Hello from Michigan! It is early yet but I felt compelled to write about my disease to chase off these lamenting tortures.. Whatever tf that means. 

You know how we can carry these burdens within us, and just voicing them can give relief? That.

I am at a juncture of despair. My father in law died Aug 31 (few days ago), and my husband is in shock. My brother, who has been a dedicated alcoholic, is living here in liver failure. I had a big box of diapers delivered yesterday for my 42 year old sibling, my only sibling. Good times.

The end game of alcoholism is an ugly one. Watching my brother's belly expand like a pregnancy, his yellow pallor, his cracked feet from the fluid and edema, bleeding as he walks. 

My husband is angry. "Your brother is bleeding all over our kitchen!!" Hey! No shit!! He's bleeding in the bathroom too!!

He is confused now. This morn at 6 he was in kitchen, picking at hole that was there like it could peel off. My son is sick, comes down and asks if he is ok. He yells,,like thunderously, this early hour that he is ok..that he's angry every body keeps checking on him. 

Meanwhile, he's got a full schedule of appointments and was finally released from a long stretch at hospital and his tax return showed up from Feb. It was in the 90s and he wanted to go to the lake, just sit in quiet contemplation and feel the breeze off the water, commune with God in the final moments of his mortality. 

I meet him to get an oil change on his car, and he sets off for his sojourn. I get a call. "I hit a curb. Tire blown". He is hour away already. I rent a tow dolly and get husband to tow him home, a thing that made him angrier still. "HE'S DYING YOU ASSHOLE!!! STOP BEING SUCH AN ASSHOLE!!! GODDAMN IT!!"

We get there, him angry and angry and me trying to not engage and silent out window, which is also suspect somehow..like can't win. Bickering.

Spud is there, at the parking lot with a taco stand and very run down pick-up, sitting in the heat with his belly and yellow skin and his life a mess of golf balls that have spilled on the ground. His day of sweet release, of the warm sand, dashed into this sad shit show.

We load him up. He struggles to climb into the truck, rolling around awkwardly until he inadvertently lands seated. We start home, his car on dolly, and a storm like "The Neverending Story" is coming over the corn and soybean fields. Things are whipping, rain is sheeting, the sky turns straight ominous. My husband stops under bridge, others do the same. There are 2 campers and other cars pulled over with is. The anger is still there, the tension of Why do i have to be here? Why does this happen to me? And Why do i have to die??

We just waited, quietly.. I wondered if there was a secret shot in his cup.. I didn't think so, but wouldn't rule it out. 

Here i am. Thing is, this is when i want alcohol. I want to dissociate from my reality. That's when it is not about "relaxing" and "having fun" but a mental crutch that you start to need to deal with reality. I have other vices for dissociation. They pop up like whack a mole, too. I am an animal.

Remarkably, i am not drinking. I wish it were heroic, like some level of admirable self restraint, but it is not. I am at an age, and condition, thar alcohol gives me poison gut rot for days if i open the door. It has taken this much pain to make me quit. I know i need to be here for my people. They are dropping all around me. *insert Leonard Cohen Hallelujah*