November 22, 2015

It is the eve of what would have been my 11th sober anniversary. How do I feel about that? I am surprised by my lack of loss. I don’t feel anything about it. Really. But did I ever? I never felt excited or gregarious about my AA anniversaries. It was just another day in the sun. Another sober day. I loved being sober. I still love being sober. I don’t know if I see a real need to count days. Makes me anxious. Makes me bored. Or maybe it is only because I am repressing the pain and guilt and fear so deep that it won’t touch me at all. That could be true. Both are probably true.

I went to see a movie Friday night with a friend I don’t even particularly like. I met him on OkCupid and we knew immediately we were never destined romantically. He is too morose and somber, although extremely bright and acerbically funny. So I said yes when he invited me to a movie. Then he wanted to get a drink before. Then a drink after. And I drank with him both times, even though I didn’t want to. And then I had remorse with a vengeance. I sobbed intermittently the next day after running into healer man Fredd on the trail and he told me I have to unhook and heal this shit with men. I do what they want to do. Regardless of whether I even like them or not and after I left I stopped and dropped and sobbed. I feel the weight of generations of Mormon women believing without a doubt that they would not get into heaven unless sealed for all eternity to a MAN. A fucking man. And preferably, to be one of many women sealed to that man. I am watching my mother go back to a boyfriend she doesn’t even like. Who makes her physically sick. She can not say no. I did not say no. I have to say no, if not for me, then for my daughter. She deserves better. (I come from a long line of Mormon women, although I am not Mormon and never was. My Grandmother on my mother’s side was a fundamentalist and a seventh wife)

Who AM I? To thine own self , be true. That should be my next tattoo. On my forehead. I forget. I give up. Way too easily.

Mediation. Financial fear. Sucks. Terrified. So over Highland Park. He makes me angry now. I am ashamed of how I acted around him. That was not love. That was lust. Let it fucking go, already. Man. He so did not treat me well. I am rounding the bend. I am in one of the last stages of grief- the anger part. The thought of him kind of makes me a little bit nauseous. Can’t believe I let him fuck me in the ass. What the hell was I thinking???

I was thinking- I want to be closer to the divine- and this is the way- he will lead the way.

Bullshit genetic Mormon brainwashing.

I did it in AA, by the way. I became fanatical, just like my Grandmother did with Mormonism. Maybe that is why I am not mourning my departure from that group. Don’t get me wrong, I would not be alive without AA. But there came a time when I became a Big Book Thumper of the most rigid kind. And that was the beginning of the end for me. And now there feels like there is no going back. I am on my own, untethered and unmoored. Life experience is my guru. Fredd is my guide.

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