There’s a point where it’s almost perfect, where a thread of numb slides across my lips, and I can still think but I don’t give a shit too much. Nothing is latched on, nothing is trying to come out. I’ve achieved an entirely delicate and exquisite balance.
I want it to last forever, but it lasts for seconds.
Love to all. Even you.
Remember that we deal with alcohol - cunning, baffling, powerful! Without help it is too much for us.
- Alcoholics Anonymous, Chapter 5
It turns out my mother-in-law knew she was leaving weeks ago, and there’s a good chance she’ll be in Mexico by this Saturday.
We’ve been duped. Alcoholism wins, even before the drinking starts.
Love to all. Even you, nervous reader.
My mother-in-law has decided to move back to her house. Tomorrow.
She is less than 90 days sober. She can’t lift a bag of groceries. She is too weak to take out the garbage. She had agreed to stay at our house for 3 - 6 months after getting out of rehab. It has been less than two.
Her reason? “It’s hectic living with children.”
That, my friends, is an enormous pile of bullshit. Not the sentence itself, but the use of the kids as an excuse to bail on her commitments. The kids aren’t home from 8 am to 3pm, and often later than that. She only sees them for three to five hours a day, and much of that time they are playing games in the basement.
Maggie asked if she would at least stay until Friday, when she was supposed to be celebrating her youngest son’s birthday. That request was met, literally, with silence.
Understandably, Maggie is pissed off, scared, and highly disappointed.
My mother-in-law’s fingernails tell a physical truth. From the cuticle to the middle (the most recent growth), they are healthy and normal. Going forward, they are mottled and yellow. You can see when she went to rehab in her fucking fingernails.
She leaves, she dies. That’s my opinion. I hope I’m wrong, because she’s leaving.
Love to all. Even you, Kathleen.
Well, it seems that my mother-in-law has come around, and now… she’ll be moving in. With us. For three-to-six months. Monday.In fact, she is supposed to call here in sixty seconds, to let me know if she has ID on her, so I can book her a flight into NYC.I’m trying to not not not not not not be stressed about it. And failing.I ran 6.5 miles this morning. So that’s good.Um. One other thing. I’m profoundly happy that you folks… and yeah, I’m looking at YOU… take the time to say such nice things to me. It makes me really, really happy. There’s been times when I’ve had the opportunity to meet some of y’all an Strange thing, this blog world.Love to all. Even you, counselor.
After three weeks in rehab, Maggie’s Mom changed her mind about her post-rehab treatment plan an is now refusing to do anything but go home. She was supposed to move in with us for 3-6 months.
Three weeks ago, she was in a wheelchair and unable to put two thoughts together. But, she was thankful to be in rehab, and looking forward to getting back on the track to a healthy sobriety. Today, she’s planning on doing nothing but going home to pay bills and intending to “fly to Mexico for a month.” What?
When I queried her on this, she got all befuddled and was like, “I’ll have to call you tomorrow.”
I got her therapist on her phone:
Me: “Weren’t you, me, Maggie, and the MIL supposed to discuss aftercare plans?”
Therapist: “Well, if your MIL is refusing to do anything else …”
Me: “If she’s refusing to do anything else, then I’m done. I’m not paying for her flight, and I’m not involved anymore.”
Th: “Well, you need to tell that to your MIL.”
Me: “No. I don’t. I’m not in this for the therapy. I’m here to help if someone is up for it. Otherwise, later.”
Th: “Okay, then.”
Me: “Fine. Bye.” Click.
Alcoholism is a family disease, and I will NOT let her untreated illness bleed further into my life. Fuck that.
It’s one thing when someone is drinking, and can’t stop. I feel for those people because I WAS that person. But to become LESS willing three weeks into rehab… that’s not the physical addiction. That’s just being unwilling to do what needs to be done.
That’s selfish, stupid, and causing people I love a shitload of pain.
Fuck. That.
Love all. Even you, Kathleen.
Love to all. Even you, the meeting chairperson who couldn’t help but put down the nice young man who had a suggestion.
I was at an AA meeting this morning, listening to a speaker talk about his last (hopefully) drinking episode. He had relapsed a couple of times, was counting days again. In some AA groups, people announce how many days they’ve been sober until they hit 90, and then they announce years.
His story was overwhelming.
Listening to this guy talk was like being coated in wet, tepid dryer lint - from the dark wash. I can’t explain it any better than that. It was enveloping, dense, and distasteful. As he spoke about his last five days as a drinker, I felt the man recede into the background and the disease take over. It was explicit and frightening.
I’m an alcoholic. I can never forget what will happen if I drink again.
NO.
I’m an alcoholic. I can never forget what will happen if I don’t continuously do the work of remembering that I’m an alcoholic.
Love to all. Even you, the indecisive Chief Talent Officer.
For the first time in over a year, my girls’ soccer team won. 3-0. They rocked. My daughter, who is not the fastest nor most athletic lass (but IS the best in-game thinker on the team) got an assist, which made her very happy.
My boys teams have been undefeated for a the same amount of time. My girls, though… zoinks. Last year was difficult: so many girls who just. wouldn’t. listen.
Anyway… today’s game was pretty fantastic.
I was asked to qualify tomorrow on Step 3. I’m a little nervous about that… but then… I guess that’s a chance to practice Step 3.
Too tired, man. Good night.
Love to all. Even you, the two dad’s I kicked out of the coaches’ area.
Four years ago today, I gave up the booze. Again.
Going to bed last night, I felt a little like: “big fuckin’ deal.” After all, I’ve done this before: rehab at 20, sober for seven years… When I drank again at 26, I really thought I was “cured.” After all: I was too young, had worked through many of my “family of origin” issues, etc., etc. I no longer needed alcohol to create static in my head… I had grown up a lot.
Turns out, though, that I’m just an alcoholic. There may be other “issues,” or whatever, but none of them have to do with the fact that I just. Can’t. Drink.
“You saved your family,” Maggie said this morning. But I didn’t. I tried like a motherfucker to stop drinking. Over and over and over and over. Failed every single time. I couldn’t do it… and I promise you my intent was very, very good. Until it wasn’t.
But Alcoholics Anonymous? Immediate remission. I am absolutely convinced that AA is the only thing that will keep me sober. Which is why, even when I HATE AA, I know that I have to go. As Father Martin said, “It’s what works best for most.” And boy, is that true for me.
So, on the fourth anniversary of my sobriety, I want to give a giant, public Thank You out to the Holy Spirit, for speaking through the Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob Smith, then through the millions of people who followed. Rock ON.
Love to all. Even you, the crazy lady at Yama.
Couldn’t fall asleep last night. Woke up two hours after I fell asleep in a total financial panic. Was up until about 5:30. Fell back to sleep for a few minutes, and the alarm went off. Stayed up with the kids, etc, fell back to sleep from 7am - 9am. Now, I’m shredding old documents looking for two bank statements from last year.
Actually, now I’m about to jump in the shower and make myself go to the 12:30 AA meeting in Armonk.
Plus, this is my first day on 60mg of Strattera, our latest attempt to get my ADHD under control. Whee!
I admit it. I’m depressed. I’m worried about the debt I’ve incurred to take over a company that’s not quite paying for itself yet… and that even though there’s a (knock on wood) lot of good things happening, we’ve got to get through this period, which is quite, quite risky.
Whoa. I have to run.
Love to all. Even you, Theresa Wong.
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