Dreams of Doolittle


I remember back in August when I read one of  Ginger Groundhogs posts and she was at day 96 and doing some kind of countdown I guess. It seemed impossible, completely impossible for me to ever reach a hundred. Now I’m on day 95.

The last week or maybe two have been hard. During the days 30-80 the cravings almost disappeared and only entered my mind when I was under ridiculous stress. But these last two weeks have been strange. Lots of thinking of drinking again. My brain started to look for ways to persuade me that a small relapse would be good, even beneficial (!), for a longtime sobriety. Skewing facts. Intense cravings. I wonder if it’s a natural part of the process or a fear of success or just the fact that there’s a lot of emotional stress in my life right now. As always a combination I guess.

My mind is filled with thoughts of sorrow and fear and vulnerability and creating a new identity. It’s mostly fascinating but also painful at times.

I remember very little of my childhood but I do remember watching Dr Doolittle and longing/wishing/WANTING to be him. To live in that pink shell and be surrounded by animals. It’s a vivid image in my mind, that pink shell. To be able to communicate with animals was my birthday wish for more years than I’d care to admit and at least one of my children has inherited this intense love of animals, that intensity unfortunately makes most animals shy away and it’s so hard for me to see her wanting them to love her SO BADLY and then see them turn to me instead. I’m having issues when it comes to communicating with this child of mine, in so many ways she’s a MiniMe. She looks just like me but has a whole other sense of self and is extremely stubborn and loud. So there’s this discrepancy between our likeness and our differences that really provokes me. Makes me angry with her. Instead of showing her and telling her how she should act around our dog, and telling her I know all this because I was just like her and it was such a sorrow in my life that all our animals always preferred my mother – I get annoyed with her for doing it WRONG. I’m so very stupid and immature at times.

I really need to start therapy and I think I am finally ready. I haven’t dared before, just because I’ve been convinced they would take my kids away if I ever were to admit having a problem with alcohol. But now I can talk about all this in past tense and wouldn’t have to guard every word and by that making the therapy based on deceit and fear instead of honesty and trust.

I have a friend who has some serious control issues. I mean they’re pretty much up to par with my own and she told me something her therapist had told her to ask herself every time she got anxious and feeling the need to micromanage other people:

“What am I afraid of?”

I do believe, with every piece of my soul, that fear is what lies under almost everything. Every bad decision, every dysfunctional coping strategy, every illogical outburst of anger or pet peeve or judgement of others. There’s always the fear. Next time I’m getting annoyed with someone or feel disappointed in myself I need to ask, What am I so afraid of?

I think there are many answers and in those answers there is truth and in the truth there is healing.

PS I’m thinking of buying a Maine Coon cat. My family/house is already a small freak show, why not add a giganormous cat to the circus? I think it would be awesome.


By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes. I have been having flashbacks lately to a lovely assortment of drunken events. I can just pick and choose! Ooooh but there’s so many, my inner self says greedily, may I have more than one? And apparently, yes I may have as many I can remember. The one that stands out today is when I blacked out at my goddaughters christening. Yeah, that is a doozy isn’t it? Babies, churches, formal evening wear and blackout drunks. Such a lovely mix. Now I feel the need to excuse my behaviour even before I have told you. How stressed I had been at work for months before, that I during the same time pretty much had been a single parent because my husband also worked insane hours and was away most of the time, that I was finally on my own, in another city, in another country even. All bets were off and I deserved a break. I did deserve a break, but: Getting so insanely drunk that the anxiety didn’t subside for almost a week, being so hungover I threw up after breakfast, have absolutely no recollection of anything after 10 pm except me turning up the volume and suggesting we go out clubbing, having to filter through facebook friend requests and feel the absolute need to apologise to each one of them, for the first time see that look on my friends faces that suggested they had been worried about me the night before, realise with such total clarity and complete understanding that I was indeed an alcoholic and that I needed to stop it right now, boarding the shuttle to the airport still hungover, then getting the sneaky idea in my head that since I was all alone at the airport and that since I now was going to quit drinking anyway I might as well have a couple of glasses at the airport – to go out with some sort of dignity as a well travelled woman who’s standing up to the patriarchy by having drinks by herself, getting SO DRUNK at the airport, boarding the plane and flying home and feeling like the worst human being in the world. And then keep on drinking for another 6 months after that.

That isn’t a break. That’s how I got broken.

no title

Crunch time again. Deadline within 12 hours and I’m frantic. But hey, still sober baby!


Apparently I missed the 12 week mark so I guess I’ll just go ahead and do a countdown to a hundred days. Spent yesterday evening at a bar. The n/a beer was truly awful but I find it fascinating that I still have the same speed when it comes to drinking. No wonder I always ended up as drunk as I did …

Oh, I was so happy to see that Sauvignon B is back. Hurrah! I’ve missed you.

It really is frightening

Yesterday I went to a huge party. Filled with the rich, bold (but not that beautiful to be honest) and the champagne flowed. Copious amounts. I brought my n/a beer and I had stressed a lot about it this week and I was rather freaked out to be honest. Off we went, I held the glass of champagne and then made the switch with my husband so everything looked NORMAL. Oh, how annoying that is, the need in me to appear normal. Anyway. I fetched my beers and everything was fine. I stayed for two hours and then I went home to my kids. Sober, sober.  Two people noticed my beer. One of them a pregnant woman gave it that quizzical look but said nothing since she’s too well raised and knows how to behave (but she’s also just the kind of person that ponders and think and comes to conclusions regarding my choice of beverage). But I really don’t care. The other one, she was one of us. Oh man was she ever. She approached me and the first thing she told me was that I looked absolutely stunning and the second was if she could have a bite of my sandwich that I was nibbling. She laughed and told me she’s a very direct person and then we introduced ourselves. She was obviously tipsy, maybe even more – hard for me to know her being a stranger and all. Anyway. She really was very direct because then she asked me why I didn’t drink alcohol and if I ever did and she was so happy that she was going to get drunk tonight and then a long and quite incoherent explanation about how life was not very good at the moment and thank god she had such a hottie for a husband and the only time they had any fun anymore was when they were both out and drinking. They had troubles in their marriage she said and he was so happy when she finally relaxed and … You can imagine the rest. Then she asked me if I did have a glass of wine sometimes and I lied and said yes but that I had quit because alcohol gives me so much anxiety these days. Which is very true. And then I knew. She said that I obviously had made the right decision in taking responsibility for my own wellbeing but she didn’t want to. She still thought it would be worth it if she had a huge night out. Then I in a moment of inexplicable honesty told her that even two glasses of wine gives the worst angst and she just agreed. Nodded and told me she knew exactly what I meant and that she didn’t even touch the stuff if it was just going to be two glasses. All or nothing. And I knew.

How in the world did I manage to fool myself into believing that no one knew that I had a drinking problem? I mean she could just as well be walking around with a neon sign according to me. Of course I liked her, she was a lovely drunk and I do believe we, The Drunkards, are a special bunch and that we do get along very well because we’re so much alike. But I also felt sad for her. When she’s ready I’ll be here to help her.


But that isn’t what I mean when I say it is frightening. 2:45 my husband came home. He was so insanely drunk it scared the living hell out of me. He was completely off balance and not making any sense and of course he woke me up. Then he spent an hour in the kitchen making sandwiches or something. Banging doors, dropping cutlery, generally being just very, very drunk. The scariest part that he was talking to someone. And he was all alone. He was so drunk that he, not really hallucinated but was probably in some dream state while being able to still walk around. It was so fucking scary I can’t begin to describe it. Is this what alcohol does? And it is legal? He was a completely other person, someone I don’t know. It felt like there was a stranger in my kitchen and a stranger that was also clinically insane because he kept talking to himself/someone. Now he’s down on the sofa and of course I should relish in smugness but I have a headache because I was up for almost two hour listening to him before going into one of the children’s rooms to sleep in one of their beds because it was just too uncomfortable to listen to him. So now i just feel … Sad. And empty. And angry with him. And scared/anxious of exactly how drunk he was at the party yesterday and if people noticed and if … I don’t know. Taking responsibility for his actions I guess.

And today is Fathers Day, so soon we’ll go down stairs and give him gifts and breakfast in sofa and it all feels very sad. What a fucking mess. What a insane thing it is that this liquid is sold and legal and that my children will drink this shit which can turn them into someone else. I’m feeling very teetotal today.



It’s the end of the world as we know it

and I don’t feel fine at all. Anxious and stressed and angry and scared. But no cravings for wine, just a desire to climb back into bed and just sleep until everything has calmed down.

I feel sad for America today. Take care of yourselves.



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10 weeks


Yesterday I was able to go for a walk all by myself. The weather was insanely wonderful (today it is back to rain, storm, November, dark just as usual) and I listened to this one song by Nico over and over and again and I felt very emotional. Grateful for being right there at that moment and amazed at the thought of being alive at all. What a gift that is. Life. So I walked in the sunshine, tears rolling down my cheeks, kicking up the leaves, singing along and not worrying for a second what other people would think of me.

I am alive.