Where I am now.

It’s been a fair while since I last wrote. This evening as I got ready for bed, the itch appeared and I realised that it was time to get my thoughts down. Update my (few) readers as to where I am on this, somewhat mental, journey I am on.

Tomorrow marks 9 months without a drink. The times I struggle is when I want to settle down and watch something in the evening. Especially after a shift at work. Or at the weekend, just to have something demarcate from the usual working weekday. I have set myself the challenge of not drinking until I have done a year. I shall explain my thought process..

I haven’t been to a meeting with the support group that I was part of for over a month. I have struggled for over 20 years to understand the ethos behind the workings of the program and as I am not able to talk in any detail because of it’s acclaimed anonymity, suffice to say there are a few, rather major principles that I can’t get past.

Whilst I was in the treatment centre, living and breathing recovery and the 12 step program – it felt like I was agreeing to things that I didn’t have the power to argue against. And this is exactly what is expected – admitting that you are powerless. Which is fairly easy when you have just devastated your life and loved ones by taking an overdose. I will never, ever forget the amazing support from the treatment centres I went to. It is through their care, understanding and expertise that I am able to sit here and type this, feeling more centred than I have ever done in my life. But.. and it’s probably a rather large ‘but’, the ever-gnawing feeling that I wouldn’t stay with the program became more and more acid-inducing and eventually I had to be honest that I couldn’t (and possibly more importantly, wouldn’t) pretend to myself or others any longer that I was willing to think/behave in a certain way that didn’t resonate with my views.

I have had nothing but love from peers and friends who are also in recovery, although I do wonder if there are wagers being put on how long it is before I am back knocking on the proverbial door, begging for mercy and help. Maybe, I will but for the time being I am sticking to what feels right for me.

I don’t believe that addiction/alcholism is a disease. The definition of disease does not fit as it does other diseases; cancer, Alzheimer’s, Parkinsons for example. Interestingly research has shown that alcoholism was named a disease by an American organisation, thereby helping the validation of insurance claims for treatment centres. Which, by the way, are an enormous money spinner in the USA. I would (and could) link the research to this post but if you just type in ‘is alcohol really a disease’ into Google, then you will get the same results as I did. If I still had access to my university research databases then I could probably come up with all sorts of data… but I don’t. And quite frankly, as I am trying to simply my life at the moment that is probably quite a good thing! Equally the figures for relapsers are high. Addiciton/alcoholism has a poor prognosis and that is even with treatment centres and the program.

My idea is that I will protect my mental health. If I am feeling centred and at peace, once Xmas comes, I will probably have a few glasses of wine. I also know that I hate hangovers and anxiety with a passion and if I drink too much then I will have both of those. And if I am honest, it is those two factors that keep me away from drinking. More than the horror stories; more than the looking back at past experiences where I have been an arse.

My life now revolves around the children, work and my mental health. I have so much more insight and knowledge now after months of therapy regarding the factors that have contributed to my (poor) coping mechanisms. My ‘addiction’ is craving love. Especially from those who are emotionally unavailable. Now I know that, I am concentrating solely on the most unavailable person I have tried to get that love from.

Me.

More Fairies and Dolphins Please.

Freedom

So at the end my last post I alluded to a more sincere post about how I communicate with my higher power(s). I’m feeling (a little) less silly tonight so shall endeavour to explain.

I have always believed in some sort of higher power, I flirted with Christianity for about a month when I was 8 or something and was given a little book of prayers for children. It never called to me. I liked the idea of the angels but there didn’t appear to be room for fairies. Or ghosts. And I liked them more than sitting in church on the odd occasion I was taken. My church I suppose was my grandmother’s garden. I would spend hours playing there, it was quite magical with a rose garden and apple trees I could climb. A swing that could give me splinters and a hammock with spiders. Or if I were in Wales for a holiday, staying with family, I would wake hours before everyone else and just go for a walk in the lanes and across fields, sometimes accompanied by one of their cats, Bramble. I would moo at the cows and baa at the sheep (something I still do regularly) and talk away to the horses that I came across. Collecting the odd leaf, stick or stone along the way. I loved the country and I still do. I yearn for the trees and hedgerow, for the sounds of the animals and the telling of the seasons. Maybe having been in my mother’s womb as she tended to her farm’s livestock has left the imprint or maybe, like all animals, it is just simply in my blood.

Equally I adore the sea. The rise and fall of the waves as the tide flows in and out. The promise of dolphins not too far away, the shells that adorn the beach and the reminder that we are so very, very small in relation to the rest of the Earth.

So when I think of my higher power. I think of the magic in the trees, the fairies that reside with the dragonflies over the streams, the changing of seasons reflecting where we are in the year. I think of Mother Nature. I think of life and death. Birth and rebirth. I think of the moon and the sun.

For me, science and magic are entwined. There are enough happenings in the universe that we simply cannot explain (yet) and for that I am thankful. When I am feeling lost (which can be quite often), I find solace in knowing that I am just part of a matrix of energy. And now I am finding I have the time to dedicate to re-establising a connection with my higher power, with the Mother Goddess.

This post may seem clumsy, I feel like a toddler taking her first steps. In some ways I already know the path but I can’t quite seem to find my balance yet.

Alanis Morrisette as God.

“Let’s have a girlie night Mum. I can wax your face”.

Sorry what? Wax my face? I look at the ridiculously gorgeous non-hairy-faced 16 year old who stands before me all pretty and young, and glare. Wax my face? What do you mean? Wax my face?

Is this what lockdown has resorted us to? I’ll admit if a fine fuzzy look is the worst of my problems then perhaps I am not doing too badly, but still. I harrumphed, threatened imminent death and stomped off incredulously.

To be honest, lockdown for us in a house with a garden in a town with a beach and the Sussex Downs a short drive away is luxury in comparison to those without. Lockdown in early recovery? Not so sweet. I attend Zoom meetings to connect with other recovery fellows and I speak to friends daily but the reality of not being able to physically connect or have cups of tea in their houses is difficult when having an illness that thrives on isolation.

However one’s addiction manifests itself, it really is only symptomatic of a void that has lost its plug. You know the paddling pools with the plug in the bottom? The ones we buy year after year, that only last for a month before a cat punctures it or it gets left on its side until you can’t see past the slugs that have taken residence within it? One of them. It’s like trying to refill a slug-ridden, plug-less void with *insert addiction of choice* and constantly wondering why the gnawing never stops.

I remember sitting in a flat I shared with my EO (Eldest One) who was about 1 or 2 at the time time and wondering why it was I could never feel sated. I always felt like something was missing and here I am 16 years later slowly piecing the puzzle together and a warm glow is starting to build.

These last three weeks since leaving the treatment centre have been a rollercoaster. However, the good news is that this rollercoaster would have been out of place in somewhere like Thorpe Park and more suited to a toddler’s version at Lego World or whatever it’s called. The ups and downs have been more muted and less vomit inducing which for someone who can’t even watch someone else playing racing games without wanting to hurl, is a good thing. (Of note, I have never ever, and never ever will, go on a rollercoaster).

To help with mentally riding my toddler’s rollercoaster, I have been asked by my – let’s call her my ‘human’ guide – to pray and talk to my higher power. Now I have an issue with organised religion personally but completely get that it is a wonderful thing for lots of other people. For me, I believe in the power of energy, Earth, Mother Nature and Spirit. I have my own guides in the ether whom I talk to but I don’t have a particular God. So this makes praying a bit cumbersome. It takes quite a while to go through “Dear higher power, Mother Nature, mother goddess, spirit guides, animal guides, ancestors etc” each time I want to communicate so I decided that I needed a name. I immediately though of Alanis Morrisette who plays god in Dogma and I decided to name my multitude of higher powers the one name, ‘Alanis’. I was very excited about this and proceeded to tell all those who were remotely interested that I was talking to my goddess ‘Alanis’. Even my counsellor took it on board and managed not to laugh during our sessions when referring to Alanis (he did smirk but looked very chuffed at his lack of laughter). The problem I had was that every time I did my morning and evening chats with Alanis, it felt like I was addressing the Alanis Morrisette. And then it all felt wrong. I mean she may well have heard me telepathically, who knows how spiritual she is? She might have been buttering her toast in Canada or wherever she is from and suddenly out of the blue heard me waffling on about how I need to remain sober and could she possibly sort out the leaking overflow pipe…

In case you wondered, no, she didn’t answer.

So with that I have gone back to naming each of my zillion higher powers and just mix up the order so that none of them get jealous of who gets named first.

There are benefits to talking with an entity that you believe hold a larger power than yourself. I will write this more eloquently in another post, for now I am far too glib to describe with any justice. And I need a pee.

Leaky Vessel

Sitting in my room on my bed in between lunch and a workshop. Reflecting on a) how much I cry and b) how I might be able to pull a sudden sickie and be excused from another excruciating hour of ‘let’s pull the addicts apart and bare their souls until they howl for mercy’.

Yes I am feeling a little dramatic and if I were a cat (which alas I am not.. I have never seen an alcoholic cat before so can safely assume I wouldn’t need to be in a rehab if I were one..), I would be painstakingly licking my fur so that every strand of hair was laying in the correct direction and then would sprawl out and knead my claws into the soft blanket under which I am currently hiding. Right now, being a cat would be the ultimate solution for my weary brain that has had enough of the constant barrage of therapy.

The thing is that I am fully aware that out of this pain comes growth. It’s just it hurts so fucking much. I struggle to sleep when I go to bed and then can’t wake up in the morning. My first thoughts as I stir are muted and fuzzy but within seconds negativity bombards the mind, like shots being fired from a gun. The idea is that I pray first thing and meditate. Unfortunately the fatigue is crippling first thing and I struggle to get down to the kitchen to make a cup of tea let alone pray to my higher power. Ideally I would pray to my higher power whilst simultaneously receiving a cup of tea but I feel that asking for tea and serenity might be pushing it.

Relationships throughout my life are fast becoming an obvious issue and I witness from my mind’s sidelines how I play out my role in relationships now. In fact I almost feel like I have just been thrown back to being a young child and I am having to relearn how to be a friend, a daughter, a sister as well as a mother. And god knows what hell being in a relationship now would manifest. Almost 6 weeks in and I have realised that not one of my past relationships have been healthy. Blood red ‘Codependence’ is stamped condemningly on each one, as I file them into the ‘LOVE – archived’ cabinet drawer.

With shocking clarity as I sat on a bus coming back from the Portobello market, I realised that each time I envisioned being with a partner, I was looking for someone who had the same values with a shared sense of humour, who liked the same things, adored animals, listened to the same music.. In fact, I was looking for me. I don’t actually need anyone else to fulfil me or make me whole.. I have already found that person. It is me. I have everything I need and now I just need to love her. The tears that threaten to drown me also come from the stark realisation that there is no person alive who can save the little girl who resides within, that critical time has passed. The loneliness and fear that stemmed from instances of neglect needed to be addressed between the ages of 0 – 16. They simply cannot be fixed now by anything external. That boat has most definitely sailed. Love, material objects, new hair styles or multiple piercings and tattoos.. it is time to accept that they are nice-to-haves. The only way that this vessel can be repaired is via a self-care manual that incorporates the instructions to fixing one’s container so that it is supportive, can bear rough seas and doesn’t leak. And to do this I assume I need to do a bit of work on self-love, self-care and self-esteem.

Through drawing and painting, meditating, writing and (my latest addiction) collecting house plants, I endeavour to create a safe space whilst I am here. My essential oil diffuser puffs out therapeutic steam whilst changing colour and the salt lamp exudes a warm glow. Fuck knows what the cluster of healing crystals are actually doing by my bedside but I do seem to think that shoving a different one down my bra each day may help with something. I’ll keep you posted on that one.

Daffs and vitamin D

It was the accent that gave it away. For the past few months my ‘external motivator’ voice hasn’t had an accent. It’s just been dreary and dull and well basically, my own voice but worse. Today I was ordering myself around in a (bad) Irish accent – think Brad Pitt in Fight Club – and as I told myself to ‘put da fockin kettle ahn’, I grinned in delight. Yes! Things were going to get DONE today… When I am being really stern with myself and trying to study, it is generally an Afrikaans accent and occasionally when I need to be a bit softer on myself, it’s either Brummie or West Country. (disclaimer: please do not think that at any point I am being judgy about countries/accents.. this is purely my own mental shit coming out.. bear with). Now, interestingly, as I did my second attempt at a bloody horrid medication exam, I spoke in my own voice. But very strict. Not until I had passed the 100% pass mark did any other fun accents deign to materialise. So, the return of them can only signify that the fog is lifting and I am on the mend.

The sun, daffs, Floradix and the miracle of high potency vitamin D3 spray on my buccal mucosa are potentially the components that kicked me up the arse physically and mentally. The relief at just doing, not thinking about doing and having a constant internal struggle as to whether I can muster the courage and energy to do… The problem with innate inertia is that the idea of even taking a shower just poses so many issues… literally, it’s less Midas and more Misery touch.

So think of my utter glee at not feeling like this today. Like someone turned the fucking light on! There I was skipping about the garden, trying not to tread on the mud-was-grass and stick to the stepping stones which must have been laid by an idiot (me) as you can’t walk on them without looking like a drunk pirate walking the plank.. in the end, (think fit pirate whatsisface Depp when he is pissed and trying to run), you get faster and faster and if you can make it to the end without falling off one of them.. it’s a Brucie Bonus. Admittedly this is much more fun (and less possible) when inebriated.

Things are settling.. Mr P and I are working things out and I feel blissfully happy about it. Plans are being made for the Spring and Summer.. the end of my course is in sight and all is looking good in the hood.


Building Bridges

Last night I decided to do Lazy Studying which basically involves lying on one’s back reading relevant literature to one’s dissertation and then watching TED talks followed by YouTube videos on the topic of choice.

My dissertation, as mentioned previously, is on domestic abuse and its identification within A&E departments in the UK. The next video uploading last night was on narcissism and how to recognise it. Hmmm.. I thought, interesting…. (in light of my last – and final – dalliance with ‘romance’, outside of my marriage). As I watched and listened to further more accounts of narcissistic behaviour, which involves manipulating, controlling, demeaning, coercing etc.. I realised that this was something that I had encountered more times in relationships than I had realised.

First instance was as a 13/14 year old going out with an 18 year year old who stole motorbikes, did drugs, lived in the most horrendous squat-like residence (even though it was actually owned by his father) and loved to taunt me about his past girlfriends being far better in the sack than I. He also set his dad’s dog on me once. Admittedly it was only a Jack Russell but it had teeth and was aggressive. I sat cowering on top of a set of drawers crying, while he and our ‘friends’ fell about laughing. He also had an affair with my supposed mate from school and left love letters to and from her that I would find. He even got me to pick up a letter from the post office and then proceeded to read it out to me – from the ex apparently – although I now have my suspicions that in fact a lot of these instances were fantasy and game playing to undermine my already shattered sense of self. After six months I woke up to the fact that he was a dickhead and stopped seeing him. (Note: I was a wilful teenager and whilst my mother did attempt to stop me seeing him – it didn’t work). Then proceeded years of intermittent stalking, silent calls and even fairly recently, a friend request on FB.

The next narcissist gave me quite a strong hint on the first night we went out – he told me my hair smelt disgusting as we stood on the escalator on the tube. To be fair I hadn’t washed it that day but still. Rude. He would regularly get drunk and tell me that he didn’t need to meet or see my friends as he had enough and didn’t like mine anyway. He was 39 and I was 23.. there were regular put downs and the final straw came when he stayed at my flat while I was at work and inadvertently folded my two cats into the sofa bed. They lived, the relationship didn’t.

The third lovely fella is someone I have had to remain in contact with for a long time due to the child we produced together. But along the same lines as above.. I left him after a year and a half. There were many instances of control and manipulation but my main memories are of being told to dress and behave more like a lady and to straighten my hair so it didn’t have ‘fizz’ and that it was ok if he mistakenly stayed out (repeatedly) until 6am after going out for a pack of cigarettes 12 hours earlier..

gray bridge and trees
Photo by Martin Damboldt on Pexels.com

but if I planned a night away at a friends then I was deserting him.

The final guy I have spoken about previously.

Interestingly, I don’t generally believe that I am pushover. I am pretty feisty and independent and certainly with the last 3 men, they were presented with that version of me on the first meeting. So I wonder if the challenge of being able to reign those characteristics in, is what appeals? Equally do I need to admit responsibility in thinking that I can somehow change their personalities too? Each of them were troubled and had experienced difficult upbringings, so did I too think it was a challenge? Did I want to temper them down? Or instead is it some perverse longing to  feel secure and in the absence of a father, fathered? There are many theories out there I am sure but this reflective process has left me very much grateful that I can see my own manipulative traits and desire to control through my own perceived omnipotence.

Mr P and I are building bridges, hopefully out of slightly more sturdier materials. As a result of this painful intermission, we appear to be able to look at each other in a new light; with more acceptance, understanding and hopefully, tolerance.

 

Another duvet please Facebook

It comes to something when you hear the glee in your mother’s voice upon telling her how many meetings you have made in the past 5 days (7).. ‘that’s fantastic!”. “Yes”, I reply drily, “isn’t it just?”. I did also mention that because there are a majority of people who drink more than I ever did, that maybe I didn’t need to stop quite now.. and could continue until I got to where they did and and then stop. I quickly laughed to iterate how it was all such a funny joke.. meanwhile mentally clarifying to myself that this could be an option… couldn’t it? 

Oooh it’s funny how your mind can turn things around to make them fit. A bit like a piece of puzzle that isn’t really meant to go where you are putting it, so you just rip off the protruding peggy bit off so that it slides in nicely. Rearranging the narrative.

My mind, desperate for some sort of pleasure, has decided that I need to buy things. Constantly. Ayurvedic tea seems to be the recent addiction – which of course needed new glass mugs and a loose leaf teapot. Before that I decided I needed to purchase literally anything that Facebook showed me. So I now have a new duvet cover, my own purpose made home hair colouring kit from the US, a gel nail kit with UV lamp and I have paid a tenner to find out which food I need to eat to help with my Vata Dosha (basically, amongst a plethora of other things, it is supposed to help you sleep better, restore better mental health and stop farting like a trojan.). I could’ve got this information for free. From Google. However, I only discovered that after I had paid. I also nearly booked for a massage and spray tan before common sense prevailed and I realised that food for the family might be more beneficial.

The mental fogginess is still there. I can’t seem to think about anything meaningful at all. It’s as though the brain has shut down that area for refurbishment – “Closed until further notice” – my relationships with my family or friends etc? I can’t think about them. What I want to do regarding applying for a job? No, not today thanks. I am only able to place one foot in front of the other and think about the day in hand. Thankfully, it is suggested that when giving up an addiction, you only take one day at a time, which is lucky really, because that’s literally all I can manage. The moment I try and plan something concrete for the future, the amount of mental effort it takes to sustain the process is enormous and I mentally and physically crash afterwards. I want to sleep sooo much. The exhaustion is overwhelming at times.

Maybe that’s why currently, instant gratification is key. I have a sneaky feeling that I need to move away from this type of thinking.. that I need to sit with the discomfort and accept the loneliness and difficulty of feeling like I am missing something but for now small steps.. and maybe that elephant duvet cover that I keep seeing an advert for………

I can certainly recognise that I am at the beginning of a long, long road and as I tentatively am putting down my feet, feeling my way, I am just thankful that my wake up call didn’t involve other services, that I am still on my path (albeit a tad rockily) and I do have the option of making the right choices now.

 

 

Surrender & Peace.

I felt it wash over me, a sense of peace. Contentment. Reminiscent of a time long ago as a child on a mediterranean holiday, lying in the shores on warm, wet sand, as the waves gently passed over my small, brown body.

The coils have been so tightly sprung for so long that I couldn’t quite work out what was wrong. The house was still in need of a good sort out, no miraculous dumping of millions had occurred in my bank account and I hadn’t lost 2 stone. So why on earth did I feel.. ok?

Surrendering isn’t something I do very easily, well not without mind altering substances and as they are officially off the menu, I am having to find alternative measures; meditation and yoga are my mind altering practices.

Meditation has been delicious.. there is something about the letting go; the shoulders gently relax; the tension melts and you surrender.

I suddenly ‘get’ recovery and the serenity it can bring; letting go and accepting; the tribe I have become part of and within which support freely flows.

The anxiety is lifting and my eyes are starting to smile once more.

The Curves of Learning

Today has been a wake up call. Not a huge massive resounding gong or anything.. more of a creeper.. but with a lot of thorns. Last night I relapsed which gave the Shitty Guilt Fairy massive pleasure and she did a complete rendition of the Riverdance on my head this morning.. it went on for hours. I learned some home truths from various corners of East and West Sussex and am still slowly waking up to the realisation that I am not who I thought I was and it’s time to toughen up.

It is a new day (like literally only 4 seconds old) and it’s time to re-saddle the horse and haul my hefty arse back on. Additionally, I have realised that my wagon isn’t faulty it’s just I keep vaulting over the side in a desperate bid for self destruction. Normally I’d be happy with any form of sporting prowess but it appears that Wagon Falling isn’t a bonafide sport and therefore the idea is to remain on board.

Finally, my higher self and I are about to have a bit of a conversation about loving oneself, not allowing oneself to be treated like a twat and how life sober really is a better option.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Bird Bath

So by far the nicest thing that has happened to me today occurred an hour or so ago. I, (very excitedly) decided that I was going to, not only have a bath but I was going to have a bath bomb in it and some 0% pink fizz to drink (Friexenet 0.0% – really lovely), with M&Ms in the light of a candle and then… wait for it…. I watched Bird Box in the bath! 

Now for some, maybe this isn’t quite the rollercoaster ride you expect to either experience or hear from me… but if I am brutally honest.. it was so fucking nice that I can’t wait to do it again. In fact, if I wasn’t so bloody clean, I would go and do it again. I even used a Xmas gift of a body scrub from the EO. There was a bit of writhing in the water as I realised that it’s difficult to hide during scary bits when you are in the bath.. well at least not without deluging the whole sodding bathroom.. I forget that as a (slightly overweight) adult.. one quick move in the bath is like creating one’s own miniature fecking tsunami but aside from that.. not one M&M was dropped and the laptop didn’t explode from steam exposure.

I bounded out like an eager and overexcited puppy… declaring to the EO that I had such ‘ A LOVELY bath’ and then told her how many of her Xmas gifts I had used, so that she thought I was extra-amazing. She lounged on her bed, her phone practically stuck to her cheek in case it dared to leave her sight and I decided due to one’s amazingness that she ought to give me a back scratch so that she could earn having my presence in her room. Bramble (small witch kitten) lying on the wicker chair in the corner, opened an eye and looked at me with a really horrid expression. Like pure evil, she glared (with the one eye) as if to say ‘pathetic human, I don’t have to do any amateur dramatics to get massages and back scratches.. I simply exist’. I foresee another accidental kick off the bed tonight.

Other than that, today has been a good day. I paid an exorbitant amount to have the car cleaned badly, spent more than I would on alcohol on alcohol-free-pretend-alcohol so that I could pretend I was still drinking alcohol; did some boring HouseShit and caught up with one of my besties. I even printed ‘things’ for my leadership exam.. and put them in piles and then moved them about.. and did an impression of studying.

Who knows what excitement tomorrow could bring? (Well, I do actually, a 5 year old’s birthday party.. There is NO stopping me!)