Shell-shocked

Damn.

People are struggling, people are lonely, people are sick and dying... I just want to make everybody laugh, love and be loved, offer my shoulders and in general save the world. That's realistic, right? Totally do-able?

I Wanna Live

Eight weeks clean: feeling good, getting stronger, letting go, putting a period on a bad chapter. I'm getting back to "normal" and fully embracing my new life. It's still hard coming to terms with where I've been, and the impact that has had on myself and others. But the past is a cancelled check, and I'm trying like hell to make right now.

I'm all in for my recovery.

Because I have no choice...

Steady As She Goes

So.

Thursday, 42 days or six weeks since my last drink, we brought our dear Nellie into the vet. Since adopting two six-month-old kittens two weeks earlier, Nellie, who we had for nearly eight years - our first pet together - had become withdrawn, hiding, not eating. She had lost three pounds. We took her in for x-rays, and the vet wanted to do an ultrasound the next morning.

And I fell apart, but still no temptation to drink it away.

Friday, 42 days or six weeks since entering detox, the ultrasound came back: lymphoma. And we left work and went back to the vet, and we held our baby girl while she was put down.

And I completely lost it, but still no temptation to drink it away.

Saturday, 42 days or six weeks since checking out of detox, we attended the wedding of a dear friend from high school. An overnight stay at a beautiful ski lodge, old and new friends and an open bar. All night.

And 24 hours after the trauma of the sudden end of our pet, with an open bar all night, I had nothing but Coke, and was only slightly kicking myself that the wedding wasn't three months earlier.

This does not mean that I'm cured, nor does it mean that I can quit. Not in the least. But I'm encouraged. Mental and physical deprogramming is a huge part of recovery, and I do feel like that part of my life is in the past.

Feels kind of good to have some tangible evidence that I may just be as hardcore as I've been convincing myself that I am...

Motor Memory

I am humbled thinking about the persistence of memory: the thoughts that poisoned, the actions that enabled, the symbiosis of the two...it's all
there, no matter how much work I put in to get over it. My battles to reclaim myself from myself have been incredibly difficult. The pain runs deeper than I ever could have realized, informing my thoughts still.

But it's getting better, and I'm working on it. In spite of the sway that motor memory can hold...

Feeling Good is Good Enough

37 days clean. And I'm finally getting a bit of clarity with distance, and finally putting a period on one chapter of a life.

First of all, I am so incredibly fortunate on so many levels. Fortunate to have such a great support system in place. Fortunate to have insurance and a spectacular counselor. Fortunate to have this great self-awareness that I've always had that allowed me to as usual check myself out, be honest with myself and then get to work on fixing myself. Fortunate that I was able to take all these steps and that the worst my rock-bottom got was a crash of confidence and a shit-ton of embarrassment, rather than tickets, arrests or deaths.

Fortunate to be here typing this and looking on.

I'm starting to look better: not nearly as bloated as I was. And I'm starting to feel better: confidence coming back, no issues with my recovery, no desire to go back. I was around no shortage of my favorite cheap plonk in a social setting last night: normally a recipe for extreme coping for me. Not a drop, and I did fine. There are two Shipyard Pumpkinheads in the fridge: one of my favorite autumn tastes ever. I bought 'em for the wife and have no desire to crack one. Head is reprogramming, body is reprogramming. Spirit is a work in progress. But still...

It feels really good to feel kinda good after feeling so bad for so long.