My lips taste your name and your silhouette; They back drop the frame of my interest.

Love, you’ve shown me what what envy is. I care too much— maybe it’s selfishness.

A touch of qualities that inspire me, and doesn’t she lie so gracefully?

You’ve got my heart, it’s not your fault. But I’ve forgotten where you continue and I stop.

How’d we get so restless in rapport? So tentative.

Acting like our past is oh so relative.

What you’re saying is dangerous; it’s hesitant.

Just push the knife through my heart and be done with it.

You’ve got my heart, it’s not your fault. But I’ve forgotten where you continue and I stop.

“Baby, misery loves company; come stay with me!”

It’s just, I’ve changed— and you’ve stayed the same.

The lonely feelings choose to stay. That autumn day, they blew me away.

It’s a cold night, let’s try again. Fuck with my heart; destroy a true friend.

When what we want isn’t the same, don’t act like I’m to blame.

It’s called compromise— thats what it takes to try (doesn’t feel like it when tears fall from scorching eyes.)

You’ve still got my heart – it’s not your fault.

I’ve just forgotten where you continue – and I stop.

Won’t call it quits till we’re done, so we’ll never be done.

Without you, I am lost. Once I’m lost- it’s my loss: I’ll be wandering on my own again.

When the grim reaper drags you by your blanket

Im wrapped up in a brown furry blanket from my boyfriend (ish?) car. It’s been too many psych wards and hospitals. I feel my own death imminent in the air, and I’m scared yet not, because when you think you’re feeling all the pain in the world then nothing matters more than getting rid of said pain. What is my use in *this* world besides proving that living>pain? I’m not being dramatic– I want to speak my reality. I have loved and I have lost. But I haven’t found myself. How does one live without a self? I haven’t figured that out.

Once upon a time, when someone asked me what my favorite color was I’d say “anything but white”. White symbolized a pure page of paper. What “white” itched in me was a desire to scribble– doodle; meaningless stuff. I remember as a kid going to school in France during the Summer and doodling in the margins of my work. My desk-mate asked me appalled, “why are you doing that? it’s not allowed.” I guess I’ve never been able to deal with space, or emptiness. Now white is my favorite color. I long for that purity and that absence of color. I’ve scribbled too much over the canvass of my life; now it resembles nothing.

I sort of wish I hadn’t shared this blog with my loved ones because I just want to speak my truth unadulterated, and my loved ones who read this will freak out and call me etc. This is obviously a petty thing to be annoyed at, I’m lucky to still have loved ones at all. But sometimes life consists of pain and you just need to move past it. I know I’ll move past this, I just want to write about it, process and move on.

PS- lost my job at Booz Allen. During the Corona virus. Am I the only one that sees the irony?

Depressive episode… and drank again

Isn’t this disease interesting? One moment your rational mind takes over and you know you’re done. Like *know*. You realize the damage you’re causing, the life you’re missing out on. You are CONVINCED that this time, it’s the end. Alcohol is out. Screw alcohol, FUCK alcohol. I won’t say “pardon my French” because I’ve never understood that expression, but you get the point.

But the next second, you suddenly feel like you can’t handle life without it. Not because it’s fun, not because you’re drinking with friends at a bar. Not because you’re savoring the taste of a fine whiskey. Because the sadness and anxiety in your heart feels too much to handle. Your heart literally hurts. And alcohol soothes that, at least temporarily.

Mental health issues aren’t the only thing responsible for my alcoholism, but they do contribute. I made the mistake of getting off Prozac, an antidepressant that literally saved my life a couple of years ago. The result of that is that I once again have no desire to do anything. I just want to stagnate in bed. I don’t even want to watch TV in bed, I want to stare at the wall.

It’s hard to explain depression, but think of it like this – no energy, no drive, no emotions (well when I first experienced depression I was crying randomly every two seconds – not a good look at work) but this time around, nothing. No emotions really, just a feeling that everything is pointless.

The thing is, I am fully aware that life is not pointless. As a kid, I was a really happy and grateful little human. Beauty was apparent to me everywhere; from daffodils blooming and letting us know “spring has sprung” (also hate that expression, but whatever) to the people that smile at you when you’re walking down the street.

I’m still aware of the beauty. I have so much beauty in my life. I have a family I adore. A boyfriend who’s stuck by me through thick and thin that I love to death. A cat who has slept by my side as I lay in bed shaking and sweating through countless detoxes. Friends who understand me. A gift for music. A body that has bounced back time after time despite my disrespect for it. I’m employed still! I just got in a car crash and the police didn’t even think twice about questioning me and I still have my license, when frankly I should be in jail for a DUI.

It might sound like a pity party to people who don’t take the time to understand it, but depression is extremely unnerving. It’s like this massive disconnect between your rational mind (the one that thinks) and your emotions. You KNOW things are good and you’re grateful, but you feel like nothing matters.

I guess I’m writing about all of this now because I am in a major depressive episode at the moment. That tied with my alcoholism has been a recipe for disaster because I frankly have no desire to take the steps needed to get better. Just recently, I cut myself in multiple places to “show how sorry I was” to the people I love, had a weird conviction that I was pregnant with twins (complete with morning sickness), and crashed a car.

I’m wondering, how does one take the rational and true idea that life is worth living and turn it into an emotional change? Because belief is emotional, not rational. Thoughts are words in our minds but belief is a feeling in our heart that things will be okay.

I’m not suicidal by any means by the way. I’m just venting, because I hope that some day I read this post and feel proud that I overcame everything. I am hopeful that some day very soon all of these experiences are going to help me to help others. That’s literally all I want in my life.

But I won’t lie, I’m sad right now. I’m wondering “why me”. (I know, pity party). I think I’m a decent human being. I love deeply, and I want to leave a positive impact on the people I encounter. I wish I wasn’t hindered with all this BS.

I’m also sad because of those I’ve hurt. I might lose my relationship and I almost hope I do, because I can’t stand affecting his life like this. I might mess up my parents marriage. My sister, who is also my best friend, is hurting and can’t turn to me right now because it’s too painful.

This is the reality of life right now.

I know I sound like a moping idiot who just needs to get her shit together, but again, there’s that disconnect. Mind knows, emotions don’t follow.

But, my cat is lying on my arm. I have a safe and warm apartment. My problems are normal human problems – not knowing if you’re living the life you should be living. Not knowing how to be actually independent from your family. Feeling a little lost. What 25 year old doesn’t feel these things?

I just have to keep reminding myself that these are normal problems, and hopefully this prozac kicks in ASAP so I stop feeling brain dead and low.

On that note, thanks for reading. I don’t want anyone to worry, so I will repeat this: in no way do I want to take my own life. I’m aware that I have some things to offer, and that taking my life would be selfish and hurt many people that I am lucky to have, and love very very deeply.

I’ll try to check in soon when I’m feeling more stable 🙂

Radical honesty

Relapse, detox. Relapse, detox. Relapse, detox.

I’m done.

“We’ve heard this before”. Yes, I know.

This time feels different though. This time, I’ve decided to become radically honest.

Because the truth is, I am a liar.

“Radical honesty is the practice of always being completely honest and refraining from telling even white lies.” – Wikipedia lol

Addicts are liars by nature and I am no exception. I’ve realized that I’ve lied my way through my recovery process. And this lying has stopped me from getting sober and becoming my best self.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve told people what they’ve wanted to hear and pretty much done whatever they wanted. As my therapist put it, I’ve been an appendage to others; a thumb.

This tendency has carried over into my recovery.

I would call my sponsor, bottle of peach-flavored vodka in hand (it goes down easier), and tell her I was sober and heading to a meeting. I would tell loved ones that I was fine, when really I was drinking before, after, and eventually during work, and feeling completely miserable. I would tell my therapist that I hadn’t been drinking, when I would frequently drink right after our sessions to numb whatever feelings were unearthed during that time (and then go to work). I would STILL claim I was sober while being semi-unconscious from drinking.

I keep telling myself, “it’s fine, I’ll eventually get out of this mess myself, and what they don’t know can’t hurt them”. HA. It’s comical that at this point I still think I can fool everyone. Do I think I’m the smartest person in the world or something? Who the fuck do I think I am? (Excuse the language).

I am not a covert alcoholic, and my loved ones aren’t idiots. They can tell when I call them while drunk. They know something is up when I stop communicating and don’t show up after we’ve made plans (because I’ve passed out from drinking). They know when I lie, and it hurts them. I am unreliable when I’m drunk, and that eventually pushes people away.

My AA friends aren’t idiots either. Because yes, I’ve even lied to them; shown up to meetings drunk and claimed I was sober. TO OTHER ALCOHOLICS. Of course an alcoholic can tell when another alcoholic has been drinking. *scoffs*

Last week, I detoxed at a facility and re-enrolled in an outpatient program, because I need help. I need to be accountable to a program because I am clearly not ready to hold myself accountable.

Something has snapped in me. I’m sick and tired of telling people what they want to hear. I’m sick and tired of bottling the rage that secretly bubbles in me when I ignore my own needs to please others.

I’m sick and tired of pushing away my loved ones, slowly but surely. I’m sick and tired of switching up liquor stores so no-one thinks I’m an alcoholic. I’m sick and tired of getting in my own way. Of losing my sense of self. Of having to come up with excuses for why I left work early, or didn’t show up at all.

I’m sick, and I’m SO tired. Lying is exhausting.

Being honest and setting boundaries with others scares the shit out of me, because I never learned to do it. Even as a young kid, if I didn’t do my homework and got a slip for my parents to sign, I would forge their signature. One time I got caught (thankfully, I was only 8 or 9 at the time so I wasn’t sent to jail).

Growing up, my friends would always ask me “why don’t you just ASK your parents if you can go to the mall/ come over after school” or whatever else we used to do. It baffled them that I didn’t. I was just too afraid. So I lied, time after time, and of course frequently got caught.

I’m not sure what I was (well still am) so afraid of, but I have a theory. By doing what (I think) other people want, I can hopefully get their validation. External validation doesn’t just fuel my self-esteem, without it I feel like I don’t exist. My internal validation system is broken, and consequently I am pretty much indifferent to myself/don’t care how I treat myself.

Anyways, that’s a topic for my next therapy session, heh.

The thing I like about the term “radical honesty” is that it includes white lies; lies that seem trivial and are used to avoid hurting people’s feelings.

I am the queen of white lies.

The problem is, I think I can read other people’s minds. I automatically assume what they are going to say, or what their reactions are going to be. Then, I play out every possible scenario in my head and pick the one I think will please the most, or hurt/disappoint/anger the least. I don’t even think twice about telling white lies. If that’s what (I think) it takes to please other people, so be it.

Unfortunately, the lying also happens internally.

I haven’t been purposely sabotaging my sobriety, though it may seem like it at times (fine, a lot of times). I’ve been believing the lies my mind throws at me. “You don’t need any help, you can get sober on your own”; “One pint of liquor won’t hurt anyone”; “You need to be tipsy to have this nerve-wracking conversation”, “This job is awful and you have nothing to do; your employers are practically asking for you to drink”. Etc.

You’re only as sick as your secrets, they say in AA. Stubborn as I am, I had to learn this the hard way.

Anyways, though it might take some time to get used to, (and I’m sure I will have some slip-ups), being radically honest, especially when it comes to my recovery, is now my main focus.

And that’s not a lie, promise.

*Featured image from abc.net.au

1/26/20 Addendum

AA is weird. Somehow whatever has been on your mind lately seems to pop up somewhere. For example, today’s daily reflection (AA has a daily reflection book with inspirational messages for each day). Take a look…

RIGOROUS HONESTY

Who wishes to be rigorously honest and tolerant? Who wants to confess his faults to another and make restitution for harm done? Who cares anything about a Higher Power, let alone meditation and prayer? Who wants to sacrifice time and energy in trying to carry A.A.’s message to the next sufferer? No, the average alcoholic, self-centered in the extreme, doesn’t care for this prospect — unless he has to do these things in order to stay alive himself.

— TWELVE STEPS AND TWELVE TRADITIONS, p. 24

I am an alcoholic. If I drink I will die. My, what power, energy, and emotion this simple statement generates in me! But it’s really all I need to know for today. Am I willing to stay alive today? Am I willing to stay sober today? Am I willing to ask for help and am I willing to be a help to another suffering alcoholic today? Have I discovered the fatal nature of my situation? What must I do, today, to stay sober?

AA official website

My mind was blown when I saw this… just thought I’d share 🙂

2020: No more resolutions

Disclaimer: I have no idea what I’m talking about, so take everything written below with a grain of salt.

Apparently New Years resolutions are out but New Years goals and intentions are in.

At first glance, these words may seem to be verbatim. Their subtleties, however, reveal a shift in the way people are thinking about personal growth and development.

_____________________________________________________________________

“New Years Resolutions” have almost become a joke at this point. The most common trope is the gym; who hasn’t experienced the phenomenon of a packed gym in January which inevitably reaches homeostasis come February 1st?

The words “goal” and “intention” offer a much more realistic way of approaching personal growth. Whereas “resolutions” are fixed in the moment they are set, goals and intentions are meant to be flexible and aim for longevity. Not surprisingly, it is a much tougher mental exercise to establish goals and intentions.

Let’s say someone decides that their “New Years resolution” is to avoid fried food. If they eat some fried calamari on January 5th, they might give up on the resolution altogether. I mean, I would…

If set correctly, goals and intentions won’t be as easy to discard. Their success, however, is dependent on introspection and planning.

Goals

As some might already know, the best goals are SMART: Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic and Timely. Although there is no room for an “F” in that acronym (SMARTF?), I would argue that “flexible” is another crucial aspect of a solid goal.

If our friend (the fried food fanatic) replaces their hapless resolution with a SMART goal, they might start off by removing onion rings from their diet. Once the onion rings have been successfully eliminated, they might alter their goal to avoid a different kind of fried delicacy. Although the overarching idea is to eventually avoid fried food altogether, breaking this “resolution” into smaller steps helps keep things manageable. This in turn makes it less tempting to give up at the first sign of a set-back.

In terms of flexibility, if onion rings are too difficult to give up right away, the original goal can be tweaked rather than abandoned. Who knows, maybe fried okra is easier to give up.

fried-okra-1 — I was expecting fried okra to look gross but this actually looks delicious…

Intention

The way I see it, whereas goals are set to achieve measurable results, intention represents the mindset behind those goals.

Basically, intention fuels our goals.

A 2020 Tesla Model S (priced at a modest 81k) might have everything a driver desires in terms of luxury, autonomous technology and sustainability. But GUESS WHAT? Without its source of fuel (electricity, in case anybody spent 2019 under a rock) it’s as useless as a 1999 Dodge Caravan Minivan with an empty gas tank.

Even the most meticulously curated goals become useless without intention.

Why does our Fried Fanatic want to change their diet? Maybe they had a health scare and want to lower their blood pressure. Maybe they’ve spent too much of their paycheck on deep-fried Twinkies. Maybe their acne is flaring up from the excess oil.

(My example is shallow and not touching in the slightest, I know. Bear with me.)

A goal will only be as strong as the intention behind it. If you don’t know why you wan’t to change something in your life, chances are you won’t be motivated to work towards that goal for long.

Although this probably sounds obvious, it can be pretty difficult to determine what our intentions are.

Whether we realize it or not, all of us walk around with many voices in our heads (and we aren’t all schizophrenics). As we navigate our lives, we process the opinions of everyone we are confronted with. Some opinions are easily discarded, but others, not so much — particularly, the opinions of those we love and care about.

It can be extremely difficult to untangle what you truly want from what [you think] others want for you.

This is where introspection kicks in. If you are serious about achieving some sort of personal growth, take some time to think about what you hope the change will bring you.

Not your best friend, not your significant other, not your parents. YOU.

Changing is hard, and guess what– your loved ones won’t be doing the heavy lifting.

If you’ve set goals that are SMART and are still having trouble feeling motivated, try reevaluating the intention behind those goals.

And remember, there is nothing wrong with tweaking your goals as you get a clearer idea of what you are hoping to achieve.

Happy 2020 everyone!

Do you consider yourself pretty?

*I was requested to answer this question on Quora, a Q&A site where questions are asked, answered, and edited by Internet users, either factually or in the form of opinions. *

Sounds like a simple yes or no question, right?

I literally cannot answer this question… The more I think about it, the more I realize that I am completely detached from my physical self. I guess I just… don’t care anymore? Not in a confident way, more in a dissociated way– it feels like my body isn’t mine. When I look in the mirror or at pictures of myself, I feel no connection between my mind and my body. Honestly, I go days avoiding the mirror because seeing my reflection weirds me out. It’s not that I think I look bad, I just don’t identify with my own reflection.

Growing up, I had the relatively common experience of being mildly bullied in middle school and occasionally feeling ugly. I had (well, still have) a big forehead, and people would call me cranium or five-head. I find this pretty funny now– kids are so dumb. I was no saint myself (case in point: one particularly overweight boy teased me, and I told him to stop causing earthquakes when he walked. He shut up after that.)

Even when I was teased for my appearance, I always had a sort of innate confidence because I liked other aspects of myself. I was kind, funny, and loving, and always had plenty of friends.

(Left – 8th grade)

In senior year of highschool, things changed. At around 16, I got my own car. This was both a blessing and a curse. With liberty came diminished physical activity. As a result I gained weight. At around 16-17 years old, I became increasingly self aware of my appearance, particularly my body.

Almost overnight, I became fixated on my weight. I started obsessively working out and trying to eat as little as possible. I was never overweight, so when the pounds quickly came off, people noticed (in a bad way). Of course, part of me liked having people tell me that I looked unhealthily skinny.

My ex boyfriend came out as gay to me around this time. Instead of feeling honored that he came out to me before anyone else (even his family), my self-absorbed teenage brain decided that I was so undesirable a straight man would never want me. This belief was bolstered by the fact that my previous ex had also come out as gay.

By the time highschool ended I was skinny, but a shell of my old self. I was constantly irritable (probably from lack of nutrients) and had completely isolated myself from my loved ones. I was so worried about weight gain that a missed workout would send me into a panic. Food scared the shit out of me – I wouldn’t even eat a small slice of birthday cake when I turned 18 (and almost lost it when my friends tried to convince me to). I thought I looked good at this time, but now I realize that I didn’t. I had neglected my inner beauty and it showed.

(18 years old, summer after highschool. This was my profile pic on Facebook and my mom commented “you look sick”. Needless to say I blocked her, although she was right.)

After highschool, I moved across the world to France for college. I thought things would be amazing; that I would reinvent myself as a confident and secure individual . Instead my eating issues morphed into bulimia. During my first year of college, my days consisted of attending class, going to the store to buy junk food, and binging/purging in my studio. I rarely went out and basically had no friends. Besides food and my weight, I focused all my attention on a guy that ended up being my first love. He was older and lived two hours away, but with him I discovered my sexuality and felt desirable for the first time. That feeling immediately disappeared once I was alone however, and my eating disorder raged on.

During my second year of college, my boyfriend moved to Canada (to the city of Victoria, ironically). Although this year was an improvement from year 1 (I actually made some friends and didn’t feel quite as insecure), I decided to follow him there to complete my 3rd year of college abroad.

Before moving, I went back home to California for the summer.

During this time, I realized that I could “get guys”. Whereas in France, no men seemed to pay attention to me, in California they suddenly did. Up until this point, I was convinced that my boyfriend was a fluke (aka the only man who would ever find me attractive). As a result, the new experience of getting male attention was addicting. I ended up cheating on my boyfriend several times, all in the sake of validation.

Six months after I moved to Canada, my boyfriend and I broke up. It wasn’t because of the cheating – we actually worked through that. He wanted me to stay in Victoria with him, and I wanted to move to DC to get my Masters degree.

After this first significant breakup, I jumped from relationship to relationship. I’m ashamed of how I treated the men I dated during this period. They were all lovely people, but I was never with them for the right reasons. It always came back to validation-seeking. I would subconsciously mold myself into the “ideal” girlfriend in order to get maximum love and attention. After a few months of this, I would resent the person I was dating then discard them, often in a heartless way.

My relationship with food greatly improved once I moved to DC though, and my confidence level went back up. I’ve always loved school, so getting my Masters was immensely gratifying. I made amazing friends and finally felt like myself again. I definitely felt pretty at this time.

(21 years old – first year in DC)

Once I started working however, things changed once again. I fell into a deep depression and suddenly everything felt meaningless. My job required little mental effort and I felt like I had nothing to be proud of anymore. I started drinking heavily and primarily alone; life felt a little more interesting when I was drunk. I eventually got on antidepressants which helped a lot, but my drinking still got worse. I would take my Prozac with a swig of vodka many mornings (not recommended).

I switched jobs, but that didn’t help. By this point, my drinking had me 100% detached from my appearance. The validation seeking from men continued, and of course with the alcohol I got more and more brazen and out of control. I didn’t care if my body was being used. Well, when I sobered up I did, but I would drown out any negative feelings as soon as they became unbearable. Did I feel pretty? Well, no. I didn’t feel anything at all.

(Some point in 2017, with some random guy.)

This takes us to the start of 2019 – the worst year of my life so far, but possibly the most transformative. I left DC and went to rehab for the first time. When I got out, I quickly relapsed, and so began a seemingly endless cycle of detoxing, getting a few weeks of sobriety, relapsing again, and so on. Each relapse was worse than the last – I was raped, arrested, suicidal, etc. My life for the first half of 2019 didn’t feel like mine. When I look back on this time, it feels like remembering a nightmare. Honestly, I’ve only recently stopped having flashbacks of those awful months.

I ended up back in DC in May 2019, and though there have been ups and downs, I do feel that I am finally in a much better place. The fact that I can feel OK seems like a miracle – most days, I actually like myself again. Meeting people in rehab, AA, and even jail has opened my mind and my heart to others, and boosted my confidence tenfold. I feel like I can talk to anyone now.

Despite this newfound confidence, I remain disconnected from my body. My looks feel irrelevant at this point. Maybe I’ve dissociated as a result of trauma. Maybe I’m just more “in the moment” now. Maybe with more sober time I’ll eventually feel tethered to my physical self again.

Do I consider myself pretty? I can’t answer that question. But I do consider myself strong and resilient and that’s enough for now.

(November 2019 – at my first “real” job since January/ starting my recovery)

I don’t remember writing my last post…

I was shocked to see a post I didn’t recognize on my home page. After reading a few sentences that were clearly missing words and checking the date it was published, things clicked. I wrote the post drunk and quite possibly blacked-out (well I guess definitely blacked out if I don’t remember writing it).

My initial reaction was to delete or edit the post, but I’ve decided not to. What’s the point? Avoiding embarrassment? I think it’s a little late to protect my pride. I’m actually sort of amazed in a disgusted way that I was able to write a (somewhat) cohesive post while barely conscious.

Anyways, my relapse did not end until 4 days later when I was finally dragged to detox. Thank God for my “dragger”. Left to my own devices, I honestly wouldn’t have been able to get to the facility. Burgeoning withdrawal symptoms had me practically unable to move.

Let me explain.

Nowadays after I drink a certain amount, I no longer get a “normal” hangover (you know, the whole, feeling-like-shit-for-half-a-day experience that can be shaked-off with sleep and Ibuprofen). Instead, once my BAC (blood alcohol content) starts going down, my body immediately goes into withdrawal.

When I got to the detox facility, I assumed my BAC was at 0% due to how awful I felt. Contrary to my expectations, the breathalyzer had me at a staggering 0.24% (for reference, that is three times the legal driving limit of 0.08%). This was after having slept 8 hours. I don’t even want to imagine what my BAC was the previous night.

Side note: Did you know that the highest BAC recorded for an American was a 1.33%?! The 24 year old UCLA student was even able to check herself into a hospital and remained alert… An alcoholic’s tolerance is insane – doctors basically consider anything above a 0.4% certain death. A common thing you’ll hear in AA is “I should be dead” and that is no exaggeration.

Explaining withdrawal to someone who hasn’t gone through it is tough. The best way I’ve heard it described is that your body is telling you (screaming at you really) that you will die without alcohol. Rationally you know this probably isn’t the case (although you can die from alcohol withdrawal ), but the physical and mental discomfort is so extreme that you’ll do anything for it to stop.

The physical symptoms I’ve experienced are weakness, shaking, nausea, sweating, simultaneously feeling overheated and freezing (like a fever), and just a general feeling of wanting to crawl out of your skin like a molting snake. Most people also vomit and have terrible diarrhea but I guess I have a strong stomach.

The mental discomfort is arguably worse. Anxiety levels shoot through the roof (adding to the feeling of certain death). Depending on how much damage you caused by drinking, withdrawal morphs you into a guilt-ridden & highly depressed shell of a human.

I tried for days in a row to stop drinking on my own during this latest major relapse, but I have a liquor store attached to my building. During each attempt, I would reach a point of distress high enough that I’d convince myself a pint of vodka was necessary to get me through the day, and that somehow I’d wake up feeling better the following morning. Yes I KNOW this makes no sense, but like I said, in this state your body thinks it needs alcohol to survive.

It probably goes without saying, but my week (and some change) of drinking was not pretty or fun. Day 1 of my relapse happened while I was working at Fat Petes. A coworker suggested we get tipsy, and although I knew it was a terrible idea I agreed.

Ok fine, that day was kind of fun. It didn’t last though – flash forward one week and I’m back at Fat Petes with withdrawal symptoms kicking in hard. During my walk to FP I seriously considered checking myself into an ER, but I figured I could get through my shift and deal with my sh*t later. I told that same coworker (who I had drank with the previous week) what was going on, and she suggested we drink a little again so that I wouldn’t be feeling like death during my shift. Again, I agreed. This time there was no hesitation.

Another terrible decision on my part. I ended up blacking out, and woke up at 4am fully dressed in my work clothes. Somehow I had fallen asleep with both my legs hanging off the bed, so when I woke up I was unable to move them without excruciating pain, and had to drag myself to a normal position. I had no idea what had happened, but I assumed the worst. Did I quit on the spot and walk out? Did I steal money from the register? Did I throw up on a customer? Were my legs broken?!

Thankfully, my legs are fine and I was able to see my manager a few days later. I thought he was going to cuss me out but he only expressed concern, and even told me I still had a job if I wanted it (thanks, but no thanks). The worst thing I did was steal his food and eat it in one of the bathrooms (highly embarrassing, unhygienic and fatty of me but not terrible). Apparently I insisted on finishing my shift, but my manager had me walked home instead (bless his heart).

This was Saturday, and I didn’t get into detox until Tuesday morning. Sunday-Tuesday I drank even more than the previous days. I switched from buying pints of hard liquor to fifths (750ml). The day before detox I finished an entire bottle of vodka on my own.

So yea, not pretty or fun.

For those of you who are wondering, the detox process basically involves a medical team monitoring your blood pressure (which can skyrocket during withdrawal), and any other withdrawal symptoms you are experiencing (shaking, sweating, etc). Benzodiazepines (think valium or librium) and anti-seizure medications are given to offset the anxiety and overall discomfort. Oh and to make sure you won’t seize and die.

Since then, things have shaped up. I started a new job, and I am so grateful to have a normal 9 to 5 routine again. Although I was worried some issues would come up during my background check, by some miracle everything went smoothly. I’ve been there two weeks now — already longer than I stayed at my last “real” job (which I lost after barely a week after relapsing at work). I really don’t want to screw this up. If I do, theres a high likelihood I won’t be able to bounce back again.

Every relapse is an opportunity to learn, including “Disaster at Fat Petes“. Clearly I have trouble refusing alcohol from friends. “Friends” that know I am an alcoholic and convince me to drink nevertheless… No one is forcing me to drink (as in forcibly pouring vodka down my throat), but something keeps drawing me to individuals I subconsciously know are bad news. Sounds like a sneaky form of self destruction.

I think this time was an awakening though. I tried reaching out to my coworker to make sure I hadn’t caused HER any problems, and got no answer. I haven’t heard a single word from her since. And I actually felt guilty about this for a while.

Thankfully one of my real friends (aka someone that would never coerce me to drink because they have my best interest at heart) talked some sense into me. Who cares if she got fired over what happened? She brought vodka into work and knowingly fed an alcohol her kryptonite. It blew my friend’s mind that anyone would do this, not once, but twice.

Anyhow, the moral of the story is that I need to stay vigilant at all times and steer clear of anyone that could influence me to drink. Saying “no” to myself is hard enough as it is.

Oh and also, if you drink frequently and start experiencing frequent “hangovers” that feel particularly awful, consider getting medical help. If someone in your life drinks frequently and shows any sign of withdrawal, get them help. This can be something as seemingly insignificant as being unable to pick up a glass of water without shaking profusely (this time last year, that was me. I assumed medications were the culprit but it was alcohol withdrawal. It took over a week in rehab for my shaking to stop completely).

To end on a positive note, my AA network has been continuing to support me through all my ups and downs, and for this I am grateful beyond words. Although admitting relapse is never easy, I’ve learned that the best way to nip a drinking spree in the bud is to talk about it. The best way to combat any bad habit or unhealthy thought process is to talk about it.

It might sound corny, but the more you talk about your demons the easier it is to face them. Plus, talking to someone about your problems doesn’t only benefit you, it helps the listener as well. After all, it is much easier to open up to someone who has already opened up to you. Don’t underestimate the power of active listening.

Back on my B.S. (Booze shit)

Ugh. Of course I ended up drinking just a few days after my latest post, despite being convinced I was on a solid sobriety streak.

While re-reading said post, I realized I should have known a relapse was blatantly in the making. A newly-sober alcoholic mind does not fare well with feelings of “restlessness, irritability and discontentedness”. Those three ingredients are actually the primary components in feelings-avoidance.

If I had limited my drinking to one night, the situation might have turned out ok. Instead I pulled the oh-so-classic move of trying to mitigate my withdrawal/hangover symptoms by drinking “just enough alcohol to get me through the next day without feeling terrible”. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN HOW IRRATIONAL YOUR ALCOHOLIC MIND IS, VICTORIA?

In all seriousness, dealing with the repercussions of feeling THIS physically and mentally awful has made me realize that I had indeed forgotten a lot. Even (only) about two months of sobriety, distanced me enough from my last shitshow experiences that I blocked out how terrible it feels to come off an alcohol binge-fest.

Today, those memories have been racing back full-force. My anxiety is through the roof. My heart is racing, my chest feels tight, and more than anything I wish I could just chug some vodka to ease the god-awful physical sensations I’m experiencing. But then again, I now remember that any hope of physical soothing is yet another delusional ideation.

Currently, my rational mind is trying to dust off sober Victoria and prevent her from falling back into old, self-destructive patterns. On the flip side, my alcoholic mind is doing everything it can to convince Victoria that she’s an awful beast that deserves utmost failure. (Makes sense – the worse an alcoholic feels, the more likely they are to drink). Also sorry for talking in the third person – (“we are not amused”).

Thankfully, I’m not alone in handling this latest setback. As always, I have my amazing families, both genetic and acquired. I’ve also developed some strong relationships within AA and my outpatient rehab program that have continued to be super helpful – so long as I remember to take advantage of them.

I actually spoke with a particularly amazing friend from AA that I wanted to mention, because our conversation helped me more than I can explain. Like me, she went through several relapses before getting on track, but (unlike me) she now she has over a year sober. She reminded me today that setbacks don’t cancel out overall progress, and that relapses are sometimes crucial to an overall learning process. Meeting inspirational people like her, who have achieved so much despite their original hardships, provides fuel to my sobriety fire.

Anyways, hopefully I’ll one day be an inspiration to another newly-sober individual. If anything spurs my inspiration to work hard at my sobriety, it’s that hope!

Restless, irritable, and discontent

By some miracle, I’ve managed to stay sober since my last post (~ 50 days ago). The inspiration to write hasn’t really hit me since. I guess it’s a lot easier to write about out-of-control relapses than, dare I say, “normal” day-to-day activities?

My schedule consists of job searching, AA meetings, therapy, and Fat Petes. As happy as I am to no longer be actively ruining my life, I have been in a MOOD lately. The smallest things have been irritating the hell out of me. This morning, for example, someone was walking really slowly in front of me and blocking the whole sidewalk, and I spent a good five minutes fuming and internally screaming. Eventually I got a grip of myself and realized how misplaced my rage was. It’s not like I was in a hurry, I was headed to the dentists..

Speaking of which, apparently I’ve started grinding my teeth at night. I now have three chipped teeth as a result…gross. It was suggested that stress might be a factor. Me stressed? Never! *puffs on JUUL desperately*

As I’m writing this, I’m realizing that I’m displaying classic symptoms of being “restless, irritable and discontent”. According to AA, an alcoholic who no longer drinks will feel this way “unless they can again experience the sense of ease and comfort which comes at once by taking a few drinks.” If I understand correctly, this “ease and comfort” is supposed to come through working the steps.

UM HELLO? I AM WORKING THE STEPS! WHERE IS MY INTERNAL PEACE AND SERENITY? KUMBAYA ANYONE?

Yes, I’m being ridiculous and impatient. Sometimes I forget that although my life is currently pretty slow-paced, I’m working on implementing a lot of internal changes.

Recently, I worked the infamous steps 4 and 5 with my sponsor. Basically, this entails writing out all your resentments towards others, then figuring out what part you played. The end result is that you discover what your “character defects” are. I was certain that some of my resentments were 100% not my fault, but as it turns out I was wrong.

For example:

I am resentful towards my old boss because she made me feel like a sub-par worker and a dumb millennial. My part was that I was an inconsistent employee who showed up drunk to work half the time, and who even breached security by plugging my phone into a classified computer (because I needed to charge it…. the most millennial first world problem ever.) Despite blatantly half-assing my job, I expected to be respected. By analyzing my actions in this situation, I can see that arrogance and victimization are character defects I need to work on.

Needless to say, It doesn’t feel super great to shine a light on all of your “character defects”. The goal of the exercise isn’t to beat yourself up though. These defects served a purpose in active addiction: they were survival skills. They allowed me to maintain a warped sense of sanity. Arrogance masked feelings of complete inadequacy. Dishonesty was an attempt to prevent loved ones from turning their backs on me. Anger made me feel less vulnerable after the countless dangerous situations I found myself in (*cough* jail).

I guess the key take-way in uncovering these character defects is realizing that they’ve now outlived their usefulness.

“We cannot build a life of peace and joy using the tools of war.” – Jody Doff

Steps 6 and 7 involve facing our newly-discovered imperfections and asking a higher power to help us change for the better. Because self-improvement is a process, taking these steps is more about developing a willingness to change than fixing everything overnight. And, like all the steps, they are meant to be worked continuously.

I guess this is where I’m at. The good news is that I’m becoming more self-aware, and able to identify when my character defects are acting up. The bad news is that my character defects are so deeply engrained that it’s extremely uncomfortable to work on them at times.

People-pleasing has been the hardest so far. I am absolutely terrible at setting boundaries with others, and frequently find myself believing that I am responsible for other people’s thoughts and emotions (newsflash: I’m not). One of my latest “challenges” was breaking up with my old therapist. The therapist in question was a lovely woman, but I noticed that I wasn’t making much progress in our sessions. Oh, and she had a tendency to doze off while I was talking…

Sounds like an easy situation to handle, right? Not for me! I tried to tell her at the end of several sessions that I wanted to move on, but froze out of fear each time. Eventually, I ended up letting her know over text (and of course, it was no big deal.)

Logically, I knew that it was ridiculous to continue paying for a service that wasn’t meeting my expectations. Not to mention that the purpose of therapy is to communicate feelings. Despite all of this, some part of me felt worried that I would hurt the therapist; I didn’t want her thinking she was doing a bad job or that I didn’t like her as a person.

It’s almost laughable when I think about it. The woman is literally trained in feelings management and has dealt with hundreds of clients, yet I felt responsible for protecting her. Did I think I was so important that MY actions could potentially affect her self-esteem? Apparently so.

Ironically, people-pleasing is an extremely self-centered behavior, which I still have a lot of trouble accepting. I’ve always prided myself on being helpful and relatively unselfish. Somewhere along the way though, this turned into a subconscious belief that I have way more power over others than I actually do.

So yea, the people-pleasing thing is a work in progress. The challenge remains accepting that I have no control over other people’s thoughts, feelings and opinions. Hopefully once I become more comfortable with this idea, I’ll start to feel more serene.

I guess that’s my update for the day/week/month. Overall, I really can’t complain. I’m grateful for my amazing support system, without which I would be homeless (and probably drunk). I’m grateful that today I can focus on my recovery and take the time to better myself. And I’m SUPER grateful to be sober.

BBQ queen?

Life is funny. One moment you’re working in the Pentagon and the next at…. Fat Pete’s BBQ. Yep, I start training tomorrow. Debating whether I need to buy cowboy boots or something.

Ironically, yesterday a random stranger asked me if I was from Texas (which I’ve never been asked before). MAYBE THIS IS ALL GOD’S PLAN!

Apparently Fat Pete’s strives to give customers “the best experience when it comes to flat out, stomach filling, smile on your face BBQ.” How touching. Anyways, come visit me if you’re bored and in DC. (Damn, look at me already promoting- watch out, I’ll be manager in no time).

Joking aside, I’m feeling pretty torn about this whole situation.

On one side, I’m super depressed. This is not what I expected for myself. I worked hard to try and achieve a life that would be fulfilling and impactful. The education, the internships, the interviews… I came so close to getting on the right path. Actually, I was on the right path until alcoholic, self-destructive Victoria pushed me into the gutter.

I feel myself entering pity-party mode, so here’s the bright side of things. For months now, my days have revolved almost exclusively around recovery. Rehabs, AA meetings, outpatient programs, detoxes, therapy, meds… It’s been exhausting, and I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself in the process. I’m starting to feel like alcoholism is the only thing that defines me. Even though that’s obviously not true, it’s a deeply disheartening feeling that I can’t seem to shake.

Essentially, besides recovery-based activities, my days have become as empty as my bank account. I think that working at a restaurant will be a good change of pace. At least my mind will be occupied with things other than alcohol and/or all the ways I’ve messed up my life as a result of alcohol. Maybe working a job surrounded by people who know nothing about my past will allow me to get my spark and vigor back. I miss my “joie de vivre” (yes I threw in French and it’s kind of pretentious but it sounds better than “joy of living”. Bite me.)

As a good friend told me, my path before was unsustainable. Maybe she’s right and I’m doing exactly what I need to be doing for now. Plus, free BBQ.