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It’s been too long

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

Mid-year check-in!

20 May

11:02 am

I can’t believe it’s almost the end of May!? This year, man; I thought 2020 was hard…

I literally only have a few minutes to post, but I wanted to check in and say hi to everyone. I think I’ve got company when I say, life has just been going way too fast and feeling way too busy this year to stop and post about the roses, as it were, on my blog!

In short, I’ve been working a ton of long days, taking care of the dad situation (he has dementia, which seems to be progressing fairly quickly), and um, looking for a new place to live. I am still doing a couple of jobs and have just lined up a possible third–it’s not easy or cheap to live where we live as well as to save quickly to get out of renters’ hell, which we’re actually in right now, to be honest.

My two brothers and I are all vaccinated, so we’re planning to make a trip home next month to see our dad in the nursing home (where he’s been for, wow, six months now) and start the transition into a new facility. We were worried about this process since he’s been so “oppositional” to the entire affair, but these days, his attitude resembles more of a person with depression, so he’ll be more easily swayed to do, well, whatever he’s told. I don’t know if it’s his meds (he’s on two right now) or the dementia, but, he’s just very…out of it. He used to get riled up, call us every day to “get him out of jail,” but these days, it’s like he’s a combination of resigned to his fate and, well, out of it. Like, in a daze. Like, unable to get out of his head. Or, as my brother put it, like his brain is shutting down. One thing I have also noticed is an increasing lack of affection. It’s like, he’s not necessarily forgetting who we are yet, but he seems to be forgetting the emotional connection, as in, he’s not remembering WHY we are who we are to him. So strange. Frankly, having lived through SO many drunken blackouts myself–and spent time wondering about the nature of the blackout–it’s a bit easier for me (than the average “normie,” I guess) to grasp what my dad’s brain is doing now. Like, some of his behavior resembles drunken blackout mode. Anyway, it’s getting easier as we come to accept his state of mind, and, well, as he comes to accept his state of mind (whether that’s because he’s medicated, I don’t know).

Finding a new rental has NOT BEEN EASY, mainly because we’ve been investigating all kinds of options (buying here or elsewhere, buying land and building here, buying a condo versus buying a house). Our landlord wants her house back (slash, drove us out with her ridiculous behavior, but that’s for another post; le sigh)–so, we’ve been busy trying to make our plan, which at this point necessarily includes renting for a while longer. There are so few rentals where we live anymore–post-hurricane and post-pandemic realities that no one is going to get around unless the community chooses ethics over money–and even fewer that take pets (which is why our “pound” is constantly overflowing with stray dogs and cats), so…yeah, it’s been a trip!

All that being said, we’re making our way through it, having a bit of fun in the sun, and well, staying sane. And, I’m happy with that! Haha.

Again, my minutes are up and I now have to run out (literally) and then come home and read journal articles so I can write about them! Hope all are well, and we’ll see you very soon in a longer post…

Oh, and YES, I have wanted to pick up the white wine (there’s a bottle for cooking in our fridge) quite a few times these past few months, but…yeah, no, not gonna happen. I know it’s only a short-term fix, but I also know from experience slipping that, the booze is not going to make my brain or body feel good (it’s going to make my brain feel like radio on static and it’s going to make my peri/menopausal night heat worse).

Tags: aging parents, Alzheimer's disease, buying a home, changes, dementia, moving, parent, post-pandemic, renting, transitions

Comments 3 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Anxiety, Binge drinking, Change, dementia, Family, Life, Long-term sobriety, menopause, Moving, Parents, perimenopause, Recovery, Self-employment, Sobriety, Women's health

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

Welcome to the doll house

21 Oct

1:06 am

I like that title, never saw the movie, and it only pertains to this post in that, I’ve been going through my old collection of Barbie dolls and really getting into it again–remembering why I loved them so much as a kid. I was going to put them all up on eBay, but um, most aren’t worth that much because they are super-used, and, I do NOT have the patience to spend HOURS picking through my dolls and clothes and trying to figure out if this was Dream Date or Loving You or Peaches N Cream Barbie and then, after posting to eBay, having to field collectors’ questions! I thought I was pedantic (which is what makes me a good collector/historian…!). Still, THAT was actually fun, going through my dolls; I think I’ll probably keep the special dolls and clothes (I had the dream house and car and camper van, too, back in the day; I kind of want to hold onto something of my collection!).

What wasn’t as much fun was going through the other stuff. And, I have been avoiding writing about it and I guess I should write about it, is all I have to say.

About what? Well, everything! Haha. Life, getting older, my dog getting older, my mom getting older, um, discovering via all this sorting of old stuff–writings, mainly, and photos–that my life seems to have been not an adventurous, freewheeling trip of courage and coming of age; but more a meandering path of mental illness. That, all my writings are not a gold mine of material but a testament to mental illness over the years–and how to live with it while also not even acknowledging that it is there. What an iceberg I feel like this realization might be; no wonder I threw this shit into storage a decade ago, moved to the island to start over, and never, EVER thought about looking back literally, at this stuff. I didn’t want to confront it, and I couldn’t.

One good thing about getting older is that, for me anyway, I can see my own life and choices and path and behaviors much more objectively (it also helps that I am not drinking and wine is no longer exacerbating my issues or masking them!). What mental illness am I talking about? I’m talking about depression and social anxiety, sure; but also, things like being on the autism spectrum, borderline personality disorder, maybe even some form of paranoid delusions of grandeur (schizoaffective disorder, something of that nature). I am not saying I suffered from these things; but, that, there may have been some element of all of them in my past.

It’s not easy, and it’s a slow unraveling. I’ve kind of wanted to drink past few weeks, but more out of boredom than avoidance or fear of confronting this stuff. I mean, I’m OK, no one is going to die, but…it’s a bit scary and daunting to remember just how effed up I felt back then, as a teen and 20-something (and 30-something!).

So much has happened the past few weeks, too. After my mom’s visit–and seeing in action what I would call pretty obvious mental illness; where do you think I get it from?–I am just a bit burnt on all the self-analysis.

My mom’s visit was hard, to say the least. I don’t think we’ll be spending anymore time alone (without the buffer of other family members), I hate to say. Before her visit, I spent what felt like an eternity sorting through photos from 20 years ago and beyond. I hadn’t looked at the scrapbooks and piles of prints from grade school all the way through my early 30s (about the time digital cameras took over, thank god) for years; I mean, we’re talking, I hadn’t looked at some of these photos but ONCE since I printed them at a Walgreens in 1995! At this rate, I won’t look at these again until I’m 70 (um, in 25 years–holy CRAP, that sounds terrifying); what’s the point in keeping them?

And, that is where my mom comes into the picture. In looking through the old photos, I saw who she was then more clearly, and I saw who I was then more clearly. She is different now, but not that different! All this time, I’ve been thinking that somewhere along the way, she just BECAME super-irritating to me; but, she’s always been herself. So, what’s changed? It must be me! I have changed, a LOT, and especially around how I view my upbringing and how I let it and my stressors affect my life now.

Without really going in too deep around her and me and our issues, one of my big takeaways from our weekend is that, she does not want to hear the “objective” truth; she’s not ready to truly look at her own role in her unhappiness. The ONLY reason I can say this is that I’ve lived it; as an alcoholic, as we all know, a HUGE part of our recovery is coming to terms with the following life FACTS:

it’s not all about me

stop taking things personally

it’s none of my business what others think of me

let it go

These basic “tenets” of sobriety seem to be what normies just know, or what other people learn as they mature without having to go through recovery first! Why, at 73 years old, is my mother still seeming to refuse these universal mantras? Like, I know that it’s really hard to choose to not take things personally, but I also know that continuing to do so causes me pain and that pain is greater than the effort of practicing new behavior. I don’t know, it was like talking to a wall. She knows all this stuff, too, but for some reason, she seems to be clinging more and more to choosing patterns of behavior that are negative and take up all her time. Who knows? I sure don’t know it all, and I can’t spend much more time trying to figure another person out (I am enough work!).

After talking a bit more with a few people close to me, I realized, if she’s not ready to try to see her role in relationships that are not working for her, and if she’s not ready to do a little self-analysis, then…I can’t take on the sadness and guilt that I do feel because she seems terribly unhappy (unless she isn’t really all that unhappy and is just being dramatic or passive aggressive–another story for another blog post). I just have to let it go, and allow myself to do what I can for her but to then be happy, unapologetically and fully. And I do, and she wholeheartedly wants me to (consciously, at least).

At this point, I’m like, who knows? I have to let it go, and I will…

On that note, my brain is a bit fried, I am burning up tonight (again, who KNOWS what’s going on with my hormones, why one week or day I’m fine, the next my torso is on fire, and the next, it’s only my legs! WHO KNOWS?), and I really just need to close up shop and turn the light out (in my brain). I had a great day taking my dog to the beach–she’s “elderly” now, sweet girl, and that is painful; but, the twinges are counteracted by the fact that she’s still out there, frolicking in the water, and truly loving life. What more could a girl want for her “daughter?”

We are moving in less than FIVE short weeks, and of course, my pedantic self has sold off quite a bit of our furniture. I have this strange desire to get rid of EVERYTHING, to have no bleepity bleeping stuff anymore–maybe I’m just tired of carrying the weight of the past, feeling like I owe it something that I don’t; maybe I’m just tired of caring about keeping stuff. I’ve never been one to be truly obsessive about not having clutter, but lately, I’ve been dreaming of a truly clutter-free existence where no stuff is going to trigger me, where the only thing that surrounds my field of view is white light, an open space of present-future, silence to meditate and dream…

Tags: 12 steps, AA, Alcoholics Anonymous, clutter, declutter, downsizing, let go of the past, let it go, mental illness, mom, moving, none of my business what other people think of me, recovery, relationship with parent, stuff

Comments 14 Comments
Categories 12 Steps, AA, Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Family, Long-term sobriety, Mental health, Parents, Recovery, Relationships, Sobriety

Moving…houses and jobs!

11 Nov

7:17 pm

Some great news: we are (finally, after 10 long months) leaving the desert!? Ahhhh… And, none too soon, as we’re both about to dissolve from dehydration. I mean, we’ve gotten used to being here (it’s not a bad place; I have always liked it for what it is), but being constantly dried up–well, it’s a grind, and I can’t help but wonder with incredulity how those who choose to live in this part of the country deal with it! My mom has lived in this part of the country for years, and she seems to appreciate the lack of humidity. All I can say is, we didn’t even make it a year, and we’re pretty much over it.

Inhale, exhale.

In less than a week, we will head east–close to where we moved here from–we will see palm trees (where they should be growing) and actual clouds; feel mosquitoes buzzing around our ankles and sweat dripping under our armpits; inhale the sweet odor of naturally humid air… INHALE.

Some more great news: I got a new job! After a long summer of soul searching and job searching–and interviewing; so much interviewing–I can finally EXHALE…into a new career. It was a hard decision to leave my current gig, because it’s…well, it’s uber-easy–and I can do it remotely and it pays well. BUT…I need to move on. I need to actually use my brain. I need a higher purpose, essentially. I need to invest my passion and my talents into a job that I actually respect myself for doing. It’s not that I don’t respect others for choosing the corporate path–God knows I’ve had to work in many jobs that weren’t personally fulfilling–I just know that I need more. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have been able to accept this job if the offer wasn’t financially viable, so, I’m not above it coming back to money, because it does. Still, it’s a plus that I am finally moving into nonprofit and able to keep making about the same amount I’ve gotten used to making at my current job.

It’s been years since I’ve worked as a full-time employee–my last full-time gig ended in 2009! I’ve been freelancing and contracting since then, so the adjustment to full-time status might be a bit weird. BUT, I will be able to do this job remotely, so, working from home (which I’ve been doing since 2012, in various shapes and forms) won’t change–thank goodness! I am WAY too used to being able to work and write in peace, and not have to commute, or be distracted by coworkers. It has its ups and downs, but I really do prefer working remotely–I love not having the stress that going to an office every day brings, and I absolutely love being in complete control of my time. There really is nothing I’ve found that motivates me more than having absolute ownership of my time.

Anyway, it’s been a busy few months, and that’s sort of why I’ve been offline-ish. I want to thank everyone for all the caring and careful comments to my recent posts–I appreciate them more than you know. My insomnia has passed, thankfully, and now it’s back to…not being as grateful for restful sleep as I was irate at not getting sleep. But, isn’t that how it always goes? You never call IT to thank them for their service; it’s only when something goes wrong with your computer, and then you only call to bitch at them!

I was wondering how I could tie my sobriety into all this (yes, I am still sober!), and well, I guess it’s that I’m not sure I would have had the long-term perseverance to turn these dreams, step by step, into reality. I know I would have second-guessed everything by now, might have just run out of gas so to speak out of fatigue, or fear, or just letting myself talk myself out of it, taking my eye off the prize to look back at Wolfie. And for this, I am definitely grateful to be sober, or maybe just more mature–to be able to get a glimmer of how it actually works, seeing the long haul through.

Here’s hoping things move smoothly this week into a whole new life; if not, we’ve survived worse, right, guys? And, taking one second at time makes every second OK. It will be OK; it will always be OK.

Huh: this is really the first time I’ve believed that it will all be OK. I never considered that it just being it, makes it OK; that things not working out the way I had imagined or predicted would still be OK. Alas, a small discovery, but one that might change my world!?

Tags: change is hard, everything will be OK, it will all work out, it will be OK, it will work out, let go, let it be, make it happen, moving, new job

Comments 5 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Change, Gratitude, Moving, Recovery, Sobriety, Work

Can we go home again?

2 Sep

4:24 pm

It’s strange to feel emotional, like I do right now. I haven’t really had powerful ups and downs since I quit drinking–over 6 years ago, it was wonderful to realize that it was the wine that was messing with my mood swings, not necessarily an underlying mood disorder (which I probably have, too!). I’ve had even LESS emotions, in general, since going on the pill a few years ago (to “treat” my first bout of perimenopausal symptoms at the ripe old age of 41). I’ve gone off it recently (oh, joy; who told me that you’d lose your hair?), and I can tell when things are just weird, as they are today. Yet…

I’m bothered today, and I feel sad. I was looking at pictures from just a few years ago, and noticed that I look younger then, and happier! Is that because I was, or is the dry desert air messing with me?

We have decided to end our short (10 months) tenure in this city that we both can’t really stand–I have to say, I will never live in a place that is this dry ever again; if going off the pill wasn’t enough to kill my curls, spending 10 months in the desert definitely did in what was left of my hair AND my spirit! Just kidding–sort of! When it comes to this decision, it’s all good, but we don’t know where we’re going to move to yet! While that doesn’t stress me out that much–we have some ideas, and I have a job that I can take with me anywhere–moving back to where we came from, which is one of our ideas, sort of does.

If looking at pictures of my old self sends me into my first crying jag in months, if not years; what will moving back to where it all started do? By “all,” I mean all: a new place, a new me, a new relationship, a new world view. Can I move back and be able to appreciate the past while living in the present, and not be overwhelmed by a nostalgic longing for what was?

In recent pics, I look kind of sad, worn. I have to ask myself, isn’t this a great case for us to go back to where we came from, if all I see now in our pictures is a certain lack of joy? Yes! At the same time, if we do move back, will I be able to stop pining for some nostalgic idea I have of what we were? It’s not that we don’t have what we had then (we do); it’s not that I long to be young again (I don’t consider myself old), or to be in that place, personally (I can’t imagine feeling worse than I did in my early years of sobriety, in a way). It’s this: I want the newness of the joy, the fresh sense of a restart. I mean, of course, I can get that again, but I will always know that in this place lives my past–a past that means a LOT to me, and that evokes a lot of feeling.

I have to remember, though, that I’m different, we’re different, and we’re on much more solid ground than back when we first started living together. And, frankly, I do want to go back–that lifestyle was and is magical. It’s just this pesky fear…of…something that I can’t quite name.

To add to that, I’ve also been wrestling with taking a job that I did 15 years ago–yes, crazy as it sounds, if I go back to this job, I will be doing what I was doing 15 years ago, and for the same boss!? Most of me is an automatic ‘No,’ but the practical side of me says, why would you pass up a job offer like this, especially when you can do it remotely? I have to decide by Tuesday.

Just a few months ago, it seems the entire world was waiting for us, for our adventure to begin. Now? I don’t know if I feel less optimistic or just tired of weighing the pros and cons of big life changes; if it doesn’t work out, nothing’s forever, right?

Still inhaling and exhaling over here; this is a hard time, one of much seeking–maybe even harder than getting sober, since at least then, all I had to do was one thing, not drink! As I always told myself, and like to tell my closest friends: the world rewards those who SEEK. The world rewards those who put in that work, who LOOK for what they might need or want. I am relying on this bit to get me through what appears to be another few months, maybe longer, of being patient with no decisions made, of being open to going with the flow.

Tags: change is hard, choices, decisions, going home again, going with the flow, hard decisions, hard work pays off, moving, patience

Comments 5 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Anxiety, Binge drinking, Change, Choices, Life, Moods, Recovery, Sobriety

Perchance to dream

16 Apr

4:26 pm

I had to look up this quote from Hamlet to make sure I wasn’t using it totally out of context–no, I have no intention of ending my own life, but the phrase conjures this idea of dreaming, of an uncertainty toward the future precisely because you have one. I like this. That is what I mean, perchance to dream…

I haven’t been writing much lately mainly due to the fact that life just feels busy–has felt busy, for going on years now. I average one post a month here, and sometimes I feel like I have more to say, and sometimes I feel like I have nothing more to say. So it goes with writing, I guess.

Anyway, my brain has felt overloaded for the past too many months, with doing what needs to be done: all the little details of work, earning a living, making life happen. Two weeks ago, my contract job ended, and I don’t know if it will come back to me as a full-time role, and I know I don’t necessarily need to work for a few months–well, it’s the first chance I’ve had to breathe, to clear my head, to DREAM in a good long several years now. Shit! It’s been years since I pitched a journalistic story!? It’s been years in the making, my to-do list of personal projects and ideas! YEARS, friends, not months! And, how GREAT does it feel to finally, at last, have some real time off in my new city (well, it’s suburbia, but it’s been home for three months now).

I feel like I can finally take that much needed step away from the daily grind, enjoy a slower pace, see what there is to see in this new home, and really look at what I’ve been spending my mind time doing–finally use this time to DREAM.

I need time to figure out what’s next. We’ve been living states-side for about three months, and frankly, we don’t like it. Well, no: we LIKE the conveniences and cleanliness very much; what we don’t love is, well, the TOO much convenience, and the TOO much cleanliness!? I know this feeling, as I felt it when I came back to America a couple years ago for a while after having lived in the islands for a few years. It felt sterile, and the consumerism was just too much–cars and malls, malls and cars.

Now, that sense of “buy buy buy” is acutely intense–everything is about buying and selling here, and nothing feels to be about community, or “culture,” as it were. I sort of hated the “culture” when we were in the islands, as I never felt all that welcome; now, all I see here is a lack of character, and a lack of history in some parts, which kind of lends a certain soullessness to the place. On the other hand, I am grateful to be here, to have been able to finish out my contract in a new apartment with easy access to green space and with reliable, always-on utilities! So, it’s not all bad.

So, yes, perchance to dream? It’s a luxury that many people don’t often get. In this mental space, though, I’ve noticed that a LOT of self-judgment is coming up, and I guess I should see this as a chance to work on simply accepting how I feel, and going with my gut, and not judging it as bad, or wrong. We all have gut feelings about people, places, and things. I am not sure why, but for most of my life, I did what I “should,” and not necessarily what I wanted–partly, it was and continues to be about deciphering calling from job; and discarding things that I simply don’t like or don’t suit me, that don’t make my brain hurt or scare me to death but that challenge me just enough to feel fulfilled.

These things change, and I am pretty sure that they will keep on changing–what fulfilled me in my teens and 20s is no longer what I want or need to do now! So, instead of judging the way I feel about being here, in this new place; instead of punishing myself because I “should” like it–why not honor those feelings, and embrace them for what they are, which is guiding lights? I need all the guiding light I can get right now, and so, embracing how I feel, actually honoring my feelings instead of hating on myself for having them, well that seems KEY to future happiness.

Perchance to dream–I will let you know what I come up with! For now, it includes finally working on finishing the start of a big writing project; checking out the barista scene here; taking some camping trips (one reason we moved out here was to be able to camp and see all the great natural wonders of the West; we didn’t realize that a desert climate has all sorts of variables that might slow us down, like wind, and lack of humidity, and dangerously high temperatures); looking into finally moving from corporate work to nonprofit or NGO or disaster response (I once dreamed of getting a degree in public health, and maybe that’s something, too)…the list goes on, and I am super-duper grateful for days like today, when I feel “up” enough to not be overwhelmed, when I feel energized and clear-brained and well-rested enough to WANT to do all these things. NOT always the case, folks; there have been quite a few days here when I haven’t felt like doing anything, where I’ve been wondering, will I ever feel excited the way I used to, about doing all these things on my “bucket list?”

It brings me ’round to mentioning that yup, over the past few weeks into months, I have wanted to start drinking red wine again, mainly for the “anticipation celebration” effect. When I was getting sober, I wrote a lot about how drinking seemed to fuel a long many years in my life of achievement-oriented work, play, goals. I drank in order to get excited to do things–and it worked, as wine drops dopamine, and your entire system just feels excited, and MOTIVATED–and I drank while I was striving for “excellence” and “achievement” in order to reward myself for all this freaking brain-crushing, soul-sucking “excellence” and “achievement.” It was as if–and maybe it was actually so–my entire life of striving was built on the anticipation and then, reward of wine after a “job” well done.

So, when I quit drinking, and even now, of course, I struggle with feeling excited to do stuff! Like, at night, I often feel I’ve done nothing, or not enough, with my day; I felt that way before I quit drinking, and I would mask it by downing wine. I can’t hide from these feelings anymore, and I still have them, and I struggle at night when it’s time for bed and I’m like, I feel SO GOD DAMNED BORED but yet of all the MILLION things I could be doing, I don’t want to do any of them. So, I go to bed, moping, feeling defeated, depressed, wondering, what’s the point here? I am SO squandering my talents, my time, my LIFE.

Wow. I know, I am neurotic, and it’s helped and hurt me. What I am saying is, lately, I have been wanting to drink out of a sense of frustration at night (I am so not sexy anymore, here, this wine will make me feel young and hot again–NOT…haha) and a sense of existential panic (I feel so bored and so maybe I should read or write, but I SO don’t feel like doing that, and I can’t escape both feelings so here, let me have this wine to just erase the fuck out of all of this nonsense–NOT…haha). Of course, I have no intention of drinking again, I stay firm, but, it’s not to say that this wispy idea hasn’t been coming back to me over and over again, sneaking its way into my “Oh, that sounds like a good idea” thought patterns… I know I could benefit from meditation, and it’s something that has helped me in the past.

It’s a process, but I stand firm because I KNOW that drinking is not going to change ANYTHING but the cosmetic appearance (to myself) of my life; that I will wake up with the same face, black eyeliner smeared into bruise-like patterns where rouge and lipstick should be, wondering why I just spent $50 on wine and wasted another night?

Anyway, perchance to dream, and inhale, and exhale, all while sober–how lucky am I!

Tags: dreaming, dreams, future goals, life goals, life transitions, moving, time off, what's next, wine

Comments 4 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Boredom, Change, Choices, Goals, Gratitude, Life, Moving, Random, Recovery, Sobriety, Work

Is self-love radical?

5 Mar

11:12 pm

We’re finally settling in here, coming up on 6 weeks after our big move. And, while we’re getting used to the new normal–stores, working electricity, no bugs (and therefore, an almost-vacuum of sound at night), a sense of being definitively bounded by four walls (not the sky as one, the ocean as the other three)–I’m still feeling a bit disoriented. But, I just plugging away, and doing what needs to be done; sort of the same thing over and over, day in and day out. That’s how I’m coping with all this change. Kind of sounds just like getting sober, eh?

This move has been challenging, to say the least. Who am I here? Who are we? And, am I still sober or do I just not drink? I guess I’m sort of on autopilot at the moment, and with that, some of my old “character defects”–feeling restless and irritable, desperately not wanting to “miss out”–crop up. I don’t feel like I can relax, or let go of the reins, and therefore, my dreams, and my sense of humor, and my romanticism are sort of dwindling.

I know it’s all got to come back once we find our way, but I must say, once in a while, out of boredom and restlessness (I feel so boring sometimes, especially if I don’t write or dissolve into a slightly more magical reality), I do wonder if I can drink again? Like, it’s been so long, can’t I…improve this mood, make me funny, and young, and sexy again? NOT! I know it’s just a fleeting thought, but I still have it and others like it once in a while–especially under stress, or while I’m PMSing.

Lately, I’ve been stuck in the past–and, angry about it as well as confused as to how I actually have a past (haha)! First up, I’ve been ruminating on friends who I feel just don’t get the new me–I know it’s been years since I got up, got sober, and went my own way, but I wonder, WHAT do they think happened to me? Like, these were good friends, but friends who never bothered to ask me, so, you quit drinking, moved to an island, and…what happened? Why did you do that? How did you fare? What’s your life been like? Who ARE you now? And, now that I’ve moved to a totally wacky-choice place (it’s a place I never would’ve imagined I would live)–not ONE of these so-called friends has inquired at all. Maybe they never cared, or maybe we just fell out of touch as our lives moved on. Maybe probably I was bad keeping in touch; yet, they KNEW of my drinking problem, and how much emotional trauma I had put myself (and them) through–so, I get tired of making excuses for them. The street goes both ways, it really does, and after a while, I think you just have to truly, finally let old “friends” go and make new ones.

Second, I finally got ahold of a set of old boxes full of old stuff–like, my life in pictures and scrapbooks, journals, jewelry, and stuffed animals–stuff spanning my childhood through teenage, college, and early 20s years. And, I went through it today. And, uh, I felt nothing but sadness, and confusion: sad that years have passed, we’ve all aged, and yeah, I’m definitely, I guess, “not young” anymore; confused in that, I don’t know what to do with all the memories, all the powerful experiences and people who have shaped who I’ve become, or, more pointedly, who I became up until I quit drinking. I am angry at that person (my younger self), and all those people and places and things that “happened to me” before I got sober. Why? It’s my life, it’s what made me, me! I guess I’m just at a loss as to what the point of all those experiences are, when, today, I have nothing really to do with those old friends, exes, people who left such a mark on my path; all the experiences and diplomas and takeaways. Since getting sober, I have practiced so much living in the present, and maybe forgetting about a painful past, that I literally forgot about it; erased a lot of times that have made me, me. It’s strange: what’s the point of all the living that we do, when in the end, all it amounts to is a few boxes of fading, illegible memorabilia?

I wish I could have hung onto all that, but I had to let it go in getting sober. At least so it SEEMS to me now. And, I think the hardest work in sobriety is after you make the break, the split with your old self and life and you finally do get sober–what do you go back for, reconcile, keep? How do I love my younger self, when I SO didn’t love her then?

I see my story, how things turned out, what was happening THEN so much clearer now; and the biggest question I have is, why did I hate myself so much? I was so sweet, clear, beautiful, harmless–at least from the outside. I was such a pleaser. Yet, I felt NO ONE loved me, and I definitely hated on myself. Maybe it’s just common to teenagers, or common to people affected with depression and anxiety, which I had growing up. I don’t know, but I did kick and scream against my self-hatred for a long time, and it wasn’t until I got sober and started practicing what I now see as an almost-defiant act–self-love–that I have come to realize how DIFFICULT it is to push against that hate, pressure, disapproval, discrimination put on you as a kid or teenager. The more I come into my own and STRUGGLE to love myself every day, the more I see not only what a DEFIANT act it is to practice self-love, but how RADICAL an act it is. To consciously love yourself is a radical act of defiance. And I don’t think I’m the only one who understands this! I think we all struggle with this determination that no matter what has happened, or happened to you, you must push up and into the sky, and love yourself.

The boxes are too much, so I’m putting them in the closet. The past will always be there, but right now, I need to live in the present, and somehow begin to again honor and love the girl who got me here.

Tags: aging, letting go of the past, life changes, moving, radical self-love, self-love, transitions

Comments 11 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Anxiety, Binge drinking, Boredom, Change, Depression, Friendships, Life, Psychology, Recovery, Relationships, Self-empowerment, Sobriety

We’ve arrived

8 Feb

6:32 pm

And, in more ways than one!

We made the leap to the mainland two weeks ago today, and I have to say, it not only went much more smoothly than I thought it would, but we are settling in much more easily than I thought we would. I mean, we have everything we need, and it’s so damn convenient, and clean, and new, and affordable in America! I didn’t appreciate this the last time I moved back; this time, I honestly could not be happier. And, man, is that a crazy-new feeling for me.

Needless to say, there will be no drinking in this apartment. Ever. And, I think this actually might be a first for me–I have never in my adult life lived in a place that will have been, in the end, an absolutely alcohol-free (well, for me, anyway) home. Sha-zam!

It’s good to have begun the moving-on process, admittedly. And, it’s such a relief to have some normalcy, which for people who have lived in the “rest of the world” (i.e., not America) actually equates to luxury. We have electricity all the time that is also affordable; with that comes always-on high-speed Internet; with all that comes new and clean and abundant STUFF–stores and food and furniture, manicured shrubbery and planned communities and stewarded (by laws!) natural recreation areas (the best of them in this part of the country, I would say). Gasp! It’s all too much. And I fucking LOVE IT. The abundance here is overwhelming, yes, but frankly, I was exhausted of island life–the endless inconveniences, the sort of dirty living, the hostility of locals toward “Americans” and vice versa–yah, I don’t think I’ll be able to inhale the abundance fast enough. Not to say that I don’t miss aspects to living in the islands; but, when I return, it’ll probably be to a different island, or maybe the mainland Caribbean.

So, now what we’re working on is settling into a new rhythm, which can be frustrating. Like, I still haven’t found much time to write; my days consist of keeping up with my “real job” and figuring out a new daily routine that works for me and for us. (Our “bear” with canine lymphoma is slowly making his exit; but, I’m grateful that he made it here, and has already been able to see snow, and will probably hang on long enough for us to let him go). And, I have to remember, it will take time. Settling into a new normal takes time, and patience, and self-care. Just like sobriety!

Looking forward to actually writing more this year. I just wanted to check in and say howdy, folks, and hope all are doing great. No wine here; no whine here.

Tags: abundance, America, content, contentment, happiness, happy, moving, moving on, real world, simple life, sober home, the little things

Comments 10 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Binge drinking, Change, Gratitude, Happiness, Moving, Recovery, Sobriety

Writing and cold cities

27 Nov

11:45 am

Hey, folks, Well, I’m here, back at it, and ready to be fierce. NOT! Happy Thanksgiving to all, and a kickoff of the holiday season! For some, that means painful memories, for others, it means an uber-busy next few months. For me, it means both, and cookies, and cakes, and just continuing to be grateful–5-plus years later–that I am here, and not there. Here, having this life, with its ups and downs; and not there, drinking my everything away, and all the possible everything’s, too.

I realized recently that part of what is causing me to feel less than whole is that I’ve stopped writing. Even writing this makes me feel a bit sick in the pit of my belly–anxious, actually. Must must must start writing again! I think my depression, and self-loathing (to be blunt, I hate myself more than a little when I don’t write or create), is caused by this. There is no magic in my world if I’m not writing, or, in general, being creative. I look at this blog and think, what happened to that girl? She is still here, she’s just not writing. And therefore, not feeling quite whole.

The hurricanes have turned our world upside down, and rearranged our lives. I miss going to the beach; I miss running on said beach road. I miss knowing that while I’m in the middle of the ocean, things are FINE here–things are NOT fine here, and things won’t be fine for a while. There are uncertainties that won’t–can’t–be ironed out. There are things and faces and places that are never coming back. And, while I want to ignore this reality, it’s there, the new “normal,” as everyone down here keeps repeating.

I refuse to give up, though, on figuring out what, exactly, I need and want right now. It’s not wine, it might be hormones, it could be a move (while we have made our exit plan, which is both saddening and enlivening to me, I know changing locations is not going to change what’s going on inside my head and heart, fundamentally), and it most definitely is to start writing/being creative more. I won’t give up! And, I won’t stop choosing to be happy, content, grateful, and empowered by that choice.

I flew home last week after about 3 weeks away. I am glad to be home, with my loves, in the light (literally; cities just might not be in my cards anymore because they are so dark, so angular); and one main thing I realized when I was there, in the big city, is that if I’m honest, I don’t really want that lifestyle anymore. And, that it is OK to be angry and that instead of fighting the anger, the sadness, the whatever negativity I’m feeling, I should just accept it. Huh? The thought sort of bowled me over: accept and don’t judge your negative feelings instead of exhausting yourself trying to outrun them. I’m going to try the former and see what happens.

And, so, yeah, cities. Drinking and going out in cities, which is what I did and how I defined myself for so long. Not anymore. I mean, YAH, it really is a bit more heartening to go out for a pink twilit walk with the dogs than to be walking into a pub, ready to temporarily and artificially enhance my mood! It really is better this way, soooo much better. Even when I feel quite lonely here–alone as we all do now and then on our solo paths and journeys–I know that I have this world within that is never-changing, that is always bathed in that pink moonlight, that is there to hold me, to embrace me, and to tell me that It Will Be OK.

It Will Be OK.

That is default setting when you’re sober. When you’re not, default setting is, The World Sucks and Nothing Will (Ever) Be OK.

Walking into a cold bar to drink among cold non-friends? Eh, no thanks anymore. I choose light, and happiness, and maybe even accepting the darkness so I can move through it without fear. Huh, maybe cold cities have more to teach me than I thought?

Tags: accept anger, anger, change, cities, cold cities, dark bars, darkness, don't judge your feelings, embrace anger, lack of sunlight, mindfulness, moving, negativity, writing

Comments 8 Comments
Categories Addiction, Alcoholism, Bars, Binge drinking, Change, Choices, Depression, Gratitude, Happiness, Holidays, Recovery, Sobriety, Writing

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Drunky Drunk Girl

It’s been too long

Mid-year check-in!

Who said you can’t go home again?

Welcome to the doll house

Moving…houses and jobs!

Can we go home again?

Perchance to dream

Is self-love radical?

We’ve arrived

Writing and cold cities

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Hi, it’s DDG!

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