Lots of thoughts this weekend about drinking. Before you get your panties in a wad or your boxers in a bunch, I’ll explain.
These weren’t the normal pangs (or is it pings) that knock me for a loop and scare the shit out of me. These were thoughts about why I drank, what I missed and how I was going to battle this bout of depression without it. Processing thoughts. Analytical thoughts. Thoughts that kept me mostly in my head this weekend instead of being present in the world.
Hmmm…I haven’t decided whether that’s good or bad. For now it just is.
I noticed a lot of silence and deep sighing went on while driving in the car with the hubs. Very unusual. Usually I’m talking his ear off about one thing or another and since we’re rarely completely alone, it’s often in the car that we connect.
Not this weekend.
I thought about how lovely a glass of wine used to feel…about how it was an escape…about how I used to float away and be happy…for the first glass anyway. I also thought about how odd it was that I NEVER (and I do mean EVER) thought about drinking as an escape. How could a woman so seemingly aware of her own mind NOT consider things like drinking, smoking or eating an escape? Or even a coping mechanism? What in the name of all that is holy is THAT all about?
Denial’s not just a river in Egypt people.
I never thought about it because I really and truly believed I had my shit together. I was successful, a good mom, a good wife, a decent cook, a not too patient but still good daughter and part of that persona was that I, like every other woman on the planet it seemed, loved my glass of wine in the evening. I mean, wine with the other mommies was a thing. Wine with colleagues on a business trip was a thing. Wine on date night was a thing. Wine was a thing!
But of course then it became so much more. I remember thinking to myself, “This can’t be right. I think I must have a problem because once I’ve started I just can’t stop. I need to put more controls in place. I mean seriously? I am the Queen of Control! I can do this!” Except that it stopped working. Moderation wasn’t an option and stopping, even for a 24 hours, just wasn’t happening.
I had crossed over from occasional binges to problem drinking to full-blown alcoholic.
And it never occurred to me that I was using alcohol to escape?! I just figured I inherited alcoholism like my green eyes and slow metabolism. Get sober and everything will work out. Get sober and get skinny like I used to be (but of course didn’t know it) and that will fix everything. Get sober and I’ll be a better mom (okay – that one is true). Get sober and all my problems will magically float away on a big pink cloud.
Uhhhhh…not so much.
Even after getting sober, even after going through the steps with a sponsor, even after blogging myself stupid, I’m still battling the same damn demons that sent me running for the smokes/bottle/chocolate in the first place. Dude…that is fucked up!
Let’s take a look at an example shall we? I started this redecorating thing in the spring, I think, as a way to make me happy. At that point I didn’t realize that I wasn’t happy and I certainly hadn’t figured out that I was depressed. In fact, I’ve had two touch point visits with my shrink where my response to his questions were all, “I’m fine!” When clearly I wasn’t but since I didn’t know it – I couldn’t tell him. Are you following? Good cause I’m confused.
I truly LOVE the way the house turned out. It’s beautiful and just what I dreamed it could be. Time for a gut check.
Nope. Still depressed.
I know! I do another Whole30! Yep. If I can get skinny again surely that will solve everything!
Except that everytime I get going on one of these things I self-sabotage and end up back where I started. As soon as I’m having some success, I end it and fall deeper into the pit.
I’m no therapist but even I know that means there’s a lot more going on here than a few extra pounds and some tired ass paint colors.
I’ve been reading back over some of my old posts and what jumps out at me clearly is the roller coaster of emotions. I know this is normal for anyone AND I know that it’s especially normal for someone in recovery. I’m just really, really tired of this particular carnival and I’d really, really like to move on now thank you very much check please and someone call me a taxi because I actually thought this weekend, “You know, a glass of wine would make this all go away for a little while.”
Okay, I lied. That one really did scare me.
More work to do on me. I think that’s going to be my new mantra.