Solitary in Sanity

8 weeks ago, I wrote the following:

Today sucked. My body is (for lack of a better term) completely spazzing out. Completely. From my brain down to my crampy midsection and aching lower back. I made plans with a friend to meet at the coffee shop because Jim was going to be out this evening and I knew it would be very, very hard to avoid cracking open one of his beers. Or, heading to a local bar and ordering a bottle of wine. She’s not here yet. She probably won’t show. Jim won’t be home for at least two hours. There’s still time. Tears are welling up in my already tear-tired eyes. And if it weren’t for the group of PTA moms squawking in the corner, I’d probably let them flow. Some days I simply hate being a woman and hormonal. It’s the current cause of my physical and emotional pain and some days I can’t get to my rubies and love songs place and it all hurts too, too much.

Today Jim and I were at dinner. He had a beer and I thought to myself “Man, I want a beer.” The next thought? “Well you can’t have one. Tough. Deal with it.” And I did. It was that simple. No crabbiness. No anger. No why me? (in a whiney voice)

I haven’t felt the way that I obviously felt while writing that passage in a long time…or at least it feels like along time. In reality, it’s been just 8 weeks? Crazy. How much better will I feel in another 8 weeks? I can’t even begin to imagine.

If my life and sobriety were like one of those fancy charts that fancy people use, it would feature a line trending UP.

In case you missed it, there was a piece on Moms and drinking on 20/20 last night, featuring Stefanie Wilder Taylor. I am so, so grateful today. My future children will never, ever see me drunk. I won’t miss a single moment because I am under the influence.

121 beautiful days. Thank you. Thank me.

I’ve sung her praises before, but if you enjoy Stefanie Wilder Taylor, be sure to read this interview with her over at Drinking Diaries. Below I’ve pasted  my favorite part – a.k.a the part when I was nodding my head in “Yes. Yup” agreement (that and the part about When A Man Loves A Women, a movie that i  was always strangely attracted to. recently, after my husband asked how we can ‘fix’ me, i had it in our Netflix queue faster than i could reply “we can’t”).

What did you like most about drinking?

The thing I loved, loved, loved about drinking was the way I felt after a couple of glasses of wine. All the edges were smoothed out, I liked everyone around me just that much more, things seemed more doable. Drinking felt like an audible sigh. If I could’ve figured out a way to capture just that feeling every night, I would never have quit. I just couldn’t walk that line between slightly buzzed and asleep for more than thirty minutes. There was also the slight problem that I never felt like I’d had enough. If buzzed was good, drunk would be better and it never was.

_______________________________

Yesterday while G-chatting with my BFF (i always feel like she thinks i am slightly overreacting with this whole drinking thing), she helped me get through a rough day simply by listening. I really, really wanted a drink. I was convinced that one of my burps tasted like a gin & tonic – that’s how bad it was. I explained to her that having one day where I allowed myself to drink would never, ever work. She responded by saying that I was able to do it before my wedding; a time when I was conscious about my weight, skin, overall appearance. I had to explain that yes, I limited the amount of days in a week that I drank (down from 6-7 to about 2-3), but never how much I drank once I started. I went on to say that in my belief, an alcoholic (or problem drinker, to put it nicely) isn’t defined by how often they drink, but by what happens to them after the first…or say, the third. A ‘normal’ drinker will stop and say “Whoa, I have had a little too much to drink. I better stop.” A problem drinker keeps on drinking until (in my case) they go to blackout—->pass out phase.

I want that “Whoa” Factor so badly that I can taste it. Or, burp it. I don’t have it, and I know that I probably never will.

Fast forward to dinner with said BFF and this fine young lady: They both had one drink each. I was jealous and awkward at first, especially staring at the extensive craft beer list on the chalkboard in front of me, but at the end of the night I realized: one would have never been enough for me. I would have been chuggin’ long after their brains told them to “whoa” the hell down. And that my friends, is the difference.

I’m 13. The May sun is tanning my unprotected rail thin body as I lay on my friend Janice’s roof. We’re listening to the Fugees.

Except I’m not. I am 27 years old, lying in the backyard of the house that I own with my husband. His band’s music is playing on my laptop. And it’s the April sun that sunning my 45 SPF covered face. My body, no longer rail thin, has a few great curves and a few not so great ones.

I’ve been.done.lived. a shit-ton of shitty things in the past 15 years…but one thing remains: the sheer joy and excitement I feel as the weather starts to heat up. You see, back then none of this anticipation had a damn thing to do with alcohol, drinking or the like. Sure it probably had something to do with a few pimply boys, platform sandals, and sneaking out of my parents’ house just to wander the streets until dawn, but it had nothing to do with getting drunk.

I open my eyes and stare at the sun (still a risk taker at heart). I really could use a cool new pair of platform sandals.

It’s been a while since I’ve updated by alcoholic status. For a while, talk of it was absent because it was going surprisingly well. No, this didn’t leave me thinking that I wasn’t a problem drinker and sure, why not throw back a few? It has me thinking that I was a recovering alcoholic with superpowers. Then warm weather hit, outdoor dining began, and baseball season commenced. One would think that if I made it through all of those snowstorms without a big glass of red or heavy pint of ale, I could swing this. Wrong. Much like holidays (major fail in terms of my sobriety), warm weather brings with it a thousand and one reasons to drink. Boy do I want one. Not to ease the pain or the stress, or to kill the thoughts of inferiority, but just because.

What this has brought about is all that “why me?” bullshit that I went through in the beginning. Why do I have a problem? Why can’t I drink responsibly? I am stronger than most people – why can’t I be strong when it comes to controlling my alcohol consumption.

I know the answer to this. But fuck. shit. balls. I want to be pissed off right now.

later- i’m feeling better now after a nice meeting with an OT in training. she used me for a mock case study…seeing myself in those terms (all typed out and fancy) and her ideas for treatment made me feel silly about complaining. but i will leave this up here anyway.

This is just amazing. Please read it. Share it. Love it.

I am working on a Women’s History Month post. I swear.

It may seem pretty cheesy, using my correspondence with actual people as content for my blog, but since it’s already written and it’s clearly a heartfelt account – why not? I really enjoy books written in the forms of letters – or rather books inspired by letters.

That said, here is another email that I sent off to someone who reached out to me about her drinking after reading my blog. We’ll call her Veronica.

Good for you! Of course I want to hear all this. Any time you need to vent about it, I am here to listen. I wouldn’t put it all out there on my blog if I didn’t want to take part in a mini movement of sorts. I have wrote about it on my blog, but you should check out this book. It was the first thing I read after I made the decision to call it quits (for the second time) and it really allowed everything to ‘click’ for me. It was then I knew that a little bit, or moderation wasn’t going to work…at least not for now.

I have begun talking to a several women about alcoholism these past few weeks, through email/facebook. The response to putting it all out there has been amazing – it’s like a whole other plus to sobriety – really getting to know other women with the same issues.

If I can think of one thing to share with you that will keep you from picking up a drink, I will tell you how much weight has lifted off my shoulders in all of this. The guilt is gone. The next day guilt of “is Jim mad at me? do you think so and so knew how wasted i was? did he see me sneak that last drink? did i say anything to offend anyone last night? am i really buying a handle of captain on Monday night?”

All of that guilt is gone. and while sometimes I would give it all up just to get drunk one time -the next morning, i’d just be feeling guilty again.

So keep doing what you’re doing.

I realize that wasn’t a very strong closing, but hey, I’m new to this…and I’m certainly no expert.

My third women’s history month post is going to be a bit delayed. I’m okay with it. As long as I complete 4, I’ll be pleased with myself. Reason for the delay? I’ll be enjoying a spa day! I am super excited. I am the DD for my husband and some friends who are attending a beer festival. While they’re drinking their calories and getting tipsy before 4pm, I’ll be enjoying relaxation and pampering. Sobriety has its perks.

I just wanted to pop in today to share this awful t-shirt. Not only is it ugly, but it features a message to match:

Hardy har har. Perhaps if this model had gone to a few meetings, she’d still have both of her hands.

So I sent my 15″ MacBook Pro – that had suffered a fatal wine overdose – out to clear it of all its data in order to sell it. And guess what? It works. This is how the sitch’ was explained to me by the lovely tech-smart man “I basically gave it amnesia, so it forgets that it has water damage and so now, it doesn’t.”

Wow. Can someone give me amnesia so that I can forget all of the wine damage I’ve inflicted on myself? Apple Care? GeekSquad? Helllo?

Seriously, talk about a metaphor. This tragedy occurred just days before my “bottom.” Killing my 5month old Miss Mary MacBook was part of my whole destructive end. Now it’s all better…or so it seems.

making it sense of it all – lyrically

You took my hand, you showed me how
You promised me you’d be around…

I took your words and I believed
In everything you said to me

If someone said three years from now
You’d be long gone
I’d stand up and punch them out
Cause they’re all wrong…

If you’re not an alcoholic, what you are about to read should seem pathetic. If you are, you’ll understand why Pink’s Who Knew – a song about losing someone – means so much to me. 70-some-odd  days ago, I lost a very good friend. A “friend” that I thought would always be around. If you’d told me 6 months ago that this and friend and I would have to part for good, while I wouldn’t have punched you, I sure would have laughed. Without this friend, life is far more difficult. Sure, I’m moving on. But when bad days hit, they hit hard, because I don’t have my goddamn friend anymore.

I’m not a Pink fan, but a friend sings this song with her band and she rocks it. Listening to it a few months back, I made the connection. This is incredibly embarrassing. The end.