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

Blog

  • 9.2.22

  • 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’