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

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.








Got this new nail color from a gal pal last week… wishing my nails weren’t so jankity so I can test it out! It has a leather effect [hence the name] so once it dries it has this CRAZY leathery finish to it. Pretty cool actually, I tested it out on one nail and I couldn’t help but continuously run my finger over it.

I am all about textures. I love the soft, ripply feeling of worn out leather. I prefer it to new leather, there is something almost sterile about new leather to me. I can’t quite put my finger on it but there is something kind of off about new leather. Too stiff? I don’t know but I definitely don’t like cracked worn out leather either.

Hard to please, I guess.

Last night my manfriend and I decided to spoil ourselves with some Dairy Queen. We got ourselves so excited and even loaded the dog up for the 2 mile trip for a tasty treat. Well… “our” Dairy Queen is awkwardly located in the back of a strip-mall parking lot with access on ALL sides. So, when you approach the drive-through from 3 of the 4 entrances you run the risk of crossing paths with a total idiot. This guy in a tiny beat up Saturn was barreling towards the drive through which we were already in the painted drive entrance on our way to the order window and he seriously couldn’t contain himself. Obviously he was experiencing an ice cream emergency because he sped up headed directly towards us – well directly towards me in the passanger seat – at 20 miles an hour [I shit you not, straight speeding for some Queen] and because we were already inches from the drive through window naturally my boyfriend doesn’t stop. This was not pleasing to this guy and he proceeds to honk at us. Not one quick “hey, I wanted to be where you are now” honk, or even a couple short bursts of “what the fuck?” honks… NO… he let out one long, loud, impatient “I’m a total fuck-tard who has no decency or common sense” honk. I was livid. And I love confrontation. So I sat in my seat and started screaming nonsense at him from the window and turned in my seat to glare at him as he waited for us to order. I continued to stare at him as we got our Blizzards and requested that we leave the window at an obnoxiously slow pace.

My boyfriend, Reed, suggested that maybe the guy is diabetic and really needed ice cream… I wasn’t having any of that. What kind of diabetic rolls around without hard candy??? I’ve seen Steel Magnolia’s enough times to know that when people have diabetes they and everyone they know keep hard candies around for such purposes.

Don’t honk at me unless you want my undivided attention.

I don’t work on Monday’s.

That pleases me.