Hell Week

The past few days have been hellish in a lot of ways, mostly because I've refused to listen to others, to myself (i.e., the part of me that is still rational and reasonable), and most crucially, to God (my HP).

I know this.

But, I'm still in a funk, and I don't want to hear anything that threatens me, challenges me, or pisses me off even more than I already am.

I'm ashamed and weary of the way in which I've been posting, censoring and editing myself for fear of how it will be received by those reading it. Dammit, this is my blog—my JOURNAL—and it's for me, to express how I'm feeling and how I'm responding to what's going on around me, so if you don't like it, fuck off. It is what it is. I'm not going to pretend everything's hunky-dory when it's not. (And yes, I'm definitely a glass-half-empty kind of girl.)

That said, I also realize that what I'm experiencing right now is not atypical for someone with 80 to 90 days in. In Georgia, when they handed out the chips, they always said something about the 90 day chip being "red for danger." I didn't understand that then, but I do now. I thought then that it was because at 90 days, you'd become complacent and less vigilant, and that a slip could occur because you weren't being watchful and guarded.

Now, I think it's more because you grow weary and despondent at this point, seeing for the first time in a long time what your life is really like, not having a clue how to make it different and better, and seeing the years stretch out before you with no hope of ever REALLY getting better, getting CURED from alcoholism.

It's at this point that I again begin romanticizing drinking: The Beaujolais Nouveau has just come out. Just to taste an Absolut Raspberri cosmopolitan again. A dirty martini is soooo sophisticated. Maybe if I just hold out until I go skiing in January and limit myself to one glass of wine an evening. Plus one cocktail. I must not be a REAL alcoholic, if I can control my drinking that way. And of course, I'll NEVER drink at home again. Or never more than one, anyway, and only if I have 2 hours before R gets home after I drink it. Because, he won't understand that now I know how to control it, and I don't want to worry or hurt him again.

Part of me just wants to give up, and take that first drink, that first step back out.

But the better, smarter part wants to see this through. Because, deep down, I do have a residual glimmer of hope that life WILL get better if I stick this out. That the feelings of despair, depression, and despondency will abate. That I WILL figure out what I'm good at, what my true passion is, what my purpose in being on this planet is. And, I know that if I'm going to do that, if I WANT to do that, I need to do it without alcohol.

I am proud of being sober for 83 days, too. And, I definitely want that "red for danger" 90 day chip.