I am so embarrassed. I was stoned and it seemed like a great idea. I sent HP a song by Luscious Jackson called Mood Swings. I put It in our shared dropbox folder. I thought I was so cool by doing that. Then I bought, with money I don’t have, the new Erika Lust short film called. “Will you be my master.” And I ALSO put that in our Dropbox folder, after I masturbated to it, of course.
All this because he sent some lame ass pathetic response to my break-up email.
I am so pathetic.
All he said was: I am sorry you felt that way. More later.
And I couldn’t wait for the later. I just couldn’t do it. I had to bombard him with me. An onslaught of epic proportions of me-ness.
I also sent him a link to this new porn director, a young girl, 23 years old, who is making some beautiful kinky shit.
He finally responded to that one.
He said: Something about being super fucking busy. And at the end, he wrote: Stay Golden.
This is a reference to my daughter being named after one of the characters in The Outsiders.
I was a little buzzed, but I responded by saying: Don’t worry about me. I am super golden.
I don’t even know what the fuck I mean by that.
I am such an idiot.
But it’s all good because this morning I woke up and I deleted the shared Dropbox folder.
So although he might think me insane, at least, there is no longer any proof.
I feel empowered by knowing that. It’s the little power I have left. I am holding on to it for dear life.
He is not all that.
I finally got a tattoo I have wanted on my forearm. I just walked into an unknown shop in Highland Park, grabbed the first artist I saw, and said Can you do this? Now?
A little red balloon on my forearm and underneath it says Let Go.
For fucks sake already. Jesus.
I told my husband that I decided to start drinking again. I did it in the most lame-ass way too. I was at our friends house with our daughter and he was coming to hang out and eat food and take our daughter home with him. I was not going to drink there because I knew he was coming. But when I got there, it sounded too fun not to. So I did. And I knew I had to tell him before he arrived, so I sent a lame text about it. Saying hey, I am having a glass of wine. Just so you know. I have spoken to my therapist and other people about it. And it’s all okay.
He didn’t speak to me or look at me when he got there. He was pissed.
I went home and cried myself to sleep. The idea of losing any more of him killed me.
Why did I do that? Was it alcoholism or me wanting him to know?
Regardless, he knows and according to our texts all morning, he is not happy about it. And I don’t blame him.
My first reaction was to crawl towards him, to turn on my back, and to vow never to drink again and to go back to AA as soon as I could.
My instinct was to please him so he would not be displeased with me.
He refused to speak on the phone with me. I had to go run a group home session with 7 foster kids who didn’t want to be there. I had a hard time focusing. My anxiety was at a 10.
I had to practice letting go like a motherfucker.
Because the next day I had a date with a girlfriend to do some shrooms at the beach and watch the Sunset after setting intentions and shit like that and I for sure as hell did not want to trip with my anxiety at a 10.
It was a good practice.
It took us 3 hours to get to the beach.
Traffic was hell.
NEVER drive to Malibu on the weekend.
I barely ate any mushrooms. Teeny tiny bit. A pinch of some ground up shit that she mixed with coffee grounds.
Everyone else ate a lot.
My intention was to LET GO and TRUST MYSELF.
I forget what everyone else’s was. There were four other people there. This was a group that went through yoga teacher training together and were obviously very close. I just met them. As I write this, I am amazed at my thinking. Who does that? Drives for three hours in the worst traffic imaginable with people she barely knows to eat mushrooms on the beach and watch the Sunset?
So many things could go wrong with this scenario. So many.
I am not afraid to push the boundaries of emotional discomfort, am I?
The shrooms never really kicked in for me. Which I was grateful for. I spent some time shuffling my feet in the sand making spirals, but other than that, I was fine.
My friend kept eating more. I declined. I feel like that fact right there is a huge score for me and moderation.
I had no desire whatsoever to be out of my mind.
I was okay exactly as I was. I didn’t need anything. More.
I couldn’t help but ruminate on Husband situation. Kept coming back and back and back to it in my head.
No rhyme or reason. Nothing I could do but LET GO.
Felt super embarrassed about Highland Park and the confusing mixed messages I was giving him.
Nothing I could do but LET GO.
I kept letting go and letting go. Minute to minute. Second to second. I shouldn’t have..let go. Maybe I should…let go. I wish…let go. I want..let go.
I made it home by 10 pm. I walked in the door and fell to the floor crying. Sobbing.
I let go at the beach, but it all came back once I was home.
The tsunami of shame and guilt.
Who Am I?? What am I doing?? Where is my family? Where is my rock?
I knew who I was a few months ago- I was a sober married woman with a kid.
Now what am I? Lost. Confused. Drifting aimlessly.
Maybe I knew EXACTLY what I am doing?
Maybe none of this is a mistake?
Maybe that was the perfect way to let him know I was drinking again?
Maybe it was sexy and weird but messy and human to send that shit to Highland Park?
Maybe I am on this journey of life, and I am human and not perfect and can make mistakes, and it is okay. Totally okay to fail. Fail big. Fail A LOT!
I picked up my book I am reading Women Who Run with the Wolves and I read this:
Though a woman may look scattered when she has lost touch with the life she values most and is running about trying to recapture it, she is most often gathering information, taking a taste of this, grabbing up a paw of that. At the very most one might briefly explain to her what it is that she is doing. Then, let her be. As soon as she has processed all the information from the clues she’s gathered, she’ll be moving in an intentional manner again.
And that my friends is what I am doing.
I am running with the wolves.