I just really need someone to talk to right now and I have no one.

Speaking of problems...the worst problem for me is alcohol. It is really becoming a problem. So much so that I have looked up rehabs that accept my crappy insurance. Of course, I don't have time or money to go to rehab. And then there's the whole AA thing--I don't want to go back. I'm not religious and I don't like the shame-based philosophy or the smug people. I have looked up ways to stop drinking without AA and really there isn't much information available. It's mostly like, "avoid situations where you will be tempted to drink." I mean, what is a situation? Night time? It's not like I go out to clubs or hang around with a bunch of partiers. I drink at home, alone. I don't want to do this anymore. I feel so guilty. How do I stop? It's like, I know I'll do or say things that I'll regret, I know I'll feel guilty, I know I'll eat too much, I know I'll have a hangover--and then, I just start drinking! Sometimes I don't even want to drink, like I don't even have the craving, but there I am doing it like I've been programmed or something. Yes, I suppose this would be another instance of me communication with you by way of blog. The reason why I have to do it this way is because I don't drink the day before I come to see you, so I never have a hangover, therefore I feel that I don't have a problem. But the reality is that I hate this. I have to stop and I don't know how. I just keep fucking doing it. Do you have any idea what I can do? Can I create some kind of plan with you? Is there some type of therapy I should undergo? Is there an outpatient program I should be a part of? I just can't drink, it's ruining me. I have to lie to people and hide things and act like everything is okay when it's not. I told the nurse prac that I don't drink that much, I think I said maybe one or two drinks once a week. But I usually end up drunk, and it happens a lot. I am an alcoholic. I don't want to go back to how it used to be, but I see myself slipping away from myself. I really, really, really need help.

God damn it. I want to be taken seriously about this. Just because I don't look fat to you doesn't mean I'm not suffering from this disorder. I eat until I'm sick. I think about food all the time. I sometimes eat so much that I have to throw up just to stop my stomach from hurting. I am not well and I need help. I need therapy and medication directed toward getting this ED under control. I can't spend the rest of my life like this. I can't! How would you like to live your life under the thumb of food obsession? How would like all of the decisions you make to be based on when and where you will be able to eat the amount of food you want to eat without anyone seeing you? This is totally FUCKED. I refuse to spend the rest of my life under this sick spell. I NEED HELP! Do you hear me? This is NOT OKAY!!!

Now excuse me while I go eat an entire pizza and box of oreos...

             When I left home for college, I moved into a house with a huge backyard, prompting me to adopt a six-year-old Pit Bull named Scooby. When Scooby was a puppy, an investigation into a Pit Bull fighting ring led animal control to a home where thirty dogs were imprisoned in deplorable conditions and regularly forced to fight to the death. The man responsible was arrested and the dogs were taken. Nearly every dog in the ring had become so aggressive that they could not be rehabilitated. Only two puppies were spared; one of those was Scooby. While he was gentle and shy around humans, if he encountered another dog he instinctually clenched his jaw around their throat and wouldn’t let go.
 During college, I met and married Rocco, a marijuana dealer from Northern California. He moved into my home in Olympia, and we bought another Pit Bull—a puppy who we named Zoey. I feared Scooby would try to kill her, but instead they became best friends, cuddling together, cleaning each other, and playing friendly games of tug-o-war with my underwear. During my senior year, I applied to MFA programs and was rejected by all of them. I graduated, but instead of pursuing my dream to become a writer, we moved to California to grow marijuana.
      A year later I left Rocco for Aaron, a street fighter who’d spent most of his life in prison. Rocco and I split the dogs—Rocco took Zoey, and of course, I kept Scooby. While waiting for an apartment to become available, Aaron and I stayed at a motel. The motel didn’t allow dogs, so Rocco agreed to take Scooby until I moved into the apartment. He left Scooby and Zoey alone on the mountain where he grew marijuana while he went into town. When he returned, Scooby had been shot and killed. He and Zoey had run off to a neighboring property and Scooby attacked the neighbor’s dog. The neighbor claimed that he tried everything to break up the fight but Scooby wouldn’t stop, so he had no choice but to kill him. At the time of Scooby’s death, Michael Vick and his abused dogs were regularly in the news, stabbing me in the heart whenever I heard a new report. The effect of Pit Bull fighting wasn’t just my issue, it was a national headline.
 A few months before Scooby’s death, Falcons quarterback, Michael Vick, was implicated in a state and federal investigation of a dog fighting ring. Reports surfaced of dogs being hanged, drowned and electrocuted when they had become too injured to fight. Horrific photographs of mauled dogs appeared on every news channel in the country. Vick and his co-defendants plead guilty and by December of that year, he began his 23 month federal prison sentence. Pit Bulls have a long history beginning in the19th century. They were originally bred with the intent to combine the gameness of a terrier with the strength of a bull dog. They were used mainly as hunting, herding, and guard dogs. The Pit Bull, once a symbol of independence, strength, and loyalty, is today considered a menace to society. They have been outlawed in several states.
      My memoir weaves together three themes; the history of Pit Bulls and dog fighting, my academic tribulations and failed relationships both human and canine, and the attribute of gameness. Gameness, when used to describe a Pit Bull, is the unwillingness to give up, even under the most difficult of circumstances, despite the threat of injury or death. I had always had a tendency to cling. I would get attached to a person, a place, or an idea and I would make it the number one priority in my life, even when doing so did more harm than good. Sometimes such doggedness served me well, but many times, it became the source of my problems. I clung to relationships that had long passed their expiration and stayed in places where I’d obviously worn out my welcome. I wasted a lot of time in fantasizing about my future, forgetting that dreams are achieved in the real world. When I should have kept going, I’d give up and when I should’ve given up, I kept going. Always, I mistook letting go for failure. This is a story about finding the right symmetry between gameness and letting go.


 

Last night we drank again. It wasn't much, just a glass of scotch and then a glass of wine several hours later. The problem for me is that even the smallest amount of alcohol has negative conequences for me. The nxt day is almost always ruined, and even if it's not ruined, I never feel that great. I usually walk around in a funk with a slight headache the entire day, wishing that it was tomorrow so I could wake up feeling good. There is absolutely no question at this point that I am still an alcoholic and drinking should not be part of my life. Unfortunately, it has become very difficult for me to stop. HAM drinks, my dad drinks daily, and now DL is in town and she drinks with my dad. Last night I actually saw her a bit toasty. I spend most of my days dreaming about the future. Future-tripping, I guess would be the unofficial term. I want to be out of this house. I refuse to blame anyone else for my choice to drink, but I will say it's a fuck of a lot harder to stop when it's always around me, on the lips of my boyfriend, a part of our lives. I don't crave alcohol, I crave health, yet I'm not addicted to health, so acheiving it is more difficult. It's so easy to just say, "fuck it" and have a drink when HAM drinks, or ask my dad for a glass of wine. It's hard to say no, it's hard to not ask, it's hard to no give in to temptation. My therapist said that he doesn't think my drinking is out of control, and he is right about that, it's not "out of control". I'm not spending my days and nights blacking out, doing regrettable things, ending up in the hospital, or even causing the slightest bit of concern in anyone around me. My therapist says, however, that I should not drink because of how it makes me feel about myself. That is a self-esteem deterrent. I agree with that, but I would add that I believe any drinking that I partake in is out of control in the sense that I have declared my desire not to drink, yet I do it anyway. I think it would be easier for me to be sober if alcohol wasn't in my home and if the people I love were not drinking so regularly. I'm sure it would also be easier if I were to return to AA, but that's just not gonna happen as long as I'm in Washington. God, I just want to get out of here. I don't believe in geographicals, I know they are something that alcoholics like to believe will work for them, but I do believe in a need for a change. I am so sick with allergies and stressed out by traffic, depressed by gray skies and constant drizzle, lonely without a dog, and angry that I am stuck living with my dad. I would take a tiny, dumpy apartment over this big, comfortable house if it meant that I was taking care of myself and making it on my own. I want it to be a year and half from now...now. God, I am sounding like such a classic AA definition of an alcoholic, but I need a place to vent and this is it. This is what all of us continue to think about, sober or not. We are all selfish, we all want what we want right now, we are inpatient, stressed out, pissed off, and resentful of our current situations. If you have a lifetime of alcoholic decisions behind you, of course you're not going to be satisfied with your present state of affairs, because the present state of affairs is a result of poor alcoholic decision making. It's not that every day is bad. It feels worse today because it is the day after doing something I have set out not to do. I have spacey and tired, weak and foggy. I just want out of this house and this city. I don't even care that I live in the Northwest anymore--it's really not the weather or the hills or the traffic, as many places have hills, bad weather, and miserable traffic. It's not the Northwest but what the Northwest represents for me. It represents failure to care for myself. It represents my old life and who I used to be. I am trying to become a new person, I even changed my name, yet here I am in my dad's house, working less than 10 hours a week, not writing as much as I should be, strung out on the internet, and drinking despite my desire for optimal health. I know the saying , "Wherever I go, there I am" is real. I don't think that moving away from here is going to "fix" me, but I do think it will be good for me. I am just so tired of waiting. I want to be there now. In AA they say, "You're exactly where you're supposed to be". Let's just say that is the truth. Then what am I to learn from my circumstances? Do I need to learn humility--should I just suck it up and go back to AA to face all the people who hurt me and let them feel so self-righteous about being kind to me, the one who relapsed? God, I can't think of anything worse. Can't I just admit that alcohol doesn't work for me without having to be around such cruel and abusive people? I would give AA a try in another state, where I wouldn't have to see those people. I know they exist everywhere, but the very specific individuals who hurt me--I don't think it would make sense for me to want to be around those people again, and eventually (for step 9) have to apologize to them, when they were the ones who are at fault. I don't know how I could ever see that differently. I was in pain and reached out for help, I showed up, I always showed up. I did my service work and I got berated for not doing it the right way. I asked for help and I got stood up twice, ignored, and rejected. I tried to make friends, as difficult as it was, and got humiliated. I just can't see myself having to be around those people again. Which is why getting away from this place would be good for me and I can't get out soon enough. I think I should look into summer writing retreats and see if there is any way I can spend the summer away from here, focused on my writing. I can't think of anything more important than writing for me, so why not. It would be the perfect excuse to escape. No one could argue with me, because it would be for my career, my future. I refuse to believe that things are going to suck forever. The future has to be better than right now, whether it's helpful to think that way or not. I will do my best to make the present bareable, but I know that the future will be better.

Well, I have to say, today was a good day. At the beginning of the quarter, I ended up with a really terrible parking spot, so at every tuesday, my teacher drives me to my car after class. We talk about my book, grad school, whatever, and tonight she offered (I didn't say a word about it) to write me a letter of recommendation for my grad school applications! I love her. Her name is Theo Nestor and her blog is http://writingismydrink.com/. She is great! I feel so blessed to have this amazing teacher in my life and to have the money and opportunity to take this class. It is helping me so much. I always connect more with instructors than students--why is that? I can't call myself super smart or anything, I can't call myself a dummy either. I don't know what it is, I just feel safer with my teachers than my colleagues. But I feel so humbled that she just offered to write me a recommendation without any prompt. I know my goal here is to stop letting others dictate my worth and feelings, but still, it means a lot to me, and I think that is allowed. It's not like she decided whether or not I am worthy as a writer, but she reinforces my belief that this is what I am supposed to do. I plan to read her book over the break because 1.) I'm curious, 2.) It is respectful since she's reading my work and helping me with it, 3.) I'd like to know more about her as a person and a writer. Today was a good day for me. I feel grateful to be free of confining relationships, and able to pursue my calling, and even more so, I am grateful to finally acknowledge my calling, to fully give in to its power and accept that I am destined to be a writer, and to believe that one day I will be a good one.

Today was very good for me as far as therapy goes. it has helped me to reshape my memoir in a way that seems to fit better than what I had originally planned. It took me half an hour to write one paragraph, but I think it has the potentional to turn into a good jumping off point for my story.

To write memoir:

Start with a bit of musing, present the problem, report what you found out, and then tell the entire story of how you got there, followed by the internal shift that occurred as a result.

My rough forward or first paragraph:

           I’ve always looked for someone or something to show me the way. I never believed in God, but I’ve had no problem making a person my higher power. When I first decided to write this memoir, I had planned to write about abusive relationships and my final escape from a man that almost certainly would’ve killed me had I stayed. I thought men were my problem. My relationships with men over the years have been enmeshed, volatile, isolating, and abusive, so it would’ve been easy for me to say. However, unhealthy relationships have abounded throughout my life. From parents to teachers to bosses to girlfriends to substances to groups, I made each of them my God. I believed that if I followed them and did exactly as they said that they would provide me with all the love and happiness I couldn’t give myself. I depended on them to tell me how to live, who to be, and what I’m worth. Typical of someone who depends on others to act as director of her life, I also blamed them when I could no longer rely on them. I ran from one to another, always believing that the next one would finally make me whole. After writing out two thorough outlines for a memoir and finding that neither one seemed right, after recounting all of the painful experiences and false hopes I held about others, I realize there is one definite, undeniable common thread weaving through the fabric of my life; me.

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