A decade of honesty & self loathing – my journey with sobriety

It does not feel like ten years.

Just the other night I was “reminiscing” with friends about parties we went to and different events we somehow managed to crash and it felt like it was a LIFETIME ago.

No, it definitely does not feel like ten years.

People will ask me from time to time if I miss drinking and I’m like… “LOL YES?? I’m a fucking alcoholic….”

To me, being an alcoholic means admitting that I am powerless over drugs and alcohol. It means that I have a serious problem with moderation. It means that I cannot remember a time I drank that didn’t involve me getting sick, fighting or both.

For me, personally, it is not a daily struggle. Anymore. The first 3 years were the hardest and then it kind of became second nature.

I’m not going to lie and say there haven’t been triggering moments where I’m craving, wanting or even NEEDING a drink (a whole bottle, I never did “a drink”..) because those moments happened when I least expected them since day one.

It was more frequent in the beginning – like, everything triggered me wanting a drink.

  • Car won’t start? DRINK
  • Late for work? DRINK
  • Got yelled at? DRINK
  • Bills are late? DRINK
  • Short on cash? DRINK
  • Lonely as hell? DRINK
  • Someone said/did something you didn’t like? DRINK

And then it was just petty shit…

  • Woke up? DRINK
  • Went to work? DRINK
  • It’s the weekend? DRINK
  • Bored? DRINK
  • Saw booze? DRINK
  • STLL ALIVE? DRIIIINK
  • LIFE SUCKS ASS?? DRRRRIIIIINNK DAMNIT!!!

Somehow I made it through most of all that unscathed and I lived to tell the tale.

The hardest part of my recovery is the loneliness. I almost wrote “crippling loneliness” but it’s definitely not crippling, I’m just dramatic. It’s a very lonely world when you are not completely submerged in “the fellowship” – which in my experience is mostly a cult but maybe I haven’t found the right one……?

It’s hard for people to relate and they think you’re some boring ass-hat who doesn’t like to have fun. It’s like NO! I’m the epitome of fun! I know how to party, believe me!! I’ve been court ordered to rehab… TWICE! They don’t do that for people who DONT know how to party! Please be my friend! LET ME LOVE YOU!!!

Beyond the loneliness factor – I do have a SOLID group of friends who I wouldn’t trade for the fucking world. These are friends who keep me on my toes, engaged with the world and they love and respect me.

These past ten years have been so incredible. Mostly because I can remember most of it! I hate remembering it all but at the same time I don’t. It’s win/lose, you know?

Lose because the bad sticks with me forever until I have enough therapy sessions to let it dissolve and float away.

WIN because I have DONE and SEEN and EXPERIENCED some amazing shit in these past ten years. Things I never could have dreamt of, things that were never a possibility when I was active in my addiction.

Well, here I am… doing all that feelin’ shit.

Lol why are my neighbors screaming? Like, I know they are from Virginia but it’s NOT the first time it’s snowed and they are on the front steps yelling… athe snow. They do drugs. It’s fine, they smoke weed and I can’t judge them because they are older and they’ve lived their lives so if they want to get stoned on a Sunday afternoon and yell at the snow who am I to say shit?? But my WALL neighbors (the ones I share a wall with) are annoying as hell. Mostly the girlfriend that just moved in last year. The guy isn’t so bad and he’s hot but her voice echoes through these walls and penetrate your eardrum like a needle poking through a thick cloth. I want to slap her. I’m going to sleep with her man. Whatever. I’m a bad bitch.

ANYWAY – here is a journal entry I found from 2009 shortly after I sobered up:

“Leah and Mandi are drunk now, talking to these men as we sit under an umbrella in an already enclosed patio space. As I stare into the skeletal structure of this massive umbrella, the crisp static of conversations around me barely making its own at into my thoughts, I’m wondering how such an ill conceived idea as umbrella-d tables in a covered smoking patio came to be when I noticed a hand caressing my knee.

Not in a sexual advance kind of way, more of a friendly way, but he was no friend. Not even someone I could call an acquaintance. Just some tired old guy in a tired old gay bar trying to regain my attention.

The night was just a bunch of brief encounters full of compliments, insults & derogatory remarks (mostly from Leah and the man who eerily resembled Chris Frank).

I don’t know how we managed to break ties with these guys we were smoking with but I do remember Leah’s booming laughter trailed by “there’s too much estrogen here, let’s go to Pi”…

I chuckled nervously, she always knew what NOT to say. I look at my nails judging. They’re too square and I hate that. I always ask for round and for some reason they always make them square. I hate square. Square nails are gaudy. Square nails are for women without class, tact or grace. I don’t want to be at the bar anymore.

When I was younger I thought that sitting in a bar with a cigarette lit in one hand and a drink in another was the epitome of greatness.

In reality it was as me sitting slouched over a mug of rail vodka & dry ass cranberry juice listening to bad remixes of already bad songs… standing outside to smoke a cigarette while fat sweaty men hang all over their fat sweaty girlfriends.

I went to bars to drink away my problems at home. I drank at home to forget who I was.

I started drinking to be cool and have fun. I quit because I wasn’t cool and I wasn’t having fun.

I don’t know where I’m going, I barely know where I’m coming from. But… finally, I feel like I’m beginning to know who I am.”

And that’s that. I’m going to buy a pack of smokes and enjoy this beautiful snowy day.

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An open letter to my dog [and other things]

My Dearest Rocky,

Just because I didn’t eat that last slice of pizza it doesn’t mean that I wanted you to have it. I am really upset that you ate it and we both know what you did was not good. Pretty soon you will not be feeling too well, and things will take a horrible turn when liquid shit steams out of your bum. You know you have a sensitive stomach. I don’t want to deal with that, and neither do you.  I wish I could say I hope you will have learned your lesson, but I know better.

Until next time,

Marmy

[[[[[woooop]]]]]

Sometimes by best thoughts/ideas/inspiration comes to me from the shower. I’m not saying that my shower talks to me or feeds me information, I am saying that I generate this stuff whilst showering.

TODAY – I am going to Afton Apple to be “crazed by the maze” – a 15 acre “haunted” corn maze with my friends. I am so excited! Apple donuts, apple sausages, apple cider…. spooky autumn wonderfulness! This year’s theme is in honor of St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. I am sooooooo excited! What a perfect end to my week [today is my Friday] – lets get ready to rumble! I haven’t decided if I will bring a flashlight or try to go through with nothing but my love, my friends & my night-blindness. HA!

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A different kind of love

If I could claim any one space as my own at the building I work in it would be the handicap stall in the woman’s restroom.

Now, that may sound weird to some, most or all, however to me, that room is the epitome of the word sanctuary.

I simply love that stall.

A part of me has claimed it on a deeper more personal level. Only a select few know of my fondness towards that stall and an even fewer select persons know of the irrational jealousy that consumes me when I find it occupied. Not a “green with envy” kind of feeling, more of an empty longing.

Its the place I go to take care of business. I consider the women’s restroom my office, that stall being my workstation.

I don’t know how to explain it.

Just like I can’t explain my bizarre obsession with Craig Ferguson, the name, not the actor/comedian himself. That my friends is simply a uniquely unusual unsolved mystery.

WHICH brings me to my next topic: Marvelous Mystery Shorts. So, a while ago I had decided to get into the habit of writing for pure pleasure mysteries. I named these mysteries “Marvelous Mystery Shorts”. To me they are pure genius. GOLD. Here is the best example of my work as of yet:

Do You Know the Muffin Man: a Marvelous Mystery Short by Maria Martini the First

Thirty two years ago today a young man was closing up shop at the local bakery he ran. When in the back alley, while he was tossing out the trash, a canister of primordial ooze fell from the 6th floor window of a mini laboratory onto his back, thus altering his genetic DNA, turning him into the notorious Muffin Man. He got a gift card to the MNHS & adopted 6 cats then trained them to do tricks so the could join the circus. Soon after he met & married the bearded lady. They lived happily ever after…… IN HELL.

Have a great life.