Dry Land

the fun thing about being clean

is that every time I stumble

I wonder if my kids think

that I’ve had a drink

the other day I did something silly

in front of a store greeter

and I felt like his eyes were burning into me

assessing my sobriety

I pass by my old “sponsor” at her job

and wonder if she still has a superiority complex

the one instilled in her by her false religion

I can stake my life on this:

my key to being free

was not and will never be found

in me hating me

Freedom was found in facing truth and assessing wounds

in gaining knowledge and tools

in others validating my struggle

in others seeing the good of who I still am

and coaching me through the flood

until I could make it back

to dry land

and

Here. I. Stand.

Still feeling some remnants of burning shame

but fierce and proud

of being victorious over this messy life

yet again

Death

The process of dying

is a slow fade

it’s tissue losing health

and turning gray

Coming to life again

is excruciating

scraping the damage away

to reveal new skin

raw and exposed

and not ready to be seen by the world

My addiction is death

and choosing to die

but it was safe and

comfortable

and padded

as it murdered me

Coming back to life hurts

more than the things that drove me to choose death in the first place

Coming back to life is scarier

than the fears I quieted with a bottle of wine

(or four)

it’s a waiting game

but I’m terribly impatient

it’s feeling everything, brutal and clear

when I didn’t know I was making it so hazy

it’s wanting to race

when I can’t even crawl

it’s repetitively whispering to myself

it will all be worth it…

when the truth is

I don’t even want to be awake

lullaby

there’s a song I sing to myself

at night

when my anxiety is overwhelming me

and I can’t fall asleep

it goes something like…

holy hell, you are not your parents

and he is not his

and your kids are going to be okay

and when you are finally ready

there’s probably a job out there to be had

and not just at a gas station

but a real one, with benefits

also, depression passes

and you’re probably not narcissistic

I mean maybe, but unlikely

and you know how to deal with rage now

so you probably won’t end up in jail again

and you’ll get your strong will back

and start eating right and working out

and someday you’ll be able to pick up your Bible again

and read it more than once every fourteen days

and you won’t have to sit on your hands

and clamp your lips shut

to resist the urge to lash out at people

you love

who are unassuming and unaware

and have no idea that you just need to blame some of this pain on someone

someday the shame will fade

someday you’ll stop apologizing for sins you didn’t commit

and accept forgiveness for the ones you did

someday

and that is the song I sing to myself

and sometimes I even

fall asleep

without the help of a pill

thank you song

Haunted

He handed me drinks

until I could no longer think

the whole time planning to extricate

what he could from me

What was it that made him think

my body belonged to his

(as long as he could get me deeply enough under the influence)

He pretends that’s consent

He pretends he’s not a rapist

I said no so many times

explained quite clearly

that I wasn’t down for this

He was my friend

I trusted him

Years later I’m still dying inside.

He got what he wanted,

seemed surprised I was no longer romantically inclined

and then he got to move on with his life

and I’m still stuck back in time

full of rage, full of shame, full of hate

and desperately wanting back what was mine

Cheers to you

I came across this that I wrote several months ago while I was still struggling to quit drinking. It’s about how my relationship with my children changed during the course of my relationship with alcohol. I saw them trying to shelter me and taking care of more while I took care of less. I was completely checked out whether I was physically there or not. I lost touch with who I am as a person ethically,  and even if some of it was minor, it was still different from who I am and who I taught them to be.

I am glad I am sober.

 

I used to take care of them

Now they take care of me

Anytime I don’t have a drink

all I want to do is sleep

I’ve made myself a slave

I am owned by this disease

and now I’m making them responsible

to be a slave to me

Anytime I have for them

is taken away by wine

black depression

and a need to close my eyes

My time with them is fleeting

I’m undoing all

I spent years teaching

When I’m under the influence

I curse and I’m crude

I say and do so many things I would never otherwise do

Things I taught them never to do

Thank you, drink. Cheers to you.

 

I wish I’d never met you

Staring down at an empty glass and bottle

tears slipping down my face

I wish I’d never met you

I wish I’d never met you

Wondering what I’d do differently

in this life that is no longer mine

I wonder who I would be

if I never knew your name

if I had only let you  go

before it was too late

I was just trying to relieve the pain

escape reality for a day

and when I brought you to my lips

you tasted fine

and you helped me escape for a little while

but now

I wish I’d never met you

God I wish I’d never met you

You own me and you won’t let me go

You’re destroying everything I’ve ever known

and I don’t even  know myself anymore

Go away.

I wish I’d never met you.

I wish I had never met you.