Again and Again

I want to first begin by saying that I appreciate the amount of support I have received in just the few entries I have made. I did not expect this to be such a community of comfort. And I greatly appreciate that.

With that being said… If you are wishing to find a quick happy ending, leave now while you still can. I wish I could be that person that writes their story of addiction and such then express within a few weeks that everything is “much better”. Because it isn’t. It’s not that simple. But, goodness, do I wish it could be.

To anyone late to the show, I have been attempting to end my obscene drinking habit. To no avail. Everything I know about addiction applies, yet I can’t seem to integrate the knowledge and coping skills I need. I start my day with affirmations. I find ways to intercept my love of alcohol with the memory of the deeper love I have for my children.

But then I find myself pulling into the liquor store and grabbing the alcohol of choice.

As I’m doing so I feel ashamed. I rotate between three stores I return to as a way to avoid them catching on to the fact that the amount I drink is obviously not healthy. I’m down from a gallon to buying a fifth. But I don’t want that to be a good thing. I want to stop completely. I express so much hate to myself. I remind myself of my childhood, growing up in an alcoholic home (mixed with various drugs of course), with multiple forms of abuse, neglect, and you name it. I have trauma I thought I worked through. So much… I have come quick to minimize it. I hear stories every day from young children and adults about the things they experienced or currently experience. Those stories haunt me. I thought my own past was awful but theirs… it feels so much worse than what I feel now reflecting on my past.

Looking at things now, from the perspective of a thirty-something year old, the things I expressed as trauma during my childhood seems now like a dramatic interpretation. Then again, perhaps I am lacking the depth perception during nostalgic moments due to suppression. These are things I thought I had worked through in the past. I have done SO much work on myself to get “better”.

I once was impulsive, angry, bitter, and vengeful. I imagined the death of my ex-stepfather with joy. I listened to my family as they sympathized over my cousins very unfortunate life with glee. And to be honest, those thoughts still come and go. Mostly, I only wish them karma. Whatever the fuck that is. I wish them to receive the horrible that they have given.

I don’t have much time now. I have to complete quite a bit of work. But when I do have time, I will tell the whole story. Or… at least parts of it that I can remember. The traumatizing part. I hate the word traumatized. Ironic for a therapist, right? I mean, I’m only a lowly group therapist but same difference. I’ll be in outpatient soon. But I digress. It’s ironic. I hear “traumatized” all day. But it’s so overused. “oh, someone yelled loud at this place I was at one time and it traumatized me”. I always think to myself during these instances, “do you want to hear about real trauma”? That’s horrible. I know it’s horrible. But, damn, could I give someone a great example outside of having someone push them in line at school “this one time”.

Anyways, I’ll be following up this entry tomorrow with further details of my personal trauma. I think it’s time I actually talked about it.

As for now, I’m sorry to say that I am intoxicated. I can’t seem to drink less than a fifth of Crown within a 48 hour period of time. ugh. Wish me further luck.