It’s getting better

slowly, but still. Day 4 now.

 I truly feel a relief when I think about the fact that I never have to drink alcohol again. The first 2 days were probably the worst days of my life. I never want to feel like that again. 

I’m back on the horse (and wagon).

Thank you for all your kind words, they mean a lot.

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This is

the worst day of my life. I have never been so ashamed, hung over yet still intoxicated, a complete failure. I wish I didn’t exist today.

I used to be such an

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I just re-read my last post. I really wasn’t such a nice person after all?  Always trying to make jokes about everything, myself including, so caught in the middle of being hypersensitive and acting all detached, trying to navigate wanting to help other people and not being able to handle emotional outbursts or any “weaknesses”. Just so caught up in my own shit of not being able to handle life. Such an ass.

Feeling a bit stressed out. We’re leaving for Greece tomorrow and we’ll be gone for two weeks and I’m in charge of everything and I can feel the stress levels just going into the red. First sober vacation in forever. Four children on a long flight. No wine. No Retsina. Nothing to take the edge off during that eternity of a flight and let me tell you, I’m a somewhat stressed out traveller. And I’m already missing the dog, very foolish. So. Anyway. Let’s breathe and get packing.

 

PS Day 24. That’s at least one good thing I’m doing.

Shame on me

I think I’ve mentioned that I studied to become a psychologist a couple of years ago? I used to make jokes (in private) that I would make a fortune becoming a therapist specializing in  wealthy art school women with daddy issues. (Basically me but with money.) To not becoming a therapist may have been one of my best decisions ever, I would have been terrible at it. At least then. I already had a name for my company; Guilt And Shame Ltd. (It’s better in Swedish though: Skuld & Skam AB) and I used to say that I’d been in the business of guilt and shame my whole life.

And that’s true. It’s the feelings that are closest to me, practically everything can throw me into a shame spiral. There’s SO MUCH SHAME. And guilt. But mostly just shame.

I saw Brene Browns TED-talk and it resonated with me (if you haven’t seen it yet: https://youtu.be/psN1DORYYV0 ) and I’ve read some articles but nothing has touched me the way this podcast did yesterday. I sat and listened for an hour and a half and I cried and I laughed and there were feels all over the place. These two women being so heartbreakingly honest. Can a heart break and heal at the same time? I think mine did yesterday.

It’s the Home Podcast with Laura McKowen and Holly Whitaker and they are both in recovery and I’ve read their blogs and visited Hip sobriety but there is such a power in listening to another human being talking abut these things. If I had listened to this a couple of years ago I’m afraid my heart would have been closed and the thing I would have taken from it is that I am not as bad as that, I would never do something like that to my children, I would never yada yada yada all as a sign of me not being as bad as them and therefore I could continue drinking. Yeah, always looking for things to justify the drinking. Now I realize that even though it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean I’m any different and certainly not “better” or less alcoholic. It’s just a matter of time. The only difference is time. If I would have continued drinking things would have gone to hell REAL fast.

If you do one thing for yourself today, let it be this. Listen to these lovely, super cool ladies. I promise you that you’ll grow and learn from it.

https://itunes.apple.com/se/podcast/episode-43-shame/id1021126077?i=1000368460999&mt=2

 

 

Changes

So just a quickie before I go to bed. As I’ve mentioned before I’ve tried to quit drinking a thousand times. I have a staggering amount of Day 1’s, quite a lot of Day 2’s, not so many Day 3’s and yeah, that’s pretty much where I used to get tired of the whole thing and start drinking wine again. (But THIS time it will be different, I will never have more than two glasses, never on a weekday, only on New Years Eve, never hard liquor, never more than one glass, only when I go on vacation, never beer, never more than three glasses, never red wine, always drink two glasses of water, never start before 5 pm etc etc etc etc ad infinitum.)

My more recent attempts were of the more desperate kind, I did some new things that had always been a no-no, I drank more, I blacked out every time I drank, I cried more, I was on the verge of giving up and at the very end I started having thoughts of just quitting. Not quitting drinking, oh no, quitting trying and failing and trying and failing. I started to think that maybe this was it, I was doomed to drink away all the wonderful things that have been given to me. To destroy everything.

After my last attempt I realized that just taking away something wouldn’t work, that was why I was white knuckling it, I just took away the only coping mechanism I knew and expected to pull it off. I knew I had to add something else if I wanted it to stick. So I tried a few things. They didn’t work. This time I tried another thing: you. This Soberverse I didn’t even know existed. I went international and found a world of women just like me. I didn’t feel all alone anymore. My feelings and choices were validated and I have the opportunity to learn from those that are seniored soberistas and to fight alongside those of us that are in the early stages. This was adding something new. This was powerful. You know that whole ‘doing the same thing over and over again and expect differents results’? Yeah, that used to be me.

I need to change things, I need to add things, I need to get out of my comfort zone (who in all honesty is the smallest little box there is) and try new stuff. Tonight I got invited to a soccer game. And I’ve never been that into sports (remember me being somewhat of a snob and a former journalist who used to get paid to tell people how to dress/what to listen to/where to eat? Yeah so I was also very much a person who despised groups of men running after balls. Sport kills and all that.), but I just said YES. And to make it even weirder? We had to take our bikes to the stadium. I was to ride a bike after not being on one in … 10 years? So I did this. I took my second oldest son with me, we rode our bikes to the game, and you know what? I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT. Then we rode our bikes home in the warm summer evening and I was content. Didn’t wanna be anywhere else. Ah. New things. Changes! I love them. (And apparently I also love football and biking and because I am who I am I have already purchased tickets to the 4 coming home games. Yay!)

Good night you wonderful, wise, troubled, spiritual, fantastic beings. I’m so happy and honored to be allowed to take part in your lives and the struggle that is being a human being.

 

 

 

 

Control the mole

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Hello darkness my old friend.

Things I am afraid of (a small selection): That to remain sober I need to become a very boring person that only posts inspirational quotes on my instagram, believe in any kind of god or higher power, lose my sense of humor and become very zen and not judgmental and well, boring. I have a rather dark sense of humor and there’s an edge there that I really like, a sharpness if you will, and I’m afraid I’ll lose that.

I need to trust myself when it comes to that, I guess it’s having lived a whole life of all or nothing that convinces me that I can not moderate anything, not even my personality. I’ll just need to sit back and relax and dare to put some trust in myself. RELAX GODDAMMIT. (As I write this my shoulders are basically up by my ears.)

I’ve read about the Whack-A-Mole situation which is apparently very common in early sobriety, and well, it looks like I’m no exception. I find it fascinating how strong these forces inside are, how desperately I feel the need to control/not feel/not get down to the real stuff (whatever that may be). It’s like an earthquake or a tsunami or lightning, it’s STRONG. This last week I have noticed myself slipping in to old patterns when it comes to controlling my food intake. Standing in front of the mirror sucking in my stomach, starting to weigh myself every day and generally just getting into that crap a bit more. I’ve never been anorexic but I have definitely dabbled around in the close proximity of it. I was a bulimic for a couple of years but I managed to stop that whole cycle when I got pregnant, on my own. Nobody knows of this, that may be one of my most secret secrets. I get angry with my subconscious for trying to pull me back into disordered eating as a way of numbing myself. I WANT TO FEEL STUFF. I’m ready, I want this. So why do I do this to myself.

Will go upstairs and pick up the scales and throw it out. Download that Craig Nakken book to my Kindle. And try to relax my muscles. And let go of control. (HAHA, that won’t happen but I’ll try to be aware of my thinking.)

 

 

Strike a pose

So. I’m trying to become more aware of myself but not too absorbed by myself, I find it tricky to balance the two. (Trouble moderating? All or nothing? MOI?)

I know I’m a people pleaser and deeply insecure and there’s not enough praise in the world to fill that need in me but the thing is, I’m the only one that knows about this. The world that is existing outside of my own head would describe me very differently, I can’t tell you how many times people tell me about their first impression of me or describe me to a friend and I burst out laughing. You know that incredulous snortpiggylaughter? That’s how I sound. Anyway, I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. This obsession of categorizing behaviour, traits, clothes, music, literature, interests, hobbies, upbringing, relationships, class, politics, weight, hair, food, (The list really goes on and on. If it exists – it’s on my list) into good and bad. For example the fact that I am a very sensitive, insecure, needy and lazy person. All of these traits are on my very personal BAD-list so therefore I have been fighting these feelings all of my life and if I haven’t been able to change it then at least I have made sure that no-one knows about it and I have basically been roleplaying another person since I was five. Not to say I’m completely fake, no, but there are many sides of my true self that I’ve hidden and acted against and I don’t think there’s one person that really knows me. Hmmm, and still I wonder why I feel so all alone even though I’m surrounded by people all the time?

It’s obv. back to the fear again. Back to those feelings (that I have no access to but am convinced are hanging around there somewhere in the Id) of being un-loveable as is and always trying to act in a way that makes me worthy of existing. Another example: I have a sneaky suspicion that somewhere deep inside I have a secret hippiesque woman living and she’s dying to come out. My secret yearnings towards yoga and comfortable clothes and being closer to nature. The fact that I’m secretly fascinated by the fact that unbeknownst to me I apparently had my last drink when the full moon appeared on this years summer solstice. I’m very afraid of her because these things are apparently very much on the list of bad things and I’m always on guard against her and I suspect that she would take over if I give in to one of these urges to like, drink kombucha. (Don’t worry, I’d never do that. Yuck.) This is what I aim for: composed, capable, very into science and matters that you can quantify, very modern, progressive, liberal, open minded, well-read, intellectual, funny, good taste, minimalism, old money, successful (especially when it comes to things that other people would find challenging) and on and on and on and OOOOOONNNNN.

No wonder I felt the need to push the off button, devour the sauvignon blanc and just let my (hennacoloured) hair down.

I can clearly see that I need to be more true to myself and honest and I think this will be rather interesting and I’m looking forward to it but the problem is I’ve been modelling myself for so long I have lost track of what is me and what is some dumb set of rules I have forced myself to live by. I think this is partly universal, we try to appear “better” in different ways and I also think that its pretty universal to also try to make everything look easy, like it’s all just natural, that no effort has gone in to whatever it is. I think I mentioned this in one of my first post, this need in me to make everything appear so effortless. Why on earth have I put effort on my bad-list? When? WHY?                           Dieting, caring about how you look, putting an effort into your outfit, being vain = all VERY bad things, BUT being skinny, look very attractive, wearing expensive clothing (or rather carefully selected pieces…) are all on my very important list. So I feel the need to achieve all this but it has to appear effortless, that I just woke up like this. Gah.

I intended to write about something completely different but this is where my ramblings took me and I’m fighting against the need to compose brilliant posts that are filled with wisdom and a deeper meaning so I’m just gonna put this up here and fight against that weird perfectionistic shit. I’m doing this blogging for ME. Dear me, don’t forget that. This one’s for me.

PS 1  Three weeks since that summer solstice and full moon! I wasn’t aware of the fact that it was a special day at the time because I had consumed my own weight in bubbly but now I think it’s pretty neat.

From Wikipedia: 2016 was the first time in nearly 70 years that a full moon and the summer solstice concur on the same day.

PS 2 My cognitive self realizes I won’t become a wicca-practising vegan yogi (not that there’s anything wrong with that!) if I let my guard down for a second, I guess it comes down to not being able to let go and trust myself, to always try to control everything. I’m a work in progress for sure.

 

Hello it’s me, the self-sabotating Scrooge

Managed to have a few moments to reflect on STUFF today, despite the fact that I took three of the children out and about town and were nearly mauled by all the tourists.

Turns out I apparently like to be the martyr? At least there seems to be something appealing about it because otherwise I wouldn’t keep doing it. It was way past lunchtime and everyone was getting very whiny so I panicked and just went into the first (very French) café I saw. Children were very happy, me not so much. Also turns out I’m a bit of a Scrooge? Les galettes cost from €9 and up, the tap water was €1. So they got the ones with Nutella and were superexcited (we have very little sugary stuff at home) and I got (wait for it) NOTHING. I was so cheap and grumpy because they would charge me for water that I just decided that I would go without. I also got tense in my mind regarding the calories. (Yes, in some ways I am that shallow. I blame it all on the patriarchy by the way.)  Very stupid because I was very hungry and getting grumpier by the second. So there we were, the kids happy and me just looking away in the distance and feeling sorry for my self. I SACRIFICED my lunch so that they could have theirs (we’re on a rather tight budget at the moment but not THAT tight, this was just ridiculous behavior, seriously, so stupid and futile). Pityparty for one, please. I sulked. They picked up on it and I felt slightly embarrassed but not as embarrassed as I should have felt. I was being such a killer of joy. ‘Oh, no, nothing for me thanks.’ Why have I resorted to this immature shit to get attention? So stupid. I really need to stop doing that. So that was one of the things I realize that I do and that I have been doing for quite some time and I really need to get over that.

The other was just the fact that being hungover all the time makes you work so hard at doing everything as you would if you  were a normie. It takes so much effort and adrenaline/cortisol to hide the fact that you downed a bottle and a half on a tuesday night because you were bored and ended up in the laundry room doing sexy dance moves to some old Lil’ Kim-songs. (Yes. I’m sorry but that really is what I used to do.) Anyway. Such stress all the time to cover up shit and try to excuse your behaviour and so on. All of a sudden I put this next to the fact that I have never in my life been able to do any work at all if it’s not just before a deadline. My brain seem to be rather used to, or prone to seek out these stress-levels. Haven’t got any clever conclusions to this, just put the two together. Loving to do everything last minute and. Nah. It doesn’t hold up. One is a good adrenaline rush, the covering up-crap was just bad in every way. But there’s a lot of self-sabotage going on, that’s for sure. *See the inability to finish a degree or finish ANYTHING for that matter. If I get to 97% finished that’s it. Painting the childrens room? Sure thing! Do everything except those strips of wood down by the floor. Look only at those strips of wood the following four years and be discontented. Write a book? Sure! I’ve written two! Without an ending. Get your driver’s license? Sure, I’ll do it. 15 years of lessons and I still haven’t taken the test, not even once. This fear of failing seems to be connected to my inability to finish something, because if it’s not finished then it can not be deemed a failure because it is still a work in progress? Am I that simple? (Voice in my head goes Nooo, but you’re SPECIAL! I really seem to have stopped developing emotionally at around 17.)

Maybe the habit of quitting is just the old fear of rejection. Better quit while you’re ahead, before you get caught, before they see you for the fraud you are. It’s taking control of who’s doing the rejecting. (Is that a word?) I’ve never been dumped by a boyfriend. Not because I am The Best Girlfriend Ever, oh no, rather the opposite. It’s just that I’ve always been the one to take control and end things before they could. Never been fired but have handed in my resignation oh so many times. Are all my actions in life based on fear?

Oh, HALT. Think I pretty much had all of the letters today, I was hungry, angry, felt all alone and slept like a miserable cow last night. Guess who got THE worst craving for wine when we were at the café? That’s right, this Mother of the year right here. And of course they served a couple of ladies to my left some chilled rosé and I nearly screamed.

So this long rant has just been me talking to myself basically. Sorry. Maybe I should put something funny here at the end as a little treat? I read this today and it made me chuckle. Some teenager on the internet was obviously feeling both miserable and poetic and wrote:

‘Being born is satire.’ Then some genius replied ‘Being born with goat legs is satyr.”

HaHA!

Thank you and good night.

 

 

 

 

Updated introduction

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I am 42 years old, I am happily married and I have four children. I have started a ton of different courses/programs at University and I always stay for less than two years and then I quit. (I have studied to become: 1) journalist 2) doctor 3) nurse 4) psychologist. It makes for a good general knowledge but it does not pay the bills …)

I have been trying to escape my whole life: I’ve tried books, food, cigarettes, movies, other people, alcohol, dieting. The need to numb, to not feel, have grown stronger and lately I needed to combine my different vices in order for it to work. I drank and read and listened to music and cared for other people at the same time but in the end I just couldn’t take it anymore. I became a very depressed alcoholic. And I realized that the bad feelings never go away, they’re always there. Do you remember that line in the first Jurassic Park movie? “Life will find its way”? I think it is the same with whatever it is I am trying to not feel. Whatever the trauma I’m trying to hide from. The feelings will find it’s way.
Here I am. Welcome.