May 13
Well I guess I am getting the idea loud and clear about what drives me to drink, and I am not including the couple of days I self-medicated. I think the answer to this one is turmoil. How much turmoil happened yesterday, right now I can’t even comprehend. I’m so drained even though I slept in 11:00 a.m... I am not sure though what time I fell asleep. By the time I was able to drink my way to oblivion I wasn’t able to see the clock.
I think this will be a short journal entry today. Even writing in my journal will not help the way I feel. Right now the only way for me to feel better is not to feel and that is why my beverage of choice today is alcohol. So once again I will sneak around and find my saviour.
Oh, how I understand that people drink for some very good reasons. The prime one being to escape whatever pain and turmoil is going on in our brains; people who are problem drinkers anyway. And how I wish I wasn’t a problem drinker.
One thing that people also don’t seem to understand is that I am an expert on the subject of alcoholism. I lived with an alcoholic for 20 years. I learnt from my mistakes, lots of research, going to programs, etc. I found out the only thing that helps is to allow him/her to live his/her own life. In order to quit you have to do this for yourself. I also learnt that no one is obligated to take on your problem and if you can’t take the heat get out of the kitchen. You did not create the problem, you can not change the problem, nor can you control the problem.
When I finally learnt this with Doug, after attending Alanon, miraculously (or maybe because these guys know what they are doing) he decided on his own to do something about his problem (also because he probably would end up in jail if he didn’t). So for the last three years that we were together he didn’t drink. I did not stay with Doug for 20 years because he was a “bad” person. I stayed with him because I always believed he could win this fight, because I was the caretaker, and had the disease myself of being the enabler. Anyway check out Alanon and you will get a wealth of information.
The booze is starting to work right now, and the cigarettes. I am starting to be able to feel some compassion for myself.
Why is it that we sometimes can not feel compassion? Why it is that people thought I was “crazy” to hand over some cash to street people? Like I have said before, is anyone in this position because they want to be, or because they are lazy. Living the life of a street person can’t be an easy job, worrying where you’re next meal or fix may be (just as two little examples).
How much harm people do thinking they are helping. Help that comes with conditions, is not help, it’s a contract.
Also does anyone realize how difficult it is for us human beings to ask for help? Everyone has pride/ego, and I would think that for the most part, most of us wouldn’t ask for help unless we are in some dire circumstance.
Well I finally bight the bullet and decide to come clean with my drinking problem and I have never, ever in my life been treated with so little understanding and disdain. I could understand if I was a bad/dangerous drunk like my ex Doug (they didn’t call him Dangerous Doug for nothing) but I once asked one of my sisters what I was like when I was drunk and she said I was “happier”.
Now I am at the point where I am feeling like this not drinking thing will be very difficult for me. Because, you see what happens when you try and quit drinking. All of a sudden you are not to be trusted with anything.
I am so disappointed with them too. In their “good intentions” and I honestly know in my heart that what has been done has been done with good intentions, had I been given some slack, I would not have been driven to drink. And if anyone out there thinks I am defending myself that’s your prerogative, but someone has to defend me.
Once again I am avoiding the painful part. It’s important for me to get this out.
What Happened Yesterday
Well as you are now aware I’m in such an emotional state I’ve taken to the bottle again.
After I finished my journaling and the boys got back I was feeling pretty good (both ways). I had picked up the incidentals needed for the house, plus the ingredients for the stew and spaghetti I was making, did my layout for the Queen of the Crop Contest (that now I have no chance in winning because I’m unable to submit) typed the last five days of my journal into my “book”, picked up some flea market clothes Barb was going to put in the street sale (bought 2 100% linen tops, and a pair of white pants for $10!!!), had the fish filter sparkling white, drank about 3 drinks, smoked numerous cigarettes, went back to the store because we had run out of bread and I had run out of vodka. This was all done by noon (booze also helps me get more stuff done).
I got back from the store, thinking everything was fine; everyone was in a good mood before I left. I was greeted with “Lesa, I would like to talk to you” by Tom.
Just having had those last three drinks is helping me get this down on paper.
Dave follows Tom and we go into my bedroom.
“How can you have lied to us”.
I think this was the gist of the conversation. There are just some conversations that you don’t want to remember because you would prefer not to.
What I do remember is having two men standing over me, looking at me like I am the worst scum of the earth and me feeling so much shame and also I may add I was feeling “how dare you”.
How dare you go into my personal belongings, sip my drink, put the empty bottles from over the last year on the counter and assume this was from the last month. My God, if I had drank that much I think certainly would not have been able to hide it! How dare you call my sister and have her pick me up. How dare you give me one hour to pack up an accumulation of a year’s worth of stuff?
So now I am sitting in front of green garbage bags, strewn with stuff, and am having great difficulty wondering how I am going to get my life organized.
Last night I had nightmares that I was in the military and about all the “rules” I have been breaking. These dreams were so vivid that I now am having trouble deciphering between what was real and not real.
But I vividly see a few things. Like those empty bottles, the mess I have accumulated in a year, the telephone conversation that Tom made to Diane because he was so anxious to get me out of the house and they weren’t there soon enough. I remember saying “you don’t know anything. Read my journal if you would like the truth.” But of course they wouldn’t read it (the truth is sometimes hard to bare it may prove you wrong). I remember kissing, and hugging Tom, saying that I still loved him anyway and him saying the same thing to me.
So in a nutshell this is what basically happened.
And now I find myself downstairs back in my little apartment at Diane and Brian’s house, bags everywhere, breaking all the so called rules.
There are always some saving graces that seem to help me on my journey. Yesterday, it was the warm welcome by the triplets, Payton’s excitement to see me and the relief of leaving Tom and Dave’s. Also, once again I got out of having to take that trip to London, to keep Dave company.
But the biggest saving grace was my mother this time. We had a long conversation and she sobbed for me and I will tell you how much it hurts to realize how hurt someone is for you. But we made good hopeful plans for the future and I can’t wait to get this road to recovery over and done with and to really start a life for myself.
My parents are my safe haven. My place to fall and everyone needs this in their lives. I have not had a safe haven for so long right now. So if anyone wants to think I am weak because I am running back home so be it, but I am running to peace because I so desperately need it right now. It is better for me than running away in a bottle.
Today is Mother’s Day, so appropriate once again. At the end of our conversation last night I said “Do you know what Mom, you are the best mother in the world” and I meant this and do you know what she said “Lesa, you are the best daughter in the world”.
So I will end it here on a positive note.
Bipolar person of the day: CURT COBAIN
Things to be grateful for today: alcohol AND MY MOTHER
May 14, 07
Today I am in the backyard of Diane and Brian’s, no liquor in hand (it was all hidden on me … read Alanon info ... you should not do this) and smoking cigarettes, one after another.
I slept yesterday from 3:00 in the afternoon until 7:30 this a.m. I’m still feeling drained also depressed. Everything I try to do today feels mountainous (is that a word?).
Right now what is keeping me going is this “book”, thinking that surely everything that is happening, is happening for a reason.
The reason may be it gives me more fodder for my book?
I’m supposed to be visiting Claudia today. I was looking so forward to it, but I don’t think I can handle the two hour trip one way and also I’m not in a good frame of mind, so I will find it hard to feel hopeful.
I can’t believe how one unwashed counter top has come to this. Of course I realize it wasn’t the countertop, it was an accumulation of so many things gone astray.
Being depressed makes the simplest things like getting out of the house difficult to do. Depressed people don’t care about themselves. They don’t get haircuts, they wear sweats everyday, and they don’t buy new clothes, especially after having gained so much weight. They sleep too little or sleep too much. They forget to feed the fish. They find it hard to be optimistic about finding a job after sending out thousands of resumes. They find it hard to start a brand new career when their work is criticized and looked at as being trivial. They don’t go to the dentist. Sometimes they eat too much, sometimes too little. They often forget to put their glass on a coaster. They have a difficult time keeping on a happy face. They do not enjoy doing house chores. They can spend hours playing spider on the computer, anything to numb the pain. They don’t wear makeup very often; and never wear earrings. They don’t keep in touch with friends and family. They feel guilty for feeling depressed. They like to watch T.V. where they can let their guard down at the end of the day, finally alone and not expected to be what someone else expects them to be. They gain weight, they lose weight. They don’t exercise. The lose interest in their other addictions. They don’t shave their legs or cut their toenails. They lose the little pleasures of life, like reading a good book. They constantly tell themselves they are not depressed, because there were times they felt more down so these feelings are a picnic compared to that dark hole. They sit and stare into space for long periods of time. They have a hard time feeling good about themselves. They feel drained a lot of the time. They worry continuously. They feel misunderstood. They wonder if this life is worth it and sometimes even hope they will get some fatal disease that will show so people will understand. Some even try to commit suicide
There are so many things they do and don’t do but I gather the worst one is they self medicate. But I will tell you, and I hate to tell you this, it did put some happiness in my life. It did help me not feel so anxious. It did help me through the pain of losing so many things I cherished, like my own mind. It did help me squash the fear of becoming a bag lady, charity case for the rest of my life. It did stop me from worrying about when I would have a manic or depressive episode. It did help me feel I had some control over my life. This is what bothers me. Tom and Dave didn’t even know that I was drinking sneakily until I told them.
And now I am made to feel like some raving drunk who is a danger to society. I don’t think anyone can image how painful it was to be kicked out like that. How embarrassing, humiliating, hurtful, confusing, sad, ridiculous it was.
I realize there are always two sides to the story. But from my vantage point, I am having a very difficult time seeing their side.
I feel devastated. When I finally go and seek out help, when I had quit drinking for weeks on my own, instead of getting a pat on the back, I’m treated like a raving drunk who can not be trusted. Because you know us drunks, we lie, steal and burn the house down.
Some bridges have been burnt here and right now I don’t have the strength to rebuild them.
Bipolar person of the day: Vincent VanGough
What to be grateful for today: MY BOOK
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