Welcome! Or maybe even welcome back (still not sure if anyone will ever read this......and that's ok)
If you read the last post - I'm impressed you popped back. Grief and NOT drinking doesn't exactly sound like a party.
However, you might be wondering at this point, what makes me an authority on either subject. Great question! The answer is - I AM ABSOLUTELY NOT. Full disclaimer - I am qualified to speak in none of these areas outside of sharing my own personal experiences.
So why should you keep reading here?
Well the last two years have kicked me in the lady balls - hard. I’m not talking about a gentle, loving, back hand to my crotch. I’m talking about a huge windup (with a forward gallup) wearing a steel boot punt to the vag - kind of kick.
If you’re anything like me - your skepticism is showing now. Cute right? There’s a global pandemic happening - we’ve all been kicked in the pooch. What makes me so special?
First - “special” isn’t really the word of the day here. But here’s a snapshot of what has gone on:
-Was bullied by my landlord to the point of watching her break in to my place on the nannycam I had to have installed, several times over the course of 8 months
-Spring of 2019 moved and a few months later my dog of 13 years passed away (my child of the time)
-Summer of 2019 one of my brothers came out as an alcohol
-November of 2019 my father passed away out of nowhere
-March 2020 - COVID hits
-Sept 2020 my middle brother passes away, also out of nowhere
-December 2020 my friend loses his battle to cancer at age 37
Yep that all happened. Oh, and dealing with all of this - I’ve decided to try and become sober/sober curious.
If you’ve read this far….thanks? Or…..I’m sorry? In all this time, against all this loss I’ve found the only people who don’t flinch, and slowly try to skulk away are the ones who also know pain. Maybe it's not exactly the same. But you probably know pain. So I’m sorry. But this will be a safe place here. I’m going to share a bit about my experience because it makes me feel less alone, and maybe it’ll make one other person feel less alone too. Maybe it won’t and this will just be something that you read that has a lot of curse words (that you’ll hide from your kids or friends with sensitive ears). Hey I might even get blocked by your work firewall!
But just know this... if you’ve been kicked in the gonads - you can survive. My story was written to destroy me. To force me into a black hole - of drinking, eating/not eating and more generally…. giving up. But I didn’t. I’m here.
That’s not to say that the days aren’t hard as shit. That’s not to say that some days, I don’t want to get lost at the bottom of a rose bottle (or 3), or eat every mozzarella stick in sight until my stomach resembles that of a 8 month pregnant lady (less the glow, more the grease sweats), or stay in bed until my hair smells like that of a first year boy in university who hasn’t yet learned to wash his sheets with any regularity…..because I do have those day and some days I have done exactly that.
But I keep going. So you can do it. I’m not especially “strong” - just can be stubborn as fuck. So, so can you.
-Now, time for tea
C