The Little Number That Could...
Just gotta see that little number grow...I'm having thoughts... like... hey, I wasn't actually THAT bad of a drunk... I could go back to "social drinking" , couldn't I?.... who gives a shit anyways... what does it matter.... my life's in the toilet anyways... I miss my wine... I'm not going to do it, but I'm toying with self-destructive thoughts. Because that's the only thing I have control over right now, whether I kill myself with booze. Whether I destroy the last thing I have going for me... I'm not going to drink. I just feel like shit, and I want to feel shittier. I'm so afraid that I won't be able to maintain sobriety, that I just want to chuck it all, and get it over with quickly... like ripping off a band-aid.... I'm forgetting though.... I'm forgetting how good this feels, sobriety. I haven't known this feeling in 30 years, this triumph over alcohol and bulimia, I've never even entertained the thought that I could do such a thing. I've always had one or the other crutch... The time I had 14 months of bulimia-free, I still had the alcohol. Actually, at that time, the alcohol just kicked it UP a notch, to make up for the bulimia... This time, I'm beating BOTH at the same time. Jesus, it's hard. But the drama in my house, the extreme drama, sometimes I think, what's going to happen when and IF that all settles down? Am I just recovering long enough to take care of this business, and then POOF, right back to the booze? I thought sobriety was supposed to be sunshine and roses and puppydog tails... This is shit. Not really. It's good. Other things are just shit.I'm staying with it. I have things to do, beyond clearing up this situation in my house. I have things to do that have been on hold for 30 years. I have to accomplish some things as a PERSON. I've had so much taken from me, so much that I could've been... If I think about it too long, I start to get furious, and that never helps... My daughters got into a fist fight night before last. My oldest daughter moved out. I packed her bag. Her best friend called me later and told me that my daughter had been sexually assaulted last summer. Drunk at a party, and woke up to someone doing unconsentual things to her. I cried so many tears that night, I broke a blood vessel in my right eye, and had to go to school and teach with a scary, blood-soaked eyeball. I don't know how to live with this anger. I want to hurt the person who hurt my daughter. I can't even hug or comfort my child, I'm dead to her. She's staying at my aunt's. I receive updates on her condition daily. I texted her yesterday, just to say I'm still here. No bridges are burned. Even if it feels that way. I'm still here. Someday I will have her back and we will have some sort of relationship, as adults. Just not today...Sleep is numbing me now. I can barely stay awake. Last night I slept in my car at softball practice. I nodded off while watching kindergarteners color in their journals. Me, me me me me me me... It's all about me, right.... My daughters are going through hell, and I chose NOW to go into recovery for 30 year addictions... Nobody knows about the eating disorder. I told everyone about the alcohol. It's my "front". The eating disorder is just too... close... to embarrassing.... I think if I tell someone, then that person thinks back to every meal they've ever had with me, every bite they've ever seen me take, and they imagine me with my head in the toilet afterwards... which is accurate... I just can't face that. And sometimes I think, fuck that, who says I HAVE to spill my guts to every person I meet, I don't owe anyone that. I've already humbled myself with the alcoholism. Except if I don't tell, then no one understands just what I'm facing. No one understands how hard this is. No one can help me... The bulimia, it calls to me some days.... Not most days, most days I forget about it, and I eat, I think, like a normal person. Too much sugar, that's for sure, but I eat food too... And then some days, I think, who gives a shit...I hate that disease. I hate the word. BULLimia. My mother used to grab my sausage-ey arms, pinch the fat, and say in her best, most stereotyped Indian chief voice, "Mmm. Built like bull moose." Get it? BULLimia? BULL moose? get it? She would die if she knew I attribute the "etimology" of my eating disorder largely to that. It's not fair. It's not the only thing that led to my eating disorder. But it was a biggy. I felt so goddamned fat and LUMPY when she did that. And I wasn't a fat kid. I was just solid. I was solidly packed. I wasn't a waif. I was just a healthy little kid. None of my kids have an ounce of fat on them. Girl14 worries about being too skinny. She's very thin, but muscular and strong. She's always beaten every boy in her class at arm-wrestling. That will change now, of course, as the boys just naturally and chronologically catch up and surpass in the muscle department... Girl17, she worries about her weight, but she's so curvy and beautiful, she's just built... Italian. She has a beautiful figure, she's trim... but she's going to have curves... that's just it... if she could just love those beautiful curves... She dresses to hide them, covered from head to toe. Me, I would be OUT THERE, if I have all that to show! BOOM! POW! My son, he's like a little Ironman. He's always had a little miniature MAN body, with a little tiny six-pack... And he will pull up his shirt and tell you he's fat! It's maddening! I know he gets it from his dad and me, we tease each other about our stomach fat... These are things I never say, but I think them all the time. I'm not going to drink. I'm not going to binge/purge. I'm going to beat this. I'm going to accomplish something with myself. I am more than I've ever given myself credit for. It's not too late for me. "It's never to late to be what you might have been" George EliotI need a more ergonomic chair, my ass is asleep.
Replies
Sounds like you\'re on the road to recovery. I\'m sorry your mother was hurtful, those types of remarks leave scars for life. Sometimes wonder why I haven\'t had children yet, my biological clock is ticking.... But I\'m scared. Too fucking scared. I don\'t want to mess them up and make mistakes and feel responsible for their problems. Children are a huge responsibility and deserve healthy,nurturing parents. Take Care