Ah How Sweet It Is

Wow. It feels so great to be back in action. I, as you have probably noticed, have been absent from the blogosphere for some time now.  At first I thought I was just sick of writing. Then I thought I was being self-centered for assuming anyone would want to read my blabbings on sobriety and life. Then I thought I was just too fucking busy to write so screw it all!  Alas, I was just scared to get honest about what was going on in my life at the time. So here I am, standing naked in a room full of people, ready to bare it all and not give a damn. I must say, the breeze feels rather nice.

In the beginning of July I was hospitalized with a severe kidney infection. I truly thought it was no big deal. Sure the pain was enough to make me want to slap my momma but antibiotics were on their way. Wonderful. Within the next couple of months, however, I experienced a vast array of symptoms that took three doctors, a slew of nurses, countless viles of blood and pee, and three more hospital visits to diagnose. By the end of August I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. I would love to tell you all about this hardship as education and awareness are extremely important in finding the cure to any progressive auto-immune disease. However, I am here to primarily share about my sobriety. I do urge you to look up Fibromyalgia for your own personal knowledge as millions of people around the world suffer from it. Plus, it makes for a very interesting ice-breaker at parties. You will come off sounding quite well rounded and incredibly interesting. (Okay, that was a lie. But look it up anyway.)

Many people were worried about my sobriety during that time. Meetings were brought to my home as I was mostly in bed at the time. I recieved too many phone calls to answer. I quit reading texts due to too many pouring in at once and I was NOT going to risk adding "cross-eyed" to my list of ailments. Thank God for those people, though. They truly helped me through a very difficult time. I managed to stay sober.

Fast forward to October. By October I was feeling better. The treatment plan my Doc had me on was working beautifully and I felt I was out of the proverbial woods. I started to feel invincible in a way, really. My diagnosis and treatment happened far quicker than what was expected.  Shit.

I am the type of  alcoholic that forgets how bad it was.  I forget the sneaking of beers with my cereal in the morning, the paranoia that followed thinking my parents would notice, the drinking of cooking wine and feeling sick but happily hazy all at once. I forget the blackouts and the injuries from falling. I forget that I nearly died last December.  Yes, when things are looking up my mind decides to block out the horrors of my drinking and leads me to believe that nothing bad could ever happen to me again. You're  feeling better! it squeals, No use for meetings! No use in calling your sponsor! God you say? Never heard of 'im. Oh what a sheisty bastard my head can be.

Beginning in October I slacked on my program. I put my sobriety on the back burner and led what I believed to be the life a "normal" person led.  Soon my cravings were back. The obsession to drink was all consuming. I became afraid to go into grocery stores alone. Did I see any of this as a sign? Ha! Of course not, silly!

On November 5th a group of about 12 of my close sober friends and I went out on the town. It was going to be a night filled with shooting pool and swing dancing. Nothing was further from my mind than drinking when I left my house to join them. Within about 20 minutes we sat a table that had yet to get cleaned off. In front of me was a full glass of beer. Allow me to stop. Who the fuck orders a beer and doesn't drink it? Jesus Christ that is the craziest thing I have ever witnessed, including that time Janet Jackson's boob flopped out. Seriously.  So there I was, face to face with an ice-cold, full glass of beer. We stared at each other for quite some time. I swear to God I stared at it so long that it told me to take a picture 'cuz it would last longer. That bitch.  Soon it was swiped away, however. Whew. That was close! I got up and danced to get my mind off of it.  After about 3 minutes of half-assing it on the dance floor I found myself at the bar chugging an eerily similar ice-cold glass of beer. Fuck.

The rest of that night was crazy. My boyfriend approached me after that first one and asked what I was doing, if it was helping, if I felt better. He was concerned, told me he had  my back, told me he loved me. I wanted to punch his fucking lights out. LET ME GET DRUNK! He eventually got me to go back to my apartment where my best friend (God bless her for what I put her through that night) was waiting. We had a wonderful talk full of me crying and yelling, pulling at my hair, and declaring as often as I could remember to that I was clearly not an alcoholic because I only had ONE and why the fuck weren't they tipping their hats to me?! Oh brother. What. A. Mess. Apparently, according to my incredibly intelligent bestie, "normal" people don't have one beer and then act out every scene from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". Oohhh...

I only had that one beer that one night. I turned into a certifiably crazy person who cared about nothing but getting more and was horribly pissed that I had friends around at that moment who loved me. What a perfect reminder that I am most certainly, without a doubt, one crazy alcoholic.

I thank God for that night. I thank him for putting the people in my life that he has who were there for me.  I thank him that it didn't have to get worse than that for me to see clearly that I needed to desperately jump head first back into my sobriety. I thank him for the 19 days I now have and for the strength he has given me to not give up on my life. I thank him for putting my fingers back on these keys. It feels better than I remember.

Character Defects

The weather is absolutely gorgeous right now. I have been trying to get outside as much as I can. The other day I went for a hike on a trail right by my house.  It wasn't until I was about a mile into it that I recognized some recent changes.

I never used to be able to hike. I was too afraid. Who knew what kind of god-awful creatures lurked behind that boulder? What the hell could I do if a bear or mountain lion or hobo decided to kill me for dinner? Would I be able to bend the right way if a rattle snake bit my ankle so I could suck the venom out? If I fell and broke my ankle my cell phone would probably die simultaniously and then what? Hopefully a freak storm would brew and I would be carried away by a flash flood so my family wouldn't have to blow money on a funeral.

Okay. So you get it. No way in hell you would catch me hiking.

But I went hiking. By myself. Two days ago. A lot of the insane fears I used to have have been taken from me. That is unreal.

Another thing that has changed is how I to talk to people. I used to flat out lie to people so they would like me. Tell me you enjoy sky diving? I've always wanted to sky dive! Liver and onions your favorite meal, you say? Mmm-hmmm...sounds delicious! You are convinced a tribe of alien invaders live below the public library and are close to finalizing their plan of attack? I was just thinking the same thing! Fancy that! Seriously, I would say anything to not offend, including agreeing to go on dates with people I had no interest in so their feelings wouldn't get hurt.

I realized this character defect had magically vanished when I told a complete stranger, after he described in detail how passionate he is about fly fishing, that I, to be perfectly honest, hate to fish. He wasn't the least bit offended and I didn't feel icky about lying.

 Another recent example happened while at the library. A guy there has been eye-stalking me. He will watch me for hours, strategically placing himself behind a bookshelf or computer for optimum spying/hiding advantage. Ew. I know. The other day, however, he sat at my table and struck up a conversation.

"Couldn't help but notice you sitting by yourself." (No shit. You have been watching me for over an hour now AND it's a fucking library, not a homecoming dance. Last time I checked sitting alone is more than acceptable.)

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. So, I don't know how to say this so I'm jus gonna say it, 'kay?"

"Uh, okay."

"Can I take you out?" (Stop. Now this is where a few months ago I would have cringed but said, "Sure. What's the harm in that?")

Instead I replied, "You know, I really don't think that would be such a great idea. My life is pretty busy right now."

"Oh okay. Well thanks anyway."

He then got up, pushed in the chair, and wandered off. I didn't even worry about him trying to commit suicide later once. I know that's a tad bit extreme but, since I'm being completely honest here, I really used to worry about that. Pretty damn disgusting of me (not to mention utterly self consumed to think I really held that kind of power).

So, I am speaking honestly and gently, and I am hiking. Two big changes I have happened to observe recently. Two more reasons to be grateful.

Living In The NOW

I have had the hardest time getting myself to write lately. I can't tell you how many times I have sat down to make a post this week for 15, 20, sometimes even a half hour before muttering "fuck it" and clicking that bright red "X".

I don't know if it's because my mind has been so busy with the static everyday tasks of life this week and just needs to shut down,or if I have turned into a boring, dull,  giant blob void of creativity. Nothing seems to want to flow out of me. I have no original thoughts or realizations. I haven't been sitting around contemplating my place in the Universe. I wake up, eat, work out, go to work, get home, eat, sleep and so on and so on. This type of pattern used to really mess with my head. I would become restless and anxious. I would feel unimportant and robotic. At times I would get depressed and wonder if I was truly living a life worth anything. Those feelings of, at times, hopelessness could occur daily before I got sober.

It is a different story today. After a week of that same-old, same-old I am happy. I am satisfied. I am, dare I say it...?, content. I now understand that it's okay if I don't make a big deal out of every little thing. It's fine that I want to veg out from time to time. The world doesn't explode if I decide to take a nap instead of making sure everything around me is perfectly wrapped in a big shiny bow, neatly tucked into its perfect spot on that metaphorical shelf of life.

This newfound contentness (if that's not a word it should be) has me breathing easier and I have yet to experience a headache this week. I am living in each moment and enjoying everything, no matter how mundane, so much more fully. I may still mutter things like "fuck it" to myself now and then but it's the fact that I don't beat myself up after. When I click that bright red "X" I am able to easily transition into the next moment, not dwelling on what I wasn't able to do and instead focusing on what I am doing.

Instincts vs. Fears : "Let's Get It On!"

I just recieved a deceivingly cheery memo in my paycheck stub.

"Oh goodie! A pot luck get together! Or maybe even an ice cream social!" I thought. (Okay, okay. I didn't really think 'oh goodie'. Get real. Nobody talks, let alone has private thoughts, like that. But you get the idea. I was expecting something upbeat with a side of food because I just so happened to be starving at the time. At any rate! I thought it was going to be a good memo.)

To my dismay it was a rambling sob fest of a notice that my pay is going to be cut hourly by 8%. 8 PERCENT. That's nearly a dollar an hour less! Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. I really started to second guess quitting my other job. Once the self-doubt started, it snowballed into a conversation with myself that included such choice words as: "Stupid", "Naive", and, "Man you really fucked yourself now!" Not only that, but they gave us this news in a brightly colored, glossy paged "memo" of deception and didn't even include coupons! They tell us that and couldn't find the decency to include a coupon for a free Blizzard at DQ?! I mean come on! What the fuck?! Talk about pouring salt in a wound.

As I just reminded you, I quit my job at the school. In turn, I was feeling pretty "on top of the world"-y about life. I should have known something like a pay cut was lurking around the corner, right? I mean isn't this type of situation the whole reason why I started this blog in the first place? That octopus was all cuddly and snug and was napping for quite awhile there! I should have been bracing myself for an arm or two to come around. So here they are! Those muscular, gleaming, sloppy arms that, today, are labeled "MONEY" and, naturally, "ALCOHOLISM".

Upon opening the memo and having my mild (okay, alright, maybe not-so-mild) freakout that was accompanied by the aforementioned hunger pangs and an anxiety ridden itch to drink, I reached out. Fortunately, I have people in my life who understand, and whom I feel comfortable to go to for support and advice and love. I texted a friend and let her know I was in a state of borderline melt down. What she said was simple yet rang so true:

"Things will work out. Trust your instincts, not your fears."

(Cue cleansing sigh of relief) How right she is. I quit at the school for many reasons. I trust those reasons and I trust the feelings of relief and happiness I experienced after I handed in my letter of resignation. How could I let a pay cut that I have absolutely no control over(Serenity Prayer anyone?) throw me into a tizzy?

"Trust your instincts, not your fears" is now on a post-it on my desk. I believe this simple saying would do us all some good if made our mantra. After pondering it for awhile I became painfully aware of how often I second guess myself. I would say that 95% of those second guesses come from fear. "Trust your instincts, not your fears", indeed!

Laughs and love,

Sadie

That Good Ol' Swingin' Arm of Change

It seems the second I stopped in this small town, my life has been in a constant (and when I say constant, I mean CONSTANT) state of change. Ever since I have admitted that I am powerless over alcohol, however, things have started to shift dramatically.

First, the not so great changes. (Don't worry, I promise not to dwell and/or wallow) :

I haven't been sleeping well. This is the first time in my life that I have found it hard to get to sleep no matter how dog tired I am. I will also wake up at random times to toss and turn and mull over all of life's most important questions such as: "Why do people like Russell Crowe anyway? I just don't get it!"

Most seriously though, I have been losing my temper with my students. To understand exactly how alarming this is, you must know that I have been told a LOT how much people admire how patient I am with them. I pride myself on how patient and, well, not to toot my own horn but, "Toot!", almost goddamn saintly I am when it comes to my endless patience. (It is a virtue after all.) For me to be getting angry so quickly is awful. Luckily, this not so great change has lead into one of my good ones! (See? Didn't I tell you I wouldn't dwell?)

I quit my job at the school. I handed in my letter of resignation yesterday without hesitation. Not having alcohol to go to as a release, as a pain and sadness numbing tool, I realized I had to try my damndest to get happy fast if I had any hope of remaining sober. Quitting my job will allow me to focus more on my habilitation and respite clients. I will also have much more time to write, read, be with myself, and find myself again.

While drinking, I forgot who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. I love to write! I love to read! I love hanging out with my true self! I love not being afraid to find the humor in shitty situations! Without those parts of my life I was miserable (not to mention I was starting to get the personality of a kitchen sponge; and I'm not talkin' the squarepants kind either).

Alcohol dulled the unhappiness, yes. At times it even seemed to make it disappear. When I did away with it I meditated, I prayed, I talked openly and honestly with people (something that is still extremely hard for me). Through that I am sitting at my computer and writing. I am buying book after book and reading like mad. I quit my job and am looking forward to the quality time that will give me with myself. I am starting to crack jokes even if some might find them tasteless because you know what? If you don't think I'm as hilarious as I think I am, then I don't want to hang out with you anyway.

Quitting drinking is helping me get ME back.

I understand that I am only a month and some odd days into this scary, daunting process. I understand that it's good today but may not be tomorrow, a week from now, a month from now. I do. What I am doing is simply celebrating today. Today is good. I am here. I am present. And if tomorrow happens to be complete dog shit? Well, I will be there and present, too. And for that I am grateful.

Love and Light,

Sadie

It All Happened In Vegas...

I have found myself fantasizing about wine. Actual fantasies! It's as if a bottle of wine were a lover I have been away from for, well, a month! I want his touch, his comfort, his understanding, his companionship. Mostly though, I want to finally get a good night's sleep after a wild, sexy romp. I am not quite sure if these fantasies are normal, or particularly healthy, but they are my reality.

I try to thwart these sticky thoughts by remembering the night that changed everything. It all happened in Vegas.... (doesn't it always?)

"Ahhh!" I screamed as I ran toward my sister in the hectic Las Vegas airport. While throwing my arms around her and kissing her cheek I remember feeling a rush. I would like to say said rush was the result of seeing my sister, but that wouldn't be entirely truthful. I remember thinking that I absolutely could not wait one more second to get utterly shitfaced with her.

With her it would be acceptable to get drunk! (Unlike my new pattern of drinking a bottle of wine all alone at home.) I hadn't seen her in forever, I never get to go out because I'm too damn busy, and we were in Vegas for Pete's sake! Party on, baby!

I was disgustingly optimistic about the whole night. I felt gloriously and deleriously invincible. Four glasses of wine, five beers, one Smirnoff Ice, and two tequila shots later I was NOT so invincible. In fact, my mortality turned and stared me straight in eye, all the while giving me the finger.

I am only able to report what I am told happened by my sister, as I blacked out on the way back to our hotel room. Her recap goes something like this:

1) multiple stumbles and falls in the hall resulting in three broken nails, a skimmed up knuckle, and sore wrist
2) somehow managed to change, fell into bed
3) began puking all over myself
4) was herded into bathroom where an hour long episode of puking, crying, and sloppy repenting ensued
5) somehow managed to shower
6) fell into bed to wake at 9 AM with worst hangover in the history of the world

The next day was spent shuffling around in full old lady fashion, being obsessed with finding a dark, quiet place to sit (not the easiest of tasks in Vegas by the way), and verbally abusing the poor boy at Panda Express by saying, "Who do I have to fuck around here to get some chinese food?!" - sorry Panda employee -

It was that day I vowed never to drink again. At first I made that vow simply because I would simultaniously convulse and cringe at the mere thought of ever ingesting alcohol again; and believed it would forever be that way. It was when that feeling wore off that things started getting serious.

About a week after that fateful trip to Vegas I really began to soul search. Was it normal to nearly die because I was just so "wrapped up in the moment"? And what about my weekly wine binges? Were bottles of wine all to myself okay if I wasn't missing work, behind on bills, or ripping my family apart? I do work really hard and am almost too responsible. Didn't I deserve the wine on the weekends and the beers with dinner (and sometimes brunch)? Wasn't everyone else practically drooling all over themselves in anticipation of getting a drink or two (or five) after work?

I decided to see what would happen if I quit drinking for the sake of being sober, and not just because of my awful experience. I talked to knowledgeable friends, I did research online, I took multiple quizzes, I talked to my counselor. The final result: I am indeed an alcoholic.



Thanks to the great city of Las Vegas this is where I am in my journey.

I have been sober for one month.
I have lengthy, sensual fantasies about wine.
I write about it.

For now I have that strong, sucky, alcoholic arm of the octopus that is life cozily tucked into bed. And, fortunately, when that arm comes swinging at me once again, I will be able to write about it; taking away some of its strength.

Laughs and snorts,

Sadie

Life Is An Octopus

Alright. First, allow me to explain exactly how life is an octopus. A new, but so far very inspiring and lovely and crazy smart, funny friend of mine gave me the book Bird By Bird, by Anne Lamott. Lamott gives advice and insight on writing and life in general. In a chapter on how to tell if your story is done, she uses the visual of putting an octopus to bed. The second you think you have all of the octopus's arms - plot, characters, setting - cozily tucked in you realize two of them have broken free and are wildly flinging about again. She first heard of this image from some friends in recovery while they were describing what overcoming their addictions was like. This perfectly encompasses what this blog will be all about! I will be talking about starting to write again and the struggles and successes that come with getting those good ol' creative juices flowing. Being newly sober, I am looking forward to discussing the sometimes nutso journey of staying sober. And finally I want to discuss how, well, life is an octopus! The second I feel I have his (or her!) sucky, strong arms all tucked in - money in the bank, better relationship with the parents, new found passion for life - another arm swings itself my way - surprise! I'm an alcoholic! - and risks untucking the whole damn thing! Fortunately for me, I find it quite difficult to take a squishy, ooey-gooey glob of a head with eight spastic arms too seriously.

Laughs and snorts,

Sadie