A Weekend “Alone”

I’m never alone. I’m a mom of three with what could be considered a small zoo inhabiting our residence. But when my other half goes away, I consider myself “alone.”

When I used to drink, this would be considered a prime opportunity to really indulge. I could really let loose and not worry about being judged. Children and pets, after all, aren’t as critical.

So, being 39 days into my sobriety, this is a good test of commitment and resolve.

My other half left yesterday (Friday) morning. I’m pleased to report that as I write this on Saturday evening, I am going strong and doing well. I have not been able to make it to a meeting this week, but I have checked in with my online groups for accountability.

The main group I utilize for support these days is the BFB. It’s a secret group on Facebook that supports people who don’t want to drink anymore. When you post on the main feed, you’re certain to get feedback fairly quickly, and from people who are quite sincere. So it is a great resource to go to for feedback and support, or to turn to before you pick up that first drink, or just for general encouragement or congratulations on your journey.

More recently I joined another support group via Catherine Gray’s Instagram feed @unexpectedjoyof called “Sober Spring.” About a thousand of us replied to her post, expressing interest, and Catherine grouped us into smaller groups (each named after a type of tree) that could support each other via email correspondence throughout the entire spring – March 20th through June 21st  (93 days of zero hangovers)!

I belong to the Monkey Puzzle tribe which, admittedly, I didn’t even know was a type of tree until I was assigned!

I like it, partly because I was born in the year of the monkey. So I’ve nicknamed myself The Sober Monkey. On that note, on this sober weekend “alone,” I will leave you with a picture of a Monkey Puzzle Tree and wish you all things wonderful.

Documentaries & Dreams

Today is Thanksgiving. Some years, my mother’s birthday would land on the holiday. Yesterday was my mother’s birthday. She would have turned 65. She died from drunk driving when she was 62.

In honor of her birthday, I decided to watch the documentary My Name Was Bette: The Life and Death of an Alcoholic. (If you have Amazon Prime you can access this for free through Prime Video.)

Well, let me tell you, if you need a little reminder as to the damage alcohol will take on your body and mind, this is just what you should watch. A great deal of it reminded me of my mother. And of what could become of me if I’m not careful.

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Last night I had my first dream – or, shall I say, nightmare – about relapsing in quite some time. It is no surprise that the circumstances in the dream mimicked the real-life circumstances of my last fall from grace. In my dream my father offered me a drink, and with great internal struggle, I eventually acquiesced.

How grateful was I to awake and realize it had not happened. Coincidence or not, I’ve had a few sneaky thoughts interjecting themselves into my conscience today about drinking. I’ve been satisfactorily squashing them down and enjoying our Thanksgiving.

Today it is simply my husband and three children. I am very thankful for that. Sobriety will come more easily today than others considering these circumstances. And for that I am happy. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving & thank you all for your support.

2009

My mom was an alcoholic. I was reading my old writings and came across this entry from from August 19, 2009:

“Scream It or Stuff It”

Part of me wants to scream it at the top of my lungs.
Another part of me wants to stuff it deep down inside.

So here I find myself with my compromise: I am writing.

I’ve known I needed to write about this. To get it out. To express my feelings. I kind of went into it a bit with my very close friend. And I did talk at length about it with my husband. But now it’s time to “talk” about it with myself. To write it out. Just for me. To help me get out my feelings.

My mother is in rehab.

There. I said it.

I knew it was coming. It was just a matter of “when?” and “what would happen?” After all, everyone hits bottom in their own way.

Our trip back east last month was very difficult. Our trips back can be difficult to a degree, but the ones in hindsight don’t even qualify being deemed difficult in contrast to this past visit.

How much detail shall I go into here? How many stories should I share? Should I share any at all? That is why I’m here, isn’t it? But how much do I need to tell to get it out of my system? To wrap my mind around it? To get it off my chest? It’s up to me. And I don’t even know.

And I think I will leave things at that for now.

She was hospitalized and went to rehab several times after this entry in 2009, up until her death. It was an ugly downward spiral. She died May 7, 2015.