Monday, April 30, 2012

And in the end...I left the beer...

I ran out of sleeping pills so I went to the grocery store to pick up more.

Things look different lately.

Sometimes I hate writing in this stupid blog because it just brings to light the things I don't want to admit to.

It was late and the store was quiet. Now that I think about it, it was eerie. I don't recall the music playing like it usually did. A few people meandered around the store. I walked straight to the medicine isle. I knew exactly where to find what I was looking for.

My roommate hid the alcohol from me, but I already found it this weekend. Everyone always hides it in the same spot. It was easy enough to get to with a chair. But to keep to my own promise to myself, I left it in the cabinet and decided I would only get to it on the weekends. I would not drink during the week.

The feeling of not being able to do what I want at that moment is not easy, but I let it go.

I just want to wind-down, relax. Yet I have this pull to make a small drink and enjoy my time alone watching movies, my new favorite pastime. Mostly romantic stories, but every now and then I throw in something abstract, like Factory Girl.

This new addiction feels good.

I found my sleeping pills and in the quiet eerie store I walked to the cashier. As I stood there, something pulled at me, so I got out of line and walked to the beer isle.

I grabbed a six-pack of Red Stripe.

I started walking back to the cashier, but as I approached the end of the isle I stopped. Pills and booze. Did I want to go down that road again? I turned around and put the beer back. I kept the pills and walked back to the cashier.

There is something to be said about how I am seeing the world currently. Almost like an indie film. Things look different. Music sounds different and it's as if I am seeing things through a 35mm lens. It all just looks so different. Clearer. As if I am following myself with a camera.

This weekend I did everything alone, but I didn't notice. I walked the parade with my camera, capturing people in moments they will never remember, but that I would. I sat at Upper Crust and got lost in a book as I sat alone enjoying the bustle of downtown on a sunny afternoon. On Sunday I went to church in the old El Ray theater, and again, it was as if I was outside of myself. I couldn't explain it. Everyone was completely unaware that I was observing them and everything that was felt in that theater. The walls are painted with such eerie looking fairies. Chubby, cross-eyed, peeling fairies. The ceiling was high and the paisley design was so abstract and out of context yet it was so perfectly exact as what it should have been. Then the music made me cry because it reminded me of everything I had prayed so hard for this past year...for peace. For that hand to reach down and pick me up and brush me off and remind me that it was all just a stupid illusion and that this is where my mind should be...clear and peaceful and that what I went through was just a test. And as I am being brushed off and we are laughing at the whole thing I am told "You passed. Welcome to your new mind". And then I see it all...the fog is lifted.

Something happened. I don't know what it was, but something huge happened. And I don't know when it was, and I don't know how it was, but I woke up, and the heaviness was gone. It was gone. I can't explain it anymore than that. This heaviness that suffocated me and was slowly killing me for so long just up and left.

And I have no idea what it was. But it left.

I hate confessing on this blog. I hate that people can read my mind and feel my feelings. But the times that I feel compelled to write it, I tell myself I must post it because someone always gathers something from it.

So I do.

I left the beer, I took the pills. I swallowed half of one about 20 minutes ago. There is something inside me that hates that weakness I feel when I need that comfort. That small little something that makes me feel ok. And it's not that I don't feel ok, but there is is this want, this craving, this feeling inside me like an itch, a very small one, but it just wants to be itched. It's small, it's waning, and soon it will be forgotten.

I cannot remember the last time I felt so at peace with myself and the things around me. I know I am babbling to some degree, but I cannot get over how absolutely beautiful and free I feel right now. All the things that took over my thoughts and my emotions are gone. I felt like this since before my party. Something happened and whatever it is, I finally feel normal again. After all of it. After everything, I finally am at peace with everything.

And I left the beer.

My house is absurdly peaceful. The t.v. is not blaring, there is no music on, it's just the simple sounds of the wind in the trees outside, of the cars that occasionally race down Mangrove, bringing and leaving a hum with it. The sound of tires running on pavement. It's such a simple soothing sound. A rush that leads to nothing but its fading echo through the streets.

The sound of nothing used to give me anxiety. The feeling of nothing to do to fill my nights was maddening. I don't know what happened, and I don't know why, but at this moment, I feel at peace. Dare I say it's because of the heaviness of some people? It might be, I'm not sure, but lately I found the more I rid my life of those I feel who bring me down, the greater I feel. Maybe they were the heaviness.

And in the end, I left the beer.

Sometimes you just have to leave some things behind to move on.

Friday, April 27, 2012

Nothing More Than a Fictional Depiction of Love...

"Am I lovable?" I asked softly in the quiet of the night, my eyes heavy with sleep.

We laid naked in each others arms on a cool spring night. Under his covers, he pulled me close as I asked, "I know I'm a lot, but can I be lovable?" I didn't know what kind of answer I was expecting. Maybe the truth, or what I perceived to be the truth, that I was not. Not in the way I believed I should be.

He kissed my forehead and held me tighter and laughed, as if what I had asked was like asking if the sun would rise tomorrow, "Yes, you're lovable" he responded softly, his lips still on my skin. His tone was believable, and maybe it was because of the way he held me so close. Usually we sneak over to each others' place and hold each other. Before it used to be purely sexual. Wild, ridiculous sex. Meaningless, cold sex, that I always wanted to read into. I had always hoped that if it was passionate enough he would see what he lost an came back. But things are different now. I understand that what we have isn't what it used to be, but rather, something more complicated, yet simple. My emotions are not clouding up the room and I see him, and us, for what we are. Close friends.

We aren't together. Any more. We haven't been for years now. Years? Is that right? Yes, that's right. Years. And yet we can't seem to let go, even if we don't know how to hold on. At least once a week we find ourselves embraced at night, holding, loving, thoughtlessly together. There is something perfect about our fucked up and complicated situation. An underlying love that for some reason, we can't seem to break. Maybe it's out of loneliness, maybe it's because we really do care. Neither of us knows, I'm sure, but then again, neither of us care. All that matters is at this moment, I am being held. And though my heart is no longer anyone else's, but my own, and it doesn't flutter and flicker at his touch, there is something to be said about being held by a man you longed for for so long.

As he held me closer, I could feel myself letting go, and tears began to stream down my face. I tried to hold my breath, but everyone knows what it sounds like when someone is crying. No amount of controlled breathing can conceal it.

"What's wrong?" he softly and genuinely asked. His bedroom voice was always my weakness.

For so long I thought he was a cold-hearted asshole. And maybe for a while he was. But he needed to be. I needed to move on. Now, here we lay and though we were laughing and joking, inside I was hurting, but not because of him. Because of other things...things that made me feel unloveable. I wanted to hold in what I was thinking, but it slowly slipped out in tears that streamed down my cheeks. He held me closer, and softly again he asked me what was wrong. I didn't want to talk about it, because it didn't matter. In the end, after everything, none of it mattered, but at that moment I was hurting, and being held only squeezed the words out of me. And though I couldn't really feel it in my heart, I knew he cared. I was just so conditioned to ignore any sign of hope that he would want me back that it was hard to accept him when he was genuinely concerned. It was hard to open that door again and let myself feel for him again. And maybe it was because I knew once the light came through the windows in the morning, and once I left the comfort of his arms, I would also leave his thoughts, and we would go back to be nothing more than good friends who text out of "boredom", or for a late night hook-up.

And I would be back to where I have always been. Alone.

I don't mind being alone. That's fine. It's the rejection that hurts.

For so long I had felt rejected by him. Slowly that turned into something different. We have developed a bizarre friendship that I can't imagine living without. Now I am feeling rejected by people other than him, and that hurts the same. As I admitted these feelings to him, he kissed me softly and pulled me close and as much as I tried to dismiss my feelings as being stupid, he told me, "You can feel this way, it's ok. You're aloud to feel this way. And you're not alone. You have a lot of people who are there for you" and what his words really told me was that he was there for me.

I let the tears stream down my face and fall onto his arm. "I was just trying to get past you," I admitted, softly sobbing. "I have been trying to get past you for so long." He loved the way I loved him. I know no one has ever loved him so selflessly and foolishly and I knew it meant something to him, even if he didn't feel the same.

"I will always love you, even if I am not in love with you," I admitted, my words were muddled and broken, but he heard them perfectly. And though he couldn't say the same back, he tried his best to show that it meant everything to him, so he pulled me closer and kissed my forehead softly. And in the night we lay together, naked, close, vulnerable, and no longer in love like we once were. We both knew that much.

There is a comfort in becoming cold to emotions. There is a sense of relief when you no longer care what others are thinking or feeling or doing. Being able to let go isn't easy, but once you can break those bonds, you find a freedom in yourself that is unexplainable. I like being free from those bonds. I like being content in my own life. It has been years since I have finally been back to my normal self. Maybe it's that I don't have the fear of losing him, maybe it's the fact that spring is here and I am free to run and play in it. Maybe it's that I am finally finding what makes me happy; a journey that has been far from easy.

Or maybe it's the fact that my heart has finally moved on. Maybe not far, but far enough for me to be ok with it.

When the sun finally creeps into his room, I slide out from his warm arms and into the cold morning air, sliding my cold jeans over my bare legs. He watches me and we laugh. Lately we laugh more than usual. I am comfortable with him, unlike the days when I was awkward and nervous and frightened that anything I would do would scare him off. Now I sit at the edge of the bed sliding on my shoes, leaning in to kiss him good bye. And as loving and soft as the kisses are that I leave on his forehead, his closed eyes, and his soft cheeks, I know that there is something missing. In place of it is something inexplicable. Maybe it's just a comfort. Maybe it's friendship. Maybe it's absolutely nothing at all. I avoid looking into his eyes for fear that he won't look back, or even more so, looking back and not looking at me like he once did. He does the same. Nothing lingers like it used to. Instead it is nothing more than a thing we do. We come together, we cum together, then one of us leaves. Sometimes we wait a day to speak to one another for fear the other will assume we like the other, when in reality, though we might on some very small, deep level, we are both just two lonely confused souls too weak to fall in love again...

Making what we have to be nothing more than a fictional depiction of love...

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Falling Off the Wagon with a Margarita in My Hand...

There are many reasons why I haven't been writing.

One, I am feeling at peace, so I didn't have anything to write about.

Two, the things I wanted to talk about are not easy to put into words.

Three, I didn't want to be judged for what I am about to say:


I fell off the wagon.


A lot of you are now imagining me completely hammered and stumbling around dressed as Peter Pan in some ridiculously small costume.

It wasn't like that.

And it wasn't then that I slipped up.

On April 7th I went to Tres with two of my girlfriends. We sat at the bar where they grill the food in front of you. Kristin suggested we get a pitcher of margaritas and asked us what kind we wanted. I sat there silent and smiled softly, knowing that my opinion didn't matter anyway, so I just looked at Sarah. They ordered Passion Fruit and we sat around talking. When the pitcher came the girls looked at me and I could see that my "not drinking" was creating a bit of awkwardness. We laughed a little and then the girls turned serious.

"You know, you can have some if you want. It's ok. We won't tell anyone," and they poured me a small glass and set it in front of me.

Around me the restaurant was busy and loud. The man in front of me grilling dinner was quick and efficient; the smell of chicken and bell peppers drifted in my direction. I just sat there silently staring that the glass in front of me; the girls were beside me chatting away excitedly.

I just sat there and stared.

As I held the glass in my hand, my eyes began to well with tears.

I was softly shaking. This was a door that I wasn't sure I was ready to open. This was a moment that I didn't know I was ready for. And this was a moment that I knew I would be judged for by many, many people.

So I just sat there. I wiped the tear that began to well and slide down my cheek. At that moment the girls turned to me. I looked at them pathetically, confused and scared. They leaned in.

"It's ok. We'll take care of you. We promise nothing will happen"

I looked back at my glass.

"You are here celebrating with friends. You don't have to if you don't want to, but we promise we will make sure nothing happens and we won't tell anyone."

I smiled and lifted my glass. We cheered to the night and to happiness, though what I had wished for more than anything would be a cheers to inner strength.

I lifted the glass to my lips and for the first time in 4 months I let alcohol run through my veins again...


Opening that door was not easy. Closing it again is going to be even harder.

There was an initial sense of relief that I felt in opening that door again. The idea that I am strong enough to not drink if I don't want to.

I lied to myself.

I have since been drinking more and more. It started with the day before my birthday with me and Jennine at a restaurant, that led to The Bear and more shots. Then the next week it started on Wednesday and continued on until last night. I had been drinking every single day since Thursday. And not just socially. I caught myself drinking alone again. A shot of whiskey here, a shot of vodka there. Nothing too crazy, just a little bit, but I can feel myself leaning back into those habits.

And I am not drinking because I am sad, but rather because I have been so happy I just have an urge to celebrate with myself and bring on those feelings of elation and happiness.

The feelings I should be finding in myself.

But the thing about being alone is sometimes you forget how to find those feelings.

I did not think I would use the entire month of April to drink. I thought I would chose one night and decide if it is what I want. Because I broke the bond early, I kept saying to myself, "It's ok, just one more" and now I am feeling that I am slipping back into my old ways.

And I'm scared.

My apartment is full of alcohol. Vodka, Whiskey, Bourbon...all left over from my party. Currently it sits on my counter and I can feel the pull of it's temptation as I write. And I hate it.

It was easier when the temptation was hidden and not right in front of me. But seeing it, like seeing a candy bar, makes you want it, even if you weren't initially craving it.

So now I am at a crossroads. Do I continue on drinking or do I follow through and not drink for the rest of the year? This conundrum is such a difficult question to answer. When I started this blog is was easy to get through (kind of) because I had to own up to my word. The fact that I have broken that word kills me. But then I have to think, am I doing this for me, or you? And that is what bothers me the most because in the end, I find that I am strongest when I have to do it for another person, but don't seem to have it in me to do it for myself.

Maybe it's because I have been missing the gym. When working out I found such amazing results because I was eating better and not drinking. I know the first action I have to take is to hide what tempts me. Put it out of sight. I have to make sure not to drink at home anymore. It's an easy slope to fall down when you are alone a lot and sometimes find drinking is a source of simple entertainment. And lastly, I have to do this for myself and remember why I wanted to stop...because I could.

I don't know what I want to do at this point. In a way I LOVED the control I had over this, over all of it. The fact that I was doing what so many others fail to even attempt. But I think that whether I decide to continue on this journey is going to have to be between me and myself. This will just have to be something that I decide for myself. And maybe you will see me out at the bars drinking, but you might not know what it is. I am not sure where I want to go with this, but I think that at this point it is important to find a happy medium. A point of contentment in knowing that I have control over it whether or not I let it back in.

I'm not saying I am not scared, but I know I can do this and I know in the end I will be much happier.

I think drinking again has given me a lot more clarity than I thought it would. I am not sure where I am going with it, and in a weird way, that feels metaphorical to my life. I know that because of the right choices I am making, where I am going will be something grand. And at this moment, and sharing with you my weaknesses, it brings me a sense of peace and relief...something I haven't felt in a long long time...

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Everybody’s shit stinks…though, at least yours isn’t in a bag around your waist

Recently someone posted on Facebook about how they were sick of hearing about people complaining and my stomach sank a little and I realized I was the first culprit.

Sometimes venting helps.

But sometimes venting makes you dwell on something that isn’t worth dwelling on.

Yeah, I get it. In the scheme of things, I ain’t much, but sometimes we struggle.

And then someone talks about shit in a bag, and things completely turn upside down.

I never heard my mom complain about being sick. I never heard her say anything, and she wanted it that way. Over the weekend, during one of the bands playing, I, for a moment, imagined her struggle and how alone she must have been because she didn’t reach out and I wondered how it felt. That definitely put my ass in perspective.

While my venting (or others’) may seem really selfish to some, to others it is a voice to their struggle as well. I am not saying I have anything to complain about because really, I am seriously blessed, but sometimes life hurts and it’s confusing and you want answers. That is what I have been striving for. And I figured if I am gonna do this, I am gonna do this right….though I do seem to keep doing it wrong. But those are my weaknesses.

I initially wasn’t going to keep blogging because I was sick of the sound of my own voice. But then I kept getting people who would come to me, thanking me for what I was doing, which people considered brave. I considered it foolish because really, now everyone knows that I am not the self- titled amazingly awesome strong chick I pretend to be. I’m human.

We all are.

And we all shit.

Just be thankful, like my friend reminded me, that at least it’s not in a bag wrapped around your waist.

Now go out and enjoy the beauty life has to offer and let go of what has been holding you back.

Easier said than done.

I know.

I’m working on that too.

Finding One's Self is Like Giving Birth...It Fucking Sucks.

When the chance comes to fight or flight, what do you end up choosing?

My usual? Run.

My current situation? Cornered, so I am forced to fight.

And I am getting my ass beat.

But it’s ok because I am learning a few moves and soon I will come out of this as a warrior.

Yeah. I’m getting deep here. Go with it.

These past couple of weeks have been brutal. Hell, the past couple years have been brutal, but this more so. Maybe it’s finally time. Maybe this is the point in life where I am so fed up with letting myself get beat up that I stand up and say, “Fuck you. This is my life and you are not going to be the one to define me or my happiness”.

Easier said than done.

I recently stated the following: “Finding clarity and purpose is a lot like giving birth. It fucking sucks, hurts a shit ton, everyone is crying (mainly you) and you think you are going to die because you don't see an end to it. All you can do is pray that after all of it you get something beautiful, healthy and strong that will last a lifetime...”

Yes. I feel like I am absolutely giving birth.

I feel like I have said this before, but that was just false labor.

This is the real deal, folks. And if not. I’m out. I am not sure how much more of this “false labor” I can handle. Like, I am serious when I say it sucks.

Maybe it’s because I am home all day alone working…with nothing but a cat that smells like farts whom I have diagnosed with schizophrenia. There is something maddening about the same four walls everyday. I’m not saying I am suicidal, but I am getting quite certain I should not be left alone for any long periods of time right now.

Maybe it’s cabin fever. Maybe it’s just a case of claustrophobia, but I am telling you, these walls are caving in. And I keep feeling this heaviness…like a true physical heaviness on my shoulders. A weight I decided to carry that I really should not have. The only time it is alleviated wholly, even for a short time, is when I am texting Kalene the things I am not supposed to text others. Maybe my issue is I am concerning myself with other people I should not.

Step one: Breathe.

It’s hard to breathe when you are holding your breath for someone. I have been holding my breath for 2 years now (add about four months to that…I am a repeat offender in these matters, apparently). I am not sure why I feel like I am always waiting for someone. Always waiting when I never used to give a fuck. In fact, I was so lost in my own world I forgot about other people. Not selfishly, but definitely not in the sense where I need to hear from someone to be complete. That’s not me. And that’s not healthy. And I know it, so I am trying to let some people go. And though I have been trying to cut ties, some ties you don’t want to break no matter how much they are hurting you.

Step Two: Find comfort in yourself.

It’s hard to find comfort in yourself when you look for comfort in others. I miss the way the Tall Pretty One would hold me, Yes, I confess it. I loved the way he made me feel loved. He would hold me and kiss me so sweetly that I forgot how much I loved being loved. And he opened up a small wound from a long time ago, when I knew what it was like to feel loved. And then the Tall Pretty One, one I didn’t care much for nor did I want much to do with, broke down my walls and held me like I had so longed for. And I fell for it. Hook line and sinker. And I lost myself.

Not that I wasn’t already lost, but I was on the cusp of finding more of myself. I thought I was strong enough to be ok with what we had. But I wasn’t. I wanted to be his everything because I felt worthy of it. Instead I was just his something, and that wasn’t good enough for me. So I had to let it go. And it hurts. Especially since there wasn’t much of a fight, short of a “good riddance” from his end, and tears from mine. Now it’s time to fill the hole he left with love from myself…though never did such a hole seem so deep.

Step three: Listen.

Listen to everything. Your heart, the words of friends, music…your soul. Your soul is always searching for the best of you, so when you suffocate it, you lose it. I suffocated it with insecurities and a yearning for that feeling I would get when held just right, or when that text was finally answered and that lust was finally met. Instead of listening to the agony it would cause later, I only dealt with the needs of needing comfort. I used to find comfort in alcohol, so then I started finding it in someone else. Now the true test is finding it in myself. Currently, my heart is a vacuum and to look inside myself for that is maddening, so I have turned to friends.

Never in my life had I ever realized the resource of amazing people in my life. I have complained so often of the horrible people in this town, but what I haven’t listened to are the amazing souls who have been there for me. Those who have seen this struggle and have been watching me give labor to whatever it is I have been laboring over. Tonight alone some of the most amazing people I have ever met in my life offered me words of wisdom beyond my scope. And maybe if it were them I would have good advice, but because it is myself and I am blinded by this struggle, I wouldn’t know how to listen if I offered.

Music is my everything. I may not be a musician, but I know that I could never live without music ever. So I turned to my music guru for help. I also turned to my spiritual guru for help and lastly, those fighting this same struggle with me.

On Saturday I listened to Birds on Fire play their last show in town. I didn’t know what to expect and while uncomfortable, sober and ready to leave, their last song grabbed me and sat me back in my seat and told me to listen. So I did.

And never was I more grateful.

This is what I saw when I closed my eyes and listened:

“I was the leader to a pack of warriors. In this vision most of them were girls…my girls, but all of us were warriors charging to the heavy beat of a drum. We came upon a dark castle, something like Lord of the Rings. As the drums beat faster and got heavier and the rest of the band joined, my warriors and I were on the castle, destroying everything dark and horrid about it. It was mostly men, being beaten and cut down by me and my worriors. It was a pure blood bath. I continued to lead the pack and the men began to fall like flies, dirty and bloody, dying all around. It was a massacre. A beautiful massacre of the dark things that consumed us. And as the music crescendo'd into what felt like the climax, I plunged my sword into the chest of the man I stood on, ripped out his heart, held it in my hand and took a large bite out of it. With a scream of triumph, the music took us to the top of the tower where we all stood, looking back over where we came from. Behind us dark ominous clouds, but before us a clearing. We just needed to get there so we stood on the edge and on our backs, huge magnificent wings sprouted and burst from us and the pain was excruciating yet blissful. They grew over ten feet and were magnificent, so we jumped and our wings took us up higher. They flapped and flapped as the music took us soaring and coasting, tears in our eyes as we finally felt the freedom…we took back our hearts and now we were free to fly towards something beautiful and almost holy. And we just flew, and soared and we owned the sky and everything around us. We were free and ahead there was so much glory, it was almost unfathomable. So we just kept going towards it…we just went”.

And when the music stopped and the boys in the band embraced one another, I left quickly. I wanted to run out and keep running until I too took flight and soared out of this god-forsaken town. Instead, buzzing from the night I went to get a movie and some food. It was rather anti-climatic, but I was so afraid of being alone with nothing to do but think, I felt I had to get a distraction.

Step four: do.

It’s one thing to say it, it’s another to do it. I used to be afraid to say how I felt for fear of judgment, but currently it seems there are more people on my side and fighting this fight than I ever thought possible. Some of the responses I get bring me to tears. When you bare your soul, it’s hard to imagine anyone else understanding. Then when others find comfort in your struggles because they are struggling too, you cannot imagine the gratitude.

So I write. That is what I do. That is what I was always meant to do. I am not sure why or what for. I am not sure why I am breaking myself down to its rawest form, but I am. And I don’t really know why I quit drinking, I just did. And now, here I am. Fighting to stay alive every single day. Some moments are excruciating and they scare the fuck out of me because I sometimes think my mind will be my ruin. Writers and thinkers are always looking for contentment, but in the end that is impossible because that would mean becoming complacent and a true thinker and writer is most uncomfortable in their comfort.

One day when my work is done and in a cover, I will be happy. But not just happy because I have found comfort in my success, but because more doors will open and I will be forced to find more things to write about. And that absolutely thrills me.

So until then, I am trying do all that I can to keep my sanity, which currently has not been easy. I don’t like putting my struggles up on my blog because I don’t want people to see a snapshot of my emotional life and think that that is all I am. I am loving, happy and all too willing to go out and have fun. Currently I am sad and hurt and am trying to find myself in my sobriety and my solidarity. Never were two feats more harrowing. But if I can conquer this…if I can out live this, I am pretty fucking sure I will never be stopped…the truest of warriors. A warrior who put their life on the line to maybe save someone else…