Well, hello out there to the few followers I’ve received. This blog is going to take a turn. If you followed for sobriety, that will probably not be a central theme any longer. Now that I’ve cleared that up, invisible internet people: Since the time since I visited, I’ve come face to face with my demons many times. They were shape-shifters: where they were once large & hairy & scary, they are now smaller, and they go for a waxing about as frequently as I do (my eyebrows and lip if you’re interested). When they aren’t on a diet or are drinking too much or maybe get a little upset, all the fear-wielding prowess they have returns; however, this is not often. Not near as often as it was during that terrible January where it felt like my whole world was filled with them.
Some short notes:
-I’ve gotten much closer to my family. These bonds are important to me, and-when I choose to listen- they can be quite helpful.
-I have a good friend. Though I had to tell him we would never be lovers (and reinforce it) our insecurities and littlehairyfuckers (demons) tend to hang around together.
-I have settled my debt with alcohol. It is a friend and enemy. One I must hold tight and at arms-length at the same time. Like beginning a relationship, you don’t want to be clingy and yet you want this thing to stick around.
There are other things I feel belong in the interim. At this point, this post will probably begin to sound like a very personal journal entry, and maybe also a bit like a suicide note. THIS IS NOT A SUICIDE NOTE. Turn back if any of this creepy.
I lost my job today. Once again, my world looks dark, and hairy things abound. But. It’s interesting. I wish I could draw something to illustrate but I’m looking over a cliff. I have to fall. Technically, after being fired, broken-up with, losing my home and on and on, I’ve already been pushed by some god or force beyond my comprehension. I am uneasy. I’m staring down in this red clay abyss and I can see no end to the depth. My hands are covered in the dust from holding on. The small piece of red clay I was dangling from has given way. My fingers released, despite my strength like 1. 2. 3. 4. and there is nothing to hold onto anymore. I’m falling fast towards a certain death.
It would seem I have two choices. I could worry about what it will feel like or what people will think of me going this way. Surely, I could write in my head the back-page obituary describing this tragedy: “a young woman taken too soon by the everyday hazards of modern living. She is survived by mother, father, sister.” I could fret over whether or not I’ll even get an obituary and who will show up to the funeral and-most importantly-what will they say on my Facebook wall after I’m gone??
Well, this all seems rather silly. Who would want their final moments to be composed of thoughts and feelings which make one uncomfortable and worrisome and are completely based on other people’s imagined thoughts and ideas?
The second choice in how I could metaphorically experience ‘falling’ is the link here. It also seems to be how it is happening. I will end now, as I need more wine. I hope to return soon.