My 12 Acceptances for today.

1. I accept that people in my life have the disease of alcoholism/addiction and do not have control over their disease.

2. I accept that they may not and do not have to acknowledge their disease or seek any help for that disease and this is not in my control.

3. I accept that their behavior is not them, but a symptom of their disease.

4. I accept that, today, right now, it is harmful to me to be around and be subject to the behavior of addicts and alcoholics and I cannot maintain control if I am without help. Because of this, it is best that I try to avoid any exposure to this behavior until I am better able to manage it and it is less harmful to me.

5. I accept that addict/alcoholic behavior toward me is not a reflection on me and that I must maintain healthy boundaries that are good for me in order to have any type of relationship with these people in the future.

6. I accept that these boundaries are necessary and that consequences are necessary and must be followed through with if boundaries are not respected.

7. I accept that although I cannot have any control or "fix" anyone else's disease, I can and will strengthen myself to be able to manage my own feelings and reactions, both external and internal, to maintain my own health and sanity and not become sick.

8. I accept that regardless of what is said or done to me, I am capable and willing to believe I am a whole person that I can trust to make decisions about my own worth and life choices.

9. I accept that I am responsible for my feelings of self worth, guilt, shame, worthiness of love, anger, sadness, and happiness and that I will trust myself to safely decide which feelings are appropriate and healthy and not a reaction to alcoholic or addict manipulation or behavior that is out of my control.

10. I accept that I can, have and will make mistakes and I am allowed to forgive myself and move forward on a better path.

11. I accept that I will always be damaged/affected by the alcoholism and addiction of people I care about in my life and that I must be vigilant in my own recognition and seek treatment if I become sick because of it.

12. I accept that I am worth accepting these things for myself and those who care about me so I can have a healthy relationship with myself and others.

Dear God...

You know things are getting messy inside me when I start talking to God. Its always my internal red flag that it's TIME.

Indifferent

You said I am different.
You said you noticed.
You said you were afraid.
You tried to kill it.

I kissed the ocean in Mexico
and let it wrap its arms around me.
I rekindled my love affair
I laughed so hard I cried.
I remembered how to use my body.
I felt strong again.

I lost my voice
and sang anyway.
I remembered how to dance
like everyone was watching.

Yes, maybe, yes.
I broke the chain just a bit.
I ran a little free.
I talked a little too loud
And drank a little too much
And found new people
a little too interesting

You said I wasn't myself.
You said I didn't seem to care
Anymore
About what people would think.
You tried to kill it.

But I am not different.
I never cared.
My salty love affair is an old flame
I've danced since I could walk.
My voice has never stopped
I am strong and loud and free
Especially when I drink
a little too much
I only stopped laughing
Because I wasn't me.

I am not different.
I just remembered
And you forgot
Fear reminded me.
Thank Goodness.

I am not different.
I just became indifferent.
Stop trying to kill it.

And you used to have a love affair too
Only with the me you think is so different.
Maybe fear will remind you.
Maybe I won't care.

Why I'm sick of being told I'm too emotional.

Sometime in early 2014...

If only I could blog in detail about everything. I can't. I can't not because I care about my own privacy. I don't. I would share my every thought and feeling in my world with all the world if I could and they wanted to know. But people. People keep secrets and people think their world is none of this world's business.

Maybe that's true.
But if you took the time to click a link and open this blog post, you care about my world for some reason. Maybe you care about it because it's interesting. Maybe you care about it because you hate me and want to see if I fail. Maybe you're nosy. Maybe you're just curious. Maybe you're looking for clues because someone in my world is part of your world too. Or maybe I'm part of your world and you're searching for what's deep inside me. Maybe you're just bored. But, for some reason, you're reading this and that means you want my world to be your business.

But people. Other people just don't care for that sort of thing so I can't share my world when they are part of the story. I guess there are some stories best left untold. I don't mind baring the ugly little pieces of me that make up the little monster inside me that comes out sometimes. Not everything is always pure and beautiful. Although I'd argue that my monster is just as beautiful as my angel. I don't mind even confessing my transgressions or bad thoughts or closet-skeleton-making actions.

BUT PEOPLE. They don't want THEIR story told. And some people wouldn't want to hear parts of mine. Maybe they'd never be able to understand. Maybe they'd never truly hear my explanation. Maybe I wouldn't even give one.

But PEOPLE. So, I cannot blog about every detail. But I can be cryptic. I can be poetic. I can speak in metaphor or that language of shared memories that only some understand. And those who click here or there or somewhere later, they will know. They will see me below the details. And albeit unfair to the nosy ones or the ones out to see me fail, that is probably the best way.

I wrote yesterday that I hope I lived long enough to write the story of my life because everyone in it would have to be dead so they can't read it. My brother said that's because I wouldn't want people to know how I feel about them deep inside. It made me laugh. People know how I feel about them. I have no hidden feelings. They're all out there, worn like skin, all the time. The girl at the counter at 7-11 would know how I felt about her if I felt anything at all about her. The closest people to me know how I feel about them sometimes second to second. They know in words, and laughs, and tears, and crossed arms or furrowed brows, or yelled obscenities Very rarely, they know in silence. Silence is always my final treatise. Irony, eh?  How I feel isn't a mystery to anyone.

There was a time when I was walled off, cold and hard. I kept my feelings in a little vial in my pocket and pulled it out only to poison my life or the people in it. No more of that. No more walls. It was lonely back there. I broke that vial. It was poison. It tried to kill me. No more of that. I wear my emotion like a skin suit. You can see it, you can harm it. You can poke at it and examine it and laugh at it and judge me for it. It's out there in all it's beautiful honesty and rawness. It's out there.

BUT PEOPLE! People tell me to put my feelings away. To, at least, keep a little bit in that damned vial. People keep telling me I'm too emotional. People keep telling me to hide more of myself away. People keep telling me to cover up my skin suit.
No.
No, I will not.
I am emotional, but so are you. You are emotional too. You may have it in a vial in your pocket, you may tuck it away behind your wall. You may try to drown it in alcohol or mute it with pills or choke it with smoke but IT IS THERE.

And DAMN PEOPLE for telling me to go back there. Damn people for having some insane notion that they are somehow more appropriate or correct to hide their tears or stifle their anger or suffocate their pain with a fake smile and excuses like pride and dignity and social propriety.

Oh get REAL. No, I mean it, get R E A L. Smash your vial, use the bricks of your wall to build a stair case and stand up on top of it and scream and cry and shout and laugh and sing.

When you get up there, you'll understand. You'll stop telling me to stop being "so emotional". I'm no more emotional than you. I am simply more honest. I am simply fully open.  I am simply atop the platform I built with the bricks of the wall I tore down when I was like PEOPLE! That thing that looks like a hot mess crying and seeming to sputter every word that is running through her head in real time; that thing is called FREEDOM.

*If you still don't understand why the players in my story would have to be dead for me to write it, then reread. Sheesh. PEOPLE!!

3 Beers Mom

So, after I made my proclamation that being a hot mess drunk wasnt working for me, I stuck to the plan and did not, in fact, get drunk at any point yesterday. I also felt like crap anyway, but thats entirely beside the point. I went diving in the morning with my "baby" son (the only one left not taller than me yet but give him a minute). And by the way, we had a blast. Then I spent the afternoon with my middle son (incidentally taller than me).

And after spending about an hour on the beach with me, he started demanding that I drink a beer. I refused but he kept insisting so I gave in and attempted a beer. After that I ordered a coffee. And he looked so disappointed and began again insisting that I drink some kind of alcohol.
Ok. What? So, heres a sloppy summarization of how the conversation went down over a period of about 4 hours.
Boy: So I read on your blog you were going to stop trying to bebe drunk on the beach. Whats up with that?
Mom: Yeah. Wasnt making life go away. Wasnt working.
Kid: Mom, have a drink! C'mon. A beer. Tequila. Something.
Mom: Wtf? (Yeah.. I say WTF to my kids. I'm certain that if you're reading this you know that is perhaps the least of the parenting fails you should judge me for.)
Kid: Mom, You're so lame when you aren't drinking. Seriously, drink.
Mom: No! Pusher! I dont want to!
Kid: But I like 3 beers mom a lot better.
Mom: WTF?
Kid: Have some tequila.
Mom: Tequila and beer arent the same.
Kid: I like Tequila Mom too.
Mom WTF??
Kid: "You're like the complete opposite of an alcoholic, Mom. When you're sober, you are lame and when you're drunk you are awesome." 
Mom: laughing now Wtf??!?
Kid: Mom! After 3 beers, you just say 'I dont give a fuck' (yeah.. he said the eff word TO ME) and you have fun and dont worry about the sickness and that lady at home or any of that stuff. You just laugh and have fun and do whatever you want. I like that Mom better. "Life is short Mom" is way better.
Mom: Cervesa, por favor!

I did try. I still couldnt get far because I felt too bad but I got 3 beers in when I was ready and then came home and smiled at the boys. I had to go to bed after that because yesterday was a sick day but I'm cool with being 3 beers mom. Life is short, after all. Very very short. And my sons are maybe the coolest people ever. That middle one, he's my favorite today. ;)