PAWS. The gift that keeps on giving.
Its a cold and its a broken hallelujah.
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Join Date: Aug 2011
Posts: 2,887
PAWS. The gift that keeps on giving.
I slept for 17 hours yesterday. Not a typo. Seventeen. I didn't even think that was possible unless you are in a coma. Came home on the precipice of a migraine, laid down at 4:00 pm yesterday and awoke at 9:00 am today.
I had a stress monster of a week. Couple that with my boundaries being crossed and a period looming, and it has made for a melange of bizarro physical maladies in response to all of it.
How did I not slip, you ask ? When I was getting dangerously close, I was gifted with a migraine. Both times things got sketchy. And who for Pete's sake can drink when there is an ice pick being jammed into your eye along with a lovely halo aura ? That, in and of itself, was trippy enough.
I got to thinking, why when I'm angry because my boundaries have been crossed, do I find self harm acceptable ? After all, the ingestion of ethanol is a do it yourself poisoning. But rather than confront the situation, and stand in my truth, I just as soon kill myself at my own hand.
Seriously. What. The. F+ck.
Perhaps I haven't even begun to touch on what "my truth" even is at only a few months sober. I know that my tolerance for drama and bullsh1t is dangerously low. I have to check myself regularly to make sure that I'm not just overreacting in response to my synapses being reconnected and brain chemicals making Happy Soup again.
But I'm finding that the people I have surrounded myself with, my enablers, who no longer have the task at hand of enabling, are driving me cray cray.
Nobody knows where they fit anymore. There used to be this well oiled machine where A. Did this when I was drinking, and B. stepped in here to take over while I was hung and C. Got to feel like she was saving the world when I couldn't get my sh1t together for more than a few hours due to alcohol induced anxiety and depression.
But all of that is changing. And the puzzle that fit so well and permitted everyone's unwillingness to address THEIR own issues, because they were handling mine (or not handling), is suddenly falling off the table. And pieces are flying everywhere. And no one can find the corners, much less the edges and borders. And there the puzzle lays all over the floor with broken pieces never to be remade. Just waiting for the maintenance guy to come and sweep it up and toss it in the trash. Once and for freaking all.
I was the glue that held the puzzle together way past it's prime. I drank to cover the seams that would crack from over use. The puzzle, as it was, hadn't worked for a long, LONG, time. But it was familiar. And we all knew where everything belonged. And it was safe. And tidy for the most part. Never mind having to jam a few pieces together to make them fit. It worked. To an extent.
Sobriety. When the only thing that changes, is everything.
I think I need a nap...
I had a stress monster of a week. Couple that with my boundaries being crossed and a period looming, and it has made for a melange of bizarro physical maladies in response to all of it.
How did I not slip, you ask ? When I was getting dangerously close, I was gifted with a migraine. Both times things got sketchy. And who for Pete's sake can drink when there is an ice pick being jammed into your eye along with a lovely halo aura ? That, in and of itself, was trippy enough.
I got to thinking, why when I'm angry because my boundaries have been crossed, do I find self harm acceptable ? After all, the ingestion of ethanol is a do it yourself poisoning. But rather than confront the situation, and stand in my truth, I just as soon kill myself at my own hand.
Seriously. What. The. F+ck.
Perhaps I haven't even begun to touch on what "my truth" even is at only a few months sober. I know that my tolerance for drama and bullsh1t is dangerously low. I have to check myself regularly to make sure that I'm not just overreacting in response to my synapses being reconnected and brain chemicals making Happy Soup again.
But I'm finding that the people I have surrounded myself with, my enablers, who no longer have the task at hand of enabling, are driving me cray cray.
Nobody knows where they fit anymore. There used to be this well oiled machine where A. Did this when I was drinking, and B. stepped in here to take over while I was hung and C. Got to feel like she was saving the world when I couldn't get my sh1t together for more than a few hours due to alcohol induced anxiety and depression.
But all of that is changing. And the puzzle that fit so well and permitted everyone's unwillingness to address THEIR own issues, because they were handling mine (or not handling), is suddenly falling off the table. And pieces are flying everywhere. And no one can find the corners, much less the edges and borders. And there the puzzle lays all over the floor with broken pieces never to be remade. Just waiting for the maintenance guy to come and sweep it up and toss it in the trash. Once and for freaking all.
I was the glue that held the puzzle together way past it's prime. I drank to cover the seams that would crack from over use. The puzzle, as it was, hadn't worked for a long, LONG, time. But it was familiar. And we all knew where everything belonged. And it was safe. And tidy for the most part. Never mind having to jam a few pieces together to make them fit. It worked. To an extent.
Sobriety. When the only thing that changes, is everything.
I think I need a nap...
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