A New Kind of Year

Steeled Soul, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

2010 was a tumultuous, sickening, exhilarating, devastating and  an all around eventful year. I was so glad to be entering 2011 with all of the pieces of my life put back where I thought they oughta be. D and I had reconciled - although we still didn't have any idea what to do with this relationship to make and keep it healthy for both of us. My kids were doing well at home and at school - although I was starting to emotionally separate from my daughter in apprehension of her "leaving me" and going to college. My relationships with my mom and dad were both intact and everyone was - for the most part- happy and healthy.  I was at poverty level financially, but felt very wealthy in terms of friends and family. 


Part of any relationship is sharing with the other those things that make one feel special and cared for - and being honest about the things that don't. Being able to say "Hey! This is not okay!" is crucial to the health of a partnership. And I am not good at it. I am good at pouting. I am good at obscure references and the silent treatment. I can drop hints and exaggerated sighs like a B2 Bomber. But the straightforward approach escapes me.

This year, when planning out holiday celebrations with various family factions, it just so happened that D will be spending New Years Eve in Kansas with his family hunting and opening presents. I, on the other hand, am childless and now boyfriend-less on this very special milestone holiday. And while my brain gets the logistics of what our situation is, the little brat inside of me is throwing a temper tantrum because I don't get my way - I don't get to dress up, party, and kiss my boyfriend at midnight. Ugh. Such a terrible plight. 


But really, it's more than that. I don't want to spend any holidays by myself.


I spent the previous week simpering and sighing every time that NYE came up in conversation (something I do before every holiday or special occasion that doesn't pan out my way). I repeated all of my finely honed poor communication skills - with the expected poor results. Finally, in an obviously-channeled-from-a-healthy-person session, I very clearly said: Hey, I have to tell you something. I have a problem. I am not okay with being alone on holidays. And you know what? It was easy! And good! It works! Did D change his plans and ruin his kids' time with their grandparents so that I could have my way on NYE? No. Thank goodness. But we were able to have a conversation about my feelings and expectations.


I was surprised to learn that NYE is not that big of a deal to my boyfriend. I count it as one of my "High Holidays". I reminded him of how special the NYE we spent in Boston was. Of how much fun we had going to see Benjamin Buttons another year - we went to the theatre in one year and came out of the theatre in another year, etc.


Yet, today when I was getting my head and heart right to be okay with being "alone" tonight, it dawned on me: when I was reminding him of the special NYE celebrations we have enjoyed over the past few years, I did not mention last year. Not one word was spoken about the transition from 2010 to 2011, even with all of it's drama and events. You know why?


I can't remember what we did. Or if we were even together. 


I will have two special gifts for myself as we go in to the new year - one is the ability to trust that I can express my wants and needs in a healthy, constructive way. The other will be a newly written reflection of 2011. I don't want to spend anymore time this year dreading things that haven't happened or might not be as bad as I think they will be. I want to celebrate and be grateful for those moments full of joy and contentment.


Happy New Year, my friends. <3


 
 

A Brand New Day

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Now is the Time

Implemental Slumber, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

In my mind, I am a terribly wonderful friend to have. Sweet, giving, understanding, easy to get along with and lots of fun to hang out with.

And I am. Some of the time.

But I also seem to have another person living in me. Another person who can make a guest appearance at any given, random time. This person is nasty, peevish, cruel, judgmental, ruuuuude, and irrational to say the least.

I shouldn't say that this person shows up randomly - it really isn't as random as I would like. She can show up any random time I am drinking.

I have spent the last 15 years trying to decipher her code, trying to ward off her appearance and to somehow predict her pattern. She just does so much damage all the while using my name and my mouth.

Maybe she only comes when I don't eat enough before I drink. Or maybe I shouldn't drink cheap(er) alcohol. Maybe I was just out of my element this time, giving her a foot in the door. Perhaps I was really emotional this time drinking and that brought her around. Maybe I just don't metabolize alcohol the same since I quit smoking, and my body will come back in to balance with time. Maybe it was because I was hormonal. Or maybe I shouldn't mix my alcohols. Maybe I should only drink wine. Or beer. Or blahblahblah ad nauseum..

It is sad how much time and effort I have had to put in to repairing damage caused in my personal life (and maybe my professional life if I am honest about it). I have hurt people that I care about so very much, I have embarrassed the man that I love with my whole heart, and have made my family come to me with their concerns more than once.

Why would I continue down this road? I obviously have failed to figure out how to drink without having it turn out badly every so often. In fact, this game of Russian Roulette has more live rounds in the gun than it does blanks - more sorrowful Saturday mornings trying to piece together what chaos I have wreaked upon my loved ones than not.

The only way to guarantee victory over this particularly damaging part of my life is this:

I admit that I have a problem with alcohol. And I am committed to living my life alcohol-free from this day forth.

Not because I think it will make my life better, or fix any problem that I have right now - I just know that if I drink anymore it will make my life exponentially worse. And I am tired of hurting myself by destroying relationships and opportunities just because I haven't figured out the "right formula".

And I know that there will be many people in my world who will doubt that I can follow through on this intention - and that is okay. If I focus on what everyone else expects of me, I am sure to fail. And I may fail anyway - who knows?

But I have to say that the joy and freedom that comes to me through this decision (Yay! "She's" never coming back to hurt me or anyone else!) is liberating.

I feel free. And hopeful. And ambitious. And ...well, I feel good. Something I haven't felt in a long time.

Merry Christmas to you and me! <3

Happy Fat

Vol, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

One of the only benefits to having a broken heart is the "Break up and Die" diet. Good GRIEF that was awesome! I lost every ounce of weight that I put on when I quit smoking in three weeks! I had the best time pulling my favorite outfits out of solitary confinement (otherwise known as the "I will fit into this again one day, I swear to God" section of the closet). Honestly, it was like getting a whole new wardrobe! A whole new wardrobe that most of which had since become outdated - and was promptly sent to Goodwill.

When BF and I got back together, I slowly put back on that ole Quit Weight. However, it couldn't be called Quit Weight anymore - now it could only be called Happy Fat.

Happy Fat stinks. It won't exercise off, it won't starve off, it won't melt off with sauna heat - noooo, Happy Fat is here to stay.

I am grateful that Happy Fat can be camouflaged and hidden with the right clothing, but I want to dance naked (in my own home when noone is there, by the way) at least one more time before I turn into an old lady - and Happy Fat doesn't dance naked.

The only solution that I can think of is the "Break up and Die" diet, and every once in awhile I get desperate enough to contemplate starting the process.

Thankfully - my heart knows how to trump my vanity and will shake some sense back into my head.

I just wish that when my heart shook some sense into my head, my Happy Fat wouldn't jiggle so much.

Morosity Exposed

Steel Peacock, a photo by tielji on Flickr.

For the record, Morosity isn't a word. Not a real one, anyway.

I don't care. (Not caring is called apathy. Apathy is a real word.)

Morosity - a constant state of morose-ness. (I made this up)

mo·rose   [muh-rohs]
adjective
1.gloomily or sullenly ill-humored, as a person or mood.
2.characterized by or expressing gloom.

Good grief - I have always thought of myself as a relatively cheery and optimistic person.

It was BF who rather bluntly enlightened me with the news that I am showing all of the symptoms of chronic depression. (He wasn't that nice or elegant about it, though.)

I think the term "Chronic Depression" in itself is too broad, too much of a cop-out for everyday maladies and bad attitudes. A catch-all phrase, a generic way of explaining away being lethargic and uninspired.

I think I am just a morose person!

A beautiful sunset is mourned because it changes too quickly and goes away - never to be seen again.

A tender moment of holding hands brings a peculiar ache to the heart as the hands will separate soon and the closeness experienced will be encroached upon by time and distraction.

The joy of a reunion with a loved one is overshadowed by anticipation of the impending pain of separating again.

Morosity. I don't want it anymore. Going to find me some endorphins and serotonins and marshal my gloom and doom thoughts right on out the door until I can see sunshine in my heart again.

I can only hope it lasts... *sigh*

(Ha! See? I made a funny joke! Take THAT, morosity!)