I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable

Category: Uncategorized

  • still here

    and still sober.

    I don’t have much else to say right now, but I’ll be back when I’m feeling a little more eloquent.

  • Food stamps

    That’s what I’m grateful for today. My EBT card.

    I’m fresh out of rehab, been focusing on my recovery, and as a result am pretty broke at the moment.

    I wish I didn’t feel the need to follow up with the fact that I have several interviews lined up this week and will be gainfully employed shortly, but that shame is engrained in me.

    Grateful to have a way to buy food for my household and grateful to be actively working towards bettering myself every day.

  • revelations.

    I take myself too damn seriously. I need to lighten up.

  • reflections.

    There was something unnerving about the way I reveled in my pain.

    Alcohol allowed me to reside there permanently.

  • 2:27am, August 15th, 1989

    A cute lil baby (me) entered this world & was immediately rushed into surgery.

    Over the next couple years I would have several more surgeries, bouncing back from each one quicker than the one before. I was so resilient back then. Sometimes I beat myself up for losing that resiliency along the way.

    But did I really? Unless I stumble into some unfortunate death over the weekend, I’ll turn 33 on Monday, despite the chronic alcoholism, drug abuse, & the early twenties anorexia that I’ve put my body through.

    I guess I’m still pretty damn resilient. And I’m so fucking grateful for the body that got me here.

    Cheers to me.

  • 52 days

    Since my last drink.

    Since I started my recovery journey.

    Since I began finding myself.

  • 6:44am

    and I’m crying my poor little heart out because I want a drink or 12 with an intensity I haven’t felt in some time.

    Crying because I want to throw away the last 48 days for a fucking 6-pack before it’s even 7am.

    Because I want to hold onto the last 48 days more than I’ve ever wanted something in my life.

    Because I know I won’t drink, and that I just have to feel this shitty gnawing inside for as long as it lasts.

    I want to take the easy way out right now, but my brain won’t let me fuck up and I’m pissed as hell about it.

  • waxing poetic on LinkedIn

    Sometimes, when I’ve grown tired of my eleven hundred Facebook groups + subreddits, I like to mosey on over to LinkedIn, where the professionals always have something motivational (+ sometimes completely lacking in self-awareness) to share.

    You know the posts I mean? The kid who beat the odds, or the mom who never stopped trying. The CEO who started as a cashier at McDonald’s.

    My cold cynical heart has a field day with these because they so often feel like cheap validation or karma grabs. I hate that about myself because we all need uplifting stories to brighten our days, but it is what it is.

    This is not a very cohesive post that I’m writing.

    Anyway, all the eye rolls while I read, but also a little bit of jealousy. Of wishing I had that kind of reach, that people found me inspirational or thought I have a story worth telling.

    Maybe they do. Maybe I’m the only one holding myself back from my success story. I do like to hear myself talk so I could probably write a hell of a comeback tale.

    If I had a point when I started typing, I’ve sure as hell since lost it. I’m going to go jot down some notes for my viral LinkedIn post now.

  • just doodlin’

  • excess.

    The CDC defines excessive drinking, for women, as 8 or more drinks a week. Excessive drinking comes with a plethora of health risks that have been well-documented. Over 52,000 people died alcohol-induced deaths in 2021, up 34% from pre-pandemic levels. Chronic liver disease and cirrhosis were up as well, claiming more than 56,000 lives last year.

    A fifth of vodka holds 17 standard 1.5-ounce drinks, costs $7.84, and will get you through the day without withdrawing. If you are me. Were me.

    Five days of medical detox comes to $11,000. Plus thirty days of residential treatment at $800 per day, $24,000. $35,000 for a life. My life.

    In 2019, less than 10% of people who’d suffered from alcohol use disorder (AUD) in the last year received any treatment.

    Why was it cheaper for me to stay sick than it was to get the help I so desperately needed to get well? Who can afford to get better? People are literally dying to get into treatment.