I Fucked Up

I have tried writing this all afternoon.
But I don't know how to begin.
So bear with me.

I drank  this weekend. I drank the entire weekend. I was all set not to. I almost had my 90 days. And then the anxiety came over me and I knew I would be obsessed with wanting to drink until I got that drink.

Now while my friends supported my sobriety I'm a grown woman and they aren't going to tell me no.

I'm finding it hard to have a balance of saying excuses while taking responsibility for my actions.

I fucked up. And I got fucked up on the last day, so yesterday, of Sasquatch.

I had been pretty good about pacing myself and being aware, happy that I was not wasted, so I could enjoy the music and the atmosphere and not have a fat hangover. But then something in me got off balance and I found myself at around 5 PM walking to go get a disgusting Margarita beer thing in a can.

As I walked alone across the lawn I was hoping someone would see through me and stop me. I didn't want to do it but I couldn't not.

I got my drink and walked back to my friends who were waiting for me. We had to jet back to pack up the tent so we could come back in time to see the last bit of artists.

I walked up to them hiding my shame. I couldn't not drink even for one day. We were supposed to be hurrying and here I am with a mancan in my hand of 8% fruity shit. I tried to act like I was fine. Totally normal. I mean look around us, everyone's drunk or on something right? I'm just fitting in.

We got back to the tent which was soaked and the girls started cleaning up. I of course hadn't packed so I was holding everyone up. And as I tried to hurry I seemed to be going slower. The alcohol was already effecting me and I could feel the angry, bitter, alcoholic in myself coming out.

Every suggestion and action I tried to do was wrong. So I'd try again. And again. And nothing was right. I began to get bitter so I opened up another beer.

I knew what I was doing and I wanted to do it. I felt like the outsider and wanted to put a bigger gap between them and me. I was the girl with issues. The one who was out of place. The one that couldn't stop doing her makeup when she really should be racing to go see a show. The one who needed just one more shot. The one who wanted to do what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it. And they don't have my anxiety issues, my food / alcohol addiction issues and I wanted to punish them for it by proving them right. I am fucked up. I am a loser. I am a failure. Look how good I am at failing.

Meanwhile keep in mind this is all in my head none of this has been said aloud by them. As I drank more and tried to help more I felt more and more guilty. More hate. More anger. More disgust with myself. So I just drank more.

I tried to break the bad vibe in the air by apologizing but I wasn't sure what I had done. All I could feel was animosity and like the outsider. Once again, like always, I didn't fit in and I couldn't do it right.

I went to Alt J with one of the two girls and I could sense the distance from her. She was onto me and my alcoholic ways. So I just talked to strangers made new friends. Ah see? This is why we drink! So we can be 'normal' make people laugh 'be happy'. I don't need my friend to have fun I have booze.

So then we split up so I could see Steve Aoki and I wanted to make more friends. Feel this high. This high of belonging. Of having fun. This is what I'm supposed to do at these festivals right? Make new friends, have crazy fucked up stories, LIVE man LIVE! So I got another beer.

Talked to a Canadian dude who leaves for Europe in two days while finishing the brew. Now I'm living. Now I'm having fun. I knew I just needed a drink or two that's all. Why did I think anything was wrong?

I ran into the venue and danced and danced and danced. I asked to join strangers dance circles. Everyone was welcoming but with an edge of "this girl is fucked up."

Then I got the idea to meet my own friends again. Be the good drunk. The one that listens and goes where she's told when she's told to. Then they'd like me.

If you've never been to The Gorge or seen pictures then you should do that. But long story short it gets very packed at the mainstage. I attempted to find my friends in hundreds / thousands? of people when drunk in the dark. I had no luck. So I said fuck it! More booze! I'll go see Rusko.

Thank God they cut off everyone at 10ish and I got no more beer.

The rest gets blurry.

I have the memory of finding my friends. Them not seeming happy with me.

Insisting I pay for Taco Bell and eating an entire Crunch Wrap Supreme and taco. Then the rest of the bagels and peanut butter in the back of the car while drunk dialing everyone telling them that 'everyone hates me.' Repeatedly. Mind you this is at 11:30 PM and most people work tomorrow.

I then went on to tell ChaCha to breakup with me because I'm such a fuck up and I'm not worth it. All of these issues. All of these needs I have. I'm sick of them I'm sick of me, he should be too. He deserves better.

I woke up this morning with a Steve Aoki tank I don't remember buying and peanut butter in my hair and a sickening feeling of regret.

I've apologized to my friend and she accepted it but she's not forgotten what I did or how I acted. I have a heavy amount of shame and hate for myself right now. I can't go back and change what happened. I can't get the images of me fucking up and fucking up more out of my head. I can't shake this feeling of regret.

What I can do is do my best to move on. I've come clean with my sponsor and today is day one. I've listened to some AA speakers and done my best to eat on my meal plan. I don't know what it's going to take for me to start listening to everyone else but  my disorder but I feel like this is a big push.

If I want to move forward I can't keep looking back.
If I want to be happier I can't keep thinking negatively.

I fucked up. Really fucked up. And it needed to happen for me to appreciate the gift of recovery that I'm being offered. My tail will be between my legs for a while and I'll be awkward around my friends for a bit but I can't let this shame, hate and anger keep putting me in this cycle of behaviors.

I don't know if this makes any sense but like always I appreciate you for reading, reaching out to me, being honest to me and never giving up on me.

Like Anyone is Going To Read This On a Friday Night

That was me a year ago. I was too skinny, just out of jail (seriously), miserable and confused.

Today was supposed to be a celebration.

To mark how far I've come.

How successful I am now.

How changed, enlightened, happy, healthy…whatever…I am.

I'm writing to you from the tangled blankets of my bed. My eyes sting every time they close because they are dry—that's what happens when you throw up three times in three hours.

 I am disgusted with myself.

I have more support than I've ever had.

IOP at the Moore Center which I go to four days a week.

A full time job with understanding lead and manager.

A sponsor in AA and the fellowship.

My wonderful boyfriend.

My gracious friends.

My now understanding parents.

And yet here I am. Eyes half open. Hands shaking. My stomach nauseated. My throat raw.

Some celebration.

I see the negative working in my head. It wants to bash me, make me hurt. Just give in…you've already fucked up your meal plan…fuck up your sobriety. Let everyone down. Who cares? I mean really? They'll just be disappointed for a while but you've put them there before. They've heard it before. Just do it again.

This all started when I stopped drinking.

The compulsion to overeat was uncomfortable. I would find my mind drifting to what I could binge off of "for the last time." I began to mourn my eating disorder. I never understood that until now.

So I did it. I looked everyone in the eye and told them I was ok as my destructive plans worked in my head. I binged and purged last night. It hurt. It was not enjoyable.

However, I woke up rejuvenated. Happier than I'd been all week. Shit. This eating disorder DOES serve me a purpose.

4 hours later I'm eating my lunch an hour early…then going into my snack. All my food gone before lunch even started.

I slowly began to binge after that. Grabbing snacks, cookies, breads, cakes no one stopping me. The rush of doing it in front of people. The hate for myself swimming in my head with each bite.

I was so full I could barely move—this girl was not going to treatment. It was family night too. So I bailed on my recovery team, my parents and myself for food. Luckily work got so busy that I ended up having to stay late.

So I had to sit with all this food in me. It was so uncomfortable.

I called my AA sponsor for peace. She gave it to me and yet I could hear the thoughts going. "Maybe this one last combination of food…cake batter and cookie dough…maybe that'll do it…"

But I fought it. I fought it for an hour until I found myself at QFC with the cookies in hand.

So I came home and did what I do best. I ate until I couldn't stand up and barely had to force myself to vomit. Then I did it until I was shaking and stomach acid was stinging my throat.

"There. That's it." I thought. And yet I forgot, like I do every time, that that "last time" isn't my last time. I found myself searching the cupboards for another concoction that'd wake me up give me that jolt of whatever it is I needed. Nothing came out so I just ate things I knew I could throw up easily.

I know this is graphic but well, I'm being honest. This is the only place I am honest. Because I don't have to look at any of you…I don't tell my best friends this or my treatment friends…the shame is too great. But here I can tell the black and white of my screen and release. Anyway…

So I did it. And then I did it again. And now I can't stop shaking.

I'm supposed to go to Lucky in 2 hours. I'm dehydrated, exhausted and well fucked up. A drink sounds good right now. Escape from my escape.

 But does it really sound that good? What did I just learn? That bingeing and purging didn't help but rather hurt so what will my other addiction do? Help then hurt.

I can't tell if I've come as far as I thought, there's that negativity again.

So here goes my gratitude list:

·         I'm so grateful for ChaCha he listens to me and doesn't blame me for any of my faults.

·         I'm grateful I'm not in jail right now

·         I'm grateful for finding glitter nail polish and flower clips at Walgreens

·         I'm grateful that my mom and I talk pleasantly to one another every day

·         I'm grateful that I get to dress like a slutty rainbow tonight and it's ok

·         I'm grateful that I have gigantic boobs to show off tonight

·         I'm grateful for Gatorade because my electrolytes are so fucked up that I could have a heart attack if I don't drink the stuff

·         I'm grateful for the legs I hate that allow me to dance all night long

·         I'm grateful for Pretty Lights because a year ago at Ultra they helped change my life and how I felt about shows.

Thanks for reading. 

Shame V Pride

So.
Anyone notice how I start a lot of my posts with "so," SO annoying.
But for serious.

So, I haven't been ok, but really good at pretending I am.
At least I'm falling for it.

I'm in a glass case of emotion.

And it fucking sucks a fatty.

One minute I'm Frosted Flakes grrreat and the next I'm literally on the floor trying to physically get rid of the shame I feel.

 He Did This Just For You by Max Lucado is a  bit of literature I cannot get enough of. I reread his words and learn something new from them, like it's the first time I'm reading it.

Pride and Shame is a portion of the writing that comes to my mind tonight. "Pride boasts. Shame hides. Pride seeks to be seen. Shame seeks to be avoided."

These sister emotions have been having a fucking rager in me this past month.

When I thought I had a control on my drinking and my eating, Pride was everywhere. I thought I was "FIXED." Welp, it's safe to say I was wrong.

Shame is who I'm kickin it with right now. She sucks. She can't stand who she is, she can't stand that she can't stop feeling this way, she's embarrassed that she keeps fucking up even though she doesn't want to, she's sick of herself and her excuses...so she wants to punish herself-and she does.

She tortures her mind with negativity, that's all consuming but puts on a smile on the outside.

Today, I was invited to lunch after church with the sweetest, funniest lady and her friend. I went and got the bright idea to get a fatty fried fish sandwich, french fries and key lime cheesecake knowing all the while that I was going to go home and throw it up.

God gave me signs to stop. Both the women I was with talked about how a heavy meal wouldn't sit well with the heat, they got salads and soup. I could have opted for that. The waitress said they didn't have my initial burger choice, therefore trying to deter me from eating something I knew I shouldn't.
The woman I was with offered to drive me to work so I could stay later and enjoy their company but then I couldn't go home and throw up.

I CHOSE TO DO WHAT I DID. I WANTED TO...even though I didn't.

So I proceeded with the ritual of being ok when I'm really fucking not. I asked the right questions, was charming at the table and politely excused myself until I couldn't stand the toxin in my body anymore.

I got home burst through the door and did my best to get rid of the meal she so kindly bought me. Hating myself more and more with every heave.

I looked at the clock, time to go to work, the pretending starts over again.

But it didn't have to stay.

God once again reached out to me and this time I took it. I confided in my coworker, and moreover my friend. She let me vent, she gave me someone else to reach out to.

No sooner did I leave her did I get two texts from two other major support systems...reminding they care about me even if I don't.

I chose to be honest with them with where I'm at. Relief flooded me.

Lastly, my friend who I adore and admire, called me about 15 minutes ago. We talked about some good things and not so good things. The main thing was that we talked. I didn't hide, shame didn't get the best of me.

I may not always, but I'm getting the hang of it, this caring about myself thing.

While I'm powerless over my addictions I am the only one who can chose to get help. If I don't ask for help, if I am not willing to take the steps, however small, towards a better life I cannot expect and will not get one.

Tomorrow I go to the Moore Center in Bellevue. I really don't want to but so far what I've wanted to do hasn't worked out.

XOX

Groundhog Day

She can feel her thighs sticking to the plastic booth, it’s uncomfortable and sparks immediate anger and self-loathing. 

Release is only moments away. It sits in front of her, teasing her. 

She looks away and tries to remember why she shouldn't give in.

The next thing she knows the glass in her hands and it's half gone.

She hears herself ask the waitress for another, then another.

This goes on for hours, but something’s wrong, she doesn’t feel better. 

The girl next to her is naturally pretty, strong, confident, everything she wishes she was and everything she feels she’s not. The girl sips her beer, then starts a conversation with strangers. How does she do that she wonders? How can she set the glass down? How come she's not nervous? How does she know what to say? What did she do to look that good? She wonders why she doesn’t look that way.

She asks for a shot. 

Something’s got to work.

Hours go by when suddenly the girl wakes up fuzzy. There are lights and dancing and laughter. She feels happy.

Look she thinks, everyone loves me, they are taking pictures with me, I have confidence, why was this so hard before? She wants another drink.

The rest of the night is a blur, there’s dancing, there’s talking to strangers, there’s more free booze, life is fucking great.

It gets dark.

She comes to in the kitchen, wrappers of food are everywhere, the fridge is open, the kitchen’s a mess. She feels sick.

It’s 6 am and the alarm is going off. Her mouth feels like sandpaper her head hurts she wants to not feel. Memories come back from the night before. She’s trying to look sober in pictures, she acts like she didn’t fall in the bathroom, she remembers the shots she took alone, the awkward conversations she put herself in and then the food she ate.

Regret, remorse, shame then hate floods her. She’s disgusted with herself. She’s shaking from the liquor, she gets sick and feels weaker. She sees her makeup is still on from the night before and her clothes on the floor she puts them back on and heads to work—time to play pretend.

She laughs at jokes, talks with everyone, does her job—last night never happened.

Works over, she’s home, alone. She wants a drink. She gets one. 

And well you know what happens next.