Isn’t it funny when you build yourself up to some emotional pinticale as if it’s the final scene of a heart pounding romantic thriller and there is simply no life after this moment. Nothing is more important. Nothing further matters anymore.
Then after you pass this razor sharp prefaces you breath out a sigh relief and even feel a little bit of embarrassment at the hype you worked yourself up to.
This is me after my last blog… It was an epic expose about this one particularly heavy night/weekend of partying in my early life. It is actually a rather sad story now that I have seen it posted and read it from an external perspective.
This was to follow (and probs still will) with more blogs of my most darkest moments in a twelve part series, the purpose of which was to get them out of guilty tumble dry cycle inside my head and lay them out fresh to the public, open for sqruitiny in an attempt to finally let go of the past.
As I wrote this hideous memoir, my stomach tightened and shame came over me, I was even worried my husband would look over my shoulder, read it and hate me. I felt guilty and embarressed… 12 years later.
This is the extent of my inner turmoil, I am still punishing myself for these actions, which had their own reactions over a decade ago. How am I suppose to love and respect the new me when I am still punishing the 18 year old girl from a lifetime ago? Thus the purpose of my Sober Diary. Gotta move past this shit..
Anyway the real kicker was, no one fucking read it!! I cringed and tapped and paced, and not one fucker even looked at it!
However after random spouts of laugh crying I decided this was a good thing, I am not seeking gratification afterall, simply a platform in which I can vent. Alone or among others, it doesn’t matter.
Speaking of other anticlimaxes, last night I had a ‘How am I ever going to have fun again’ moments.
I was Facetiming my besties, whom were planning their baby shower over a glass of wine together. We laughed and giggled however there was no denying the big elephant sitting on the wagon in the room.
See usually, we would be sitting together, wine flowing for all, having a blast at planning this event, voices getting louder, laughter becoming obnoxious, music playlist heading back in time.
But they were there. I was here. They had wine. I had kombucha. They were buzzed. I was not.
After our Facetime, it hit me like a big tone of bricks that I would never be doing this with them again. And I think it worth mentioning, I find it very hard to believe. Why would I want to abstain from much a lovely fun evening with my beautiful friends, one I have enjoyed time and time again?
It is true to say that I still just can’t believe that joining that very same situation, without alcohol will be as fun. I just can’t swallow it.
Even still, it is not enough to sway my decision to be sober. In fact it brings to light the darkness. That which is the other parts of the night I conveniently forget (or black out more to the point) where I turn in to a self ritious ass hole. Where I challenge my friends, point out their flaws, don’t give a fuck. Think its funny. The very reason that brought me to where I am today.
I do not like myself when I am drunk.
And inevitably the following day would be met with gut wrenching anxiety as I sived through the stinking fog of the night before, trying to remember and trying to forget all the horrid shit I undoublity got up to.
Now that I do not miss! Harray!
So last night I had a little ride on this fun packed emotional roller coaster, however overall, half way through month number two of abstinance, I am pleased to report this situation has rarely come up.
I honestly have had minimal cravings and even my FOMO has been at an ultimate low.
I have instead directed my manic tendencies into fitness, and applying for jobs to assist me in my endeavor to be a #badassbusinesswoman.
And bob is your sober uncle, I have two interviews this week and my ass looks fantastic!
Until next time, my invisible audience, goodnight.