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.