After about five months of experimentation with controlled drinking, I have decided I am indeed still an alcoholic. It started as just a half a glass of wine, then one glass, then two, occasionally a whole bottle and a few benzos, stealing my Dad's fentanyl patches and perks, smoking weed, and having a general desire to get more, drink more, check out of reality. But then I always wake up the next morning feeling guilty and hungover, even if nothing bad happened, which it hasn't. There have been a few negative consequences, affecting mainly me. I called in sick to work one day when I really just had a hangover. I got drunk and ate so much food that I made myself vomit. Those are the main things, but I think it's just creating a sense of general sadness in me. I am more depressed, less interested or able to do things. I get hangovers so easily that even one glass of wine will leave me feeling like shit the next day. Not to mention all the extra calories. And I'm down to 113 lbs now, so I don't want to sabotage that. I told HAM the other day that I am drinking alcoholically and stealing pills and drinking alone, because I don't want it to be a secret. I need someone who loves me to know that I am headed down that same ugly path. I haven't taken anything or had a drink in two days now, but I don't want to go back to AA. I was hurt too much by those people and I don't ever want to see any of them again. So I have to do it on my own, and honestly, I don't know if it's too late or if I'm OK to just stop and not care. I have a feeling the compulsion will return, although it hasn't yet. I still feel happy that I'm not drinking right now, even though it's almost nine at night, a time where I would like to have a glass of wine. I want to be a healthy, happy person, and using substances will not help me achieve those goals. I am desperate to get out of this life as a happy, successful person, not a fucked up loser. I just have to make a commitment to love myself enough to stop drinking and taking pills. I am going to be taking "The Art of Living" part 1 course on breathing this December. I was reluctant at first, but I decided, with a little discussion with HAM that I should just try it. It was created by Ravi Shankar. Mabye I can finally reconnect with some type of spirituality, maybe try yoga again. I need to fucking relax. Pills and booze are only temporary fixes and they will not help me grow or change, and in the long run, they perpetuate greater chaos in my life and hinder relaxation. I want to have the energy to work out five of six days a week, and this week (I do have a cold) I have only been once. I have continued to eat pretty healthy (minus the binges) and I think my diet has actually improved quite a bit over the last few months, so that's one bright spot, as well as my memoir writing class. I wish that class was every day. God, I just want to get into grad school. Getting fucked up certainly won't help with that, I already found out in 2006. I want my life to get better. I don't wanna die, spiritually, emotionally, or physically. I want to get better.

"My life is going to change. I can feel it." - Raymond Carver, Fat

Well, I thought it would be a good time to post something new
since I have recently been falsely diagnosed with PTSD and bipolar disorder. It
really sent me into a fucking depression for a few days there. I was going to
sign up for disability and start collecting my checks. I felt like a fucking
crazy person. Not that people can’t function with those disorders, but damn, I
can barely function as it is, so that was like way too much for me to handle.
Plus, this so-called psychiatrist, who turns out to be nothing more than an
ARNP, prescribed me gabapentin, which made me fucking insane for a few weeks,
but then, after I complained about the gabapentin, she wanted to put me on
Lamectyl, one of the two main drugs for bipolar disorder! And I am NOT bipolar!
I might be a nut—I might pull out my hair, chew on my lips and fingers, and have
an immense capacity for self-loathing, but I assure you, I am not bipolar. I
should be so lucky as to enjoy manic episodes of overwhelming self-esteem and
delusions of grandeur. No, lucky me, I suffer from pure MD….Major Depression.
Yes, that’s right, it’s the depression part of bipolar without the fun part (the
part that keeps people from wanting to take their meds). Yeah, woohoo, yay, me!
I have regular-ass old depression. Old school, writer shit. Typical Jew shit. Go
figure, big fucking surprise. So I can’t get a real job, or a real life, I’m stuck here in my dad’s house, a thirty-one year-old chick, with a less than part-time job, and a desire to
become a “published author” one day, when I’m the only one (and occasionally my
therapist) who reads my blog. I drank nearly an entire bottle of wine and then
silently snuck into my dad’s bathroom and found a bottle of benzos from 1996.
Will they still work? I took four. We’ll see. I also binged on peanut butter and
various sugary substances for the first time in a long time. I’ve been doing
good, in fact, I weighed myself today and I was down to 115.6, the lowest weight
I have been in over a year. But I probably sabotaged that tonight since I ate
almost 3000 calories in one sitting just a little while ago. I am such an idiot
some times. Do I want to sabotage myself? I don’t know, maybe. My ex called me a
few days ago for the first time in months. I didn’t even know he had my phone
number. It pissed me off. I told him to never call me again and I hung up on
him. But still, it fucked me up. I told him, “Well, I hope YOU feel better,
because I don’t. You think you can just call me up and apologize and tell me
about your life and whatever, and I’m gonna be OK with that. Well, I’m not. I
was fine already and I planned to never talk to you again. So I hope YOU feel
better, because I don’t. I feel worse. I’m gonna go now. Don’t ever call me
again.” And then I hung up. It felt scary to officially and finally take my
power back, but it felt good, too. He knew I meant it. He didn’t call again.
That was it—he knew I was serious. He knew I meant it when I said “never call me
again.” And he knew I meant it because it’s the truth. I never for the rest of
my life have any need or desire to talk to that asshole ever again. He’s put me
and HAM and our relationship through hell and he has absolutely nothing to offer. I
don’t need him to write my memoir. All I need is MY story, MY memories—not his.
If he wants to write a memoir, then he can go right ahead, but this one is mine
and I know enough about him and the rest of the losers of my past to write my
story, I want to call is something like, “My Life Through You”, or “Chameleon:
  The Story of the Girl Who Changed for Him”, or “UFO: Unidentified Female Object”.
Maybe the last one is best. I’d like to keep my misery lighthearted. Seriously,
  though, if you can’t laugh at your own life, you have no business laughing at
  anyone else. And, sorry, but that just won’t work for me. I need to laugh at
  all of us—we’re all fools. Even the smart ones.

I haven't written much in a while. I was on vacation and then of course when I returned to work this week, there was a shit ton of shit to catch up on. HAM is still out of school, so he and I have been spending a lot of time together in the evenings, and, well, the writing gets the back burner I guess. But I haven't forgotten about it and have no intention of giving up. I guess I just took a vacation from everything for a while. Our road trip was eye-opening. We've decided that America is too stupid, too fat, and too meth-addicted to live here. We officially have a plan to move to France. We don't have a plan, actually, but we officially have plans to make a plan. One thing on the agenda is learning French. HAM can use his electives to take French at BC and I can take the classes with him (although I will have to pay full tuition). I want to assimilate into French culture. I don't want to be an American anymore. I am OK with giving up my citizenship here - this place is fucked. The way we treat our animals, our environment, our sick and our poor, the way we treat the world - we are fucked. Any entity that goes on for as long as this one treating the rest of the planet like garbage can't last. Rome fell, America will fall, too. I don't trust this place, I don't trust the government, I don't respect the government, and I'm tired of being in debt because I can't pay my coinsurance. Having insurance is probably the most expensive mistake I've ever made, because it gives you the illusion that you can afford healthcare, when in reality, you get raped in the ass at every turn with lab fees, coinsurance, deductibles, and monthly fees. I can't take it anymore. I'd rather be slowly, gently fucked over time with super high taxes than walk around thinking I'm safe and all of a sudden get raped in the ass with a $400 medical bill that I wasn't expecting. And Obama probably won't get reelected, not that it really matters anyway. Although, it could be worse. I've seen it. We could still be in the Bush years. I miss Clinton. Maybe he was a little dirty, and he did sign NAFTA into effect, which helped degredate the environment and force already suffering third-world countries into even more destitute conditions, but damn, at least we had jobs then. At least we had Al Gore. Now we have no one looking out for the environment, or education, or the future of this country. America is slippin' hard and I don't have any more good reasons to stay. I want to live where animals are treated with dignity and respect, where people are given healthcare as a right and not as privelage, where people are laid back about nudity and sex, where it's okay to enjoy wine and bread, yet not overindulge to the point of addiction and obesity, where being cultured and intelligent is still a good thing, and god damn, I want some of that mediterranean sun.

Well I haven't written for the last couple days because I feel like I have nothing to say. I am close to my period and not sleeping well, and of course I am hungrier than usual. Today I ate an ice cream cone with two scoops of ice cream and it was fantastic. I caught up with pretty much my only friend - PH, my old AA sponsor. She's recently separated from her husband has moved into a condo in Juanita, or is in the process of moving. I offered to help her but she said she might just invite me over as a guest, not to help her move. I told her that I'm not sober anymore and of course, she didn't judge me or try to change me, which is why we've always had such a good relationship. She just offered an ear if I ever need to talk to someone or if I am concerned about it and need someone to talk to. It's a pretty wierd thing, to go from having almost four years clean to drinking wine and smoking weed again. I can't say that I feel great about it, but I don't feel like shit either. So far it has had little to no impact on my life, and I think that's about as much space as those things should ever take up in a person's life. Before I got sober and went to AA, I let it run my life. All my decisions were based on drugs and alcohol and keeping my addiction going but under cover. The men I chose to date were always more fucked up than me, my friends were all more fucked up than me, my jobs always sucked so they were easy to just quit without warning and still feel justified in doing so. AA taught me how to be a decent human being, a productive member of society, how to care for someone other than myself without being totally codependent. It also taught me not to put all my eggs in one basket, meaning that, nothing in life can be the answer to all your problems, be it religion, drugs, a job, a person, or AA. For a while there, I let AA be the guiding force in my life, so when that stopped working, I felt like I'd lost a limb. It was extremely painful to be so let down by people I thought so highly of, especially when I needed them so desperately. It wasn't just the people that I needed - I needed structure, guidance, just help in general because I was sad and lost. I prayed more and it didn't help. I tried to get a new sponsor and one girl turned me down, another girl stood me up twice. I tried to make friends with people and they ended up rejecting me. I thought so much of the people in AA, I was brainwashed to believe they were the epitome of reformed derelicts, because I thought I was, too. I went from being a lying, stealing, cheating, selfish bitch, to volunteering every week rain or shine, not talking badly about anyone, helping anyone I could, praying every night, and following through on all my promises and commitments. Not to mention, I was as honest as I could be, wouldn't dream of cheating or stealing. I thought everyone else was as "good" as me. But I wasn't good, I was perfect, and perfect is 1) not sustainable and 2) impossible for anyone else to live up to. So I was just setting myself and everyone I encountered up to fail. And they did. And then I quit AA. But after I let go of AA, my life did start to improve. I stopped praying (something I always felt awkward doing anyway) and went back to being an agnostic with leanings toward karma and past lives. I continued to work out and develop my relationship with HAM. I had some bad habits, too, like the binge eating and the talking to ALL every once in a while, even though I had no intention of ever going back to him (which I made clear whenever I talked to him). But I don't know, all this shit went down with ALL and HAM, and me, and what I want out of life and a relationship, plus the antidepressants and the Ambien, the panic attacks and depression. All this shit just snowballed and reached a crescendo and then dissolved into nothingness and everything was peaceful and the way I always wanted it to be, and then we got high. I don't know if it was because we were trying to cover up some emotional pain, which is what they want you to believe in AA (and it definitely has validity), or if I have just changed. I certainly don't feel like the person I once was before I began AA, before I was sober. I have a great job with a super cool boss and a lot of responsibilty. I am totally trusted and never micromanaged, and I love it. It's perfect for me. And I'm in a relationship with a wonderful guy who always treats me with respect and supports my goals, and vice versa. He's smart and in college and we play scrabble together. I also go play scrabble with my grandma every week, which I love to do, but it's also kind of like volunteering (and I can't think of a better way to volunteer my time than to hang out with my sweet little grandma). My life is drama free and on track. I'm starting the memoir writing course at UW in October, last week I worked out six days in a row, I've been cooking a lot of really fabulous meals, and I like to have a glass of wine or a few hits off the weed pipe in the evening after all of my responsibilties are handled. And I never get drunk, don't even wanna get drunk. I like to sip one glass of excellent red wine over the period of a few hours, and that's all I desire. I don't know if I will switch over from this to being unmanageable and powerless, or if I will remain a casual, light enjoyer of these substances. Is it worth it? Another question I don't know the answer to just yet. Sometimes I think I must be out of my mind to drink or smoke anything, and other times I think, there's just nothing wrong with this, millions of people do the same thing as me with no guilt and no negative consequences. But we live in a guilt-driven society and I am product of it, AA being even more guilt-driven than regular society. But the fact is, I got sober because of ALL, and I'm thankful to him for shifting my life that way, but maybe my problem was more related to childhood pain that has since been worked through. I don't feel resentful or angry toward either of my parents or the other parental figures from my past. I am an adult now, I am responsible, and in a healthy relationship, working on my professional goals at work and with writing on my own time. Life is good, and playing scrabble stoned is a total blast. If shit gets out of hand, hopefully I'll have the the awareness that it's out of hand, and the respect for myself to cut it out.

I got home from the gym a little while ago and since then I have taken a shower, got dressed and did my makeup, took out the trash, recycling, and compost, done the dishes, wiped down the kitchen counters, and taken my vitamins. Not to mention that when I first got home I smoked a little weed and ate some waffles. Back when I was the old me, living in that nasty house on the highway in Nice, CA, I used to be one of those stoners who couldn't do shit. I'd just sit there and eat and surf the internet. Or drink and surf the internet. I couldn't exercise, pay a bill, make dinner, clean the house, or clean myself. I was a waste product. Needless to say, I felt like a loser. Today, I figure, if I smoke weed, it's okay, as long as I am still a functioning human being who is able to take care of business. I've found that I've actually become more productive stoned than I do just normally. I used to tell myself I couldn't write stoned, and it was probably just an excuse I told myself so I didn't have to write. Or exercise. Although I wouldn't exercise stoned because that would just be counterintuitive, I also wouldn't let it come before a work out. Nothing comes between me and the gym. I'm there rain or shine, heartache or bursting at the seems with love, whether I'm angry, depressed, way too full from over eating, sick, or in pain. I always go. I can't imagine anything other than HAM being as important as the gym. I guess school. School takes even more time than the gym and balancing the two is difficult. I don't know how HAM does everything that he does. He'll make a good marketing executive someday, or whatever he decides to do. I remember back in my senior year of college, I was newly married, in school full time, working part time, applying to grad schools, and smoking crack on the weekends. I mean, not every single weekend, but if it wasn't crack, I was getting drunk, popping Xanax and Oxycontin, snorting cocaine, or even dropping ectasy. Who knows how I made it through all of that with my degree and a 3.9 GPA. Of course I didn't get into grad school, and I'm sure it was because I was delusional from the drugs. But I still accomplished a lot while I was handling a million other things. So I wonder, was it not being accepted to grad school that really pushed me over the edge as far as "partying", or was it just the natural progression of addiction? In AA, they say that's what happens - you can never maintain. One is too many and a thousand is never enough. I guess I don't know yet. I do know the year before I quit drinking and getting high was the worst year of my life. I definitely don't want to end up back there again. So maybe that's why I become so overly productive, trying to prove to myself that It's different this time. But is it worth it? Because if I am truly an addict, this won't stay manageable. It will become unmanageable and I'll have to stop. If it turns out I was just misguided and had some impermanent dependency issues, then I guess I could go on forever feeling satisfied with a little evening weed smoking and one glass of wine. That would be fine. Honestly, I don't know why I ever liked getting drunk. It's much better to just slowly sip one glass of fabulous wine than "get fucked up". I don't like being out of control, doing and saying things I normally wouldn't do and say, and waking up feeling like shit, dehydrated and ashamed. No thank you. One is just right, actually. I don't ever feel like I'm stopping myself from having more. All I care for is one, and then I feel done. Damn, AA really fucks a person't head up, doesn't it? It's so weird, because AA helps so many people, but it's also a brainwashing cult. It's just that the brainwashing helps a lot of people. But it hurts people, too. It hurt me and I've heard stories about others. I guess I just don't have the answers on this. I guess I'll just have to watch and see what happens, and hope it's nothing I'll regret.