Month: June 2014

REMEMBER WHEN WEEKENDS SUCKED AND SLURPED ASS?

Happy Monday, my adorable little kitten farts! I hope you had a fantastic weekend SOBER. I did. But if the alcohol somehow got ahold of you OR if you stayed sober but just couldn’t find the joy in it, I TOTALLY understand and empathize. You can get there. We can get there. My oh my, how things have changed. Weekends weren’t always fun. Sometimes I felt lucky I was able to get back to work on Monday. And sometimes I didn’t get back to work until Tuesday. Oops.

Weekends used to go like this:

  • If someone asked me to hang out, I would get a drink or five after work on Friday. I would usually hope no one would bother trying to make plans with me and if they did, I would often decline the invite because I would rather-
  • Stop at the liquor store on the way home and buy a big bottle of vodka. I’d rather drink it simply on the rocks with a little seltzer and some straight shots every now and then in between but I felt it necessary to try to concoct something less alcoholic-y so the boyfriend wouldn’t think I was a drunk. I’d buy elaborate mixers and fresh citrus and make us adult cocktails while I frequently visited the freezer alone for shot after shot after shot because ain’t nobody got time for sipping. We would try to watch a movie and I would either pass out or we would fight. The nights rarely ended well.
  • I would wake up Saturday morning around 7AM with my heart pounding and feeling as if I were about to die. I would be violently ill. I would look around the house for signs of me having done things in a state of blackout. Sometimes I’d find weird shit like bowls of uneaten cereal on my desk in the office. In a panic, I’d try to clean everything up that looked suspicious. I’d look in the freezer at the bottle of vodka never knowing just how far to the bottom of the bottle I got. Sometimes totally empty but still put back into the freezer so no one saw the empty in the trash. The month or so before I quit, I would sometimes drink in the kitchen alone at 7AM. It didn’t matter what it was. If there were some vodka left, a shot of that. If there were beers in the fridge, a few of those. Not because I wanted to but because it was the only way I could think of to possibly make me feel better. And I knew that it would make things worse because I wouldn’t have the luxury of continuing drinking after that. I often ended up even more ill. But I did it anyway while consciously thinking about how bad of an idea it was.
  • I would lay in bed for as long as I possibly could. Sometimes the boyfriend wouldn’t give me grief and let me sleep. If he did let me sleep, I made it a point to try to be in the shower by no later than noon because anything longer wasn’t okay in my head. I always told him I felt sick. He’d suggest it was the alcohol. I’d insist it was something I ate, a flu, a cold, etc. Sometimes he wouldn’t let me sleep. Sometimes he was mad. He would open the blinds and let the sun shine in. He would start cleaning the bedroom and vacuuming. On these mornings, I’d have no choice but to get up and suffer in misery sitting upright and in clothes. Sometimes I would get up on my own accord even though I felt bad and I would pretend everything was fine. These were the worst days. I felt it necessary to throw a few of these in the mix every now and then to distract him from the really bad one I maybe had the weekend before.
  • I would make it until about 430PM on a Saturday afternoon before plans needed to start being made. We usually had nowhere to go because I was very good about making our lives miserable, boring, and declining invitations. I would feign a good mood and offer to make something good for dinner. I would go to the grocery store alone. If he offered to go with me, I’d do anything and everything to keep that from happening. I would stop at the liquor store and buy a bottle identical to the one in the freezer that I would use to replace the one from the night before. Then I’d ditch the prior night’s bottle deep in the recycling bin. I never knew if this fooled him or not. My theory was that he isn’t an alcoholic so he wouldn’t be checking the vodka level in the freezer so if I made another cocktail on Saturday night, he’d just assume it was leftover from the night before. I haven’t built up the courage to ask if he knew the whole time. I’d get home, make dinner, drink heavily while it was in process, eat with him, pass out, and do the whole Saturday morning routine over again on Sunday.
  • Sunday afternoon would roll around and I knew that I’d need to get creative tonight. The weekend’s second bottle of vodka was gone and surely I couldn’t justify buying a third. He’d find out somehow. So I’d go do the laundry. While it was drying, I’d sometimes go across the street to the bar and have a Bloody Mary alone because everyone else was, right? It’s Sunday. It’s brunch! On a few occasions, I bought a few beers at the convenience store next door and drank them INSIDE of the Laundromat. The goal was to get just to the tip of drunk so I could drink lightly the rest of the night so I didn’t draw attention to myself. After laundry was done, I’d stop by the liquor store for a half pint of vodka that I could hide in my pocket and stash upstairs in the bedroom. Then I had to stop and buy a bunch of beers. I’d be sure to get a few the boyfriend liked so it maybe looked like I was being nice and not just trying to get drunk. I’d get home, take the beer to the kitchen, start dinner, crack one open. The goal was to very visibly be already consuming a beer before the boyfriend came in my direction so when he smelled beer on my breath, he’d think it was just NEW beer breath and not LAUNDRY beer breath. WTF? And he might be weird about the fact that I was drinking AGAIN but I could play beer off. WHAT? It’s just a beer! It’s the weekend! YOLO! I’d get through the half pint of vodka upstairs during random trips to the bedroom to get my iPad, charge my phone, look for something, fold the laundry, etc. Inevitably, I would reach a point in the evening where I would realize that the beers and the half pint were severe underestimates of what I would need to be happy and okay. So I’d end up being miserable the rest of the night and taking over the counter sleep aids way above the dosage to try to knock me out and wake up Monday morning wanting to die. Then I switched to full pints of hidden vodka rather than half because I’d rather not drink at all than get trapped in a situation where you don’t have enough alcohol and there is nothing you can fucking do about it. And that went on a for a while until that fateful day on Monday morning, April 14th, 2014, when I just couldn’t keep doing it anymore.

Now weekends go like this:

  • Stop at a grocery store on Friday night and pick out various beverages I like so I never get bored with what I’m drinking. Get home and cuddle with the puppy and the boyfriend and order delivery and watch a movie. This Friday was Spring Breakers. Very weird flick but haters can hate. I actually thought it was really well done. Visually beautiful. Haunting. Then a 10PM walk to frozen yogurt store. BAD. I know. Sat outside eating it with the puppy on our laps and everyone stopping to say hi to him. They couldn’t care less about US. Get home, cuddle in bed watching bad reality TV, fall asleep naturally and sleep soundly.
  • Wake up REALLY early Saturday without meaning to. Walk the puppy. Get coffee. Lounge for a while without a care in the world. Feel calm. Peaceful. Happy. The sun is so pretty shining through the curtains. Then off to the gym for a workout that leaves me pumped and excited about life. Home. More lounging. Lunch. Drop off the laundry (I no longer stay and do the laundry myself. I pay extra for their laundry service and pick it up the next day to avoid the trigger of the bar and the convenience store next door). Then more lounging. More puppy cuddles. Then I said to the boyfriend, “Hey. Let’s go get those plants and flowers for the patio that we’ve been talking about for weeks,” and I turn off the TV and stand up. He looks at me like he has seen a ghost. Then his eyes light up. I can tell he’s so excited. He stopped suggesting things because he knew I’d say no. But now things are starting to change. We take our time at the nursery filling up a wagon with various plants we know nothing about. We joke about being worried they will die. I look at the beauty around me. IS THIS REALLY ME? AM I DOING THIS? I am. We pay, call a cab, and take our haul home. We unload and start potting on the patio with the puppy at our feet. We have to yell NO! NO! over and over as puppy thinks it’s funny to eat dirt. The flowers look pretty and we realize we need a lot more greenery. Next weekend, we agree. Then a casual night going through belongings and watching movies in preparation for the yard sale the next day.
  • Wake up early on Sunday again. Make steak and eggs with mushrooms and spinach. We eat and enjoy some quiet time. Then it’s time to start setting up. The yard sale starts at 11AM and we sit outside with one of our roommates soaking up the sun and talking to strangers about the items we’re trying to get rid of. And then again it hits me- HOLD ON A SECOND. I’M HAVING FUN. OH MY GOD. It’s hot so I make some iced tea for everyone. The roommate suggest I go in and grab her gin bottle and spike it. I tell her no and that she can make her own iced tea for that. Mine is for drinking as is. She isn’t offended. She’s not an alcoholic so she doesn’t care. It gets later and we close it down, shower, and enjoy the rest of our night calmly reading, watching TV, chatting. Nothing hurts. Everything is clear. Boredom doesn’t exist.

I can’t imagine ever going back to the continuous and nonstop nightmare I was trapped in before. I get panicked and teary eyed just thinking about the pain and suffering. The flowers and love and beauty are so much better. And even if this weekend sucked and slurped total ass, it still wouldn’t be as bad as where I was before.

 

 

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A SCARY EMAIL

Happy Saturday! A few friends invited us to Cape Cod in August and I’ve been a little apprehensive and confused about how to respond. I want to go but need them to know that I won’t be stupid drunk like I usually am. Just hit send on an email. PI’ll keep you in the loop when they respond!

This sounds like a lot of fun! It would be great to see you all and to take the puppy on his first ocean adventure. I think he is really anxious to do some swimming. Yesterday he seemed like he was a little hot when we got home so I held him in front of the air conditioner so the cool air could blow on him and HE STARTED DOG PADDLING. Slow at first. Then faster and faster like he was an Olympic swimmer.

The house looks really cute! We chatted and we think it would be great. We just can’t stay the whole week because of work situations but could probably swing a 4 day weekend if we can talk to our respective bosses ahead of time. Like maybe we’d rent a car Thursday morning early and then spend three nights with you all and come back Sunday? How would the pricing work in terms of us paying you guys for our time there?

Also, not that it’s a big deal, but since the opportunity presents itself I just thought I’d let you guys know that I recently stopped drinking alcohol and have been sober for almost three months. Alcoholism runs in my family and things were getting a little too alcoholic-y for my own comfort so with the amazing support of (name of boyfriend), I decided to make some changes. I only mention this because it’s a VACATION and I obviously want you all to have fun in whatever way you want but didn’t want it to be surprising to you when I’m binge drinking La Croix and other seltzer products if we go.

🙂

Exciting!

UNINTENTIONALLY WENT TO A BAR LAST NIGHT. AND I PEED INTO A WATERFALL.

So before we get started today, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve somehow managed to type the term SPARKLING ASS twice this morning and it’s not even noon. It’s not worth explaining but definitely worth mentioning and I’m not at all joking. This is reality. It happened.

I had plans last night to go out to dinner with a coworker of mine. My boyfriend also knows her so we all decided to get together. It had been in the works for a few weeks and preliminary discussions had us meeting at a bar so I stealthily shifted the direction of our plans to dinner instead. I find that it’s so much easier for me to be around drinking people if I’m eating a ton of food. Don’t even talk to me about redirection of addict behavior or I’ll eat you. Not ready for that convo yet and I’ve been pretty good with my diet but splurged a bit last night and I’m okay with it so you should be, too. If you’re not, please call Samantha, your therapist, immediately.  

During the day, the coworker came up to me several times about that night. She seemed very excited. The talk of drinking came up a few times and I very casually reminded her that I’m not drinking right now. I keep waiting for the questioning and probing as to why but it never seems to come. It goes in her left ear and comes out her right. But then the oddest thing happened. Towards the end of the day when were approaching the time that we were to leave for our outing, she mentioned to me that she’s a little short on money because she just helped out her son.

She asked, “Did I ever tell you my son is in recovery?”

“No,” I said, a little taken aback and creeped out.

“Well he is. And I just had to pay for the breathalyzer to be installed in his car. So expensive!”

“Oh. Wow. Well that was very generous of you,” I replied.

“Yeah. So are you ready to go?” she asked.

And we bounced off to the restaurant in a cab. It was SO FUCKING BIZARRE. Was she trying to get me to tell her that I’m an alcoholic? Was it just coincidence?

We got to the restaurant and of course our fucking table wasn’t ready. They suggested that we would have a lovely time waiting in the bar area. I really wanted to put my arms up and run out the door screaming ME GIANT ALCOHOLIC! ME CAN’T GO IN BAR! ME WILL DRINK ALL VODKA AND THEN STEAL POLICE OFFICER CAR AND DRIVE TO ATLANTIC CITY AND THROW UP ON PEOPLE’S SHOES! But I kept the sudden panic inside. The bar area was huge. And most of it was filled with comfortable little seats and booths scattered about. But none of those seats were open, obviously. There were, however, three ominous looking empty seats at the bar. The coworker ran over to them and climbed up in her miniskirt. Her enthusiasm for drinky time was contagious. She had a look on her face like a person who just ordered the never ending crab leg special and someone had just tied a hideous bib around her neck. She was googly eyed and happy. The boyfriend and I walked over and sat down. She immediately ordered sake and he ordered a glass of Malbec. He and I had talked about this before. I actually told him that I didn’t mind if he had a glass. I was very specific about it being only one glass because I didn’t want to have him act funny the rest of the night. He told me he didn’t even have to have one glass. He was fine without. But I actually thought it was a good idea that he have something because I knew this coworker would be extra aggressive with her questioning if we BOTH weren’t drinking. Now, I understand this plotting out drinking to produce a desired result IS addict behavior and that I essentially used my boyfriend as surrogate for my own drinking. I’m not saying this is what anyone else should do. And if I could do it over again, I probably wouldn’t have predicated the dinner on such a bizarre set up. But it did keep her from asking more questions because she had someone to sip something along with her. Going forward, I need to just start facing these possible inquisitions about my sobriety head on and stop pussyfooting around the inevitable. Baby steps.

Their drinks came and I ordered a club soda. They delivered it to me and I took a sip. While I knew it was club soda, I suddenly felt really weird. I DIDN’T SEE THEM POUR THIS. WHAT IF THEY THOUGHT I SAID VODKA SODA!? OH, STOP IT CRAZY. YOU TRIPPIN. CLUB AND VODKA SOUND NOTHING ALIKE! YEAH BUT WHAT IF I HAD A MINI STROKE WHEN I ORDERED AND DIDN’T REALIZE THAT I REALLY SAID CLUBKA SODA AND THEY HEARD VODKA? THAT’S RIDICULOUS. IT’S CLUB SODA! IT DOESN’T EVEN TASTE LIKE VODKA! YEAH BUT WHAT IF THEY PUT JUST A LITTLE BIT SO I CAN’T TASTE IT AND IT’S GOING TO GET INTO MY BLOODSTREAM AND SUDDENLY I’LL CRAVE MORE! GIRL, YOU CRAY. JUST DON’T DRINK IT, THEN. And I didn’t, you guys. I just didn’t drink the club soda. Because I’m apparently a fucking crazy person. But who cares.

Still wondering whether or not the coworker dropped the news about her son on me as an indicator that she knew what I was going through, I suddenly had a cup of hot sake shoved into my face. “It’s delicious! Try it!” she screamed at me over the pounding techno music. So that answers my question. Apparently the disclosure of her son’s recovery has nothing to do with her ideas about why I might not be drinking. Either that or she totally doesn’t know what alcoholism is. “No thanks! I hate sake! It tastes like if rice went pee!” I joked. She cackled loudly like a woman drinking sake does. I raised my glass of maybe Clubka Soda and toasted. And finally our table was ready.

We moved to safer territory and no more drinks were ordered. We ate yummy food, conversed, no one acted like an idiot, and I was totally at ease. Sort of grateful for the bar detour and view it now as a mini-challenge that I survived. And I was never TEMPTED to drink. Quite the opposite. I was so not interested in drinking that I didn’t even drink my non-drink drink because what if it was playing a trick on me and was actually a drink-drink!?

On a completely unrelated note, I have to tell you about my experience going pee before leaving the restaurant. No, wait! Don’t leave yet! Listen. So I climbed down the stairs of Tao to the restroom area and walked in. There were two stalls and both were occupied. It was a fancy-ish restaurant so there was a towel attendant. You know. One of those guys who wipes your butt for you and gives you mints? He saw that I was waiting for one of the stalls and then raised his hand and pointed at what looked like a black wall. I walked closer to it and he flipped a switch or something and the entire wall lit up bright blue! And then a waterfall started coming down the wall! And then I looked down and saw that I was standing over a little mini-trough with urinal cakes in it. The whole goddamned wall was a toilet that I was supposed to piss on! I was so excited! I’ve always wanted to piss into a neon blue waterfall. IT’S A MIRACLE. So I did. And it was awesome. And I thought about my dog and how fucking happy he would be if he got to pee on something like this.

HAPPY FRIDAY, EVERYONE! REMEMBER: WE DON’T DRINK ON FRIDAY!

HOW TO DRINK SMOOTHIES WHEN YOU’RE SOBER

I need to tell you something. You guys really aren’t going to believe this crazy shit. Okay. Here goes. Last night I met a friend alone at a diner and we talked and laughed. Wait. It doesn’t stop there. We also ate chicken salad wraps and drank strawberry banana pineapple smoothies. Can you fucking believe it?! Isn’t it amazing?! Isn’t it magic?!

As I walked home afterwards, I was doing that thing in my head where I imagined myself jumping in the air and clicking my heels together like a stupid asshole. I ALMOST tried it but daddy’s too big for all that leprechaun shit right now. But no worries. Me and the gym are becoming besties. Well. Not besties. More like that girl you hang out with on Saturday and Sunday because she doesn’t go to your school but it’s better that way anyway because she’s not the kind of person you want to be seen with in real life because sometimes she eats hair.

I wanted to grab the old woman shuffling slowly down the street, put her on my shoulders, scream GLADYS, GUESS WHAT? I JUST FUCKING LAUGHED AND DRANK BLENDED FRUIT! I’M NOT DRUNK! I’M NOT DRUNK! and then drop her off at home and run off so fast that she would violently spin around like a cartoon from the high velocity of my departure. I wanted to run inside my house, grab my little puppy, spin him around and sing him a song about the joys of smoothies and good company. Okay, well THAT I actually did.

I’ve always had social anxiety to varying degrees throughout my life. During my first go at sobriety (2005-2008ish), I became really good at being around people and engaging and remaining totally sober. When I picked the booze back up again in late 2008, everything they tell you will happen happened. I very quickly descended back to a place of being anxious to be around people. So I would continue to drink because it made it bearable. At first, it was only necessary in high stress social situations like large get togethers. Newly single, I then started lubricating in order to go out on dates because THAT was a terrifying thing. And I felt justified because who doesn’t drink to loosen up at a big party or while sitting at dinner with a brand new man that you may or may not have sex with later that night? Seemed pretty common to me. But as the six year hangover ran its course, the reasons for using became more and more unjustifiable. I was pregaming and finding ways to sneak drinks in situations that normal people are able to face head on. Going to rehearsals for a show required a beer or two or three and I’m sure someone noticed the smell on my breath. Meeting friends for a movie either meant I needed to drink before I arrived or I would lobby hard for a pre-screening bar stop which never ended up being enough. And then I just stopped accepting invitations at all. I don’t know how my boyfriend dealt with my lack of motivation or desire to do anything. I was constantly manipulating my way out of birthday parties, going to shows, getting lunches. I would be very accommodating if he wanted to have people over (because I could drink as much as I wanted because THIS IS MY HOUSE) and would make exceptions to my isolation if he wanted to go to an event where I knew it would be acceptable to drink or be drunk. But the little shit like getting a cup of coffee with a friend visiting from out of town? FUCKING FORGET IT. No fucking way that’s happening. And as a result, I’ve lost relationships with quite a few people I knew and cared about.

Before I left my house last night to walk to the diner, I was walking my dog and I took a quick inventory. I feel no anxiety right now. I’m about to walk down the street, sit down across from another human completely stone cold sober, look them in the eyes, and converse with them as my authentic self. And I’m not afraid. This is incredible. 74 days ago, this wouldn’t have been possible. First of all, I would have never agreed to hang out. I would have made excuses. Or I would have suggested a bar rather than a diner and I would have shown up already lit up. And even if we would have been going to a bar, I would have spent the entire day PARANOID about the encounter FOR NO REASON. I used to have so much anxiety about social situations where anxiety was entirely unjustified. But no more. I was at peace. I was even a little excited about having something to do and someone to see and someone to be with who genuinely wanted the company of their pal.

Very difficult to tell someone who isn’t an alcoholic how significant a friendly chat and a refreshing alcohol free beverage can be. But I know I can tell you how proud I am of myself and you’ll understand.

I went to bed last night thinking:

I’M DOING THINGS THAT PEOPLE DO. I’M LIVING LIFE LIKE PEOPLE LIVE. I WANT ANOTHER SMOOTHIE.

GIRL. PSSST. YEAH, YOU. YOUR EARLY SOBRIETY IS SHOWING. AND IT’S OKAY.

I’m forgetting what has been happening lately so when I sit down to blog, I’m starting to draw a blank. Not because things aren’t happening. I think I’m just not being as observant of the progress I’m making as I once was. And I think the sober firsts were coming so fast and furious at the beginning that I almost ALWAYS had something to tell you whether you wanted to hear about it or not. Everything was shiny and new and impressive. YOU GUYS I’M MAKING LASAGNA AND I’M NOT GOING TO THROW UP ON IT! DO YOU LIKE MY APRON? *spin around* -or- GUESS WHAT?! I WATCHED A MOVIE LAST NIGHT AND I CAN ACTUALLY REMEMBER WHAT WAS EATING GILBERT GRAPE! BE PROUD OF ME! -or- I’M AT A GROCERY STORE SHOPPING AND I’M TALKING TO STRANGERS ABOUT HEIRLOOM TOMATOES, HUMIDITY, AND WENDY WILLIAMS! -or- I JUST POOPED NORMAL PEOPLE POOP! COME LOOK! IT’S SO CUTE!

I keep taking the lovely and amazing moments for granted, I think. Obviously not intentionally. But I have a few really fantastic and through the roof days of pure bliss and somehow I repeatedly make the very dangerous assumption that the happy days are here to stay. And then I wake up one morning with the soupy poopies, aches and pains, and a general feeling of malaise. WHAT. THE. FUCK? I was just on cloud nine. Where did this come from? How can I STILL be feeling bad. And I’m not stupid, you guys. I know all about PAWS and that the symptoms can persist for months and months. Even years. But when the intoxicating pink clouds roll in (and they are intoxicating), it’s very easy to forget that I’m not really well yet. It’s easy to falsely assume that maybe I’m different and that PAWS is over for me and that I’m one of the lucky ones and that somehow my recovery is better than your recovery and I fast forwarded somehow and EVERYTHING IS OKAY AND I’M READY FOR A FULL TIME JOB AT BETTY FORD. Then the sudden jolt of a random migraine, back pain, gloom and doom outlook and I’m right back in the thick of it. And I must confess that when I land back in the thick of it (which isn’t often), I do get a bit panicky and just like I assumed the good feelings would never fade, I also illogically worry that the bad feelings are now here to stay. But they never stay. And I always end up back on the other side. And cumulatively, the good days are by far outweighing the bad.

Last night, I was watching Gordon Ramsey tear off the heads of young cooks and shove them up their own asses on Masterchef. It was so beautiful. I’m fully aware that trash television can’t be good for me but it’s better than alcohol. Boyfriend got a text and said, “Oh God. Betty White and Richard Simmons are at the wine bar down the street and just texted to ask us if we want to come meet them.” I’m using fake names here to protect the identities of our friends and also to further the careers of two national treasures. “Well. I’m not going. Do you want to go?” I asked. “Not at all,” he replied. “You aren’t just saying that because I won’t go, right? Because you need to do what you need to do,” I said. “Nope. I don’t want to. But I don’t know what to say to them,” he lamented. “Just tell them no. That we are in for the night and thanks for the invite and maybe another time,” I concluded. So that’s what he told them. And although I really had no interest in going, I got a little frustrated that I’m not at a point where I can throw on a pair of pants and take a 2 minute walk to a bar to see a friend and sip a soda water. Actually, I know that if I really wanted to, I COULD do that. But I would be uncomfortable, distracted, bored, and wouldn’t have any fun. So aside from the obvious need to avoid alcohol, why would I put myself through that? I wouldn’t. And I didn’t. But I must say that I really do look forward to the day where I am comfortable visiting with someone regardless of where the meeting place happens to be. The fact that my early sobriety forces me to choose between myself and my friends sort of pisses me the fuck off. And it’s not like Betty White and Richard Simmons are big drinkers. I’ve never seen them drunk, really. They are sophisticates that sip one glass and eat fucking olives. So the fact that their location was a wine bar was merely arbitrary. But then I wondered what I would have done if Betty White and Richard Simmons sent the same text and asked if I wanted to meet them at the frozen yogurt shop. I WOULD HAVE STILL SAID NO. Because I’m old and it was almost 10PM and I’m not eating sugar and even thought I really truly love Betty and Richard, this was not an invite I had any desire to say YES to. Which led me to the very eye opening conclusion that my frustration with the situation was not over the fact that my sobriety limits what I can do with Bett and Rich. My frustration was over the pressure that I feel to PLEASE Bett and Rich and that I have genuine anxiety about how I will be perceived if I don’t show up. Am I a bad friend? Will I still be in Betty’s last will and testament? I mean, she’s loaded. I don’t want to blow that.

What are my motivations? Where are my loyalties? Why am I loyal? Am I loyal or am I actually just insecure?

Every single day I’m sober and do this very hard and sometimes exhausting work, I unearth new shit that needs dealing with. It can be somewhat stifling. But all I can do is continue being honest with myself and make sure that there is never a drink in my hand.

Ok. Enough whining. Who’s ready to sweat to the oldies?

 

 

YOU ARE AMAZING

I don’t have time to post at length today but I just wanted to remind you that you’re amazing and that you can do really hard things. So don’t give up, press forward with me, and let’s stay fucking sober.

How do I know I’m still an alcoholic? Because one time I said:

IF I WASN’T AN ALCOHOLIC, I WOULD SERIOUSLY BE DRINKING LIKE ALL THE FUCKING TIME.

 

HURRY UP AND POOP GODDAMNIT! POOOOOP!

OH MY GOD HURRY UP AND POOP GODDAMNIT! POOOOOP!

I was standing on the streets of New York this morning dressed basically in my underwear while screaming in English at a Chihuahua who refused to make caca. Obviously he doesn’t understand me. All he knows is that I’m acting crazy and making matters worse. And even if he did speak a human language, certainly it would be Spanish, right?

AYE DIOS MIO DE IR REPIDO Y CACA! CACAAAA! (Thanks, Google translate)

Unsuccessful in our efforts, both doggy and daddy went back inside. I proceeded to very quickly get ready in a huff as our morning non-poop walk lasted much longer than anticipated and I was going to be late for work. And I was really pissed off about it. In addition to being late, this also meant Mr. Chihuahua would probably poop in the house and I’d have a mess/smell to face when I got home. What a fucking rude puppy, he was. No consideration. I feed him, bathe him, and sing and dance like a moron for his pure enjoyment/terror. And this is the thanks I get?!

STOP. Stop it. Listen to yourself. So stupid. This is not a big deal. He’s a dog. Nothing bad is going to happen as a result of a minor delay. You are overreacting. You haven’t had your coffee. This is a normal bump in the road.

And it was. But in the mind of a recovering alcoholic in early sobriety like myself, that’s all it took to set off a chain reaction of emotional responses that snowballed quickly to form a terrible case of the Mondays. And those terrible cases of the Mondays (and Tues-Sundays) are what drove me to drink in the past. I know today that I will NOT drink as a result of this less than palatable day because I don’t want to and a crappy day is nothing compared to a crappy lifetime of death and destruction. I feel fucking stupid even calling it a crappy day because NOTHING of significance happened. I didn’t lose an eye. No one died. My butt didn’t fall off. So why do my emotions say otherwise? PAWS, maybe. Low blood sugar, possibly. There are plenty of reasons I can reach for but none of them make it make any more sense. How the fuck can we change our responses to things that seem to swoop in so suddenly and flip us over on our backs? I honestly don’t know. In the near past, I would do a lot of self-talk and try very deliberately to change my thought process by telling myself to STOP IT. And I did that this morning. But it seemed like the threads of negativity already reached out and tainted my entire day. Like I didn’t catch it in time to keep it from spreading even though I responded almost instantly by trying to talk myself down. And I’m still feeling the effects of it although I have managed to relax a bit and get back to a place where I can at least process and deal with the stupidity that was my morning. I’m writing this post, aren’t I? And an hour ago, the thought of blogging seemed so pointless. But I know it’s not. I know that this crappy heaviness will pass if I connect, do the work, and get honest with myself.

For the most part, I’ve been really happy. Monday normally doesn’t come along with all of this weirdo garbage. So I started thinking about how this weekend was different than most to try to identify what might have caused this faulty start to my week. And the only conclusion that I can come to is that I was REALLY busy this weekend with obligations, chores, etc. They were all things I said YES to. But I knew it was more than I have been taking on over the past 70 days. I didn’t feel like I was overextending myself when I scheduled certain things but apparently I maybe did? So I guess I back it up again and start being more cautious and keeping things a little more simple for now. I got through it with the help of my boyfriend who offered to pitch in with certain things to alleviate some pressure and to allow me to make sure I got to my meeting yesterday. And I took some time to do some things that weren’t on the agenda like a walk through Central Park to get some air and sun. I found myself rushing my time there because of all of the other things that I needed to do. It made it difficult to enjoy fully but the effort was there and I made myself stay longer than the responsible overzealous me wanted to.

Wow, this is a rambly all over the place post. I guess it really mirrors where my head is at. I will be FINE but I’ve learned that I need to say no sometimes even when I think I am capable of saying yes. Just for my own protection. I need to ask for help instead of waiting for someone to offer it at the last minute (if at all). I need to figure out why Mr. Chihuahua is being so stubborn with his poopy. I need for Monday to be over so I can give Tuesday a try but because there is no fast forward button, I’m just going sit in this and breathe deeply. The cartoon bluebirds will come again and sing the songs of my joy as they flutter around my head. Today I got the crows. OH WELL.

Trying to think of a funny ending to this post and I’m drawing a blank so let me just say: DONKEYFART.

XOXO