Solitary in Sanity

Today I got an email from a very dear friend who told me just yesterday that she was done smoking. I’ve heard it before. She quit during pregnancy. That always amazes me, when women return to smoking after abstaining during pregnancy. At any rate, I love her, so I couldn’t blow smoke up her ass when she fed me some excuses about this not being the best time to quit. Some of my best inspirational writing is in the form of emails to the amazing women I know. And I only feel a little guilty about posting them. She rarely reads here and hopefully, by the time she comes across it, she’ll already be through the most difficult part of quitting.

When explaining my issues with alcohol, I would often say “I came of age under the influence of alcohol,” as a way of explaining that I became who I was with the help of a few drinks. Before I drank I was kind of awkward and had trouble making friends and impressions outside of my high school/hometown circle. When I got to college, I started drinking. I started making friends. People liked me. I liked me. From that point on, when I socialized, I drank. After all, in my world this is totally acceptable. The funny thing is, I never learned to drink “socially.” I continued to drink like I was in college, swigging on glass after glass of a giant bottle of Yellow Tail.

You see how many it words it took for me to explain that? The other night I picked up a book I bought this winter, but never read. In Happy Hours: Alcohol in a Woman’s Life, Devon Jerslid explains:

“When teenagers rely on alcohol or drugs to ease anxiety, they lose the opportunity to develop healthy strategies for managing mood swings and making friends. This stalling of emotional development and growth at the point when hard drinking begins is one of the main negative effects of dependance on alcohol.”

She says it better, right? I was so pleased to find this. To solidify my reasoning for why I became so dependent on alcohol was quite refreshing. And if I really want to use my English major skills, I can make the connection to my recent post about friends. Of course I’ve been having trouble maintaining social relationships this year (let along making new ones).

Later I enjoyed these comments from an recovering alcoholic named Sandy:

“But the most positive aspect of not drinking is the practice I get being myself. Most people don’t think about needing to practice this as a skill. In our society, we don’t get much opportunity – alcohol lets us be comfortable, and we don’t have to learn. In my first year after rehab, I used to sit quietly on the couch with my Diet Pepsi, and sometimes I’d leave crying, thinking “Why do I have to an alcoholic?” It’s taken my seven years to gain the confidence I have at parties, and this confidence now extends to all aspects of my life.”

There’s hope for me yet.

One last quote from a recently sober woman: “I’ve got a whole new life.”

Wow. Until recently I never let this sink in. No freaking wonder this year has been so trying. I have a whole new life. Kind of makes me feel less guilty about…well…everything. So I’ve been a shitty friend and a recluse. I have whole new life people.

Or is that just another excuse?

At any rate, reading through this book on a Friday night (with October baseball blaring in the background) was my new, 2010 version of a happy hour. May there be many, many more to come.

After examining me, my midwife used the word worried. Something about my uterus not being where it should be for 11 weeks pregnant, but all I remember was the word “worried.” She told me to call my designated ultrasound place. The woman at South Jersey Radiology was giving me a hard time and I began to cry. The midwife took the phone and told the asshole on the other end that she would just send me to the local hospital.

We pull up to a hospital nearly an hour away from home. I hate hospitals. I am forced to put on a gown and scolded for eating peanuts. I ate anyway. I waited for hours.

Then later, I stared at an ultrasound screen: “heartrate __.” Somewhere else on the screen I saw “7weeks 2 days.”

I’m not going to get through this without a drink. I need to get absolutely, fucking drunk.

I wailed the whole way home. As we passed the giant liquor store near our house, I told Jim what I had thought about earlier.

“If you’re going to have a drink, I need cigaretttes.”

He had quit just before I became pregnant.

“NO! That isn’t how this works! It’s not the same. I don’t want to think or feel anything! How can it be the same for cigarettes?!”

There was some arguing and then we arrived home, sans cigarettes or booze. I took out a beer that had to be 10 months old and I opened it. I let it sit on the table in front of me. I thought about the 6 months of sobriety I had behind me.

I sniffed it, I sipped it. I dumped it down the sink.

I made it through the rest of that day, two family events that weekend, and my 28th birthday the following week.

I made it through the entire summer without completely losing it.

While some might think this means I can get through anything, I will not make it through another day like that one.

i know there should be several apostrophes in my title, but my wp theme is a jerk

I don’t have children yet. I have dogs. So for my first Writers Workshop c/o Mama Kat, (via ComaGirl) I am responding to the prompt:

Dear Mommy and/or Daddy…(write a letter to yourself from one of your children)

The following is a letter written to me by new puppy, Lucy.

—-

Dear Mommy,

I understand we are just getting to know one another, but I would like to point out a few things. Please read carefully:

I appreciate all of your housebreaking efforts and peeing outdoors is cool, but I much prefer to poop on your floors. You could stop wasting your time saying “potty outside” because all I hear is “blah, blah, blah. hard wood floors.”

It seems that you and other dog like to go for long walks. That’s nice, but I think you can continue to carry me like the princess that I am. It’s really the least you can do considering how many “Awwws” I am contributing to your days.

Speaking of other dog…biting his tail is a whole lot of fun. Would it kill you to slather it in peanut butter? It would make the whole experience that much more enjoyable.

Regarding the tall bald man: is he deaf? Because you seem to be the only one that hears my cries in the morning. You should really have his hearing checked, at least for the sake of those bags under your eyes.

Whew, I am glad I got all of that out. Now that you’re better informed as to how I prefer things to go down, the rest of this puppy period should go well.

Love,

Lucy (aka Lazy Lu)

P.S. My purple polka dot leash and collar are awesome. You have great style and I want to thank you in advance for never putting me in a tutu or a t-shirt featuring a (not so) clever saying that prompts people to laugh at me.

My one and only meeting with a therapist included a discussion regarding alcoholism in my family. When I told him that my sister did not have a problem with drinking he replied, “So you’re the lucky one.” I laughed because I thought he was being sarcastic. Then he said “One day you’ll realize that.” Even though I had no idea what he meant, it intrigued me. Why was I lucky for having inherited the disease?

Today, when writing to a friend about our struggles with trying to conceive, I thought about what that therapist said. Writing, “Perhaps we are the lucky ones after all.”

Reflecting on this has been what’s getting me through today. Hopefully I can hold onto this…this realization of just how amazing my relationship will be with our eventual baby. Not a single day, a messy-faced kiss or even a poopie diaper will be taken for granted. I imagine cuddly moments wherein I tell my little one how they were a long awaited dream come true.

I dreamt about being a mommy my whole life.  When I met Daddy we learned that we shared the very same dream. Then one day, our little dream came true. That dream was you.

because my midday emails express just what i’m feeling, just when i’m feeling it, i’ve pasted one from Tuesday below. today, i got a hair cut, left the house for a meeting with clients and things were much,much better.

Each day things get worse, not better. Like with death they say time heals you…but with this, the longer I go without being pregnant, the worse it gets. I cry at the sight of babies, baby things, pregnant women. I know I will have a baby one day, but that doesn’t help my philosophy of getting through today. It hurts today, I don’t care about tomorrow or 10 months from now.

I’ve been crying every night since Thursday. I comforted myself by saying it was only at night, I just need to keep busy with work, dinner and reading during the day/evening. Well I started crying before and my heart was pounding so much I was afraid of a panic attack. So I laid down and fell asleep.

I’m waking up early, exercising, eating right, keeping busy with work, trying to stay positive. Nothing is helping to ease the sadness.

I’ve run out of tools in the toolbox.

—

I need to get back here.

Number of warm, lingering hugs I received: 30+

Number of desserts I ate: 5

Number of times I feigned a smile: 10+

Number of tylenol taken: 8

Number of panic attacks I had: 2

Number of full balanced meals consumed: 1

Number of times I wanted a drink: countless

My visits have gone down significantly since I announced my pregnancy. Would you all like me to just fall off the wagon and go insane? : )

by the end of the week my mind races and races and when i try and tell myself to slow down, it’s only a reminder of why people drink. and not people who drink alcoholically, just those one or two’ers at your average happy hour. a nice drink helps to slow the brain, wind down the week, let the relaxation begin.

i could use that right now. but i know someone really special who does not.

Last night my darling husband got drunk. This is noteworthy because as a consistently responsible drinker, getting intoxicated is a rarity for him. I felt like he was finally letting loose and having a good time because it was the first big event in which he didn’t have to take care of me. When I was drinking, I always complained that he never got drunk (misery loves company). Then once I was drunk I would chastise him for always telling me to slow down…even though just a few hours prior it’s likely that I asked him to tell me to stop if I started getting out of hand. I tried doing the same for him last night and I got the same result – a slurred “i’m just trying to have a good time.” I had to stop and laugh. I know those words too well. Luckily for him, he does not. His good times don’t normally result in mornings greeted with a massive headache and followed by hours of self-deprication.

Yesterday was just one of my strange sober experiences. Now that summer is unofficially here, I am sure to have many more. It’s funny that most people will just think it’s because I’m pregnant. They know nothing of what it took to get to where I am, and little of my drinking demons. That’s okay. Giving up the drink for pregnancy and motherhood sounds far more glamourous than being an alcoholic. Although, hiding it isn’t something I plan on. Clearly.

I told someone the other day that I feel like I am cheating sobriety by being pregnant. When the little lemon is born I will have one year under my belt, but just 3 of those months will have been conscious efforts. Then comes several (fingers crossed) months of breastfeeding and before I know it, it will be well over 18 months since I had my last drink.

Well, nothing too exciting here…just typing out some thoughts to quiet my mind before bed. Have I mentioned how crazy tired I have been? Goodnight.