Day 9. Day 10? On Drama
Before, when I drank, I felt helpless to combat "drama" in my life. Feeling that I caused it, indubitably in one of my drunken stupors, I accepted whatever anxieties or guilt I felt as my penance. It came to a point where I couldn't put a glass to my mouth WITHOUT feeling guilt, sure as the sun would rise that if I drank I would indulge in some form of assholery. 9 out of 10 times I was right.
Now that I am not drinking, I anger easily when I get overly emotional. I am NOT drinking. I SHOULD be in control, my inner voice thunders as I feel the heat of rage wash over me. My father told me that I should not concern myself with happenings outside my sphere of influence. Sometimes I feel like an omnipotent octopus, because when I am overwhelmed or angry, that motherfucking ant crawling up your leg in Kansas is within my sphere of influence. Reality seems to run from me, like my student PJ. He spoke no English and remained just out of my reach, trotting as I stumbled frustratedly behind him in my platform flipflops until I had unwittingly and unwillingly escorted him home. Except this time, maybe I'm stumbling myself to a better place. And instead of his parents waving thankfully at me, there's Dick, secure in the knowledge that yes, Virginia, we will stay married another day.
Today, Dick had a rough day. He was hot and frustrated, and although I tried to remain cool and supportive, I lost that struggle quickly. Whereas I was and am smart enough to view the situation from an observant standpoint, I was not calm enough to absorb his worries quietly. No ma'am, I got just as pissed off as he was, if not more, accused him of getting me worked up, and then pushed him away when he tried to kiss me. Apparently, maturity was NOT what was for dinner.
I was supremely upset that after my first weekend of not drinking, for which I wanted a quiet, peaceful, relaxing break, I got an emotional roller coaster. A little one, you know the green dinosaur that the little kids ride barely capable of flipping your stomach up into knots compared to what I am used to, but a ride all the same.
An old boss told me once that when it comes to relationships, you need to worry when you don't feel anything. Anger and Love are close relatives, in terms of the fire in your stomach. Especially when you love as passionately and foolishly (until Dick, of course) as I do.
Last year when I quit drinking, I found that it was not (as I had previously imagined) the source of all drama in my life. There was still turmoil and conflict that fell woefully short of my sphere of influence. I lost a friend due to a remark I had overheard at a school function. I was guilty by association, but her shame and following anger included me. Because I could not stop the bad, I picked up the bottle with the misgivings that it didn't matter whether I was drunk or not. Shit was going to happen to me. If I was lubricated, at least I would laugh. Or pretend not to care, instead of letting it eat me up like I eventually did. What I DID find, was that even though I tittered over tequila or cried into my Corona, I didn't process. I just swallowed. Hence, the whole non-alcoholic obsession.
I realize now that, yes, shit will happen. What not drinking for me does is gives me control over my facilities so that I can hopefully, healthily deal with whatever life decides to BOWL my way.
Jane Says: You take the good, you take the bad, you take them all, and then you have...
Now that I am not drinking, I anger easily when I get overly emotional. I am NOT drinking. I SHOULD be in control, my inner voice thunders as I feel the heat of rage wash over me. My father told me that I should not concern myself with happenings outside my sphere of influence. Sometimes I feel like an omnipotent octopus, because when I am overwhelmed or angry, that motherfucking ant crawling up your leg in Kansas is within my sphere of influence. Reality seems to run from me, like my student PJ. He spoke no English and remained just out of my reach, trotting as I stumbled frustratedly behind him in my platform flipflops until I had unwittingly and unwillingly escorted him home. Except this time, maybe I'm stumbling myself to a better place. And instead of his parents waving thankfully at me, there's Dick, secure in the knowledge that yes, Virginia, we will stay married another day.
Today, Dick had a rough day. He was hot and frustrated, and although I tried to remain cool and supportive, I lost that struggle quickly. Whereas I was and am smart enough to view the situation from an observant standpoint, I was not calm enough to absorb his worries quietly. No ma'am, I got just as pissed off as he was, if not more, accused him of getting me worked up, and then pushed him away when he tried to kiss me. Apparently, maturity was NOT what was for dinner.
I was supremely upset that after my first weekend of not drinking, for which I wanted a quiet, peaceful, relaxing break, I got an emotional roller coaster. A little one, you know the green dinosaur that the little kids ride barely capable of flipping your stomach up into knots compared to what I am used to, but a ride all the same.
An old boss told me once that when it comes to relationships, you need to worry when you don't feel anything. Anger and Love are close relatives, in terms of the fire in your stomach. Especially when you love as passionately and foolishly (until Dick, of course) as I do.
Last year when I quit drinking, I found that it was not (as I had previously imagined) the source of all drama in my life. There was still turmoil and conflict that fell woefully short of my sphere of influence. I lost a friend due to a remark I had overheard at a school function. I was guilty by association, but her shame and following anger included me. Because I could not stop the bad, I picked up the bottle with the misgivings that it didn't matter whether I was drunk or not. Shit was going to happen to me. If I was lubricated, at least I would laugh. Or pretend not to care, instead of letting it eat me up like I eventually did. What I DID find, was that even though I tittered over tequila or cried into my Corona, I didn't process. I just swallowed. Hence, the whole non-alcoholic obsession.
I realize now that, yes, shit will happen. What not drinking for me does is gives me control over my facilities so that I can hopefully, healthily deal with whatever life decides to BOWL my way.
Jane Says: You take the good, you take the bad, you take them all, and then you have...
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