Oh man. I threw HP’s wife under the bus when I told him everything she said to me, about him being a jerk for making plans and breaking them last minute, and it has been plaguing me ever since. I feel shitty about it. Super shitty.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it this morning and about how he never responds, anymore, the way that I want him to. Then I ran into him in yoga. A year of knowing each other and we finally take a yoga class together. I was so grumpy when I saw him but after class decided to go get a smoothie with him and let er rip like I always do. I tell him everything that is on my mind. I don’t hold back. I am not sure if it is a self-defeating compulsion or radical honesty. Either way, as long as it only involves me and what I say, I am good. I hate gossiping. It’s ugly. I told him how worried I was that his wife was upset with me for telling him details she said to me in confidence. He assured me she was fine. That she harbored no ill will towards me. I had a feeling he was clueless, so I contacted her afterward and told her how sorry I was that I threw her under the bus. She told me she was initially very upset but was okay now. Which is “pisces speak” for “you are dead to me now.”
It’s fascinating to me how little I think these two authentically communicate with each other.
Before bed tonight, my little baby girl turned to me and said, “You are enough, mommy” My heart melted, and I kissed her teeth.
I can’t stop crying. The suffering is great. Alone. Lonely. But not. I know not to be. But, yet, the fear and pain are real. Feeling so much shame about drinking the other night. I was fine until I had that wine. At least I was at home. But then Jordan came over. My daughter was asleep in her bed. I was dizzy and threw up. I felt stupid. Amateur. What was he even doing here? What the fuck was I thinking? It’s over. It’s done. The shame is killing me, though. I had one beer tonight. Because of my stomach. It helped. I don’t want anymore. So that is good. I do want some relief from the obsessive shameful anxious thoughts, but I am not willing to numb them out anymore. The Zen Center was helpful today. It was. I can feel it in my bones. Community. Is what I am taking with me.
Community. Safety. Impermanence.
I can forgive myself and love myself unconditionally in any moment. I can choose that. I have that right. I can do that.
I wonder about my old sober community, what did it mean to me? I felt community today, at the Zen Center. I feel it with The Center for Council. I feel it in Story Tribe. I am not so sure about Street Poets.
Being a single mom is scary. It is a whole new kind of alone.
I struggle at times when I know my ex-husband is with his new girlfriend, happy and falling in love. I remember that feeling. I remember it with him. I remember when he was kind to me. Courted me like no other. I saw tulips in his fridge. For her. I am sure. He used to buy me flowers too. Bill, one of my ex-boyfriends from almost twenty years ago, texted me last night and said I was his big love. The sexiest most beautiful woman he ever met. John, my boyfriend from when I was sixteen, said something similar. Another one, Mark, from college, said I was the “one that got away.” I find these confessionals to be supremely surprising and delusional, to be honest. I don’t feel that way, about anyone from my past, I have no sense of a “great love” that got away. In fact, Bill, John, and Mark were pretty shitty to me. Abusive, actually. You know who was kind? And who would have continued to be kind? Two. I can think of two in particular. Danny and Mike. Those two would have done anything for me. They would have loved me till the end of days. And I rejected them. I did. I was not attracted to kindness.
My heart hurts tonight. I am rocking in pain. The tears won’t stop. My eyelash glue is stinging my eyes. The price of beauty. I just want some peace. Some serenity. Some soothing. My mind to stop. Zen meditation. Redemptive love meditation. Adyashanti. I want to feel strong arms around me. I want to be held while I cry. I want a warm body. Jordan’s body did feel nice. Strong. Full. Manly. Even though he is not yet thirty. Oh well. I highly doubt I will hear from him again. And I really don’t care either way. I am so not into just some hook-up. I am beyond that. I want a spiritual relationship. I want communion. I want love. I want to be seen and heard for who I really am. Fuck! I guess that means I have to see and hear myself. For who I really am. I have to fucking LOVE MYSELF first. I hate that!! I feel so fake doing that. Or just saying it. But I lie. At the same time. I have had some pretty amazing moments lately where I have felt like a million bucks and so good about myself and being alone. Like a deep peace. I think what I am going through right now is a direct result of drinking too much Friday night. That shit fucks me up. But I really don’t want to be so black and white about it. I don’t want to go back to AA and spend the rest of my life talking about it. I really don’t want to do that. How can I not make that be the way? Why not use some form of accountability hypnosis? I wonder if that could work. Tracks when I fuck up and when I don’/t and pay myself for having one beer tonight. I don’t feel bad about that. It helped my stomach. I really don’t like feeling buzzed. And it is fattening. So there isn’t that much that I find particularly enjoyable about drinking, but sometimes, relief does sound nice. A small respite from this BRAIN that I have that NEVER STOPS. Maybe that is the edge. Maybe I am depressed because I took so much Klonopin to handle the anxiety? I am wondering how much better I was stone cold sober for over a decade? It just feels like the same shit but for a different reason. I want to get to the bottom of the shame/fear/anxiety tornado. It happens regardless.
Ugh. I love you, self.
You are so rad. Smart. Funny. Beautiful. Really. You give a shit. You try really hard. You are not perfect. But you are good. And you will not do anything bad. You will protect yourself and your daughter. I know you can do that. Start an accountability log. Start loving yourself.
If only it were that easy.