I don't know if it's an insult, but God's making good choices very easy to me. It's almost like he doesn't think I could make good ones on my own. Oh wait. No, no I definitely can't.
I just moved out to Capitol Hill and if you walk out of my apartment and go right there is Pine / Broadway and a ton of bars. If you go left there's a church.
It took some time, and a few failures but I chose to go left this morning.
Now, if you haven't had the pleasure of dealing with me, I'm a crabby bitch until I get a small dose of reality in the morning.
So, after entering Captiol Hill Presbyterian, my annoying small bladder and I headed to the bathroom. When washing my hands I saw the other stall door open, and a sweet old lady in a gray velour jumpsuit (I can't wait to be old and wear that every day) walk out. "She's going to talk to you, and you have to be nice" I tell myself. I said a quick prayer along the lines of "please don't let me be a condescending bitch to this sweet old lady" and it worked.
I ended up sitting with her, she told me all about communion and introduced me to Pastor James among others. Then service started.
FYI, I'm a fuck up. I have so many issues and things wrong with me that they've given them names and categorized them as a disease making rehab centers and 12 step programs to fix them. When I introduce myself in meetings I get to say "Hi I'm Kris, I'm an alcoholic, anorexic, bulimic and compulsive overeater and some say overachiever."
I'M SO FUNNY.
What I heard today in sermon was something I had been needing spelled out for me.
Sin isn't a private matter. It doesn't just affect me. Following that statement, we are taught that we're a product of our own decisions, insisting that our successes are all on us, self-made, as well as our failures. We making them all by our little selves, getting to deal with them alone.
BUT this is a muthafuckin' lie.
Want to know why? You bet you do. Because we're never alone. God or your higher power (I'm going to just refer to Him as God) never leaves, the light, His light, is always there, your eyes have to be open to it.
When something is wrong, you want to fix it.
When I got my DUI and totaled Pearl, my mom was focused on why. On what was going on in my head (I told her it was a whole lot of vodka and beer—she didn't like that answer) when I chose to drive. She wanted to put blame, find a reason, and fix it.
In program we are taught to live our day one hour at a time, because that's all we have.
Focusing on why is us wanting control. We want to blame. Which is natural, but even as you find out why that still means the problem is there.
Instead, focus on how you can fix what's broken. Focus on the healing, the light in the dark. When you stop focusing on WHY and LET GO…that's when you are practicing faith. When there's something out of whack, something bent, off kilter or whatever that's a place for Jesus to come in and make it whole.
His work is being displayed in me. I am broken, I am cracked, I am weak but his light is filling me up. He is showing me that He is there for me, that I can make better decisions, I can become the person he intended me to be. And in turn, I can lift up others.
Hmm thinking of others, that's a big concept for me, I think I've hit my limit for good / nice / self-realization things for today, maybe even a quota for the week.
Score.
<3
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Part II : Drive Drunk : Get Fucked.
You always hear this but I'm not going to be creative and use my writing skills because well this statement is true-It all happened so fast.
The glow of my cell phone fade after sending my friend a text. Looking down for somewhere to put my phone. My head whipping forward my body being jerked back by my seat belt. The unmistakable crunch of my car against another. My adrenaline pulsing, pumping.
Then everything slowed down, I left my body and watched myself come to the realization of what just happened. My hands shaking uncontrollably as I turned the keys. Crying, screaming, “Shit. Shit. Shit,” as the engine failed to start. This is really fucking happening. Right now. You just totaled your car. Oh God and you’re drunk.
Fuck.
PAUSE. Now, to address those of you assholes who are about to shake your head at me and my stupidity, my ignorance and my actions in what follows-SHUTTHEFUCKUP. I know I shouldn’t blow in the field, admit to drinking and driving, so crying in front of the officer. But if we are going that route you might as well throw in, I shouldn’t have driven. I shouldn’t have drank. I shouldn’t have called my ex. I shouldn’t have chugged vodka. BUT I FUCKING DID. Hence why there’s a story to be told. There are a million things I SHOULDN’T have done but this is what I did. So save it, because let me tell you, there wasn’t an hour for about 6 months that I didn’t think those thoughts myself.
PLAY.
Back to me ruining my life.
I hopped out of the car and ran home. THAT is how close I was. I barged through the door. Yelling at my parents the news they never want to hear. “I crashed Pearl-I’ve been drinking-mom HELP.”
My dad made a very valid point for it being roused, no jolted awake, at 1:30 am, “you left the scene of the accident?”
Oh. Shit. Yes, yes Dad it looks like I did.
I ran down my hill rounded the corner to the accident and knocked on the truck owner’s door. Telling him what I’d done. To my surprise he goes “Again?” My smart ass wants to say “No, no sir, this is the first time I’ve done this.” What he really meant was that this has happened before, since he’s an idiot that parks on a corner on a narrow road that’s lined on either side with cars – or not wait, if we are talking about idiots, I may have this one in the bag.
It gets blurry.
The cops came. The lights flashed way too bright for my liking. The cop was an ass. He was condescending and as my parents watched from the opposite side of the street he talked to his intern kid as though I wasn’t there. I remember walking that invisible line, the flash light in my eyes and my mom across the street with her hands to her face, horrified.
I got cuffed, put in the back of the car, because while I failed the tests, I succeeded in being caught drunk driving.
I blew once in the field .15, then at the station a .122 … that’s a ‘low blow’ 1.5 is a ‘high blow.’
My parents picked me up at around 3 AM, we drove past my car on the way to our house.
That was the first of many times that I’d get to pass the spot where my life changed forever. And for the past 10 months I have had to walk up onto the sidewalk that my car went up onto that fateful night.
That street is the quickest way to get to the bus and my gym.
Oh the irony.
The glow of my cell phone fade after sending my friend a text. Looking down for somewhere to put my phone. My head whipping forward my body being jerked back by my seat belt. The unmistakable crunch of my car against another. My adrenaline pulsing, pumping.
Then everything slowed down, I left my body and watched myself come to the realization of what just happened. My hands shaking uncontrollably as I turned the keys. Crying, screaming, “Shit. Shit. Shit,” as the engine failed to start. This is really fucking happening. Right now. You just totaled your car. Oh God and you’re drunk.
Fuck.
PAUSE. Now, to address those of you assholes who are about to shake your head at me and my stupidity, my ignorance and my actions in what follows-SHUTTHEFUCKUP. I know I shouldn’t blow in the field, admit to drinking and driving, so crying in front of the officer. But if we are going that route you might as well throw in, I shouldn’t have driven. I shouldn’t have drank. I shouldn’t have called my ex. I shouldn’t have chugged vodka. BUT I FUCKING DID. Hence why there’s a story to be told. There are a million things I SHOULDN’T have done but this is what I did. So save it, because let me tell you, there wasn’t an hour for about 6 months that I didn’t think those thoughts myself.
PLAY.
Back to me ruining my life.
I hopped out of the car and ran home. THAT is how close I was. I barged through the door. Yelling at my parents the news they never want to hear. “I crashed Pearl-I’ve been drinking-mom HELP.”
My dad made a very valid point for it being roused, no jolted awake, at 1:30 am, “you left the scene of the accident?”
Oh. Shit. Yes, yes Dad it looks like I did.
I ran down my hill rounded the corner to the accident and knocked on the truck owner’s door. Telling him what I’d done. To my surprise he goes “Again?” My smart ass wants to say “No, no sir, this is the first time I’ve done this.” What he really meant was that this has happened before, since he’s an idiot that parks on a corner on a narrow road that’s lined on either side with cars – or not wait, if we are talking about idiots, I may have this one in the bag.
It gets blurry.
The cops came. The lights flashed way too bright for my liking. The cop was an ass. He was condescending and as my parents watched from the opposite side of the street he talked to his intern kid as though I wasn’t there. I remember walking that invisible line, the flash light in my eyes and my mom across the street with her hands to her face, horrified.
I got cuffed, put in the back of the car, because while I failed the tests, I succeeded in being caught drunk driving.
I blew once in the field .15, then at the station a .122 … that’s a ‘low blow’ 1.5 is a ‘high blow.’
My parents picked me up at around 3 AM, we drove past my car on the way to our house.
That was the first of many times that I’d get to pass the spot where my life changed forever. And for the past 10 months I have had to walk up onto the sidewalk that my car went up onto that fateful night.
That street is the quickest way to get to the bus and my gym.
Oh the irony.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Drive Drunk : Get Fucked.
We had a chain email going on at work.
The question: What are you afraid of?
I answered: snakes and my Achilles heel snapping and curling-omgewe.
My initial answer: jeans.
While yes, I am petrified of the first thing I said, what really makes me more anxious, nervous and scared is wearing jeans. I hate how they make me stick out in the wrong places. I hate how they are restricting. I hate how they make me feel fat.
And it is because of jeans, or well once again my eating disorder (that pesky bitch) that I got myself into a DUI battle and totaled my Subaru.
All in one go. Because, I am, an overachiever.
May 21 2011, so last summer, we all planned to meet at Golden Gardens.
I wanted to wear a tee but everyone knows you don’t wear a tee with leggings (hello ass), so I braved it and pulled on my skinny jeans.
I hadn’t even buttoned them and I was crying. I stood in front of the mirror despising what I saw. What I felt. I wanted to rip them to shreds along with my cellulite and my gigantic thighs.
As that’s impossible I settled for throwing a fit, stretching them out in the process. I wiggled and wormed, doing awkward squats (ladies you know what I mean) until they became comfortable aka unflattering and stretched out.
Realizing I was going to be late. I forced myself out the door, slamming it, angry at the world for making me so ugly and fat. I prayed slash blasted Carter III all the way to Totem Lake to my friend’s apartment.
I thought I felt better.
We arrived to a slowly setting sun and excitement that only sun in Seattle on a Saturday can bring. I hadn’t planned on drinking, but free beers were offered, and that’s all it takes for this cheap ass. I wanted to feel better about the stupid jeans and I knew the booze would do it, even if temporarily. In no time I was three deep and I was drunk.
The rest of the night was a blur of sand in places I wish it wasn’t, conversation with strangers and Sweet Tea Vodka (that in my drunken stupor I thought was mixed…I now know it’s NOT).
I got the great idea to call my recent ex…multiple times…upsetting and embarrassing myself in my almost black out state.
I don’t remember the car ride to Totem Lake from GG. I do know I didn’t drive.
I do remember coming to at about 1:00 am, still talking to my ex. We hung up. I wanted to go home and cry more. So I did. Ignoring offers to stay on the couch. I got into my car, Pearl, and drove.
That’s the last trip I’d ever make in that car.
The question: What are you afraid of?
I answered: snakes and my Achilles heel snapping and curling-omgewe.
My initial answer: jeans.
While yes, I am petrified of the first thing I said, what really makes me more anxious, nervous and scared is wearing jeans. I hate how they make me stick out in the wrong places. I hate how they are restricting. I hate how they make me feel fat.
And it is because of jeans, or well once again my eating disorder (that pesky bitch) that I got myself into a DUI battle and totaled my Subaru.
All in one go. Because, I am, an overachiever.
May 21 2011, so last summer, we all planned to meet at Golden Gardens.
I wanted to wear a tee but everyone knows you don’t wear a tee with leggings (hello ass), so I braved it and pulled on my skinny jeans.
I hadn’t even buttoned them and I was crying. I stood in front of the mirror despising what I saw. What I felt. I wanted to rip them to shreds along with my cellulite and my gigantic thighs.
As that’s impossible I settled for throwing a fit, stretching them out in the process. I wiggled and wormed, doing awkward squats (ladies you know what I mean) until they became comfortable aka unflattering and stretched out.
Realizing I was going to be late. I forced myself out the door, slamming it, angry at the world for making me so ugly and fat. I prayed slash blasted Carter III all the way to Totem Lake to my friend’s apartment.
I thought I felt better.
We arrived to a slowly setting sun and excitement that only sun in Seattle on a Saturday can bring. I hadn’t planned on drinking, but free beers were offered, and that’s all it takes for this cheap ass. I wanted to feel better about the stupid jeans and I knew the booze would do it, even if temporarily. In no time I was three deep and I was drunk.
The rest of the night was a blur of sand in places I wish it wasn’t, conversation with strangers and Sweet Tea Vodka (that in my drunken stupor I thought was mixed…I now know it’s NOT).
I got the great idea to call my recent ex…multiple times…upsetting and embarrassing myself in my almost black out state.
I don’t remember the car ride to Totem Lake from GG. I do know I didn’t drive.
I do remember coming to at about 1:00 am, still talking to my ex. We hung up. I wanted to go home and cry more. So I did. Ignoring offers to stay on the couch. I got into my car, Pearl, and drove.
That’s the last trip I’d ever make in that car.
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