Same as it ever was…

This “blog” is basically a microcosm of other journals in which I talk about how I need to stop drinking and never do. I literally have a decade’s worth. Some are hand-written. Some are typed. Some are completely electronic. All are repetitive laments about my relationship with alcohol.

There used to be relationship woes peppered in but at 42, I am pretty clear that the most toxic relationship I had was the one with myself. I had little to no self-esteem in my twenties. I had no idea who I was or what I wanted. What I knew is that generally, when I was drinking, I was pretty fun.

In my thirties, I began to feel more secure in who I am. Not completely, but the whole decade was a climb. I became a mom at 34. I figured that would be the end of drinking and smoking. But clearly I was wrong. I’m a musician, dammit. And when I play at bars, I’m drinking. Yay. Hi-five. Incoherent yell. Selfie.

This continued on into my forties and here we are. I’ve successfully cut down a bit. I don’t go out as much as I was. This turned into me drinking more at home. I’ve tried to curtail that and it kind of works. I broke up with wine because now I keep blacking out whenever I drink it. So I’m sticking with White Claws because I don’t get too crazy with them. When I drink, I want to chain smoke. The two go hand in hand and I get this grindy manic obsession where I have to be doing both of those things at all times.

I’m not sure why people even want to hang out with me because I’m always “going outside for a smoke”. I want to sit outside and chain smoke and drink. And it’s all like nervous energy. Sometimes I’m relaxed and enjoying myself but mostly… mostly it’s me trying to quell my anxiety about being out in the first place.

I think I mentioned that my therapist said I approach my problems in a very cerebral way. I know why I do things. I’ve drilled down to find the causes and reasons for my problematic behaviors. I’m good at it. What I’m not good at is finding the FEELINGS attached to those reasons. And my disinterest (or aversion) to feelings also leads me to numb myself (drink). See? I just did it again.

My face is starting to look it’s age. I’ve always looked younger than I am. My skin looks terrible. I don’t remember nights anymore. Who knows what a nightmare person I have been. I’m a middle aged woman for crying out loud. I need more gentleness in my life.

Particles

I’m not really sure what to do lately. I feel mentally constipated. I have lots of things I want to do and when I sit down to do one, it’s like a traffic jam and nothing comes out. Lately, my cure for that has been sleeping. SUper productive.

I did a Tarot spread yesterday about self-care. The Biddy Tarot planner has some really great spreads to do throughout the year. I find the process to be really helpful in honing some focus. So, the reading revealed that I am feeling a bit spiritually anemic and that I would do well in a deeper spiritual dive. I agree. I think even doing that reading was a step in the right direction.

I also focused on how I’m not feeling very inspired right now. Like, I feel it rumbling beneath but nothing is coming forth. Like when you can’t orgasm. Right? Ew. But exactly the same. The whole thing becomes tiresome and you’re like just forget it, I’m going to sleep. Hahhahaha.

I’m having a hard time focusing at work. I’m at work right now, for example. I just feel like I’m floating and I pretty much only want to be in bed. I don’t feel sad really. I feel like a bunch of disconnected particles.

I’ve been feeling a strong pull to sit with music for a while. I haven’t written a song in like 2 years. My catalog of songs is all over the place. I feel like it might be nice to have a list. Also, I have a pretty delicate shell as an artist. I love working with people and exchanging energy but people’s personalities have a habit of overwhelming me and taking over so I lose sight of my own vision. Many times, it’s not ill-intentioned. But I become completely drained and I stop being able to produce anything. Then I go back to wanting to be alone.

I feel like that is a pretty good analysis of me in general. I’m enormously sensitive to other people’s energy and I can become flattened by it.

Coolsculpting

On Sunday, I had Coolsculpting done on my fat neck. As a 110 lb teenager, I had a double chin. As a… more pounds adult, it’s unbearable. This is not something I talk about. It is so upsetting and bothersome to me that I rarely ever even vocalize it. I’ll complain loudly about my pudgy stomach or wobbly arms, but I simply never speak about the chin.

I remember beginning to feel horrified when I was in middle school (or jr. high” as we called it). You know, the time when girls become aware of every perceived flaw on their bodies because of societal pressure, unrealistic standards of beauty, and other asshole kids who are dealing with their own insecurities by making fun of their classmates? That time? Yeah. That time.

I remember quickly going from happily stumbling along in life as a pudgy 12 year old who still played with Barbies to a wreck of a person who would never, ever, ever be good enough. There was a picture. My chin basically went from my jaw down to the middle of my chest. I am exaggerating but it’s like this horrible straight line. It’s hereditary for me on BOTH SIDES which is GREAT. I don’t see it in my whole family though. I notice it mostly on me.

So a friend had gotten Coolsculpting on their love handle area and survived so I started looking into it for my fat neck. I watched a bunch of videos of girls who barely had any fat under their chin getting the procedure. It seemed do-able. I’ve considered going in for a facelift which is ridiculously expensive and can thin out your skin and make you look like a mummified cat. So, in comparison, I figured what the heck. Let’s try this. I’ll try anything to not hate my fucking reflection.

So I went in. They attached an icy vacuum to one side of my neckchin for 45 minutes and then repeated on the other side. It was a little weird and uncomfortable but man, I had a C-Section. It was fine. 3 days later I have a weird numb tingly sensation if I touch the area but other than that, it’s not bad. It’s a very similar feeling to the nerve regeneration in my C-Section scar. It’s more strange than painful.

I’ve been bingeing on more videos of people who have had this procedure and also googling the shit out of “before and after” pictures. I’m gonna be honest, a lot of the results are minimal. That being said, the videos I watched showed women whose preoccupation with that area on their body I can relate with and they seemed to be really happy.

I won’t see results for a month or so. I’m trying to keep within my Weight Watchers points in the mean time. OMG and we have a new dog! I will update on that separately because I feel like a big piece of me has been lit up again. The reason I bring that up is because I’ve been walking a lot. Not great distances but I’m moving more than I was which is a step (HAHAHAH) in the right direction. I’m hilarious.

So yeah. I’m going to be patient with my numb chin. I hope to see results. If I see even a little, I’m not opposed to getting a second session. I’m getting ahead of myself.

Happy Autumn. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

Sober October

l’m always trying to come up with some sort of gimmick to help me make better lifestyle choices. Sober October is no different. I’m going to try it. I have several things on my calendar that will be challenging but I’m gonna give it a shot.

This is my power season so I don’t need anything to dull me out. I need to tap in. Once again, I am already scrambling toward excused days. Apparently some people raise money for a charity while not drinking. I’m not sure I’m ready to take it to that level of sharing and sponsorship. Mainly because it’s terrifying. I don’t have a big level of trust in myself.

I would love to know how it feels to have good sleep and not wake up late and exhausted. Also, I caught a glimpse of myself in a reflection at the store the other day and it was really alarming. I looked old.

It’s been a bit.

I’ve been writing in my pen and paper journal more often. I’d love to tell you it’s every day, but we both know that won’t happen. Today is my 42nd birthday. My initial wake up was from my son who climbed in to bed to say happy birthday. Then I had a nice snuggle. Then he began to complain loudly about not wanting to go to school and I said “don’t make me yell on my birthday.”

And we both know I wound up yelling on my birthday.

I fell back asleep due to a.) more vodka than I thought last night and b.) indulging my birthday self with a sleep-in. I wound up falling back asleep and dreaming about working at a restaurant on the ocean during a storm feared to result in a world-ending storm. (Clearly I’ve been listening to a lot of Ms. Thunberg.)

The ocean was turning into ice and the stilts holding the building over the water were beginning to creak. I had to find my son who was staying with a friend far away from where I was. At one point my friend fell into the water but we (myself and other faceless people) were able to get her out. At that point I decided to GTFOOT.

I convinced someone to let me use their car so I could be with my son. There was a good chance that the car wouldn’t make it through the ice, but it was a risk I needed to take. I remember feeling calm and relieved when I got into the car knowing that I finally had at least a chance to be with him.

I know reading about other peoples dreams is impossibly boring. What does this mean? What is the storm? Is it my lifestyle? The parts that I feel are becoming unmanageable? Does this mean I am ready to ask for help to at least try to navigate out of this shit? So I can be there for my son?

Maybe.

I’m going to have some eggplant parmigiana and cappellini tonight. Then my favorite cupcakes. I bought them not realizing they were vegan and fell in love. Then I’m going to paint and finish my book. In my sweatpants. Oh man I can’t wait.

Been writing the old fashioned way

Going back to therapy has been a big help. Unrelated, I actually started doing “morning pages” a la The Artist’s Way while I was on vacation. If you’re not familiar, morning pages are 3 handwritten pages you write when you wake up (I do it whenever I can steal 1/2 hour). You write and write and write until you fill up the pages. It can be nonsense or it can be good stuff. The point is to clear out the cobwebs in your brain.

For me, the added benefit is connecting with my actual emotions. I’ve spent my entire life trying to disregard my big emotions by either stuffing them down, turning them to anger, or drinking them away. This exercise is getting me back in touch with what I’m actually feeling. I’ve got a long way to go but I’m noticing a difference already.  I’ll go back to this subject another time.

You’re not really supposed to go back and read your morning pages but I marked this one because I thought I was hitting some important stuff here.

(I’m going to use my morning pages as background for art journal stuff. )

Therapy

My sleep has improved but now I’m a walking histamine. I discovered the cat had been napping in my closet, specifically in my pajama drawer. So I had to re-wash everything. I’m sure I dragged all that cat hair into the bed too. Ugh. We leave for vacation in 2 days so I’m just focusing on that.

I went back to therapy on Tuesday. It had been a couple of years but it was nice to be back. I really like my therapist. She remembered and reminded me that a lot of what I’m dealing with right now is the same as when I was there 2 years ago. She also reminded me that the previous cycle of frustration was about 2 years before that.

I have a big problem taking risks and walking toward the unknown. Fear has been driving the ship my whole life. Bravery pops up every now and then… but man, has it gotten lazy.

My therapist suggests that the frustration and resentment in my marriage is the main cause of my malaise. I agree to a point that it is a factor but I think there are several arms. She says my head and my heart are completely disconnected and we need to find a way to get them to work together.

At a high level, I know exactly what the problems are and I can tell you really self-aware and self-assured solutions. But my feelings are basically a knot that hasn’t been untied in 40 years and they kind of get involved and tangle everything up. We need to work on the flow. The flow. I picked flow as my “word of the year” a couple of years ago. It’s an important word to me. Who knew I didn’t have any?!

It’s funny because I always thought of myself as someone who was pretty emotionally sophisticated. But in actuality, my relationship with feelings is way more cerebral. I can break it down and label it and file away and it’s great. But my OWN feelings are so screwed up from shoving them all into an unlabeled box that I can’t even tell you, honestly, how I am feeling at any given moment. This was a HUGE eye opener for me.

So my “homework” is work on some art art focusing on fear, bravery, and potential.

Another Day of the Living Dead

I slept until 11am today which is SUPER early for me. What an early riser I am! This 41 year old woman. This mother. This employed person.

This isn’t good. I instructed my son to please get dressed today because his father will let him sit around in his underwear all day. I mean, he’s a kid so it doesn’t really matter. But I know how much more “normal” I feel when I force myself to get dressed. Considering his genes, I need to impart some of this wisdom to him however I can. So I said, “please get dressed. Sitting around in your underpants all day is not healthy.” My seven year old’s retort? “Sleeping all day isn’t healthy, mom.”

It felt like a smack. I said, “you’re right. Mommy’s not feeling very good lately.” And because he’s a needler, he felt the need to clarify, “mommy, I’m talking about you.” I love his personality. Oh, I know, kid. And I’m sorry your mom is such a dud.

My best way of connecting with him is by doing art projects together. I am always trying to think of something that won’e more the hell out of him. We’re now painting rocks and leaving them around the park. Then we go out to see if anyone took any. I asked him if he’d like to paint rocks with me tonight and he reluctantly said yes. Is he doing it to make me happy? Shit. How did this happen?

I know I’m depressed when my face feels like a mask. It doesn’t move. It just stays looking sullen. It doesn’t feel connected to my skull. It feels far away. I try to contort it into a friendly thing when I’m at work or if I have to interact with someone at a store. I’m an expert at this shit. I’ve been doing it for over 25 years.

I’m going back to my former therapist. She was wonderful. I just stopped because I was feeling better. I have a hard time being vulnerable in front of them. But I’m so done with this shit. I need to move past this.