the last word

Sunday morning, almost noon and I stayed up too late last night watching The Vow on free HBO this weekend. I’ve had some coffee but I haven’t brushed my teeth or gotten dressed. Some days I don’t get dressed and go from the living room to the tv room and hang all day. Some days I shower, get dressed, do my hair, walk the dog and wait until 6 o’clock before I turn into a Netflix slug. Oh quarantine, you do wonders to my psyche. Utah is spiking with the Covid, the mountain has delayed opening until the 7th of December due to no snow. I’m fine. As fine as fine can be but I fucked up and that’s why I am here today, I have to get this written out so I can get my brain to stop swirling. I want to have the last word but first let’s talk.

I drank wine 3 times in November and two of those times I was so seriously ill I thought it might actually take me out of the game. My poor mother. This last Tuesday, it was a pretty day weather wise but it was boring. I’ve learned through various times of this year that drinking is also boring in lockdown/quarantine/social distancing and can usually manage to not do it. This last Tuesday I went to the liquor store and got two bottles of wine and one can of beer. The second bottle was supposed to be for Thursday, Thanksgiving evening after my brother and niece left… I didn’t want them to come but how do you say no. I am not the only player and my extended family is estranged, has been for a few years and we are what is left, my mom, my brother and his daughter who turns 18 in a few weeks. My other two brothers (and their respective families) have not made an effort to visit for the holidays in a very, very long time and probably won’t ever. We still like each other, well kind of, but we all loathe the holidays and really don’t give a shit, or at least that’s what we say. There is so much pain and trauma from years passed that it is just easier to grit our teeth and get through the jingle bells and into January where things can start fresh again. Anyway, I came home with wine on Tuesday afternoon and my mom drank more than she usually does. I talked to an old friend and guzzled the wine, skipped dinner and proceeded to open the second bottle.

This is where it gets fuzzy and this is where I fucked up. I texted some stupid meme to my old Nashville boyfriend. He responded that he had spent a few weeks in the psych ward and I was not pleasant about it. Actually, I was an asshole. All the old hurt that I still harbor boiled up to the surface and while I am not exactly sure what I said, I did not meet him where he was at with compassion. I reiterated how he had put me in the exact mental state years prior. I think I said something like, glad you have the luxury to go to the hospital because I didn’t or some stupid shit. I don’t think I said, “Karma is a bitch” but that’s what I meant. Fuck. I would never had said that sober.

Now, this guy, has held me at arms length for over a decade. He will draw me in and then sling me out and I have let him do it, over and over again. I had claim that he is the love of my life. There were days in Tennessee that I would get up in the morning and just lie on the bottom of the shower sobbing in emotional pain trying to get my shit together so I could go to work. I would be so fucking sad that it changed my brain chemistry. What I know now but didn’t know then was that he was addicted to cocaine, he hid it from me because he knew I was against it. When we were together, we smoked weed and drank wine, nothing stronger and then he would disappear and it would kill me. This cycle went on for years. YEARS! I’ve written about him on this blog a lot. I was engaged to another guy and started another round of relationship cycle shit with him. It’s all just so fucking shameful. Stuff that I could crawl into a hole for the rest of my life and never come out.

Wednesday, I spent the day puking every 20 minutes. It hurt. I was hyper ventilating and panicked that I may have just gone far enough that perhaps a trip to the hospital was in order. I scared my dog. I really frightened my mom. Some how I pulled through when I remembered that my mom had a lorazepam, I took a 1/2 pill, texted dude that I was sorry for being an asshole and I just hope the best for him and drank some Gatorade. The hangover lasted until yesterday, Saturday, that’s how long it takes these days, four days for my body to feel ok again.

Last night, right when I put on the movie The Way Back to watch with my mom, I realized he had blocked me. I wanted every drink that Ben Affleck’s character was drinking. I was so in my head it was hard to concentrate but I didn’t lose my shit. I am calmly succumbing to the fact that it really is time to be done. To let him go. To not try to “be friends for the rest of our lives.” It is hurting me and it is hurting him. I have kept this tether to him out of fear and hope, I am nowhere close to lying on the bottom of the shower crying out because he dumped me again, I am still holding my breathe a little and going over and over it in my head but I haven’t shed a tear. At first, I thought I will just send him a card with a gift and try to mend it. That will make it better. I saved his address and deleted the miles of texts we have shared over the last few years because I was trying to save myself from how I would analyze it all. It really sucks to be blocked. Do I deserve it? Yes. AND No. What does that even mean? Why am I asking myself that question? It is null. It is what it is. Did I fuck it up? Yep. Was it going to get fucked up eventually? Also yes. Was staying in contact with him all of these years ever good for me? No but I had been able to put it in a place that I could hold onto him in my heart without wrecking my daily existence and I thought I was winning. This isn’t a contest. This is my life.

I also came to the conclusion last night that I have been keeping old damaged relationships and the people at the forefront of my mind. Keeping the loss, regret, the would have’s and the could have’s very alive. What I did, what they did, my justifications and the shame and heartache that it ended. Trying to piece together what they might have told other people. This keeps me in a constant state of shutting down on myself, worried that no one will ever like me. Feeling like people don’t like me which makes me not like myself. It’s all a conversation I am having solo in my head and it is fucking with me. I’ve noticed during all of this social isolation that around 8 o’clock at night I start to get really uncomfortable with social media. I start to feel isolated, old, fearful that I have fucked too many things up, fearful that the world is out of control and people are just assholes. I turn off my phone. I’m glad that I can recognize this and also know none of it has proof of being true but it still affects me.

I haven’t told you about the other time in November that I drank. I met my friend in Colorado for a weekend. She didn’t drink much but I did and spent the next day puking. She went by herself to hike. It was awful and humiliating and she’s probably not going to trust to hang out with me again. She’s going through some rough times, she’s a nurse. On the ride home I just convinced myself to give it space. She said she didn’t hate me. I tried not to apologize too many times so that I became annoying. Fuck.

The third time I drank wine in November, I kept a lid on it but didn’t feel good the next day. My ski friend was moving to Santa Fe, so we hung out in her backyard with other ski friends. It got me really excited to get back on the mountain. On the way out to our cars, one of our friends who I never really liked but tolerated, he was sober, I asked him about meetings and we traded numbers. I have yet to text him but I will because he can help me with community. I like him more now that I know his story. An ex-priest from New England who figured out he was gay. He’s 10 years younger than me and I thought he was just full of shit all last season. That’s what you get for assuming. We’re all full of shit and pain and addiction but there is potential for authentic joy however fleeting it feels right now. We are all looking for the same thing and right now I think it’s relief.

Relief, I know this to be absolutely true, it is NOT in a bottle of wine in the late afternoon of quarantine. Nope. And I want it anyway, always thinking it will be different this time. I am not going to make a blanket statement that I am going to get this all under control. I have done that too many times. I had a glimpse of what I could make my future and it was a huge relief. I am way, way better than I used to be and it was incremental tiny steps. Today I am not going to drink because tomorrow I don’t want to be sick. I am hopeful for the future me but also at the same time telling her to fuck off and to just wait a god damn second and stop squawking. She’s doing it because she loves me and this is who I need to listen to, want to focus on, need to stay in regular contact with… and I will try to be more understanding.

Quarn

It’s been over a year since I have made a post. Not because I haven’t thought about it… I’ve just been somewhere else and couldn’t find the willingness to sit down with a keyboard. I check in a few times a week and see that some of you are still hanging around, posting occasionally and I am thankful for those even if I don’t take the time to comment.

I was teaching skiing full time when the shutdown came in March. I walked to my car with my supervisor that afternoon, worried about the corona virus spreading but also looking forward to the next two days off, I had skied 10 days in a row (2 days in Colorado) and I was tired. He said, my supervisor, “See ya Tuesday!” and I am sure I said, “ski ya later!” as we got in our cars and drove down the canyon on a clear, warmish evening. Later that night on Facebook, it was announced that the all of the resorts would be closing, effective that evening. I found out on Facebook that I no longer had a job and we had 6 weeks left of the season. Crazy times. What ensued after that, well, everyone knows… we are still in it. I wish I would have filed for unemployment but I didn’t. I am lucky to not have a lot of bills to pay and I had savings. Somewhere I believed I didn’t deserve it but I put it under the guise of dealing with the government was a pain in the ass.

Salt Lake had a big earthquake and thousands of aftershocks the following Monday morning. And so started the endless days of all day living with my mom. We binged the Tiger King, Homeland and Breaking Bad at first because we were so bored and unsure/scared and didn’t leave the house. It’s been seven months, going on eight and I have finished a few sewing projects, there is one still on the dining room table. I have read two books, watched nearly every single episode of the 90 Day Fiancé franchise, plus too much Real Housewives and home improvement shows, went camping once for a night, been on a few hikes and drives, went up to Idaho to visit my brother who lives in the middle of nowhere for the first time since he moved there 15 years ago, had a sewing job where I actually left the house each day for about two months but that ended weird a few weeks ago and now, I sit with my TO DO list.

The week before George Floyd was killed I had signed up for a journal writing class via zoom with my old writing co-op in Nashville but I only went to one meeting. I couldn’t do it. I was so overwhelmed by what was happening in the U.S. I deactivated Facebook for two weeks. I bawled my eyes out watching the funeral, I walked my dog and tried to eat. I couldn’t take in the noise of what was going on and I felt that I shouldn’t add to it either. I minored in African-American Studies at the University of Utah and I knew too much. It was what I have been waiting for since 1996 but when it got here, I had to sit down and just not. Not be mean to my mom, not watch the President on the television, not read any white person’s opinion on social media about what was happening. I did listen to the Black Lives Matter voices, I did have some alcohol, I did spray everything that my brother touched when he came over with Lysol after he left.

Dopey. I found Dopey while I had my sewing job and listened to podcasts all day. If you don’t know what I am talking about, do yourself a favor and give it a go. Actually, listen to This American Life episode 667. (I am not smart enough to add a link.) I am going to join the Patreon and stop all of the other people I pay to talk to me about sobriety. I am not saying anymore about that today. SSDN and FTFC.

Where I am at with my sobriety is better than it was, not as good as it was before but still trying. I haven’t spent the day barfing since probably July, perhaps early August. I may have thrown up a couple of times. I only went to the sewing job hungover once and every minute of it felt like an hour so I didn’t do that again. I called out which sucks. I was on the verge of a drinking brown out when I met the lady who hired me and later I slept out on my friend’s trampoline that night because I didn’t want to drive and didn’t want to sleep in the house because of the virus. I haven’t had any alcohol for 5 days as of now, right this minute. I nearly completed 30 days September/October but the eating disorder took over and I couldn’t deal. I cried in the car after the therapist and vowed not to see her again, but I did, now I don’t see her until election day. I also did another thing, called Change Your Story but I am still working on my opinion about it so I don’t want to say too much there either.

I did get super sick and went for two Covid tests because the first one was taking too long for results. I had a severe summer cold/flu and was sick with worry. I binged Nurse Jackie, all seven seasons. Both tests were negative.

They say the ski resort will be open on November 20th. It’s rained 3 times this summer and not any clouds on the horizon. I am delaying turning in my season schedule because I am unsure of what I want to commit to this season. It’s going to be weird. Are cases going to surge? Everything is going to take place outside and on some days in January, that sucks. It’s cold. No locker room, no breakfast in the lodge.

I bought a new car. The twitch in my eye lasted for two weeks. I guess it was a good idea, I drove my last one for 27 years. It was time.

One of the books I have read (My Fair Junkie being the other) is Chanel Miller, Know My Name. Brock Turner’s survivor. We do say survivor and not victim these days, right? She is a lushes writer, she holds your attention and keeps it moving with succulent descriptions. I am a ME TOO-er and I have noticed something intangible popping up in me. An awareness of how I have been trained to think about myself as a female.

And as I end this post, I will leave you with this:

They tell you if you’re assaulted, there’s a kingdom, a country house, high up on a mountain where justice can be found. Most victims are turned away at the base of the mountain, told they don’t have enough evidence to make the journey. Some victims sacrifice everything to make the climb, but are slain along the way, the burden of proof impossibly high. I set off, accompanied by a strong team, who helped carry the weight, until I made it, the summit, the place few victims reached, the promised land. We’d gotten an arrest, a guilty verdict, the small percentage that gets convictions. It was time to see what justice looked like. We threw open the doors, and there was nothing. It took the breath out of me. Even worse was looking back down to the bottom of the mountain, where I imagined expectant victims looking up, waving, cheering, expectantly. What do you see? What does it feel like? What happens when you arrive? What could I tell them? A system does not exist for you. The pain of this process couldn’t be worth it. These crimes are not crimes but inconveniences. You can fight and fight and for what? When you are assaulted, run and never look back. This was not one bad sentence. This was the best we could hope for. “

Chanel Miller, Know My Name

I know, what a bummer. Sorry. I will bring some hope next time.

Day 8

I had heart palpitations during the last withdrawal. It was an odd sensation, like a kitten doing a somersault in my chest. I was at work on Wednesday and I was feeling ok. Sitting at my desk and all of a sudden it felt like someone tipped the boat over, I grabbed the desk and didn’t know what happened. I was a little stunned, I was sitting down. Took some deep breaths and tried to ignore it. Y’all are the only people I have told. Even though it wasn’t a two day hangover, looking back now, I am fairly certain that my body was still trying to rid itself of the damage I had done on Monday night. I’ve heard people talk about palpitations during hangovers and withdrawal but hadn’t ever really had them myself. Not like that anyway. Scary. Plus the particular brand of eating disorder I have wrecks your heart… silent panic with a huge wave denial. I turn 46 on Sunday and I could be a candidate.

I also finally quit my job that day. At least, I told them. The end is near… just another week or two.

Nashville called and I am going to go work my old corporate Christmas decorating job for a month in November and then by the time I get back, the ski season will have already started and I will be full time at the resort. So long, soul sucking office job!

Things are good. I feel pretty good physically, (haven’t had anymore heart stuff) which helps the mentally… and I am glad I signed up for the school. Even with my minimal engagement with the school’s online community it is helping.

I feel like I am doing something different about a problem that I haven’t been able to fix. Granted I have had longer boughts of sobriety and I am more nervous about down the road than I am about this weekend. I can handle staying sober this week. I can construct my weekend to be in the sober zone. The motivation is that the thought of drinking or being buzzed/drunk disgusts me at the moment. I can tell that my sense of smell is better already and the thought of having to smell alcohol in order to drink it sounds like a terrible idea. Blech!

I also had to apologize to my therapist. God, I was pissed at her. I told her so through a few emails. It was about my drinking and how she didn’t act like it was a big deal. She’d take my money whether I was sober or not. I am a believer that in order to evolve or progress or fix/change things with someone like me who drinks too often, uses alcohol as their main coping mechanism for the shit (and good times) won’t be able to heal. Or the healing process will take a much, much longer time and I will continue to circle the drain. Tired of the drain.

Last thing before I sign off, I am having to take a drug test for “Making Christmas Great Again” in Nashville. I am out of weed. I didn’t smoke that much but it was daily for about a year. I had a large stash that finally ran out last night. I am relieved it’s gone but also a bit trepidacious… I never got super stoned just a few puffs here and there nightly in order to tolerate the mundane of my evenings. Hopeful the lack of weed doesn’t send me to the liquor store.

Have I told you about my idea for an emergency button that you could push if you do find yourself inside a liquor store? You don’t really want it but you don’t know what else to do. So, just before you get to the counter (or even after) you can push this emergency button and someone comes out and gives you a hug and a cup of tea and listens to your woes until the urge to drink passes. I have thought about this button at least the last 30 times I have stopped at the liquor store and wished for one. I think the Mormons would go for it.. alcohol is so regulated here… ha. Naw, actually I am sure it would piss people off if the Mormons interceded. I just wonder how many others feel the way I do, standing in that line. Some of them look really rough.

Not funny? I am still blaming the Mormons a bit.

Mo’ money

I did it. I just spent money on doing the hip sobriety school. Sorry, the Temper or whatever it is called. Y’all know Holly? I have been following all sorts of people for years… but I always liked Holly the best. I like Belle too but I have done that… and Belle would say to try something different. So, the email came through about the last chance to sign up and I was in just the right hangover space and time to do it. I asked my mom and she encouraged it. It’s no secret to her that I want to be done with drinking. She sees me doing it. She sees the ramifications it causes to my body and general happiness.

Hopefully this will work. Something has got to give. I am stuck in a four year long asshole cycle. I quit, I moderate, I quit, I moderate and then I overdo it and want to die. Then, I drink again. I listen to sober podcasts in the morning and stop and buy alcohol on the way home from work. I still hate my job. I have to quit. I should’ve quit yesterday. Didn’t go today because I couldn’t bare it. Now, I have the anxiety of not going because I drank last night. So, to fix it I signed up for this course because I need help.

Have a feeling you will be hearing more from me in this autumn season. In the meantime, wish me well.

The Bode Miller Award

“The goal is the same every year- to not hurt myself” Bode Miller

While my trip to Chile was in fact fantastic there were things that I am still working out. My coaches gave me the Bode Miller award for our group. Everyone got an award… on a keychain. It was sweet. Mine was weird. Bode had been on the World Cup team with one of my coaches and while he is an Olympic medal winner and an accomplished skier he did his own thing. Had a reputation for it. Maybe I was tired but it kinda hurt my feelings. I didn’t hear everything she said because I was spacing out and I know she meant well, when I asked a guy in our group what he thought of Mr Miller, he said, “he was the rebel, the party guy. Kind of a drunk, but he won” And with that I went to bed while the rest of my group went and danced on tables together until 3 am to end the week. We were flying out the next afternoon and I wanted to ski in the morning. I was a little grumpy and tired and I felt like an outcast. It’s like they had all finally bonded and I missed it.

“The days where you crash, you… get your drink, get your clothes, cruise the lodge, take your boots off, have some food, go home, take a nice shower, hang out with your buddies, read your book.” Bode Miller

Y’all would have been proud of me for my control around the alcohol. Ok. Maybe not, I did drink but I was also so keenly aware of how much I was taking in as to not ruin the next day. One lady in our group missed an entire day of skiing because she was too hungover to get out of bed.

The dining room was the most difficult part for me. So much commotion and giant portions of food, some of it strange, it was hard. We ate there 3 times a day as a group. The table manners of my cohorts were little to be desired. If I could have taken a sandwich off to a corner of the quiet part of the hotel, I would have been better off. I probably would have gotten more substanence. The first few times we entered the dining room, I felt dizzy. Like I was on an amusement park ride. It was the eating disorder- that old tired hag just won’t quit. I would excuse myself before dessert to go smoke and recollect myself. I did the best I could with the food and they made money off of me for sure and next time, I might do something else to accommodate my needs. Big group meals 3 times a day for 7 days in a row is not easy for a person who almost died from anorexia.

I was also the only smoker, well, except for some of the staff and a few Brazilians. I didn’t smoke my normal amount because of the elevation and I tried to hide it but I didn’t quit. Maybe Bode smoked?

We arrived on a Saturday afternoon and by Monday I pretty much knew everyone in the hotel. Ok, not everyone but I had chatted and made friends with the staff, the Utahns, the Chileans, the Brazilians, the New Yorkers, a giant group of partiers from DreamWorks. I’d be with my group and they would come say hi or wave and call my name, and I would get questions on how I knew them. I am just not a shy person when I travel. I’ll talk to anyone, maybe it’s all the damn Grateful Dead shows or the Camino. I just turn social and I learned a long time ago that people will tell you anything if they think you are listening. Plus the venue of this ski vacation was conducive for just this sort of thing, making friends. Also, the wine helped.

“Sometimes it’s all about the win, sometimes all about the skiing” Bode Miller

As I conclude this post, I have decided that Bode Miller is a bad ass and I should feel honored. It was an incredible experience and I need to find a way to do it again. It’s not for people without any money and I am going to be one of those people soon if I don’t start envisioning a new job.

It doesn’t matter that it’s the Olympics. I just did it my way. I am not a martyr, and I am not a do-gooder. I just want to go out and rock. And man, I rocked here.” Bode Miller

South American Winter

I slept 14 hours last night and I feel pretty comfortable in my body this morning. Perhaps I can write about my time last week. I am on my phone so perhaps not.

Portillo was as good as the Camino del Santiago as far as my life adventures have gone. Just as intense, just as informative, just as life changing, just way more condensed. A week instead of six of hard body work, letting things happen as they should and seeing new horizons. Stretching the eyeballs and my spirit to new places I couldn’t have imagined had I not been there myself.

Where to begin?

I absolutely love skiing. Our group of skiers were all well advanced. Our trainers blew my mind. My skiing changed. Our whole group got better. It was fucking fantastic. I can’t wait for snow to go again and practice what I learned. Praying I don’t forget I keep going over in my mind how it felt, the pressure in my ski boots, keeping my arms forward and being aggressive and strong in pushing down the hill, feeling the bend in the ski and the corner of my boot and the control of flying. The physics of skiing that I learned in Portillo was life changing. I really, really want to go back next year.

Portillo is a resort that likened to my mind of Dirty Dancing, you know that place in the Pokonos, instead of dancing we were skiing and nobody keeps Baby in the corner.

This ain’t no Downton Abbey….

So, after the last post about horrible stomach bile anxiety, I went for a hike on Thursday with my friend, who is saved in my phone as FBI Rob.This is the top of it, Lake Catherine. (2 miles, straight uphill) and that shit I wrote the other day was gone out of my body in about 20 minutes of my heart beating and my ass muscles waking up- they hadn’t had that kind of blood flow that I have been aware of for a long, long time. It felt good, because I know how to breathe in…I used to not be able to know how to breathe. I still don’t, I smoke cigarettes. I can pretend I have good lungs…. or at least they are still responding and I know how not to hold my breath when my legs extend. My corner 7-11, have two packs sitting on the counter for me before I walk in, I ♥️my guys at sev. They are East India immigrants that have master degrees in engineering, fairly certain that 7-11 is treating them better than whatever one can get a job in the land of the Mormon as a “non-native.” They own it, they charge more… Whatevs, its sevs in the affluent neighborhood Cottonwood. But, this ain’t no country club – wait, what?Can you or can you not see the skull with roses in the cloud reflection in the water?I know every name of all of these flowers because of my grandma, Edith. They are all so familiar I wonder if I am telling a falsehood to FBI Rob from Baltimore who has never spent a summer in the Wasatch – who hasn’t ever seen these flowers before? Sego Lily, Indian paintbrush… 🤣🤣😁🙄 blue bell cockle shellsAnyway, you got to this point.

After I found some snow and made a picture, is it uphill or downhill?

This post is half written… but I am publishing it anyway. I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense but the pictures are nice.

Codependent responsibility?

I am sitting here at my desk on my phone with a horrible case of anxiety sitting in my stomach while it churns what feels like a gallon of acid. I need to quit my job. I am trying to work up the nerve to tell them. Why is this so difficult for me? I hate this job. The pay is shit. I’ve given it over a year and every morning if I allow myself to think about it, I dread it.

If I could, I would just gather up my belongings and head out the door. My sense of responsibility to this place is keeping me in my chair.

In some ways, it’s an ideal job. Don’t have to dress up, I work with just two other people. One from skiing who is easy, the other one, not so much.

I called out yesterday because I couldn’t take it anymore. At least not yesterday morning. The guilt of that shit makes me crazes. Can’t say I enjoyed my day off… but got some shit done. Took my skis to get tuned, which isn’t easy in the summer months and I hope I get them back in time to board my flight next Friday. And caught up on 90 day fiance… so not productive and my head was spinning. My mom came in my room in the middle of the night because she thought I was barfing. No, just restless sleep of agony.

So why all this urgency to quit? I only see a dead end. No room for growth. I asked for a raise and didn’t get much of one… just a slight one, not what I asked for and at first they tried to justify the automatic 12 cents was good enough for this year. They told me I had to earn it. It took me weeks to get up the nerve to even ask and it wasn’t until I was really pissed because another thing had been dropped on my desk that they could have done themselves. I have a feeling, if I were a man, they would have given me what I asked for, which is a competitive wage for what I am doing in the job market. I researched it. I am just the office girl who does all the shit you don’t want to do and I want out. Now. Done. Misogyny is thick in the sand and gravel industry.

I’ve been working at a country club too, serving drinks by the pool and I make twice the money in 1/2 the time and don’t have to use my brain at all. Well, just the part that keeps me from calling people assholes.

It’s been two hours and I am still sitting here sick. Gawd, I hate myself sometimes.

Cagado de miedo (Scared Shitless)

My trip to Chile has been postponed a week and moved to another resort. I was going to Valle Nevado on August 1st which I was anxious about but not too, too worried. Due to the lack of snow storms, my group decided we would have a better time in Portillo and we have made the necessary changes. Holy shit, I am scared.

This is what my people are wanting to ski. While I am certainly not going to be featured on any Warren Miller flicks any time soon… I can do it. One way or another. I keep telling myself, at least you won’t hit a tree. (Portillo is above the tree line in the Andes Mountains)

I am not in shape but when am I ever? I always have grandiose ideas that I will start lifting weights and change the contour of my muscles. I am walking and hiking and doing some yoga. Feeling ok. Trying to eat more than I think I should but that isn’t easy.

In other news, my therapist and I have come upon some research that anorexia nervosa may not be just a psychological disorder but more ingrained in genetics and metabolism. No shit. I could have told you that… yes, I have behaviors that are weird around food but I am not doing it on purpose and after 4 years of CBT therapy, I still struggle finding a consistent hunger for food. Nothing has to happen for me to skip a few meals. I am growing weary of the endless lame ass shit. Hopefully, there will be a new treatment discovery for this hell. I would like a pill, please. Something to override whatever it is that makes my body want to starve itself.

One last picture of our lodging, can’t help but think of The Shining when I see it.

This is going to be a once in a lifetime experience… Lord knows I have spent more money than I wanted to and don’t know when I can afford to go back. Going to have to suck the marrow out of this one and take in all that it has to offer. Scared or not, doing it anyway … staying sober so I can feel good.

What are the things?

I unceremoniously drank a bottle of wine on Monday night, not the whole bottle, my mom had a glass but then I had a beer leftover from camping in Colorado a few weeks ago. Why? Because one of the dudes I dated (remember the snow dick monument I built- that guy) got married to a girl 1/2 his age that he had known for less than six months. I found out at work because my co-worker who is also a ski instructor saw it on Facebook. It felt icky. I didn’t want to drink, wasn’t craving it at all but did it anyway… and it made me sick. No deep insights, no relief, just sick. I would have been better off eating a meal and studying. I am not really upset that he got married. I don’t really give a shit. I knew he was looking for a wife and he has poor impulse control.

What has been bothering me is last season, the chick he married had a locker next to me. She was new and things were friendly until mid season, I came into the locker room one morning and she was giving me an attitude. I felt this crappy energy, you know how girls do, non-verbal distain bullshit. I was like, WTF, did I do to you? And then shortly thereafter, someone told me they were dating and it all made sense. So, I kept my distance from her which wasn’t too hard because she was pretty closed off to people. I remember because he talked shit about everyone on the ski hill and it put a damper on trying to be friends with people. As a side note, I did have a much better season this year not carpooling with him. Whatever. But the guy, he didn’t keep his distance from me. He was constantly interjecting into my conversations and skiing past my class and staring at me from across the snow field or in the lunch room. I wouldn’t respond to him but he never seemed to get the hint. It was frustrating. People don’t like him. He’s arrogant. I tried to remain cheerful and out going to my fellow instructors and not talk about him but people would come to confide in me about the fucked up shit he did. So, that’s where I am at, feeling weird.

I don’t think it’s jealousy because I wouldn’t trade places with her for anything. Last winter, I would talk to myself and say, “stay out of their relationship, it has nothing to do with you. You don’t wish ill nor do you wish them success, just ski over here, these people are fun. None of this has a thing to do with you. He’s an asshole, blah blah blah blah blah blah”

Why I drank over it was dumb and I knew at the time I was buying the wine but I did it anyway. Maybe I have an undercurrent of defeat. Or regret. Resentment, less than… that’s what I am trying to figure out right now, why I have been wanting to be sober for 3 years and just can’t stay the path.

Hangovers suck and that is my motivating factor for most nights and I can go a week now without worrying too much about it then something like this pops up and it is almost as if I expect to drink… Pavlov’s bell rang and I answered it because that is what I am trained to do.