Sober and sad.....
I woke up in a mood. Why does that happen? Reading positive inspirational posts on blogs and Instagram. Well, some of them do hit a nerve I suppose. Remembering and yet wishing I could forget. Wish I hadn’t washed away the last 20 years of my life in wine. Well not every day. Just almost every.single.evening. The sound of glass bottles in my recycling bin make me cringe. They are just teensy weensy tonic water bottles, but I still ‘feel’ the shame in emptying another bottle of wine and adding it to the pile of empties that would sit in a multitude of bins in our garage. We couldn’t throw them out because we get money back for empty wine bottles. My husband’s chore was to make the trip to recyclers every couple of weeks (ahhh we laughed about his allowance…. *sigh*). So every time I went into the garage I would be hit with the smell of empty wine bottles and the various glass bottles that we imbibed in the last couple of weeks. For most people this would be a year of recycling, hoarding in fact. Nope not for us. Shame.
Played cards after supper with my kids (23 & 26) last night. It was fun and sad all at the same time. Because right up until 2 months ago, playing cards after dinner ensured my mood was altered by at least 2 glasses of wine. I pouted if I lost a hand, was oversensitive at innocent teasing, all the while noticing how my girls would gently glance at my wine glass knowing I was an ass because of the glass (a rhyme, how clever). Shame.
My youngest is so damned proud of me, I feel shame. I feel shame because of the nature of opposites: If she hadn’t been so obviously hurt and affected by my drinking, the fact that I stopped wouldn’t be such a big deal. She’s always checking in, like an expectant mother. I have had to ‘nurture’ my mother my whole life and I resent that responsibility; I NEVER wanted my children to be burdened with that. And here we are; at least that’s how it feels. Shame.
I live in fear that I waited too long. That I have altered my body physiology so badly with wine that I am just brewing with cancer of the liver, or breast or both. I have friends who are suffering so right now with cancer; one who drank, one who didn’t and both on the same inevitable journey. Fear. And shame.
It’s DAY 24 and instead of celebrating, I sit here and cry. For the damn choices I made, how I , this strong, determined, intelligent woman succumbed for so many years.
I won’t drink today. But it’s not a celebration, it’s a wake. I suppose another part of the journey I must make to ensure lasting change in the way I live my life. What I have left of it at least.