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Previous posts
- Walk it off
- No good guys, no bad guys
- Back in the pulse
- New Year day, max settings
- Reflective kissing
- Christmas 2025, 10 out of 10 would Christmas again
- The good cheer that came
- The ladies’ man
- That time I went to the coolest CAT PARTY
- My experience with buproprion
- All of the betters
- A perfect day
- Diamonds in the coal
- Stripped down, stress free
- 12 years from the bottle
Archives from 2002-2006
Jan
15
The brain chemistry math could not be more simple: if I go for a river walk, it’s a good day. Really and truly, between the exercise endorphins and the interest of seeing all kinds of animals and people and standing on a bridge watching the water go by, it’s a good day. So why is it often still so hard to motivate myself to get out the door? It’s like holding a delicious piece of pizza and being like, myehhh I dunno if chewing is worth it for all that FLAVOR.
It’s true the weather has not been conducive to getting outside or doing much of anything but staring out a window and Feeling Bleak. We have that socked-in valley inversion fog going on lately, chilly and zero visibility and the sense that everything everywhere is very stagnant, except of course for the endless U.S. horrors which barrel forward unabated.
I don’t want to get too far into it because there are so many smarter better sources for commiseration over current events but man my capacity for understanding Trump supporters at this point is so far beyond gone. I have no idea how people can look at the exact same video of a citizen being killed by a toxic untrained loose cannon and see such different scenarios and I don’t know how any of us find any kind of common ground when we simply don’t share the same reality.
All to say I will send myself on a walk today regardless of the conditions, because I need the pick-me-up. I love everything about walking near my house except 1) the part where I have to lace up my shoes and Just Do the Damned Thing and 2) the part where I have to pass people who are walking only slightly slower than I am, so for a good long while I am just creeping up behind them like a total weirdo, like the sex-curse entity in It Follows, until the worst of all moment when I am actually passing them but briefly walking with them, like oh hiiiiiiiiiiiii heh heh heh, UGH. But aside from the intermittent bits of profound social awkwardness there is so much to see, I can choose from the very cute/interesting nearby neighborhoods, the Delta Ponds wetland park with a little hiking trail, or the paved river path that goes for miles in a big loop. A perfect way to put the blah on the back burner, once I life coach myself into it.
I have a 25-lb weighted vest that I wear sometimes, I started with a lighter version — maybe 12lb? — and this one feels about right. There are times when it seems like it adds just the right amount of oomph, and times when I start to put it on and I’m just like: no. Weight of world feels too literal, cannot both wear this and also listen to NPR’s Up First, nope.
Jan
10
It took me having real distance from my marriage to be able to acknowledge this in my head and out loud: I was not an easy person to be married to. For plenty of reasons probably, including my lazy habit of not screwing the lid back tight on the peanut butter jar, but specifically for the fact that I struggled with addiction off and on for so many years. We were married for a long time, so there were many periods of sobriety, but too many where I tried and failed to hide substance abuse. I dealt with this like every addict does, by lying and getting defensive and turning things around and often behaving like I was the victim.
That created an unhealthy dynamic in our marriage for a long time, where he had to be the cop and I was the fuckup. It was hard not to internalize and believe these roles, I felt like ultimately I was never in the right because I was the one who was the addict. I was the worst one, you know? I always felt that way, deep down. I felt like I had no right to feel like things weren’t working for me if he was the one who stayed when I was at my worst.
He did stay, after all. He stayed through the lowest of my low points. The worst day of my life in terms of pure shame was also the day I stopped drinking. I still can’t really talk about it without wanting to, you know, die, but it involved me secretly getting drunk when I was at the cabin with my young boys and his parents. His parents had to take the boys to sleep with them while I slept off being absolutely shitfaced, and then I had to face them the next morning. And I drove home with the worst soul-eroding hangover on earth and I did not drink again after that day. May, 2013.
I hope my boys have very few memories of me being altered. I did get very good at hiding, I was a high functioning fuckup for the most part. But of course we always think we’re good at hiding when the reality is it’s apparent to other people.
Struggling with my demons always felt to me like it was my battle to fight alone, but the truth is I impacted those around me and John most of all. He was angry with me, he was supporting of me, he was encouraging, he was frustrated, he was all of the things. He probably could have benefited from something like Al-Anon. He was dragged through it and none of that was his fault.
All to say, there are no heroes or villains in our story. We are both just humans. I do think overall we had a good marriage, it wasn’t always easy but there were some really good times. I’m sad and sorry we aren’t in a better place now, but maybe that will change someday.
I cannot live in shame and regret, I did that for too long and it was so damaging. It is the job of every addict to find acceptance for what was and let that be, let it help us strive to be better but not hold us down in self loathing. I am so sorry for every bad choice, and yet I have come to feel like it all shapes who I am now. I have so much empathy for those who struggle, I feel so humble and grateful for all the good things in my life. I am so incredibly thankful that my boys don’t have to worry about me or experience me in unrecognizable behaviors.
I spent a lot of my life wishing I could undo so many things, but I don’t feel that way now. It all had meaning, even the shittiest parts. It all taught me something. I’m not who I used to be and that’s okay, we all change as time goes on. And sometimes we grow apart.
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