Tag Archives: recovery

Too much thinkin’ about drinkin’, says Drunky Drunk Girl!

31 Oct

5:29 pm

And, I suppose that’s better than thinkin’ AND drinkin’.

I don’t know about all this constant thinking — ruminating, actually — on drinking. Since I’ve quit, begun this blog, and started going to AA meetings, all I do is think about drinking! Sure, I don’t drink, but I still think about it. In fact, what’s the point of quitting if you have to continually THINK about it?

I’ve been somewhat overwhelmed by my thoughts the past few days, so I feel all a’jumble today. BUT, I wanted to say howdy and try to share a few of those thoughts, at least (warning: long post ahead).

On a positive note, I picked a sponsor today. Well, “picked” might be stretching it. It was sort of a random choice, and now I’m regretting it. I might hit up another woman, whom I feel more of a connection with and who goes to more meetings with me than the other (stranger) woman. I think I just got caught up in the moment this morning; or, I was impatient and wanted to stop sitting on the fence and JUST DO IT. In any case, she gave me some “official” reading material, and if there’s one thing I’m good at — besides overthinking — it’s reading material.

Anyway, based of some of the topics and shares at the past few AA meetings I’ve been to, I’ve been thinking about the following:

1. Bondage to self, or self-centeredness. It was a topic at one of the meetings, like many of these next points. My question remains: Where does self-centeredness end and self-effacement begin? Which is more or less healthy, and for me, a trigger? I am surely selfish and self-centered like the rest, but sometimes (maybe 50% at least), I drank to make myself numb to my doormat qualities, my inability to stand up for what I truly want, and my insecurity (I don’t feel like I deserve that what I truly want). I think some people drink more as the result of one versus the other, and in meetings, it seems that everyone who shares drank because they were selfish bastards. I don’t think my primary motivating factor was to be a selfish bastard, to party, to get high; I think it was to self-medicate.

2. Drinking to get drunk versus drinking to self-medicate. In meetings, it seems that a LOT of folks, especially the older men, drank to drink. To get drunk, to avoid their lives and problems and emotional blocks, whatever. I drank a lot of the time to feel better in my head. Sure, I drank to zone out, but I also drank to feel less static in my brain, to improve my mood, to make me feel like life was spectacular and not existentially ridiculous, to have something to look forward to because at that moment — in those moments — I don’t feel like doing or thinking or being anything. And then I feel bad (see point 1 above) about wasting time, and I feel even worse. But, it’s a particular need to not lubricate, but mend something inside. An existential rip in the seam of life, as it were. Now, I see that maybe I need not only a huge sense of purpose, but antidepressants. Endorphins of the highest order. Cookies and cake and loads of caffeine are not cutting it, I’m sorry.

3. Doing too little versus having an overwhelming sense of purpose and doing too much/what I “should;” unable to relax. Me, the latter, as you can guess. I am task-oriented, so it helps me to not drink if I have an 18-hour day planned. That’s why [cold east coast city] was so good for me. YET…isn’t that worse? Is being a workaholic better or worse for you than being an alcoholic? I’ve reconciled my need to “scratch that itch” with my desire to drink; I am what I am, and if my definition of “fun” and “productive” are unusually severe, then so be it. There is that work-life balance thing, though, which I never quite got, and am not sure I ever will. It’s very difficult for me to relax, to “not be productive.” I’m sure it is for many people, but they don’t consider it a problem. Is it, if it makes you feel uber-good about life?

4. Thinking yourself out of drinking versus giving your will “over” to a “higher power.” CONTRARY to what I assumed after going to all these meetings, everyone (based on today’s meeting) is like me in that they, too, have to think through it in order to convince themselves not to drink when they want to. I found this confusing, relative to what AA says, which is to give it up to “God.” If all y’all are rationalizing your urges away, then where does direct intervention and taking away of obsession by a higher power come in?

(I found it astonishing that quite a few people in AA said their cravings/urges/obsession disappeared almost immediately. You must not be drinkin’ red wine, is all I can think to say.)

5. AA meetings make me want to drink. And, someone said today: The only time I actually think about drinking anymore is when I’m here, at a meeting! Tell it, brotha.

6. “God” is what happens, what occurs, between and among other beings, whether human or animals. It’s not an outside force, per se, but something that comes from within and that is born through relating to and realtionships with other living creatures, including plants. WE are god, individually and collectively. Maybe I’ve just done a step here? 😉

Sometimes I think this whole thing is just overblown. Sure, I did some bad shit, but it’s grapes, people. Just grapes. Then again, I know that a sense of purpose is what saves me, that getting outside my head helps me, that staying in the moment through journaling and working and doing things like running and playing guitar improves my sense of belonging in the world. I know that swimming among massive swells at a local beach makes me feel strangely connected to a deep, abiding “aliveness,” that being a body of water which is large and ancient and powerful beyond what I can imagine — and that makes me feel, ironically, calm and safe and protected from myself, from my small ego.

Sometimes I want to conclude that I am a binge drinker who is depressed/obsessed by existential crises (choices, work versus play, meaning of life, death). Does that mean I need to work the steps and continue to ruminate, lifelong, on a problem? Can’t I simply solve it (don’t drink)? Then again, if I’m truly honest — and feeling good about life, which generally speaking, I have been since June 13th — I can see how those steps can only help me move forward. They can only help, if I’m humble and embrace them without my ego and mindedness getting in the way. And, then again again, DOES IT REALLY MATTER WHAT YOU “ARE” IF BEING SOBER, EVEN IF IT TAKES WORK, MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER AND MAKES YOUR LIFE BETTER? I would have to say, an obvious no.

And, dun dun dun: 21 days as of tomorrow! And, while I’ve thought about drinking a glass of wine, I really haven’t wanted to. Like, I haven’t felt like it. I feel calmer in the face of everything — work, moving, relationship, existential nonsense — that made me feel like drinking before. I feel calmer and more apt to say, Nah, instead of, OMG, YES. I don’t want to gloat, though, so I’ll sign off for now.

Here’s to all my sober buddies in the blogosphere — thanks to you all for being my support group and sounding board.

What to do on a sober Halloween? Try Al-Anon and a TON of sugar!

27 Oct

5:34 pm

NOT. Today, I totally crashed after my very first Al-Anon meeting. I really have got to do something about the amount of Diet Coke I’m drinking these days. I probably down at least a liter (4 cups, for those of you on THIS side of the pond) a day, if not more. Boo. I mean, it’s a different kind of craving, but I can describe it in one word: irritating. It’s distracting and absolutely irritating to feel the almost uncontrollable, and purely physical, sensation of *needing* sugar (or fake sugar, or whatever). Surmounting that soon. I don’t have enough energy to both consume sugar and then root around for extra-large-sized candy bars, too.

Anyhoo, I had a lovely morning at least. Woke up to another amazing day on the ocean — sapphire blue waters, a sheet of blue sky punctuated by big clumps of white clouds, a gusting wind cooling down the approaching mid-morning heat. Around 10, I went to a large Al-Anon meeting sponsored by Promises in Paradise, that sober conference which, btw, is also putting on an ICE CREAM SOCIAL tonight. I am literally starting to tremble just thinking about how much of my body weight I could eat in ice cream…

So, Al-Anon. It was kind of like an AA meeting in that most of the roster of speakers were also alcoholics and/or addicts. I got the gist of it, which is that these Al-Anon meetings help family members (and friends?) figure out what to do, how to cope, and importantly, how to just let go in the face of someone they’re related to or care about drinking and drugging.

(I can relate, I think. When it comes to my brother and his girlfriend, I’ve “given up” on fixing their co-dependent relationship. And, I can say, I really don’t care that much. It’s not my problem, for real.)

It made me see the toll that my drinking and blackouts and belligerence must have had and is still having on my family and friends. Like, it never occurred to me that anyone COULD be that affected. Why? Because they just didn’t care enough. At least that’s what I thought. It’s MY problem, so why should I have to worry about myself AND other people?, was what I’d always tell myself. Well, this meeting helped me to see — for some reason for the very first time in a way that sunk in — that other people need help recovering, if not actually coping, from the fallout of a drunk’s behavior while drunk. (Actually, I have been thinking about it ever since my boyfriend mentioned possibly wanting to go to one — What’s wrong with YOU? Why would YOU need help? Oh, right, because I’ve harassed you in a raging blackout about a million times.)

Sooooo, who’s dressing up for Halloween?

Oh, God. Last Halloween? Let me erase any ideas of drinking being entertained, my friends. Last Halloween, I decided to fly down to LA to visit an old college friend. Needless to say, I drank the night before flying down. AND, didn’t stop until I passed out (for probably a few hours, maybe not at all, I can’t remember). AND, woke up and continued drinking en route to the airport, AT the airport (beer in the morning, so tasty, right?), during the flight, and then AFTER landing at LAX. This was all before 2 pm. I was sitting next to some guy who was, for some reason (did he not see how drunky drunk I was?) flirting with me and encouraging me to drink more, and then I, flirting back in a drunken stupor, thought it a brilliant idea to ask him to have “one last drink” with me at a bar in LAX near our gate.

Fast forward two hours later, and I come to from my blackout. Apparently, I was wandering around LAX, lost, and my friend was trying to find me, texting me and calling me, to no avail. Somehow we linked up, and I barely remember exiting the airport, sitting in my wet (yes, I pissed my pants) jeans in the passenger seat of his car, and getting back to his place in West Hollywood so that he could leave me to “sleep it off,” which I did. What’s worse than all this happening between the hours of 2 and 5 pm in the afternoon? Pissing my pants in public. A new low. More shameful than shitting my pants (yes, that happened once), seeing how everyone could see my wet jeans, and if they couldn’t, I’m sure they could smell them. TMI, but hey, it’s kind of at least a little bit funny, right?

Oh, yes. Rock on, sobriety and bladder control.

We had a fairly decent weekend, dressed up and went out, all that. I was drinking by the next evening, much to my friend’s chagrin. It took almost a full year for this friend to forget — I knew he forgave me almost immediately, but his irritation, disappointment, and frustration would not allow him to forget. Thank God(dess) for these friends, who are few and far between; I have others who have not been so gracious and empathetic.

Anyway, think before you drink (or, dry drink, I guess!). Happy SOBER Halloween! 🙂

Anyone up for a sober conference? Promises in Paradise is where it’s at!

25 Oct

2:29 am

There’s a conference on [beautiful island where I now live] this weekend called “Promises in Paradise,” which is basically a weekend-long AA meeting. Not sure if I can swallow it just yet; I mean, I still sort of cry inside every time I think, island + wine + DDG = null set.

Ah, well. Maybe, like my boyfriend says, I should fill up my wine glass with chilled rooibos tea — my current obsession — instead of wine?

Today was OK; nothing Earth-shattering. Which, in a way, bums me out. (I think I just have to get used to having settled in, and not, like, continuously moving around and looking forward to being somewhere else — or do I? I’m already looking forward to trips to PR, D, and H!) I had an interview with a possible fourth client, and that went well. I must say, this freelance thing takes a lot of patience, as there isn’t as much measurable output as one might need to feel productive. AND, it just takes a lot of time linking up with people and arranging work. I feel somewhat blah about this next project, but I’m sure I’ll rally.

No meeting for me today — figured I’d be able to OD on meetings this weekend if I end up hitting that conference. (And, why not? It’s right around the corner and how cool will I be when I get to tell people that I actually LIVE in said paradise?). I ended up spending the evening cleaning and unpacking! It feels GREAT to have my closet a little bit more organized, to have the bags off the floor and the sheets and towels and underwear in their right place. Yet…

Always a yet. Why can’t I just be happy with what is? Settling in makes me feel unsettled, that’s just a given. I am a restless mofo, and I know this about myself. It’s one of the reasons I drank. Speaking of which, at last night’s meeting, one woman shared that her biggest obstacle to acceptance was that she didn’t like the 21st century! LOL I could relate; I mean, we all have our “head” issues, our perceptions of reality that make us feel crazy/weird being human. Mine is information overload and an inability to “see through” the physical reality around me. More often than not, I would drink out of anxiety and frustration surrounding these glitches.

Anyway, yup, always in my head! Oh, well, that’s what this blog is for. Anyway…I miss my stuff in [cold east coast city]. I miss…my life. In [cold east coast city]? I’m not sure. I feel…like I’m floating. Maybe it’s time for a “real” job; it’s cool to have reached my goal of earning a living as a freelance writer, but I know — have known for a while — that it’s not something that I find all that rewarding anymore, writing/editing, and there are other things I know I’d like to spend my time doing.

All in due time. One day at a time. I have trouble with this, so I’m just going to calmly shut my laptop and Turn It Off.

Oh, and: 14 days, kids! And, really, very little desire to drink; very large desire to keep working, moving forward, and keeping the “wine gut” to a bare minimum (I think I can safely transition to using the more aptly named “blueberry muffin gut” now).

Let go and let…God(dess)?

23 Oct

10:59 pm

Well, folks, I think I’ve actually found some solace in AA. Say WHAT?

First off, island life is grand. I’m getting a feel for how my days will pan out (structure is my friend), I’ve just bought a car (squee!), and I’m really looking forward to building on new ideas, new endeavors (this weekend, we’re going on a tour of the island’s new observatory, seeing a musical — no shit — and fingers crossed, starting to plant a garden on the hill behind the house), and my writing. That’s one of reasons I’m here, right? Mornings are lush, afternoons are languid, and evenings are musical. Why would I want to drink? (Craving red wine as I write this… Le sigh. Never going to change, eh? Gotta believe that one day I won’t want to drink to make the good better, the better awesome, and the grand, super-duper amazing. Shut UP, Drunky Drunk Girl! Back down, wolf!)

Anyway, I’ve been to a handful of meetings now — maybe four? — and, well, they ARE helping. Helping in that one, I usually don’t want to go but two, after I go, I’m really glad I did! Three, it helps to have people on your side. Even though I haven’t called anyone yet, I know that if I wanted to, I have like, 20 new friends whom I could. I know people outside of AA now, thanks to random connections that have turned up as admitted drunks; it’s hard to swing a wet towel on this island and not hit one, though. Still, their support (and my openness about being “in recovery”) combined with the support offered by random strangers at AA; well, it’s comforting to know that they’re watching out for me and caring if I drink or not. Like, really caring. Compared to how I think my brother and dad feel (couldn’t give a rat’s ass), this feels like…a relief.

At every meeting, there’s been one or two things that people have said that really hit home — and that helps. A lot. In a subtle way, I feel refreshed, more committed to not drinking, and well, distracted after meetings. Whatever works, right?

For me, they’re helping in another way, and that’s getting me out there on my own and meeting new people. Getting a feel for the island by getting to know some people outside my boyfriend’s inner circle of friends. I know joining things will help, too, but this first step into widening my social network is nice in that, people can’t really reject you at AA. 😉

(It helps that I have committed to at least 90 days, too; I’m resisting everything a lot less. Though, the more I hit meetings, the more I wonder, maybe it’s the meetings that are strengthening my resolve?)

So, remember how I was talking about this “God” thing last post? Well, I know it’s Step 3 and I’m not even sure I’m sold yet on the program of AA let alone the steps, but it’s been on my mind: how can you say that a higher power helped you to stop, resist, and/or not crave booze? Isn’t that stuff that only your mind, your will, your very body can do? I went to a meeting on Saturday night, and someone said something about having drunk through 15 years of AA meetings before he finally “let go and let God.” He said the same thing I was thinking: OK, all right, let me try this nonsense for ONE day, that’s it, and see what happens. He did it and it changed his life, he said. Could it be that I simply need to just fucking give this shit a chance? (Sorry, I feel like cursing tonight! Higher Power said it’s OK.)

I actually already believe in a higher power, a “glue” of sorts that holds the universe together, and this glue does shit that even the most enlightened mind cannot imagine. I studied biology, and well, some of the stuff I learned about the microscopic workings of the body and nature are pretty surreal; why not a higher glue? So, it’s not hard for me to say, OK, let synchronicity handle it — I’ve experienced things like meeting the right people at the right time, and once you begin to open up to these “invisible workings,” they start to happen more. HOWEVER, I never prayed for a direct intervention; au contraire. I don’t believe in any kind of direct intervention, that’s just religious nonsense to me. Yesterday, though, I was like, OK, let’s just suspend our disbelief for one day, ONE day, and like that guy, see what happens.

That was yesterday morning. We took the dog to the vet and as I was standing outside with him, waiting for my boyfriend to pay the doc — this was about 11 am — I said to God/my higher power, “Higher Power, or whatever, wherever, whoever you are, please help me today. Help me get through the day, but mostly, tell me what to do. I really, actually, am making it up as I go along, so please, guide me and I’ll follow. For real. I have no clue what I’m doing here.”

And from that point, the day unfolded almost ridiculously perfectly, with surprises and accomplishments and well, things just Falling Into Place. I found a car. Yes, a car! I was dreading the ordeal of finding and sorting through all the shit used cars for sale down here, all the while not really wanting to spend more than $3,000. Yet, yesterday morning, my boyfriend found an ad from one of his friends on Facebook selling a used car, we went to take a look, test drove it, and whaddya know, it’s a GREAT little car! And, we’re getting it for under $2,000! I would never have, I guess, embraced an event like this if certain things hadn’t been aligned and if I hadn’t been open to committing to the uncertainty but doing it anyway (how long will I be down here, I could probably spend that money on something else, blah blah blah). Higher Power was like, Shut it, DDG. You’re doing this.

Other stuff just kept happening, too. After the vet, and before the car, we went to look at someone’s moving sale stuff and found a few pieces of essential cookware, stuff I had been sort of worrying about finding down here. (Fretting about where and when you’ll find a medium-sized frying pan and a small saucepan at 1 am when you can’t sleep, from an entire coast away? That would be me.) We stopped at the post office and lo and behold, my boxes that I shipped to myself from [cold west coast city] had arrived! After we dropped them off at the house, we headed out to the beach. En route, we just happened to run into one of our very cool neighbors, so we all decided to hit the beach together. Then, Obama kicked Mittens’ ass in the debate… Dude, it HAD TO BE MY HIGHER POWER, I just knew it. 😉

I do think that things fall into place, and believe me, I’ve been planning and arranging and controlling and molding for a few months now. Which, I think, is why the day seemed to have this charged energy — I just let go. So what if the car’s not perfect? So what if I end up spending only a few months here and have to sell off all this new stuff? This and that, blah blah blah, wolf drunk head chatter. Who cares? I just embraced the uncertainty, I guess, of my new life; committed to it. That felt good. I haven’t committed to being somewhere since my last place in [cold east coast city], over two whole years ago. The whole time I was in [cold west coast city], I simply never committed to being there, so avoided things like buying cars. I also completely avoided getting involved in activities, getting to know people, stopping drinking, pretty much life. My life was drinking, if I’m honest. And that took away my ability to even tell certainty from uncertainty, let alone live with it and surmount it by engaging in an actual life.

Like I said, I do believe in a “force” we can’t see, but I believe it works between and among us, not from Higher Being to me. Direct intervention or relaxing into making chioces and following through? Either way, I think sobriety has played a huge role.

Since I’m counting weeks, I’m almost at two again! Woo hoo! (Day 12 today!) And, while Sunday was rough and I pouted for a minute or two, the thought of caving and not getting to the other side — that being the elusive Day 90 — never crossed my mind. NO WAY! I GOT THIS.

Day 7…AGAIN…and zero desire to drink

9 Oct

11:38 am

For real! And, considering the fact that I’ve been doing the family thing AND dealing with my brother and his cuckoo bird of a girlfriend…I feel pretty strong!

BRING IT!

Actually, what I think it is — and I don’t want to knock abstinence, because I’m closer than EVER to believing in it — is that I caved, tried my drinking shoes on again (and again), and they were so very, horribly uncomfortable. In fact, I couldn’t even walk in them. So, now that I’ve found that out, I can move forward, knowing that the cravings will lead to no good.

I am, however, the type of personality that needs to see for myself. Experiment. I’m curious, a scientist. I don’t think that falling off the wagon oh, six or seven times in the past 90 days is necessary for everyone to succeed at abstinence.

Anyhoo, I’m here, seeing family and feeling pretty solid. My favorite aunt is in town, and she surprised us by being at my grandma’s when my dad and I popped over for a visit yesterday! AWESOME. She’s just one of those aunts who was always cool, young, hip, a friend. NORMAL. (My brothers and I needed normal back in the day.) She’d come over and give us kids massive hugs (her 5-foot, 100-pound frame doing little to belie her huge heart) when we were growing up within a very dysfunctional household. She and her sister don’t really get along with my dad, and my step-mom doesn’t really get along with either of them, and my dad has never really gotten over his own mother leaving them when they were kids and committing suicide… And now, my brother has basically condoned his girlfriend’s hate-mail to me the other day (more on that later, re: making amends and what you do when someone responds viciously to your attempt at that), and he and his girlfriend hate my father, but everyone, it seems, ranges from extreme dislike to extreme disappointment at my brother’s choice of partner…

Like I said, I’m feeling strong! LOL All I can do is make my way, remain standing tall, smile, and continue to express myself such that everyone knows that I care, I’m still doin’ my thing, and once I leave Breederville again, I’ll neither hate nor look back. I’ll just love. Everyone. For everything they gave me. Even all the dysfunctional, bad stuff.

Off the box. Must write/work now, get some sort of cardio in (ugh, feels like my heart is beating out of my chest from lack of exercise), and then off on another awkward lunch with my dad. Do I bring up his depression (we’re pretty sure he is an actual case of bipolar disorder), and his choices/future, what he’s doing about it? Ugh. I don’t know. It’d be SO much easier to just let it go, just be there for him. Yet…I feel like that would be letting it sit, fester. I don’t know.

At least the farm is peaceful and calm.

And, I’m back…

27 Sep

11:26 pm

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

Blarg! IT’S 100% NOT FUN ANYMORE.

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

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

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

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

So, no, thanks.

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

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

SHUT UP! 😉

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

AA found me last night…

22 Sep

9:22 pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shamanic journeying through acupuncture? Yes, yes, YES!

18 Sep

11:43 am

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

(Warning: Psychobabble ahead.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfinished business…

16 Sep

5: 26 pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 29: Oh, how I do not long to be that drunk kid who fell onto his face

15 Sep

1:30 am

Ode to Day 29: Oh, how I do not long to be that drunk kid who fell onto his face in the subway. DUDE. Thank God(dess) he wasn’t near the tracks. He was at the bottom of the escalator and literally tripped and went SPLAT onto his chest and face. Ouch. Of course, I laughed after I got past him (two other people helped his drunk ass up), mainly because it was one of those falls so utterly lacking in grace that you can’t perform it unless you’re totally shitfaced and your limbs are approximately 95% out of your conscious control.

How often have I done — and not remembered doing — something like that? I cringed and immediately took a reality check: I could have been him and could have done that, and something really bad (breaking my neck comes to mind — I know someone who did) could have happened. I suck in my breath a little at the thought of the absolute possibility.

I remember walking around [cold east coast city] a few years ago, pretty soon before I left (man, that sounds so sad; must get back). I was still drinking and blacking out, but it was taking its toll and I was moving into my serious-problem phase. (That makes me smile — which was what, pray tell? Rage-dialing a recent ex AND banging your laptop to death in the same night?). Anyway, it was dark and as I was crossing the street with the hoards of mainly 20s kids, I saw this 20s kid stumbling, lit as fuck. He could barely stand up, and kept weaving in and out of this wide swath of land that he considered his “dotted line.” He looked like he was in a trance and had no idea where he was or what he was doing. He’d move toward people, nearly fall on them, and they’d back away. Or, just pretend not to notice him at all.

It stands out because I remember wanting to go over to him and like, HELP HIM. I was worried that he might walk into traffic or trip over an open manhole. Or worse, fall into one of those storefront openings in the sidewalk that lead to the shop’s basement level. That could have been/probably was at some point ME. Did anyone help me? Did anyone care? Would strangers just let ME stumble about through the streets of [cold east coast city]? What makes him different than me?

I guess I must never have stumbled THAT badly around strangers in the bar, or outside on my own after my friends took off, or trying to find a cab… I doubt it, though, as I have more than one memory of “coming to” somewhere totally foreign and not in my ‘hood (sometimes not even in my borough). I know it’s happened here…when I got arrested and spent the night in a sobering cell in [cold west coast city], or when I blacked out for hours and ended up getting mugged and losing my glasses somewhere that felt like the Mission but to this day I have no idea where I was in the city, or when…the list goes on.

The point is, it gets worse. Kind of like the opposite of the Dan Savage anti-bullying campaign. It Gets Worse. Hopefully, though, that kid in [cold east coast city] didn’t turn up dead or seriously injured, and hopefully he’s not relying on the “kindness” of strangers anymore after he’s had too much to drink. If you think about it, HOW MANY times have we gone home shitfaced after a night out drinkin’? How many times have I walked, taken the subway, hailed a cab, climbed up seven flights of stairs or taken the elevator to my apartment COMPLETELY blacked out, or at least in severe brownout? Innumerable. Literally. I might as well count backward from 365. Now? Today? Today I don’t even think I’d trust myself in the shower drunk. IT GETS WORSE.

This post is all just to say, I’m consciously glad — finally — that I’m not falling onto my face at the bottom of a subway station’s escalator (which wasn’t even turned ON). Dude is going to hurt tomorrow.

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