I’m in the Right Place

The bottle has found its way back into my hands. Down my throat. Into my marriage. As it ALWAYS does, when I let it. This was a choice I clearly made. The bottle didn’t jump into my grocery bag, into the “juice” to help make it go down faster. I picked it up clear as day. I placed it into the grocery basket and quickly covered it with my tote bag. Just another shopper. Surely people buy vodka at noon in workout gear all the time. Like every other third day. In a hat. Looking down. Making small talk as the bagger places the big fat bottle into your cute little tote….AGAIN.
Obviously I am no stranger to this scenario. Unfortunately, I have lived this the last 3 weeks or so. My grand excuse, which kinda has some validity, is anxiety. I had an interview. Right. Many many folks go through an interview each and every day. We all need money to survive this crazy world. To get in the door, magic words need to zing off the paper and capture attention. Then, the smile and enthusiasm must come through as pressured questions are fired at you during an interview. Pressured answers swirl around the mind. Yes…leadership. Of course I’ve shown it this way. Motivation..of course its just an internal quality. What would I do in this situation..well, let me tell you. I am fucking marvelous. Enough said.
No call backs. Only rejection emails. Thanks..yada yada yada. But, my mind won’t stop the nonsense of obsessing about what I should have said. I did think the interview went well. I wasn’t qualified in some ways, but perhaps overqualified in others. So, I was okay with the outcome I thought. My mind continuously reminded me day after day, night after night, of better answers. For fuck’s sake why didn’t you say you are a mandated reporter. Geez, its obvious you could handle a fire in the galley. Did you say that..NO! Without warning or cause, these thoughts bombarded me. It was tooooo much.
So down the liquid went. The courage I have now in social situations is amazing. Look at me talking you up, making promises, suggestions. Then the next day left wondering what I might have said. Did I make a lunch date? Oh shit. Am I supposed to be somewhere, return a call? Black out drinking has become my specialty as of late. The anxiety this causes only steers the anxiety ship further into deep waters. The self doubt depths I am in now is horrendous. I can’t touch bottom. Floating in ambiguity is so painful. Why do I allow my ship to reach such treacherous waters? Why don’t I reach to shore sooner?
The bottle is mesmerizing. Problem solver guru of sorts. Ensures confidence. Promises success with its secret power. Secret. Super secret plan.
My footsteps are so heavy right now. Full of guilt. Shame. Disgust. How can I be here again? Seriously. I’m working out. I’m painting. I’m cleaning the house. I’m paying attention to my cat. Alone. I’m alone. Unstructured time has always been my enemy. For whatever reason. Its not the right time to figure that piece out. I just know it doesn’t work for me. But, its my reality right now. Home alone, with a lot of time on my hands. What to do? What to do?
Pass the tissues please as I sit in an AA meeting and raise my vulnerable shaking hand to say I am a newcomer once again. Tears fall. I fumble my name just a bit. I am told I am in the right place. Smiles of reassurance abound. Familiar faces greet me with a hug. There wasn’t a sigh of relief per se. But a deep breath out, allowing the thought of recovery in. Okay. Just maybe I Am in the right place.

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Here I Go…..tomorrow!

I spent most of the day in bed. Staring at the shadows the bright bright sunshine, filtered through drawn curtains, created.  I cried into the midnight black fur of my kitty.  He nestled into me.  Beating my neck as he likes to sit/lay on my shoulder.  It was 1pm. I set my alarm for 2:30.  Declaring I would get up and do SOMETHING today.  I didn’t really sleep.  I lay semi quietly listening to him breathe.  Petting him.  Loving him.  Feeling like he is my only friend in the world.

Perhaps he is.  I haven’t told him I have bipolar disorder.  But, I think he notices my moods.  He kept pushing his little head into my mine.  Pets can be so comforting.  He is an amazing addition to our household.  I think he is good for me.

Being off work is not good for me.  Having no structure is not good for me.  So…one might suggest I build structure.  I mean, man, to be able to create one’s own structure for the day..how marvelous.  I can paint. I can hike. I can eat. I can watch TV. I can write. I can….but I don’t.  Why its so damn hard for me I do not know.  The sky is the limit right now!  I can go to the beach.  I can drive far and wide.  Yet, retreat to my bedroom under my covers I go.

My husband is not like this.  Not only does he not have bipolar disorder, he doesn’t really have a lazy bone in his body.  He wakes at 5am no matter what day it is. I can hear him unloading the dishwasher by 5:15 if it needs it.  He leaves in the dark and right now comes home in the dark.  Then will make dinner when I haven’t made a plan.  On weekends, he is up with headphones on working on quicken, making sure I don’t have a job doesn’t impact us.  He can’t wait for the sun to come up so he can work in the garden.  He looks around our house and thinks of ways to redecorate.   I…am not like him.

When I was working full time, I had many excuses as to how tired I was.  I couldn’t handle planning taking a shower, planning my work wardrobe, lunch and dinner for the week.  Then I worked part time.  Still, couldn’t pull off all the wifely duties seems I should.  Now. I don’t work.  Laundry in the dryer.  dishes in the sink.  No dinner planned.

I rush to judgement. I rush to shame. What in the world is wrong with me?  I have basically 10 hours from the time my husband leaves to when he gets home from working all damn day to contribute.  I choose to cuddle and shed tears with my kitty.  Maybe not everyday.  But too many days are spent like this.  I do look for jobs over coffee. Diligently. I then tell myself I do not qualify for anything. I am a sham. I fake.  A fraud.  The title that was created for me in my last brief employment is really a lie.  when I resigned, they did not ask why for a reason.  They did not fight for me.  They did not seem to care.

Funny thing, I played tennis on Tuesday after  a very long layoff.  I used to play competitively until..panic attacks, bipolar depression, hospitalizations.  The overall inability to move for much of the time.  I hit very well. I do have to say.  I felt free.  I hit the ball without abandon..or is that with abandon.  I’m not sure.  BUT!  As with me, I have all or nothing thinking.  Black and white thinking.  I played for hours despite my body telling me otherwise.  I kept going to prove I could. To prove..I’m still here.  To prove I exercise for a reason.  To prove bipolar disorder cant ruin everything.

I have a huge blister. probably a right of passage honestly.  But, it just means I can’t play again. I wanted to play today.  Had I taken it slow.  Acknowledged I haven’t played in well over a year, with new shoes to boot, perhaps I could be on the court today.  Not in bed.  Perhaps, my husband wouldn’t have needed to remind me this is what I do.  Self sabotage in a way.  l have to have it all right now.  Right this minute.  Right. This. Fucking. Minute.  I need to feel good right NOW!! and I did.

But, the crash after.  The non movement yesterday sidelined by a blister that could be avoided if only I knew moderation.  The crash still today.  I am at a crossroads of sorts.  I have choices still. I can choose to go to the beach tomorrow.  I’m not so down that I need outpatient or the hospital.  But, its a slippery slope.  One day in bed, leads to two.  Leads to…its not a good path.  I know this.  I have lived this.  I have beaten this mindset before.

My only commitment for tomorrow, for right now, is to go to the gym.  To sweat out this funky funk!  The weather is amazing for February.  I need to find shadows outside under trees, not in my curtain drawn bedroom.  Here I go….tomorrow!