Other Parts of the Whole
Mostly I use this blog to complain about my abusive relationship with alcohol — and make no mistake, we abuse each other. It’s totally a two-way street.
But there are more things in heav’n and earth, Horatio…
My polyamorous relationship of 4-ish years just dissolved January 13th. I shouldn’t say ‘dissolved’ because that implies no one is dating any more, which is not true. D & H remain together, while I remain a much beloved but separate best friend and roommate.
This is both more and less painful than the alternatives.
I don’t feel like writing about this now but I have ignored it for a month and don’t feel like I should ignore it any longer.
It wasn’t a surprise. I’d been falling out of love for a while and apparently so had they. I hoped (and still hope) for marriage and possibly, if I ever feel mentally prepared, kids someday. They have no interest in either. My interests have diverged in totally different directions.
I am not angry, surprised or overly hurt.
I did cry a lot. We all did.
After all the talking was over we hugged and it felt more true than anything we’d done in months.
I do not feel like my home is broken. I don’t feel like I need or even want to leave, and they would like for me to stay if I feel comfortable doing so. They still want me to come out to California when I finish my nursing degree here in Philly.
That’s not to say it isn’t awkward. Or painful.
There have been meltdowns and crying jags. I am coping. Sometimes I run out of cope. I sat in my car and had a total breakdown because, with two sprained ankles, I could not carry the groceries up the stairs and D was asleep and H at work and I discovered that I had no one to call on to help me.
Most days aren’t that bad.
Last night I confessed to H that I was swallowing a lot of my feelings during this strange period of rebuilding. Swallowing felings of worthlessness, of being unwanted, of not knowing if I could ever be a good partner or lover…
I wish she had been able to give me more reassurance.
I no longer no where I fit. I am not cast out or unwanted, but neither am I embraced, nor can I take back my place ‘inside’.
D is talking about taking a road trip to see his parents and brother. Previously I would have been welcomed. Now I don’t even know how to ask if I am or not. I don’t even know if I want to go, or should go.
I don’t know a lot of things any more.
I am crying now, too badly to see. I am hurt, but more than hurt I am scared and lonely. I still have school but it’s so hard to care about that right now. I’m supposed to be writing a research paper for my nursing class but it’s so far from my mind I can’t even see it from here.
I don’t want to die but I do not know how I’m going to survive — the next week, or this next year and a half until I (hopefully) finish my degree.
I feel so alone. I feel like I failed. I feel not good enough for anyone to ever want or love. I feel so lost. I feel like all the little parts are dissolving, leaving no trace of the person I am.
I hope it gets better soon. I hope I find my strength soon. I don’t know how to live like this, broken into pieces.
Intervention
Agh! I’ve been watching Intervention all day and I’m pretty sure I would do anything short of homicide for a few bottles of alcohol.
Someone please explain to me why I could quit smoking cold turkey after that terrible trip back from Delaware, but I can’t (and don’t even completely want to) get away from alcohol?
I Really Had To Decide?
Last night my boyfriend accused me of drinking a not-insignificant amount of alcohol while he and my girlfriend were out of the house. I did drink it, but not in the time period he thinks. It was actually more of a 3-4 day project. Regardless, he then said that since I had drunk it in that amount of time and then left the house, I must have driven drunk (I did not), and he was done with me. He went to the kitchen and poured out all the rest of the alcohol (something I’d asked him to do ages ago which he wouldn’t then agree to). He then said that I could buy what I wanted and hide it where I want and he couldn’t stop me, but that he wanted plausible deniability when I did finally kill myself so that he could say, “I didn’t know she was drinking, officer.”
This relationship is so dead. I am living with its corpse.
And the thing I had to decide? I really had to stop and think whether I was going to get help or get even.
I’m still leaning towards getting even since I drank away anything we might’ve once had and he wouldn’t know how to be compassionate or supportive if I handed him two pages at a fifth grade reading level.
So, here I am.
Happy Yule.
Unusual?
if I had to blame anyone or anything for my alcoholism it would absolutely be the mental health system for being unable to help me.
The therapists could never help me. The drugs could never help me. Nothing could ever make me feel better or able to cope.
Not my parents, who always loved me as well and as hard as they could and gave me as much as they could. Not my partners who always loved me as best they could and supported me as much as they were able.
No, I blame a system who always seemed more concerned with my insurance payment than my health, with examining me as some sort of specimen instead of helping me, with never being vested in me as a person and instead as in me as a case history.
If I die, I blame all of YOU — not my parents or lovers.
Just in case there are any questions.
Dissolution
I’m drunk right now, no one knows it, I’m writing responses for my classes and feeling like a genius, I’m petting the cat and feeling connected to the world and I’m so free of anxiety I feel fun and happy and like I can function.
I hate alcoholism but I love being drunk.
Time To Tell?
I wish I knew who in my life to tell about this blog. I want feedback, I need validation, or someone to say, “I hear your struggles and I wish you well.” Not a lot — not hand holding or even commiseration (though it would certainly be welcome)… Just something coming back from the ether, letting me know I’m not alone.
We had a really good character creation session for our new D&D-derivative game last night.
I felt hurt when David said he was tired of always being the creative one (in regards to coming up with backgrounds and hooks).
I feel even more hurt and upset when I think about it and realise I just can’t hold a candle to him when it comes to creativity.
…I wanted to put a whole post here about writing and creating and maybe even try a few lines of flash fiction… But instead I’m overcome with sadness and depression that we did not all (as a triad) get to get high together last night, that he slept poorly and left the bedroom in a huff this morning because he couldn’t sleep, that there is so much to do today before he leaves for Europe for 3 weeks, that we will have a house full of random furries tonight sleeping over before their flight out tomorrow…
I can’t even bear the idea of trying to create from inside this well of misery I’ve just slipped and tumbled down.
I suppose it’s time for more World of Warcraft.
Not Playing That Game
No, I do not want to go to a double feature movie night. I don’t want to watch a Superhero/comic book movie and I’ve seen Event Horizon eleventy-zillion times. John’s couch is terribly uncomfortable and don’t even get me started on the stools at the ‘art bar’. Costco lasgna, while yummy, is like a rock in my tummy later. Besides, the biggest sticking point is I don’t particularly WANT to spend 4-5 hours of my night hanging out with people whom I’ve NOTHING in common with and who, in fact, we spend more time slagging off than extolling the virtues thereof.
Call me antisocial and roll your eyes if you like, but if it were MY friends you’d do the exact same.
Loss of Self
You goaded, guilted and scared me into giving up everything that made me, ‘Me’. Smoking, drinking, cutting, vampires, medievalism, paganism…
Now all I’m left with are some props, scars and band T-shirts and you acting surprised and offended when I “don’t have any personality, hobbies or interests.”
