Yesterday’s milestone is quickly replaced with another. Exactly one year ago today, March 15, 2013, I wrote a journal entry begging myself to stop drinking.
To those lucky ducks who are not members of my exclusive Chattering Voices Committee, it might be puzzling to read the entry and understand why I would write it and then spend NINE MORE MONTHS pouring alcohol down my throat. But, my guess is, if you’re reading this, then you have your own CVC to smother and will generously withhold judgment while you go get a bigger pillow (aka another tool for your tool kit).
This exercise has been done before and reading about how others eventually found their way to a quieter existence was/is incredibly helpful. Always, for me, it comes back to the online Community and the support I receive, which allows me to keep my own pillow big enough and pressed tightly against the reality of March 15, 2013:
I’m sitting in my light-filled, warm office, wanting to trust that I can do this. I can recover. I can be a better mother.
“Recover” is an interesting word choice, as I am not certain I ever really had self control … but that’s not true. Or at least, alcohol was not always the structure upon which my days were defined.
But that is how life is now. Wine no longer structures my evenings, but my sleeping (or lack of), my mornings (as I try to gauge how bad of a hangover I’m dealing with), and my days (as I nurse myself back from another self-inflicted alcohol beating).
But mostly, it’s just sad and pathetic.
And a waste of me.
The anxiety drinking creates … it used to be just when I had embarrassed myself socially. So, I stopped drinking more than 2 or 3 glasses while out in public (rule #1) and said or done something stupid (rule #2).
But now, that anxiety happens even when I have kept all my drinking “rules”. And along with nursing my nausea and headaches, I’m talking myself down from the anxious edge – deep breathing and desperately trying to convince my scared self with jittery promises of “there is nothing to be anxious about, nobody saw you drink your wine and stumble into bed. and nobody knows how slovenly you live your life. and nobody knows the shame and self-disgust your fake cheerfulness is hiding.”
Things are so, so, so much better now.
Peace and Pillows,