This is a word I’ve always used to describe when I’m feeling undone.  When parts of me are going in a hundred different directions and I haven’t time to stop and throw a lasso around them and pull it all together.  I thought I made it up…turns out I was wrong.



verb (used with object), dis·com·bob·u·lat·ed, dis·com·bob·u·lat·ing.

to confuse or disconcert; upset; frustrate: The speaker was completely discombobulated by the hecklers.


Who knew?

No matter how you say it, frazzled, frantic, frenetic, confused, befuddled or whatEVER I’m a mess.  Up at 5:30 to work by 6:45 home between 7:00-9:00 bed by 10:00.  Weekends spent working on the house…painting, painting, painting, sanding, building, grouting, decorating.

I am fucking exhausted.

And what’s worse, I’m feeling REALLY disconnected from the hubs.  I go to bed early and he stays up with the boys to be sure they’re all home and that they have what they need (don’t judge…old habits die hard…even when your boys are grown ass men) so by the time he gets to bed I’m in snoresville.  (Of course, I don’t really snore.  I just said that for illustrative purposes.  Yeah…that’s it.)

Even if I were to take a weekend off from the house it wouldn’t help because I’m all keyed up and it takes a while to come down from situations like this.  Plus I’d just stress about what wasn’t getting done instead of relaxing.  Better to push on through to the end (will it ever end?) so that we can enjoy the fruits of our labors…in October.

Oh what a PERFECT excuse reason this used to be to stop and get a bottle or three of wine to help me escape relax and prepare for the next day.  And OH how I looked forward to the weekends when I could really get my drunk on relax and recharge my batteries.  And then VACATIONS when I could just sit and drink relax and really understand that I was an alcoholic what life was all about.

Now I have to resort to things like a foot or back rub from the hubs (no matter how quick…quickies can be a good thing…double entendre intended), a hug from my boys, a walk at lunch around the beautiful city in which I work or a snuggle with the dogs to remind me to slow down and breath from time to time.

Yeah…sober life sucks (heavy sarcasm intended).  Guess I’ll just have to put on my big girl panties and get recombobulated.

Now that word I’m SURE I made up.



Coming Into the Light

I’m feeling better you guys. I still feel flat and somewhat depressed, but it’s not nearly as bad as it was. Thank you for that. And by “you”, I mean the sober blogging community as well as those of you that take time out to comment and support.  It means so much.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this blogging thing and this sober thing and this depression thing and this therapy thing and, while they are all interrelated, the blogging thing stands out most in my mind because it’s the thing that is most responsible for my well being.  Blogging is what moved me from sobriety to recovery and what keeps me fully connected to my recovery on a daily basis.  Which explains why, when I became depressed, I stepped away.  (Depression does that to you.  Just like alcohol it lies to you and makes you do stupid shit that is the exact opposite of what you should be doing to feel better.)

When I stepped away I did it because I felt that I had been sitting in this sobriety/recovery place long enough.  I felt that I didn’t have anything left to say on the subject and my brain told me that staying stuck in the pattern of reliving my drinking days and talking about recovery and sobriety was not good for me.  My depressed brain told me that I needed to move on and not stay rooted in the past.  That I should move forward and not keep looking back.

I think this is how relapses must start.  You being listening to the lies your depression and fear tell you.  That you’re okay and you need to move on – you need to run away from all those hard things and go where things are easy.  Where your well-meaning but misguided friends and/or relatives tell you about how great you are and how you’re cured and should move forward, get some other interests and stop living in the past.  Where you can just stuff down all that hurt and pain – ignore it – and it will magically disappear because, after all, you’re over all of that.  Right?


Yeah…right.  Stepping away from actively processing those emotions that come up in my every day life and just stuffing them down and escaping is the LAST thing I need.  In fact, it’s not the last thing I need…I don’t need it AT ALL.  Because it’s toxic.  The relapse begins with food or shopping or manic behavior (well…for me anyway) but eventually, even if I never took another drink, it would be about booze.  The dysfunctional behavior would be there and I would begin to think about the wine, get pissed off because I can’t have a drink, become hyperaware of everyone around me who’s drinking…all the things that made me miserable before I actually entered recovery.

I honestly don’t think I will ever take a drink again, but that doesn’t mean I won’t relapse.  If I forget to work my recovery and start stuffing emotions and fear down again, I’ll just end up fat, in ill health, in financial crisis and miserable.  What kind of life is that?  I’d still be a burden to my children.  No one would want to be around me.  I’d still be getting old.  So I’d end up isolating myself with reality TV, food and the internet.  A miserable sober alcoholic.

Might as well drink.  At least THAT would kill me faster.


Writing, journaling or blogging (whatever you choose to call it) keeps me grounded in what’s important.  It allows me to process emotions, feelings and events and not stuff them down.  It reminds me that I’m not alone and that I have a voice.  That even if no one ever reads another word I’ve written, I can come out here and sort through all the shit that swirls around in my addicted brain and toss out what’s not good for me.

That’s a fucking miracle yo!

But people do read.  This community of lovely, caring people who bare their souls and share their pain as well as their strength on a daily basis have become some of the best friends I’ve ever had.  Some have their own blogs, some just read and comment and some lurk.  Some are still drinking, some are trying to quit, some have been sober a long time and some have family that have brought addiction to their doorstep.  Doesn’t matter.  Each and every one of us contributes to this community of sobriety in some way and we make a difference every day.  Whether it’s to each other or just ourselves, coming out here means something.  It’s important.  I don’t want to ever again forget that.



I am a Maryland girl.  I was born and raised for a period of time in Washington, DC, but in my heart of hearts…I’m from Maryland.  I have a big tin of Old Bay Seasoning in my cabinet (because what self-respecting Marylander doesn’t), crave Thrasher’s fries and Dolle’s caramel corn on a regular basis, think of mountains as soft and rolling like the Blue Ridge rather than sharp and steep like the Rockies, and likely have a combination of salt, fresh and brackish water running through my veins (because the Chesapeake Bay is actually an estuary which has all three). 

Chesapeake Bay Bridge from the Annapolis side.

Maryland is neither north nor south having straddled the Mason-Dixon line for the better part of the last 300 years.  Most of the state has very little accent save for the group near D.C who put an “r” in the word wash (as in Warshington), the group from deep southern Maryland who sound like they’re from the deep, deep south, and the group from points north of Baltimore who sound just like they are from Philadelphia.  We have bays and beaches and mountains and lots and lots of places where not only George Washington slept but most of the Founding Fathers’ laid their heads as well.  In fact, MD is a hotbed for political activity and personalities.  (Camp David is in MD you know).  We are the shit yo!

Western Maryland in the fall…only God makes colors like that.

I’m finding that I get homesick less frequently but with greater intensity than I used to and that the only thing that will cure it is plant my feet in good old Maryland land.  I need to soak up some salt air along with the stench of crooked local politics and fresh cut tobacco.  I just need to go…home.

The Boardwalk in Ocean City Maryland.

When this feeling comes over me, I begin to think about how and when I’m going to go.  With whom I’ll stay.  Whether or not I can make a trip to the ocean while I’m there or if I’ll just hang at the Bay.  Who I’ll stop and visit and for how long.  Maybe I can get a trip to the mountains in while we’re there and stop at my grandparents gravesite to maybe “tidy up” a bit.  Or maybe not.  I wonder how to get where I need to be while still managing to avoid the absolute nightmare that is the Capital Beltway.  I know I need to grab a copy of the Washington Post – Sunday Edition and read my favorite comics and talk one of my friends into a crab feast while I’m there.

Steamed Maryland Blue Crabs

My daughter and her family are still there.  My best friend is still there.  My beach is there.  My Bay is there.  The city dock in Annapolis is there.  My football team is there (don’t bust my chops, The Redskins play in Maryland); my baseball team is there (The Orioles).  It’s where I met and fell in love with the hubs and where all my babies were born…all six of them!  My first house is there and my favorite house is there and the only church to which I ever really belonged is there.

One of the oldest Catholic churches in MD (and Maryland has A LOT of Catholic Churches). I love this church.

Of course my time there wasn’t all sunshine and unicorns.  As we all know my upbringing wasn’t exactly Ozzie and Harriet (and if you’re too young to know what that means…Google it).  Could I move back permanently?  I doubt it.  We’ve planted roots here.  It’s a beautiful place to live and I love it.

But 8 hours north (by car) is home and every once in a while…I need to be there.  I need to hug people and wander roads that I’d know in my sleep and see what’s changed and visit old haunts.  Maybe it’s a result of the depression cycle I’m in or maybe it’s just been too long but whatever the reason, I feel a distinct pull to the north.

Now where did I put those ruby slippers…


Mystery Solved

I found out how my post from yesterday got published before it was finished.  Seems my darling husband found it after I minimized the window (rather than closing it) and thought that I wasn’t going to publish it but that it needed to be published so…he did it for me.

Now I have all kinds of issues with this but I’m not as angry as I would have been say…five years ago.  Then I was an open book but only to a certain extent – you know…except when it came to my drinking.  Now I’m an open book, appendics, table of contents and acknowledgments too!!!

And sometimes I carry a metaphor too far…but anyway.

I do feel a little “invaded” however and so he and I will have a little “chat” but I want to do it the right way because, bless his heart (as we say in the South) he was only trying to help.

And he does – constantly.  After 31 years together it’s safe to say that he knows me better than any other human on the planet.  He’s got my back and I’ve got his.  As my daughter says…ride or die.  No matter what, he’s my biggest fan.

But he can’t, ever, know what’s it’s like to be a depressive nor will he ever know what it’s like to be an alcoholic (or an “aholic” of any kind).  I try very hard to explain it to him, and this blog (which he reads) and your comments go a long way to helping him see into my fucked up head; but really?  He’ll never really know because he isn’t either of those things.  It’s like when I was pregnant and I tried explaining to him what hormones had done with his wife.  I still looked the same (if by “the same” you mean with an additional 60 pounds and another human or two on board) but I sure didn’t act the same.  At any given time he was probably expecting to see my head start spinning and pea soup to come flying out of my face.

But he tried…he tried so hard to understand.

It just wasn’t possible.

So the hubs gets props for trying to understand what was happening inside my head yesterday and publishing my post before it’s time.

But darling, I love you to the moon and back and at least until tomorrow…but if you ever fuck with my blog again…I’ll go SE on yo ass and cut you faster than you can say, “But I thought…”



I have no idea how that last post got published.  I guess I hit publish instead of save to draft.  It wasn’t finished!!!  I hadn’t even had time to proof read it.

I checked my email and realized that many of you lovely, lovely humans had commented because that’s just how wonderful you all are…

So I’ve edited it and actually finished my last thought so it doesn’t sound nearly as awful as it did.

What a dunder head I am…



This is what it looks like…

I have a wonderful husband.  After my post about my current depression, he went out and filled the house with good food plus lots of apples, bananas, watermelon, pineapple and grapes.  Yum.

But my boys are…well…grown ass men, so when I went looking for grapes last night for a snack, they were gone.  There were plenty of apples and bananas left but I wanted grapes…or pineapple…or watermelon and they were all GONE.  So I went to the store and bought…chips and ice cream.  I bought my favorite Cape Cod Kettle chips (in the small bag) and, because I bought a small bag, I bought a bag of tortilla chips as well.

Don’t judge me…yet…there’s more.

The hubs had asked me to get his ice cream.  “His” ice cream is the cheap stuff which comes in a huge gallon tub and tastes like frozen water.

Still…not judgement…I’m not nearly finished.

I got home and put some chips in a bowl and sat down to eat them.  I ate them slowly, savoring and not rushing, like you are supposed to do with treats.  Except that when the bowl was finished I still wanted more (hmmm…sounds somewhat familiar) so, not wanting to empty the small bag I purchased because…well that would be a kin to gluttony – duh…I went back and filled the bowl with tortilla chips.


Then I saw the hubs come into the living room with his bowl of ice cream.  Crappy ice cream.  Why waste the calories right?  Except that he had put caramel sauce on it.  Oh my.  Even the crappiest of ice cream can be made good with a good caramel sauce.  So I did what any self respecting addict would do…I waited until he left to pick our son up from work and then I went and got some ice cream.


But wait…do not judge me fore’ there be more.

I got a very small finger bowl from the cabinet (it holds about a cup) and dished up some crappy ice cream on which I put some lovely caramel sauce.  It was yummy.

Now?  Now can I judge you Sherry?

Nope…there’s still more.

AND as if that wasn’t enough for my addict self, when I finished the bowl I went back and did it again.


Now is when you can judge me because I’ve been doing it all day.


Except that I believe I may have, quite possible, hit rock bottom last night.  My depression was at an all time low yesterday – for absolutely no freaking reason – and then I went and repeated the behavior I lived in during the last few years of my drinking.  Sneaking, hiding, and putting a substance in my body that would do nothing but harm.

Rest assured I am not sharing my shame with you so that I can elicit sympathy or so that you’ll give me advice (although…both are welcome), but I posted so that I could put this shit in the Universe and then behind me.

This morning I downloaded a workout app that lets me start with 10 minute workouts and progress to 30 or 45 or 60 or whatever.  That’s my first little step.  One small step at a time is all it takes.

And so this it what it looks like to hit bottom and…



Self Care

Google the term “self-care”.  Go ahead.  I’ll wait.

If you’re like me, reading just the first page of my Google results has my mind spinning.


“Self care refers to actions and attitudes which contribute to the maintenance of well-being and personal health and promote human development. In terms of health maintenance, self care is any activity of an individual, family or community, with the intention of improving or restoring health, or treating or preventing disease. A holistic health approach is common in self care.”  Wait…what?


“Self-care is a touchy subject. That’s because our society largely views self-care as selfish, slothful and overly indulgent.

Yet, it’s anything but. Taking good care of yourself not only makes your life more fulfilling and contributes to your well-being, but it also extends to others.”  That’s fine…but HOW?

Student Health Center of NC State University

“Self care is active participation in enhancing the quality of your health. Some people may think that nurturing the self is only for the fragile, the weak-willed, or the slacker–it certainly couldn’t be for strong, ambitious college men and women. However, it is a vital part of maintaining good health and a vibrant life. It’s not just an occasional manicure, “chilling out” or a six-pack. Building up a repertoire of reliable self care habits now can affect your quality of life both now and in the future.”  How do you know it’s not the occasional manicure?  Who makes up these rules?


Arenas of Self-Care.  I’m dizzy.

  This just pisses me off.

  Tell me something I don’t know.

Self care has become kitchy and cute.  A trendy catch phrase.  “Don’t bother me now.  Mommy is practicing self care.”  Which leave the little ones thinking, “What the fuck is that?  I just want a cookie.”

Well foul mouthed little one, I don’t know.  And neither does your mommy really.  Because the thing about catch phrases and trendy “of the moment” practices is that they are worn out.  Everybody is doing it which means that everybody has an opinion about how you should be doing it and why.  While that might be fine for the mother of four who just needs a moment to herself before she starts dinner or the single woman who’s been on too many dates recently and needs to step back and regroup or the man who has taken on too many jobs and needs to get some clarity; but a simple catch phrase or sign or buzz word ain’t gonna cut it for a recovering alcoholic who is trying to hold on to her sanity with her expertly applied acrylic nails.

Thing is…I’ve been thinking that I WAS practicing self-care.  My family offers me all the time I need to “have a moment” or grab a manicure or soak in a tub (which I will not do because I hate baths…but I digress).  I’ve read more that I care to remember about how to “forgive myself” or “let go” and still I struggle.  (I have however ordered Brene’s book you all recommeded and I will read it when it arrives.  For some reason I felt the need to actual hold this book in my hand and put it on my shelf.)

So just what IS self care anyway?

One thing I’ll say for Psyche Central is that yes, it is a touchy subject.  Anytime I do anything for myself I’m filled with guilt.  But if I knew that what I was doing was actually going to work, I could handle the guilt.  I am a firm believer that I’m no good to anybody if I’m not well.  It’s how I got sober.  During that first year or two, I felt absolutely no guilt for doing whatever I had to do to get and stay alcohol free.  I plowed through like the Mother Fucking Sober Warrior Ninja that I am and laid carnage to whatever or whoever got in my way.

But now my attempts at self-care feel selfish and indulgent.  Why?  Because they don’t work.  They’re attacking the issue from the outside and, as Ellie said, this is an inside job.  Manicures and shopping trips and time alone with my thoughts are not the answer.  Manicures are a necessity.  Shopping trips are dangerous to an “aholic” like me who is in crisis. (Is that what this is…a crisis?).  Time alone with my thoughts is ridiculous right now when all I can do is think about disaster and dying and wallow in my depression.

The self-care I need has to come from inside and I don’t know how to do that.  I don’t know how to make that mind-body-spirit thing connect and, more importantly, I don’t know how to keep it connected when I do manage to accidentally connect to the mother ship.  It feels like when the lights go off in a thunderstorm and the power company is working to restore them.  First they flicker, then they come on for a few minutes only to go off again and dissappoint.  Getting those lights to stay ON is what I need to do.

Except that I don’t WANT to.  Right now self-care to me feels like eating comfort food and sitting around watching trash TV.  It feels like cooking and baking for my family and not facing the outside world.  It feels like redecorating my home to remind me of the beach where I feel most connected but have been away from for four years.  It feels like flying to Oklahoma or driving to Maryland to be with my children and grandchildren who reaffirm my reason for being.

Here’s the thing though…that is the selfish and self indulgent kind of self care.  On the surface it looks to the rest of the trendsetters like that is exactly what I should be doing.  But those of us who have been to hell and back know that those things are outside things and, once again, this is an inside job.

I have never been naive enough to believe that recovery was a “once done” thing.  I’ve always known it was an ongoing process.  What I didn’t count on was all the shit that created this place I’m in now being this hard to overcome.  Who knew I would just go through life trading one addiction for another all the while declaring that I was FINE until I reached bottom and realized that, guess what, I am not fine.  I’m not fine AT ALL.  I am sober.  I don’t smoke.  I try to eat well.  I control my spending habits.  I don’t sleep around.

But I am most definitely not fine.

The thing is, my body and subconscious know when I’m lying to them.  Stress and the act of stuffing down emotions manifests itself for me through depression.  Back before anti-depressants my hair used to fall out or I’d break out in a rash.  Now that I’m medicated it just comes through as a deeper depression.  Like a little Sherry way down deep who’s been yelling and yelling and has finally grabbed a microphone and a sub-woofer and started screaming – ALL IS NOT WELL HERE DUMBASS!!!!!

Dang – I hear you…you don’t have to yell.


Next Steps

Writing yesterday was exactly what I needed to start the process of introspection that will hopefully get me through this pit I’m in…that and some wonderful comments and support from some very wise people.  Hey…maybe I should do it more often!  Yeah that’s it!

Man I’m a frickin’ genius.


After reading back through many of my posts over the last eight or nine months, I realized that this has been coming on since before Christmas.  I’ve just been so “off”.  I think it was triggered by money issues which, thanks to a healthy raise and a decent bonus, have begun to be resolved.  But that shit can really wear on you and, in my true fashion, I just stuffed it all down and ignored it, pretended it didn’t exist, lumped it all on the hubs or did my best impression of Scarlett O’Hara from “Gone With The Wind” by deciding to just think about it tomorrow.

Yeah…how’s that workin’ for ya?

I can’t believe I fell victim so quickly to old habits after all I’ve learned in recovery.  As I sat at my desk yesterday, I began to let fear wrap its ugly tentacles around my throat and take me down even further when suddenly I started wondering about a woman whose blog I read.  Her name literally popped into my head from out of the blue.  This brave and beautiful woman had a relapse several months back after many, many years sober and from time to time she let’s us know how her recovery process is going. 

God is wonderful don’t you think?  He always delivers exactly what you need when you need it.  For me it was this post by this gentle spirit who was kind enough to share her pain with those of us who are just as vulnerable as she.  She is truly one of my heroes and I don’t have that many.

After reading it I realized that by ignoring my feelings and not truly dealing with them, I was setting myself up for a huge fall.  I may not be drinking (right now), but I am exhibiting other dysfunctional behavior by not making time to take care of myself.  Paul pointed out in his comment to me yesterday that the mind/body/spirit thing is vital to staying healthy and, more importantly, staying in recovery and not just staying sober.

Because there is a HUGE difference.  One it took me a few years to discover.

My poor eating habits and self sabotage of “diets” is one way I’m self-soothing to deal with my pain.  By running to the cabinet for chips or chocolate or to the refrigerator for ice cream everytime I’m feeling anxious, I’m just repeating past patterns.  It’s no different from reaching for the bottle.  No different at all.  To make it worse, it has the same impact on my self-esteem that drinking did.  I know I’m doing harm to myself and so I beat myself up because of it. 

By refusing myself time to meditate or practice yoga or walk, I’ve allowed myself to stuff down my feelings of anxiousness, depression, anger, resentment and stress.  Those things helped me to overcome my alcohol addiction and enter recovery and I’ve tossed them into a corner of the room and ignored them like old toys for which a child no longer has use.

Here’s the thing…life can be HARD.  Shit happens.  Learning how to manage that and not lose our minds is the key to a happy life.  Most people learn this slowly, as part of the growing up process. But my growth was arrested by my biochemistry, my parents and just circumstances in general.  I didn’t even BEGIN this process until four 1/2 years ago so I’ve got a lot of making up to do.

So thank you for letting me pour out my guts and then not only reading, but leaving me beautiful, supportive comments as well.  The truth is I’d write even if no one read my drivel but this sober blogging community is one I’ve come to admire, respect and love and so your words mean the world to me.

And thank you Ellie for sharing your experiences so eloquently…you may have just saved my life.


First Steps

It just dawned on me this morning that I’ve been fighting a bout of depression lately.  That’s the thing about depression – you’re going along fine and then you start down this very low-grade slope.  It’s so gradual that you don’t even know you’re on it until you arrive.  Then you stop, look around and go, “How the name of all that is holy did I get here?”  For me “getting here” came on in less than a month.  If you don’t believe me just look back at my post from May 23rd.  Compare and contrast people…I can wait.

If you’re an experienced depressive like myself, it doesn’t take long to recognize the signs (not so for the newbies…but that’s another post entirely) which is what happened this morning.  I was in the Ladies room (TMI) when I thought – man am I in a funk!  Then I started thinking about all the random thoughts I’ve been having over the last week or so and how short-tempered I’ve been and BAM! I had my diagnosis. 

Knock knock.

Who’s there?


Depression who?

Sorry lady but this shit ain’t funny.

I don’t think this is one that will send me running to my head doctor for a medication adjustment or seeking out a therapist (I have yet to find one I can work with – but that is also another post entirely); rather, I think this is one I can just sit with for a while and then work my way out.  In my former life, this is one of the things that would send me straight to the grocery store for a bottle or three of wine…but no more.  Now I can just “be still” and work through it.

Well – I’m pretty sure I can.

And if I can’t – there’s always different/better/newer/more innovative drugs as well as therapy (yeah right) that can help.  Life’s too short to remain in this state for longer than necessary.

Which brings me to one of the first things that been weighing on my mind…that of my own mortality.  I’m watching my children/grandchildren/children of friends grow up before my eyes which leaves me thinking…my time here is almost over (relatively speaking).  I’ve officially been on the planet longer than I have left assuming I live out my natural life.  Um…newsflash…I am going to DIE one day.  Cease to exist.  Ashes to ashes and all that stuff.  Normally I don’t worry about that because it’s the one thing I absolutely cannot control and I am so confident in my beliefs that I don’t let it bother me.

Unless I’m dealing with the big “D”.  THEN it bothers me.  It bothers the shit out of me.  It rattles around in my head until everything I see, everything I hear and everyone I encounter is a reason to think about death.  Kids are home…oh my God how long before I’m no longer around to care for them (really?  they’re practically full-grown you crazy woman).  Glance in the mirror…who is that old woman?  Holy fuckwads…it’s me!  I’m so OLD.  I don’t have very much time left! Pizza’s here…Oh my…one day soon I won’t be around to get the pizza.  There’s a thunderstorm in the forecast…OMG it’s a SIGN – I’m going to get struck by lightning and DIE.

Did I mention I’m also not rational during these depressive times?

Which naturally takes me to my next issue – that of my health.  Of course there’s my ever-present battle with the scale (that has shoved me so low I’d have to look up to see the bottom of my shoes) not only because I personally can’t stand the sight of me (no matter how many times I look in the mirror and say positive shit to myself) but because it’s impacting my health as well.  My blood pressure is up.  My knees are shot.  I’ve developed sleep apnea (according to the hubs).  My acid reflux is unbearable depending on what I eat in the evening.  My heart has me worried because I’m afraid I inherited my mother’s heart disease.  All of which would correct itself if I could just take off 40-50 lbs.  But I can’t, or won’t, or…whatever.  I’m stuck.  And when I’m not stuck I self sabotage.  Damn.

Then I look at my family.  We are all (with the exception of one twin) overweight.  But we’re all running in different directions so it’s hard to plan meals so they end up grabbing junk food.  I want to cook for them!  I want there to be healthy alternatives to crap in the house!  I bitch and bitch to the hubs until he finally gives in and buys the healthy, whole foods I want (which is way more expensive than crap BTW…again…another post) only to fall in a funk and ask him to buy me junk because I’m self soothing.  Jesus, Mary and Joseph what the fuck is THAT about?

Anyway it depresses me to see us all this unhealthy.  I worry.  I get upset.  I AM upset.


Of course work is a factor because I’m here 12-14 hours a day but…in some weird way that part is actually helping.  I’m needed here in order for our programs to run effectively and I’m good at what I do.  That is…when I’m not forgetting things or making mistakes because of lack of focus.  Have I developed ADD in my old age?  Sure feels like it.  Or…oh God, is it early onset Alzheimer’s?  Nevermind…work is definitely NOT helping.

See – clearly NOT rational.

So the thought occurred to me this morning that perhaps I need to jump back on the blogging train.  That maybe working through it via my personal form of “journaling” would help me figure out whether or not 1. this will pass; 2. I need help; or 3. I need to get off my fat ass and actually MAKE something happen.  Most likely it’s a combination of all three.

But, and this is a big but, that would require me to allow myself to feel vulnerable again..something I don’t do well.  There was a period in early sobriety when I laid my soul bare and never minded being vulnerable.  I reached out for help wherever I could find it because,  in my pea brain, reaching out at that time felt “worthy”.  I mean for reals yo…I was battling for my life!  But now?  Not so much.  These petty little issues (again…in my tiny little cavity I call a brain) should not require things so mammoth as vulnerability or exposure.  These are things that should be handled alone so that the rest of the world perceives me as strong and capability.  These are things (if I were a REAL woman) I should be able to control.  I am cringing right now thinking of the people in my real life (as opposed to my blogging life) that are reading this and feeling sorry for me.  It actually makes me ill to think someone is out there going, “Awwww…I feel so bad for her.”  NO NO NO!  That is my line damn it!  You are not allowed to use it on me!

I am strong!

I am capable!

I am a train wreck!

Excuse me ma’am?  Yes you at the keyboard staring at the screen.  You with the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat.  Listen closely.  THIS IS THE KIND OF MENTALITY THAT GOT YOU ON THIS TRAIN IN THE FIRST PLACE!

Well fuck me naked…I’m right aren’t I?

What a shit show I am.

So now that this rant/whine is finished (for now) I’m not sure if I feel better.  But removing it from the aforementioned miniscule gray matter and placing it onto the “page” has been a first step.  And we all know that everything starts with that first step.


I’m Still Here!

I’m falling so far behind! WordPress Reader is acting up at work…speaking of work – it’s insane right now…redecorating the house leaves no time for blogging or reading or commenting…


But I promise I’ll be back soon – reading and commenting and hanging out with my cyber buddies cause…well…I miss you guys!