and that’s more than good enough for me
and that’s more than good enough for me
The last couple of days I’ve had this itchy scratchy feeling. I’ve been thinking about that time in Greece when I blacked out for hours, woke up with a bump in my head, no clue what had happened those last hours in that apartment next door where that other family lived and where I had ended up after a very wine-filled dinner. Oh damn. I still get those flushes of nausea and shame. Turns out it was this day, the 19th of July. The 20th really was such a terrible terrible day in my life … But I survived. But if I had had a day like that now? I don’t think I could have coped. See I had soooo many of those days then. It is so sad how used I was to having those days. So many days that were only spent trying to survive, to get through, to put behind me, to forget. So many days that were just my life on pause. Angstridden, stinking of alcohol, panicky, trying to put together all those blurry pieces into something whole.
My life at the moment isn’t especially pleasant but compared to that level of anxiety? Then I’m like a fucking zen monk living at a spa.
I’m going to get a clinical assessment regarding high functioning autism/ADHD. The appointments are just a few days after I celebrate my first soberversary (FYI 26th of August if you wanna be all prepared with the flowers and cake and diamonds.) I have never in my entire life entertained the thought that I could be an aspie. Sure I’m a bit weird but I have always stayed on the right side of weird as in quirky, artsy, unusual but in a rocknroll cool chick muse sort of way not smelly lady who talks in a toothbrush and wears a cape of pig skin. Not that unusual, just unusual enough. Then my boys were getting all sorts of red flags at school and the thought of autism were all of a sudden a reality. My oldest one did the WISC IV and it turns out he’s a god damn genious (IQ of 151!!) and then everyone stopped talking and thought this must be the explanation to his rigid ways and slight weird behaviour. But then we persisted and no, turns out he’s just clever enough to be able to mask most of the things that the autism causes him. So of course I did the only reasonable thing to do: I read all the books and all of the internet. Twice. And then I stumbled across this: http://help4aspergers.com/female-as-traits/
I don’t really have the time to tell you how strongly I was affected when I read this, it was a pure physical sensation. My constant state of unease could perhaps have this one (1) explanation instead of all of those other explanations to why I always had been slightly depressed, constantly stressed out, dreading all social events and just feeling so utterly, totally alone.
Autism (as intelligence by the way :D) is hereditary, there’s something in my genes (and most likely my husbands as well because that would explain A LOT when it come to my mother in law) and it is because of my children I was finally able to see this as a possible explanation. For that I will always be grateful to them. Together we’ll make this work, I’m sure of it.
One last thing. High functioning. High functioning alcoholic, high functioning autist, high functioning ANYTHING … that really is the shittiest place to be. That only means you’re able to pull it off, the charade, the constant theatre where you play the person that has her shit together even though it’s blatantly obvious that not a single little shit holds together. But oh the effort. The work. The energy that goes into playing that part every day. So exhausting and you’re rewarded by getting absolutely no help at all because everyone thinks you have a handle on things. Gah.
Lots of love from the other side of the pool
Still sober, still over-whelmed, still carrying on. Still here.
And my life is so damn chaotic (as per usual). Last week there was a terrible terror attack in a town I used to live in for so many years and it shook me to the core. And my first thought, while weeping and frantically calling all my friends was that I needed a drink. I needed to sooth, to take away the rough edges of reality. But I know it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t take away any of the things that happened or make that little girl live again. All it would do is give me more anxiety. So I let it pass. And I reached out. And I connected and we took part in a huge march of love to show those fuckers that we will not bow down, we will not be scared, we will fight the dark with light and life.
I’m here. Still sober, still a complete mess, still a human being in this world who will face reality with clear eyes and full hearts. We won’t lose.
“There’s a myth in most cultures about following your dreams. It’s called the ‘hero’s journey.’ I prefer another myth to the side of that, or underneath it maybe. It’s called the ‘misfit’s myth,’” she says. “You may not know this yet, but you have the ability to reinvent yourself, endlessly. That’s your beauty.”
“You can be a drunk. You can be an abuse survivor. You can be an ex-con. You can be a homeless person,” she says. “You can lose all your money or your job or your husband or your wife or, the worst thing of all, a child. You can even lose your marbles.”
“You can be standing dead center in the middle all of your failure,” she says, “and still I’m only here to tell you: you are so beautiful and your story deserves to be heard. Because you, you rare and phenomenal misfit– you new species — are the only one in the room who can tell the story the way only you would.”
I’m here darlings. Soberneering, reading, working too much and having a damn fever for 3 weeks in a row that just won’t give. But apparently I have been sober for 180 days in a row!
Really, the last 80 of those have just flown by. If you’re in the beginning and every hour feels like a week, trust me, that will change. I know we all think we are special little snowflakes and yeah yeah, everybody else apparently manages to stop thinking about wine every hour on the hour but that is because they’re not as special as I am! But hey, honey, we’re all special in the same way. Trust me. Wine won’t be your go to answer if you just manage to quit drinking for a while. I still suffer from magical thinking though, I still hope there’s something out there that will just make all my problems and discomfort go away, but while I’m searching for that magic something I’m here, living life – somewhat present, and just … handling stuff as they come along. Keeping on keeping on you know?
Happy New Year, darlings.
2016 seems to have been one of the shittiest years for the world in a long, long time, but for me personally it was the year I finally became sober so for that I am very grateful. I am also grateful that all my loved ones are healthy and that I found this online community, if I had not found all of you I am convinced I would NOT have been able to be free of alcohol for as long as I have (for you daycounters out there: 127 days today).
I’m jotting this down in great haste between peeling artichokes and making fondants but I think of you all the time.
Here’s to waking up in 2017 without anxiety. Now that is worth a toast!
I guess I should feel proud, I mostly feel surprised.
I’ll celebrate properly and be in the basement trying to un-block our sewer that has been backed up in some disgusting way. I guess our childrens excessive use of toilet paper and the rather impressive amount of poo manufactured by said children was just too much for this 100 year old house.
Maybe there is some divine irony in all of this? From feeling like shit on day 1 I will instead stand in actual shit on day 100, feeling great. (And occasionally vomit from the smell, but that’s beside the point.)
Tomorrow I have one hundred sober days. A long long time has passed since my last sleepless, anxietyridden, shamefilled night. I am genuinely surprised I made it.
Jay Z baby
Apparently just two glasses of white wine a day increases the risk for a certain form of invasive melanomas by 73%. That’s a lot y’all. I gather that since I drank approx. 5 glasses a day if you distribute them I’d better take a good look at my pale self.
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without me it's just aweso