i got your flambe, buddy...

there are many, many reasons why i am difficult to live with (but fun to hang out with, dear reader - never forget that!). learning to live in my abstinence of alcohol has been yet another challenge to my rather fortunate, not-very-challenged-in-the-drinking-department husband, who, confound it, can drink one beer and be done with it.

[yes, i used to envy the "skinny" girls in school, too - why do you ask?]

the trouble with him is that he is a chef and believes that he knows about all things culinary, including cooking with alcohol, and that it is "safe because it cooks out." i can honestly say that while he has been supportive of my attending AA meetings and not picking up, he does not understand it.

at all.

we have had very open discussions that have had the potential to turn into enormous battles, but what has tagged along with my newfound sobriety is the ability to "let it go."

most times.

when it comes to the topic of alcohol in cooking, however, this is one i have not been able to let go because he simply does not "get it."

friday night was a particularly bad one for me, craving-wise. i asked him, in my best "honey, i need your help -- can you help me?" voice, to dump all the liquor in the house (save for his precious Yuengling Lagers which i have no problem having because they are not Cornonas with lime, tyvm). he was more than happy to oblige, but informed me after my meeting that he kept the "Marsala and Medeira wines because i need them for when i make sauces."

the fact that in the 20 years of being with this man that he has only made Chicken Marsala on one occasion has no bearing on the instant matter and means nothing to him (or me, as you will quickly learn). he wanted to hold onto it, "just in case."

i said, "gee, well.....when you make this sauce, please don't expect me to eat any of it."

with that, he rolled his eyes. (oh no, you DI-INT!) oh yes, he did. And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air.....

i lit up like a pan of bananas foster.

this was our second such discussion in a matter of a week's time and i had no patience for the reasoning behind or debating of the issue. he started arguing about how alcohol cooks out of food. i proceeded to explain to him what i learned from reading on the internet about how much alcohol is actually retained and that there is something called a phenomenon of craving, and i could pretty much tell he shut down at this point so i did too.

(just because i am an alcoholic doesn't mean i am mature about everything. it just means i am rigorously honest and pretty freaking stubborn.)

after a rather lengthy silence in the diner as he pored over his menu and i looked out the window, hurt and rejected that he just doesn't. freaking. get. it., i looked at him and asked him if he has done anything at all to learn about my dis-ease? has he, instead of checking sports statistics on the 'net, done any research about what you can do to help yourself while a loved one is in recovery? i was told by a member on saturday that if he doesn't "get it," it is okay because nothing should impede my progress, regardless of whether he "gets it" or not. i understand that, but i seek to be understood.

we ended our dinner peacefully, but i am thinking that i have so much more work to do on myself, i should just let *whatever* go and let God take care of him for me.

(oh, and i helped God [just a little] with what i printed out from the site linked, above, and stuck near his iPod, just in case he needed something to read before he left for work on Saturday...)

i think as i approach the weekends, i can feel my inward self start craving. that must be it. in addition to the lack of funds that really is overtiring to discuss, Christmas shopping with $0 after only an hour is equally as overtiring to the point of exhaustion, mentally.

so i found myself terribly agitated and even entertained the thought of having a glass of wine and calling it a night after my hour-long venture. i am learning through my meetings (sorry Micky, whoever you are, dear one) that you should turn things over to your Higher Power (which is in my case God, Jesus, Holy Spirit -- go Triune or go home...) and replace the thought with something of gratitude.

how do you think that was working for me, yesterday? uh, not so well. i was talking to Him in the car on the way to the meeting i reluctantly attended -- day 17 of sobriety yesterday, look at me thinking i have wiggle room for reluctance -- and out loud told Him i didn't feel grateful, that i am so sick of being poor, that i think this whole thing is "too little, too late" because our finances are still in such a state of disrepair. seriously, God -- what the fuck? what is the point of not picking up a drink if things aren't going to get any better?

and so it went, as i was in most of my day, during my commute to my meeting i remained up in my head.

then of course, our meeting was on Step Two, Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity... what, me insane? that is preposterous (said the girl who has conversations with herself all day...) but the noise and my angst slowly eased as we read and i listened to the folks do their sharing. not a "glum lot": funny. insightful, wise. sober. grateful to be there, it started settling in me, as well.

this is my favorite meeting, there is a tremendous amount of wisdom and warmth, support and encouragement in this room, and i feel better before i leave. i discuss with some ladies how many days i've been without alcohol and get chastised (just a little) about not picking up the phone to reach out and call someone instead of staying in my head. duly noted; am new at this.

i have so much to learn, but for today, the lesson i take from yesterday is that i did not drink, i did not act out on my other junk, and i have been given another opportunity to make things better for today.

staying in my day instead of my head.


(collage by Robert Magginetti)

Day 5 - 90 in 90/Day 12 of Sobriety

butterfly bush
Originally uploaded by martha2

am feeling fragile, like my delicate butterfly bush i have pictured here. am wistful for the summer so i could (a) get through these holidays, and (b) be further along in my recovery, which for whatever reason, started to hit a wall today.

open and honest: feeling a little resentful that i cannot have a glass of wine. it's friday night, i went to a very crowded meeting and that was probably what prevented me from ordering a drink when we went to dinner afterward. i actually was shaking from not getting what i wanted.

shaking.

i pray that tomorrow will be easier. i know i am a "weekend warrior" drinker, whose habits were starting to filter into my week day, as well. i did fine last friday, which i know is now over, as is this one. i did not pick up and thank God i didn't.

but fuuuuck. i wanted to so badly.

extremes

there has been an intermittent conversation in the last thread of comments between me and another blogger regarding her son's and my paxil withdrawal symptoms (or per my drug manufacturer, "discontinuation syndrome") (what was that phrase by Shakespeare? a rose by any other name?) and Gabrielle so kindly stated:

Just minutes before reading JW's comment and your own re "jolts and zaps", I watched a YouTube about Paxil withdrawal. Just terrible. I had been under the impression that as you reduced your intake, and were feeling badly, it was because your anxiety was kicking back in and triggering terrible symptoms. But it's actually Paxil withdrawal symptoms, isn't it.

yup. and it isn't pretty. i confided in my doctor (and you, dear readers) that i didn't feel it was being as *effective* as it once was and was suffering other side effects from the medication itself, so instead of increasing it, he wanted to switch me up. no, it isn't my anxiety returning but honestly, how could it not since i feel like i am floating one minute and being internally electrocuted the next? just this morning, after an exhausting night of continuous nightmares and images in can't readily shake from my mind, i could feel my frustration level mounting as i tried to put on a necklace for work, it eased a bit, then i realized i left my coffee upstairs and burst into tears. extreme emotions, and i am not even close to ready to discuss work yesterday.

however, i feel as if i have a bit of hope shining in the distance because i know i will be taking something as of monday that will start to level me out again. (Lord willing i make it til monday....) conversely, i am now reading about Effexor and the side-effects/withdrawal symptoms and am now wondering what to do. i don't want to experience this again, but my history of panic attacks and depression is significant (and if my sisters or brothers are reading this, sorry i've never shared it all with you, pumpkins -- it's just one of those *dark* things my family doesn't know entirely about because you wouldn't want to...) and i am uncertain if i could travel that road again, either.

in the meantime, since i have now visited YouTube and found if not the same article Gabrielle was talking about, one that may offer clarity, below, to those of you interested enough to learn more, satisfy your curiosity, or not. i watched this one by ABC News and clicked on a couple other home vids to confirm i am not losing my mind.

i think.

confined.

what a difference a terrible night's sleep can make.

short-fused this morning.

when the words are on the tip of your tongue immediately and you really don't have that "count to 10 rule" cushion before you say anything, it is exceedingly difficult dealing with a rolling-of-the-eyes 14 year-old when it comes to talking about laundry and the past five-freaking-day-weekend and why can't you help, even just a little bit?

• no friends over.
• no computer until i get home from work.
• inches away from no cell phone.
  

Lord, have mercy. apparently, we are in jail.

Day 6

Since I really didn't experience much by way of withdrawal symptoms the first two days sans Paxil, I guess I needed to make up for lost time these past four days.

Just a brief recap: this whole "weaning off so the symptoms will be less" is not cool...for me or for anyone who comes in contact with Captain Potty Mouth and Attitude to Match. Moreover, the physical withdrawals are so random and so quirky, I feel like I simply twitch for no reason or get jolted for good measure, like I am not paying close enough attention and God is giving me an internal shock to launch me into service.

Service of what? Then I mentally debate it, why it is happening, over and again, the internal dialog that doesn't seem to quiet down, ever.

The worst, however, is the anxiety -- the extreme anxiousness I felt when facing something like walking to the Ladies' room at a restaurant: actually having to consider for 20 minutes the walking by people, what if I see people I know and they want to talk to me, deciding against it before actually feeling so uncomfortable it was no longer an option.

The fact that it took me 20 minutes before I could muster up the courage is ridiculous notion to most, humorous to others, but debilitating to me, who actually experienced it.

It totally sucked