Last Call for Sin.

Now playing: The Killers “All These Things that I’ve Done.”

Kinda feel like the Killers are singing to my recovery right now. “Last call for sin” reminds me of my week and how it’s basically been one rush of “you have to stop doing things that trigger you to drink/use and find new ways to have fun.” Realistically I understand but realistically I also know drugs are bad yet here I am in rehab (for the third time.)

If it were as easy as “just change ______” I feel like this disease would be less prevalent or perhaps have a different recovery process. As it is, there I sat with my counselor on Thursday begging to go to a music festival that I don’t yet have tickets to, in an area renown for its wine. Sitting on that slightly uncomfortable armchair, I found it so easy to say “but I won’t drink. Yes I associate the biggest headliner with tripping on acid for 3 days in a row but I won’t be tempted to use now.” After one or two comments I realized it wasn’t her I was trying to convince, but me. In the past, I have gone to shows and not drank and it was fine. But this is a festival, full of people, full of life, full of everything about social situations that trigger the fuck out of me. Hell, I cut down on my caffeine intake because I want to reduce triggers — setting myself up to fail by going to something I am not ready for, just four days into the program, five days clean and sober would be just plain old stupid. But I can’t quite imagine an event where I aren’t intoxicated either. I can’t tell if that’s proper grammar or not. I imagine that doesn’t matter, much like it doesn’t matter if I can’t imagine myself not gumming so coke discreetly at an event. Sober me feels like so long ago; having those two years of sobriety is messing me up, furthering my feelings of failure.

Those paragraphs were written yesterday (so I’m six days sober!). Today though, something happened. Some people in my program invited me to spend time at a farmer’s market during our lunch break. At first I felt odd about it, like I wouldn’t belong or had only been invited because I was there. But walking together was so much fun —  chatting about nonsense, sharing fruit, discovering things about each other and building a connection. I made plans with others to go to the park at one point. My program is making me feel like I’m welcome and people have my back. They get it without me having to explain it. It’s normal there to be like “ugh, getting a urinary analysis sucks,” “Yeah I lost so much weight when I was drinking/using,” and even talking about how much money we’re saving. Maybe there is something to be said for going to groups and building connections. A counselor said “addiction is a disease of isolation” and I could not agree more. A lot of shame is tied into my addictive behaviors, wanting to be around my friends and loved ones but hiding away so nobody would find out. Secrets, lying, all that fun stuff. But I don’t have to do that anymore.

My second alcoholics anonymous meeting went super fucking well. The first was a mess and made me never want to go to AA again. But this one was with a younger crowd and  I discussed my reservations with not going out to concerts or shows. I talked about the envy that I’m trying to suppress. It doesn’t do me any good to wish that I could be like all the other people I know who can drink/use without problems. I don’t know their lives and focusing on them is only distracting me from putting my life back together. They even gave me a mini version of the Big Book. After the meeting someone came up to me and easily asked what kind of concerts I go to and got my number so that she could text me when she was going to one and we could be sober buddies. That’s it, so easily, without (seemingly any) second thought. Whether that happens or not, it’s pivotal, because it’s shown me that you can meet people, and they won’t judge you, and they’ve been through it and come out on the other end. Maybe I don’t have to give it up forever, just for right now.

Planning with my friends now includes things like movies, going to museums, and even a board game night. Five months — okay, maybe two months —  ago I would have said no thanks what kind of white people shit is a board game night, but now I’m like fuck yeah trivial pursuit! My brain and body are learning how to have fun. How to live.  I’m clear headed enough to say things like, “you could go back to ballet,” but also self aware enough to be like, “okay yeah get your ass to a meeting.” It works if you work it is so corny and cheesy, and it irritates me because one of the first counselors who led group said that WE as addicts/alcoholics are the problem, and only the first step relates to our drugs of choice. I don’t want that to be true but it has to be, otherwise there’s no way I can control it.

My background is complex and full of things that I am not emotionally ready to confront in treatment. I have a long road ahead of me and only three weeks (initially) to learn skills that will hopefully keep me sober enough to continue further treatment. Our homework assignments make me cry and I want to walk out of groups whenever I’m uncomfortable. I’m fortunate enough to have one of my best friends understand what I’m dealing with, who’s not worried about us getting in the way of each other’s recovery and often asks if I want to go to meetings. But it’s a journey that ultimately I have to go through myself—  but I don’t have to be alone. Support right now is invaluable and I feel so so so involved and cared for. I’ve never had that feeling before.

And oh yeah —  I passed my drug test. That makes all of this worth it.

Another Friday Night I Wasted

Now playing: Snakehips “All My Friends.”

Since my last post, I’ve ‘relapsed’ twice. That word’s definition is so packed, loaded. It’s to worsen after a period of improvement, or even deterioration. These two times that I’ve drank have not been over the top by any means. I’ve been safe and not done drugs during them. But I feel like I’ve failed myself.

Maybe that’s because I never got around to setting a clear goal yet.

Saturday was a whole lot of fucking fun and a day that I really needed. But I didn’t want to break my 3 drinks per day thing I had going on. Yeah, I broke that and got pretty drunk but I was with friends and overall happy and I didn’t use.

I don’t know. I’m trying to get in the mood and to really write something, to make sense of all these thoughts in my head, but it’s my first real major “setback” and I don’t know how to proceed. Maybe I’ll just let the dust settle and start over. This time I’ll set a goal.

Hopefully my friends still want me around even though I keep failing. Hopefully I can keep telling myself I’m worth it.

 

I Wanna Take You for Granted.

Now playing: Matchbox Twenty’s “Push.” 

I know, I know — you missed me yesterday. But I had nothing to say. I needed some time away seeing as how my previous post was one of those dramatic ones that I wasn’t expecting to ever write. Funny how I forgot recovery would have good and bad days.

Today has been better.

Except I injured my foot twice in two days and the pain’s pretty bad, but given my history of narcotic and prescription pain pills abuse, I don’t want anything and I wouldn’t be given anything anyway. So there’s that. Just something else to deal with. Work — where this injury happened — has also been weird. I was reprimanded for something that I shouldn’t have been reprimanded for, and it’s affected my entire mentality. Essentially I was accused of not wanting to do my job, of insubordination.

When that happened, all I could think of was “I want a drink.” I even asked my coworker if she wanted to go out but she had to get home. I never realized just how many Thursdays after work I’d go to the bar with BK and drink away my workday stress. Because work sucks the life out of me and I only have so much energy.

That sort of, kind of, except not really brings me to the point that I wanted to touch upon earlier in the week but didn’t because I suck — alcohol! And how pretty much everyone drinks and it’s everywhere.

My bitch ass is trying to “get sober.” Whatever that means. For right now, it means drinking a maximum of 3 drinks, two days a week. That is nothing compared to what it was before but it is also (I think) manageable and attainable. Challenges with that goal are that if I’m drinking vodka Redbulls, 3 drinks go by very quickly and before I know it I’ve drank so many that I’ve started drinking Jameson and I end up on the floor. Five times a week. Funny how alcoholism works.

But like, I always think about how my friends go out for drinks multiple times a week and don’t seem to have a drinking problem and can control themselves. They have stressful jobs too. So what’s different between us? Sure they don’t like, do drugs, but they have and drugs don’t necessarily mean you have a problem. My intake counselor said it might just be genetics or bad luck. Or the fact that the first time I had a drink it was to quell a deep loneliness and I was 10.

But who knows, really?

The worst thing about this stupid sobriety thing isn’t the fact that I want to use, it’s those stupid Facebook memes. The ones from those pages your aunt likes that say stuff about how you’re spending your weekend drinking a bottle of wine, or how you used to lie to your parents about spending the weekend with your bff and it was really keeled over drunk. God, have some respect. It’s fucking normalized problematic behavior.

Everyone I match with on Tinder is like “let’s go get drinks!” You are a damn stranger, how about we go to Starbucks? Every profile has a photo of them with a beer. First of all, beer is disgusting unless it is laced with acid and I’m already drunk. Alcohol is everywhere and it’s just never going to go away.

And I need to learn to say no to it. But I can’t. BK and I went to the bar where I got (slightly) drunk before a concert (then I got trashed at the concert. Lovely.) He repeatedly asked if I wanted a drink. I kept shrugging because I honestly didn’t know if I did. Looking back, I probably didn’t want anything, because I didn’t want to be out at all. Sometimes I experience that pesky discomfort I mentioned before and I don’t allow myself to be present, so naturally when he brought me a cider with a shot of fireball, I drank it. Or most of it. I hadn’t eaten (because eating is hard when I’m actively using) and if I had kept going, it’d be bad. The glass sat there on the table, mocking me, calling out to me, as if I was doing something terrible by not drinking it. And BK completely understood and said if he wasn’t sober, he’d have finished it. Because we’re alcoholics.

So then shame took over because I wanted to finish it, not because I was enjoying it, but because it’s alcohol and I’m obligated to. Same goes for the day we hit up That Alley and he bought me a bottle and proceeded to tell me I’m only fun when I drink but amended it to say that it seems I’m only having fun when I drink. (But I am fun when I drink, or roll, or trip, just FYI). I didn’t want the bottle, I didn’t want to drink, but I took it and did anyway. He told me, with such fucking ease, “then you don’t have to take the alcohol.”

Wouldn’t that be fucking nice?

But I haven’t drank in a while. I don’t keep track, though. That way I won’t be disappointed. I haven’t drank and I haven’t used. I still want to. Cravings are still pretty bad though I suspect that’s more psychological than physical at this point. I work in an area that’s drug heavy and though I’ve never purchased drugs there — and would never — it’s tempting every time I walk there.

Alcohol is everywhere and it’s going to be everywhere. It’s far too important in this universe to ever go away. People drink and don’t become alcoholics and then some do and develop problems and they get help and they come through on the other side. I want to get to that side. I want to be able to sit at a bar with some friends and have one ridiculously sugary drink and be done after that. I want to experience things, like my friends birthday at a bar with a lot of coin operated machine games and feel welcome instead of out of place and unwanted; to be able to join in conversations without thoughts of wanting to down a bottle, pop a molly, or snort a gram. Let’s face it, snorting a gram would have me depressed after 45 minutes anyway and who wants that when you’re supposed to be having fun?

BTW ever since I stopped using, I’ve been eating like a fucking pig and I’m pretty sure I’ve gained at least 5 lbs. I’d complain but these enchiladas are delicious. Oh well, back to Leah Remini’s Scientology show. Ta ta!

It’s Only in Your Head.

Now playing: Jimmy Eat World The Middle. 

Have you ever felt like a plastic bag? Or rather like your friends are actively ignoring you? Dialectical behavioral therapy’s been trying to get me to combat those feelings and to acknowledge that it probably is all in my head. But some times maybe they are. In the adult world, ignoring someone doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. Other people are draining and require expendable energy that one might not have in that moment. But in this specific blog post, I’m feeling really nervous about a particularly important friendship because I can’t quite help feeling that it’s over. Sure, I’ve felt it was over about a million times before but in this moment in time, it’d make a lot more sense. It’d probably benefit them, since they’re growing and bettering themselves and like, I’m not there (yet).

So it sucks and my feelings are kind of hurt because my messages have kind of gone unanswered. Maybe I’m completely wrong and they just need space. Maybe this person’s just like “see you, bitch.” Either way, I’m not really going to ask. I’m going to let this build up, ruminate, and if they ghost me then that’ll answer my question. If they start talking to me again and not mention the distance, neither will I. Because I’m scared nobody wants to talk to me.

The tone of this post is entirely different than others, I can tell it is. Loneliness is a big part of why I use. The first time I picked up an alcoholic beverage was due to my father berating me and my wanting to quell the sadness and separation from the rest of my family that was arising within me. The first time I popped a pill was when I was in a high school with teens who saw me as nothing but a brown kid who hopped the border. And when I relapsed in Fall 2016, it was because I was close to finishing my undergraduate career, which meant I’d be leaving behind the only place where I’d ever felt like I belonged.

So right now, I’m here trying not to overreact to losing a friend, because I’ve gotten by before and I’ll still have AJ and TJ and they’re mostly there for me. Even though the distance between SL and EA and others whom I love has widened to the point where I know nothing about their lives and they know nothing about mine beyond drugs (do I even have a life?) It hurts and I feel like it’s something that I’ve caused for myself.

Part of me wants to call up my other friends, hit up a bar and drink while talking shit. I mean, I’m absolutely fabulous, who wouldn’t want to be my friend? Four vodka redbulls in, though, I’d be even more depressed and nobody wants that. Loneliness is intertwined with my using, and I don’t know what to do. Loneliness leads to drinking/using, using/drinking leads to loneliness, and the world of alcohol and other drugs that I once found as fun and social has turned into me locking myself in my room but unable to look in the mirror because I can’t recognize myself.

My friends who support my Road to Joy told me that I might need to change my friends to get better and I fervently proclaimed that no, I didn’t. How could I, when everyone drinks anyway? But I didn’t consider that maybe my friends in recovery would change their friends and that would include me. One called me a drinking trigger, and that hurt, more than anything because it was true. The name could go both ways, but it didn’t because I wouldn’t have said that to anyone’s face.

Who am I left with if I change my friends? What am I left with? Starting over doesn’t even seem possible at this point. Yesterday’s validation seems so far away, almost like it didn’t even happen, and I’m brought back to reality. Reality meaning that this is something that is one day at a time and one day’s success won’t be enough for every day.

I should have expected things to change. There was a tweet that fucked me up once, about recovering, that said something like recovering wasn’t going back to how things were but rather moving forward to something new. And maybe that’s what I need to see. I don’t need to go back to before. Because then I’d have to go back to being what, 12? I’m 27. I can fucking deal with shit now. I just gotta deal with it without drugs.

And if my friend, even my best one, has to cut me out their life to move forward, I have to be okay with that. The loneliness won’t go away overnight but adding shame from a night’s bender won’t make anything better. I use motivational interviewing with my clients at work all the time to find the motivation behind their actions all the time.

Why can’t I do that for me?

If I’m honest, this friend is why I started going to the meetings. This friend said we’d be recovery buddies. This friend said they’d be there for me. They probably meant it then. But now is a different moment and I’m a (slightly) different person. Now I do it for me.

Now I get my ass up and make it to that damn 9:45 am talking group and sit my ass down and talk about how damn much I want a line but it’s officially day 14 without it. And no friendship loss or loneliness can outweigh that.