well, which (ironically) is what’s happening around this time o’ the month. (More on this for another post, methinks.)

Anyway, I feel stronger now, and I think I’m simply ready to start thinking about other stuff more of the time. I mean, I will always blog here, that’s a given. That I can’t let go. I would love to wake up, however, and not have this feeling of, I have to think about sobriety. I have to relate things I do now, in my present life, with my having gotten sober. I DO, constantly, because it is all intertwined; I just wish there was a way I could both appreciate the past without having to think at all about it. I’m grateful, though, and it’s just a matter of perspective when it comes to “ruminating” on getting sober, and being sober.

I need to get out more, too. I quit the coffee shop job back in September, and it has been rough. I am SO tired of these four walls, you know? And, I’m getting kind of irritable. Maybe, mean. Like, cynical. I need connection, we all do. I’m on day 5 of a Facebook fast, and I feel like I like people more–what I get now from interactions is real, it’s authentic.

I admit: I have felt lonely since not logging into Facebook. Like, there’s no reason to go on my phone! Haha. BUT, I’m slowing down and opening up to the people and places around me; and I’m gaining a little bit of mental patience. I can take things in that used to annoy me because they were too slow, not enough, immediately boring. I felt…controlled by Facebook, and that felt very much like being addicted to binge drinking. Now, I feel better, freer. It’s good. Despite feeling truly out of it, and lonely, I’m going to keep going. (I really miss “on this day”, though…)

As for wanting to drink? Well, I have to admit that on New Year’s Eve, as I was remembering other NYEs–when I was single, granted, and was going on all these crazy, “life experience”-type trips to far-flung places for the holidays–I felt staid. Boring. Not lacking in contentment, but sort of unhappy. Vexed. Fear of missing out was an actual, I am missing out. I am not learning, or growing, or expanding my horizons!

Drinking won’t bring back the “life-changing” experiences that were INVARIABLY RUINED anyway by the time New Year’s Day rolled around in said far-flung places. I know that drinking isn’t the answer, and cannot be: it doesn’t work and hasn’t for years. I know that what’s simmering in the pot will come together into a lump of…something good to eat, soon. Yes, it still comes and goes, this desire to drink to fix, or transfer, or be reborn. None of that happens, and never did, and never will. It was fun, looking back–but, I’m here now, and pretty content, actually.

This year will still be about plugging away, and working, but also, finally starting to do stuff, you know? After all this obligatory preparatory work–laying the groundwork-work, doing this before moving on-work–it will pay off. Move the earth, beyotches! 🙂

Tags: letting go, moving on, New Year's Eve, phrase of the year, PMS drinking trigger, taking stock, thinking about sobriety, word of the year

Comments 7 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Change, Goals, Gratitude, Happiness, Holidays, Life, New Year, Sobriety, Triggers, Work, Writing

How do we let go without forgetting?

1 Oct

11:11 am

I am totally grateful for what I have and where I am, but I have to say: life is a fast, fast blur right now. I am trying–and succeeding, I think?–in keeping up, but what I long for is a retreat of sorts. Ten days of no working, no doing, no thinking, really. God knows, no news skimming, no Facebook scrolling, no remembering, no creating new memories. Just time to turn it off for a while.

I am in the place–the city–where I started this blog, over four years ago, and I’m feeling…at a loss for adequate time and head space to collect my thoughts about it all into a post. What I can say is this: I’ve realized that it is OK to let some of it go. It is OK to change. To do things differently. I have, for many years, been inside my head–and by that, I mean, have clung to the idea that thinking and analyzing all my thoughts is of utmost importance. More so, that storing all these thoughts, analyzed, in my brain is worth EVERYTHING, is something I cannot give up or stop doing. I am at the point where I’m starting to ease up on that idea. I am starting to think that allowing myself to just let some of it go is actually the only thing that is going to restore my sanity, and move me forward. What is that “it”, though?

That “it” is comprised of many things: my old self, my old notion of self, the things that made up my old self, I guess. It is true, I am “me”, here, now, much improved. Yet, how did I get here? Is it OK, after the whirring stops and I look around, to let that go? Because, to me, letting go equates to forgetting. And, I don’t want to forget all that. I’m also incredibly nostalgic–I suppose, a vestige of the old poet in me, which I adored and long to reconnect with, at some point in my life. How do I balance the sober me, the one who had, out of necessity, to put away all that ruminating in order to recover–and the “old” “drunk” me, the one who is me, who thinks and feels? I guess, at four years sober, I am simply at a loss as to how to live in both skins. Because, completely “letting go” of the “old” “drunk” me is not working anymore.

That’s it. That’s what I’ve been struggling with for a few years now. It’s not that I am not living my life anymore, stalled, trying to figure this out. It’s just that now that I’m having a little more time to reflect on what I’ve been doing, how I’ve been working, who I’ve been seeing and relating to–it’s always hard, I guess, to come home. It’s just hard. I think it’s doubly hard for people in recovery, because so much of our recent past selves are tangled up in our “addict” selves. While one does not equal the other, they were and are all part of you, you know?

Ack! So hard. So, at this point, which I’ve been doing for those few years now, I have to turn this off–this problem that I cannot seem to grasp or solve–and move on to my day. I have to work today, and then, enjoy this great, big, beautiful city that I’ve spent TWO YEARS waiting and working toward visiting again for 12 glorious days. And, I’ve got a rock solid foundation of sobriety, which keeps opening up new doors of understanding, and I’m more “me” than ever. So, I will do this and live in the moment–because we all have to work, and live, in our sobriety, even if it still feels new, four years later–and come back to the rest later.

On a more present note: I just finished dying my roots. Um, yeah. My roots are grey. I am too young to be grey, and I don’t really like seeing what truly looks like someone who is 20 years older than I am right now (I’m 42, not 62). It’s all good; I’ve always looked young, and continue to feel young at heart, so, why not? I think it’s great that I get to pick what color my hair is now (I choose a reddish-blonde–haha). BUT, it’s a reminder of something that connects, for me, with recovery and all that I’ve been dwelling on recently: how do we age? I mean, literally, I’m asking, how are we to do this? How do we move through life balancing all our past experiences–in our heads (memories on overload as we keep acquiring them), in our hearts (feelings that we’ve pushed down or out, but never really go away)–with our present, active days? And, how do the “moons” of this world reconcile life having to be lived, out of necessity on many levels, as “suns”?

Haha. Sorry, guys, I’m still me. 😉

It is cold and rainy here–a welcome reprieve from incessant 90-degree, 90-percent-humidity days, I have to say. I gotta run now. More soon, she said a million times. No, seriously, I miss you guys. Happy fall!

Tags: aging, letting go, moving on

Comments 2 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Change, Life, Recovery, Sobriety

No one else has to care about my sobriety

9 Nov

11:14 am

That’s pretty much the lesson I learned on my trip. And, I’m trying to basically ignore the nagging feeling that most if not all of my old friends–people who saw me at my worst, who drank with me and around me–acted as if either my problem wasn’t one/wasn’t that bad, or that even if it was, I didn’t deserve praise.

I don’t know. I don’t get it.

I am back, and having a great Sunday–I finally get to enjoy some down-time. Ahh…sweet breezes, warm weather, the sounds and scents all around. It feels wonderful to realize just how different my values and priorities are now. And, I have to say, it’s what helped me move forward–being forced to live outside my comfort zone, on multiple levels, and try something NEW–and the lack thereof that’s allowed some of my friends to remain stuck.

But, I digress. I don’t want to dwell too hardcore on the whole “my friends don’t seem to give a shit about my sobriety” thing. Which may or may not be a figment of my imagination. First of all, I haven’t been in great touch with any of them since swearing off the wine, and frankly, I don’t think they knew all that much about this whole journey because I didn’t divulge that much (though, to several I did, so…).

I just had this niggling feeling that they were either shocked that I was still sober/am sober at all. I just didn’t get it. They know me, and know my past, and each and every one of them knows specifically that I am, indeed, sober, and not just “not drinking.” None of them really congratulated me, which is OK, I’m used to that. They don’t need to. However, on two occasions, I had to basically interject about my sobriety because no one was asking anything. It’s a huge part of my life, the fulcrum on which everything else rests these days. So, I thought I needed to at least address it–in the context of how it’s made my life much, MUCH better. To one friend, I said, “Everything I have right now is because I am sober.” She was stunned, but got it. Melodramatic? I don’t think so.

I went out to a piano bar with one group of friends, and when the waiter came around, I ordered a San Pellegrino with lime (so delicious). My friends literally went quiet, staring at me in disbelief, as if to say, Well, I didn’t think you were SOBER sober. At a restaurant with another friend, we got to talking about not drinking because she was pregnant, and she goes, “So, you don’t drink AT ALL?”

It’s like, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m sober? And, these are close friends, people who know how bad things got. It’s why I felt like they were purposefully trying to bring me back to the ground…because of envy, because of fear, who knows.

After my trip, I honestly don’t know how much more I can interact with these three friends. It’s sad, in a way, because if they only knew the work and thought that I’ve put into my sobriety, maybe the two who seem stuck could learn from my experience! I felt like they were saying, I “hate” (not hate, but you know) you because you’re well and I’m not. It’s the exact same thing I get from my brother and his girlfriend. I refuse to forgive you: not only did you “get away” with being a drunk, but you get to be sober and happy and productive, too. It’s not fair.

Sometimes, it’s confusing to go “home again,” in terms of old friendships. I think I’ve come into my own to where, I don’t attract dysfunctional ones anymore? I must say, however, that my circle of friends where I live now is awesome: I can’t even count the number of times they’ve gone out of their way to welcome me in spite of the fact that I wasn’t drinking at parties; to offer me nonalcoholic beverages; to respect my choice to not imbibe and make me feel respected and proud, even.

I did wonder if my one friend was turned off by my being sober because she, as a doctor of psychology, is all about harm reduction. I have some new thoughts on harm reduction, and I’ll get to that later. For me, and I think for most of us who have crossed that line, ONE sip is too much. ONE sip activates Wolfie. And what we’re trying to accomplish in the end, is shut Wolfie up, not stop drinking per se.

Anyhoo, la la la. I am great, doing well, rocking the stories and hopefully, starting work as a part-time barista this week. All in all, though, I don’t need the barista work (at least for this month’s income)–but it could be fun. I got to think a lot about my three years in exile here–and how I could have done it differently (for another blog post). My trip back to the city allowed me to both connect with my old self AND let her go. And, though it was exhausting, it’s allowed me to go even further, to expand and grow even more. Oh, and that slip, or whatever it was? Totally allowed me to fully conceptualize never drinking again–drinking just doesn’t do anything but ruin the next day, it’s not how I roll anymore, and the benefits of sobriety are so mind-blowing in terms of moving forward in my life that…there is no place for wine, and that is OK. I can keep on being free. Sobriety is liberation from the old way you did shit; and it allows you a blank slate of mind, to finally try doing shit a NEW WAY.

Sobriety is banishing the “Wolfie thinking” and doing shit a NEW, DIFFERENT WAY. Because you’re free, you really are. And because you can–you are able.

Lots to do today, so I’ll sign off. More soon!

Tags: alcoholic, alcoholism, binge drinking, change, drinking, drinking buddies, dysfunctional relationship, freelance writing, let go of the past, letting go, my friends don't care if I'm sober, my friends suck, recovery, self-employment, slip, sober, sobriety, wine, women, writing

Comments 17 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Change, Drinking buddies, Friendships, Happiness, Recovery, Relationships, Self-employment, Self-empowerment, Slip, Sobriety, Work, Writing

Understanding triggers

12 Oct

10:34 pm

I’m embarrassed, but I know you guys won’t judge.

I drank. I mean, I got drunk. For the first time since my quit date of March 18, 2013. And yes, the whole bottle, of course. I know it’s going to be a one-time thing, primarily because being hung over sucks. And, my body and mind can’t take another one.

Why did I drink? Half of me is like, I did it to “just get it over with,” and half of me is like, I did it because I wanted to try and see what it was like–not sure if I could or would moderate (which to me would have been two glasses, not the four I had). I think Paul blogged something that is exactly right: you try to fit back into it, and it doesn’t fit!

Now, the fact that I’ve been obsessing about this one freaking bottle of wine for like months? Wondering, planning, and then, finally drinking and being hung over for 12 hours? Houston, we DO have a problem. And it’d called alcoholism. I’m not sure what it means, precisely, but I can no longer deny that um, I am not normal when it comes to drinking, and er, recovery might very well be a lifelong thing.

Oy. Hangovers still suck. Suckage. Blargh.

Right now, I think I just feel like WHOA, too many things. Too much stuff. The ending of one life, the embracing of a new one. Confronting unresolved issues, and yes, personality problems. Wondering where my money for November is going to come from. Job searching (am I too old? I wonder, here, if I am too old) and freelancing and stressing about my savings, which is low. I was and continue to be a lurker–I despise that about myself.

What I do know is that wine did not help. And, this hangover will not happen again. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but on a scale of 1 to 10, it’s up there around 7 or 8. Swirling head, anxiety, sadness, thinking of death (of my own, of my boyfriend’s), weeping for at least an hour, if not more; and then, trudging around the cold, dark city realizing that THIS IS MY PAST. These are well-worn paths. And, they are triggers.

I’ve come to have a newfound understanding of triggers. Triggers are not just the people, places, and things, but, they are ways of being, of thinking, of feeling that are embedded in us, and that take work to excavate. They don’t disappear overnight–in fact, they still reside in us, intact, like living fossils. I feel like I’m sad, and depressed, and a lurker (i.e., I have no life, but everyone else does–my one huge “reason for drinking” back in the day). I feel these things, as if they are real, right now-feelings. As if I am still that person. And, then, my reaction is still that person’s: I want to drink, and I drink, and I feel hungover and spend the day writhing and alone.

Yet, none of this makes sense! How could it be? These feelings are totally out of context. I am FREE of that past, aren’t I? I mean, I am no longer sad, no longer depressed, no longer a lurker–I have my own life, one that gives me a lot of joy. I have my boyfriend, 2.5 years living together; our dogs; friends who have become like family; an entire career carved out of sober work. Two years before that I moved my person out of this town–so, it’s been 4 years since I left.

I stored my stuff, though, and I can see how clearing out the unit might be sort of representative of what’s going on here–what I’m mourning is, the actual decision to finally say goodbye and move on. Maybe literally, maybe figuratively. I mean, it’s a great city and I think I could form a new, amazing life here.

It’s a lot to say goodbye to. And, while I am in tears again thinking about it, my only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner. Talk about ambivalence! It takes what it takes, I guess. I am finally ready to let go and move on. I am finally allowing myself to see that this place can trigger me–activate that stored stuff, that radioactive material that simply takes work to lose, if we are lucky enough to be able to apply constant effort.

I mean, it’s just WEIRD. How can I still be there, when I’m here? How can I still feel the feelings of HER, back THEN, when I’m me, now? It’s just so weird. These triggers–they are deeper than I realized, and more ingrained. And yes, it IS easier to not be triggered into that past when you leave the scene of the crime, so to speak. I’m not sure if moving is the answer for all of us, but it has profoundly affected me–in a good way.

Maybe I’m just awful at saying goodbye. Of holding on when I shouldn’t. I’ve always held on, clung to the past to the point, I guess, of living in it. Or, if not actually living, then dwelling on it such that I’m not living in the present. Why is this, when the past sucked ass? I mean, yes, a lot of living was done here, but a lot of pain happened, too. I love being in a relationship–I can see now why I was so depressed here. Afraid to admit that I wanted–needed–someone else. I always saw that as a bad thing; now, it’s the ONLY thing (that makes my day worth having).

I miss my dogs, and I miss my boyfriend, and I miss our life. And I’m going back to that! And, I see how lonely this place can still make me feel. So, why am I sad about releasing it?

I’m OK, and getting right back on the horse. I know that this has to be a one-time thing; I’m not sure how it wouldn’t be, based on how awful I’ve felt all day. I’m not used to this, and I don’t want to be here. Letting it go as a slip, and moving forward tomorrow.

(In case you’re wondering what it was like, it was pretty uneventful. I felt…somewhat sweaty, and then, somewhat awake, and a slight bit of a buzz in the beginning; but mostly, I just felt anesthetized. But, in a bad way. So, yes, spending your Saturday evening sober is WAY better than sitting there, drinking shitty wine that tastes like cough syrup and makes you feel nothing but numb. I’ve done both, and I can honestly say that being sober is, in fact, a better way to spend the night. Especially if you don’t get buzzed anymore, if you only just get numbed.)

Tags: alcoholic, alcoholism, ambivalence, binge drinking, drinking, hangover, how to let go of the past, hung over, leave the past behind, letting go, moving on, psychology, recovery, slip, sober, sobriety, triggers, wine, women

Comments 36 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Hangover, Issues, Life, Moving, Psychology, Recovery, Slip, Sobriety, Stress, Triggers

It’s not you, it’s the alcohol

18 May

10:55 pm

Lately, I’ve been feeling better than ever. Very clear-headed. Confident. At peace. No cravings–none when I get up, none when I go to sleep. The winds of crazy in my head have died down: no thought circles, no ruminations on what could have and should have been done.

The alcohol has left my brain, and my brain has finally healed.

All I can say is, if you’re still struggling with mood swings, emotional ups and downs, and in general, a sense of anxiety and paranoia–it IS all in your head, in a sense. It’s the lingering effects on your brain chemistry of the alcohol; it’s not “you.”

I have been working a lot (both keepin’ on keepin’ on with the freelancing as well as my part-time real estate job), researching and prepping for a volun-tour trip (or, “volunteer vacation,” which term I actually despise as it’s a bit of a generalization) this summer, and mentally and emotionally preparing myself for the wedding/”confrontation” with The Girlfriend–which is to say, I’m over it. SO OVER IT. I’ve made the effort, and they have refused; nothing more I can do. In fact, I have nothing left to give when it comes to them–and not in a negative way, just in a better-things-to-do way. The wedding seems simple now: Just be myself, and enjoy the company of everyone else! I don’t have to engage with them at all, and frankly, I don’t plan to. I’ve let them go.

Actually, I’ve been doing a lot of letting go the past few weeks, and it’s been liberating. Finally. It’s taken a long time, but I really do see that as your brain heals, your mind heals, and your heart heals. In that order. It’s not you, it’s the alcohol. (Mostly!)

I’ll keep you all posted on what goes down this week (we leave on Wed., and the ceremony is Fri. – Sun.). Thanks to all for the insightful and helpful comments–hope to post more in the next few weeks.

Tags: alcoholic, alcoholism, binge drinking, drinking, let go, letting go, neuroscience, psychology, recovery, sober, sobriety, wine, women, your brain heals

Comments 19 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Neuroscience, Psychology, Recovery, Sobriety

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Drunky Drunk Girl

Being grateful and staying present

Who said you can’t go home again?

Oh, hello, 2018!

Phrase of the year

How do we let go without forgetting?

No one else has to care about my sobriety

Understanding triggers

It’s not you, it’s the alcohol

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