Avoidance

Drinking was an avoidance. An avoidance of what exactly? Life? Facing myself? Facing today? The present?

I have been supremely adept at avoidance. Pushing something away. Not facing something actually is far more exhausting and requires more energy than facing it. The avoidance thingy is draining and I am tired. Enough is enough is enough.

Excuses:
I’ll get round to it.
I’ll do it tomorrow.
All right.
I can’t think about it now.
I’m too tired.
It’s too late.
It’s too much.
Not now. Later.

Habits are easy. Once an excuse is spoken or thought it becomes easier the second, third and fourth time. It rolls off the tongue, it glides through. It appears easier not to. On approach it is waved away. Like a small child interrupting adults talking. Soon it knows it’s not welcome. It lingers but behind closed doors. Lurking. There but not really truly present. More of an essence. A residue.

In limbo now. I am no longer drinking. I have no desire to go back to drinking again. A small white lie. I had a thought yesterday. Of what if? The thought was there. How big or small it was is irrelevant. It was there. And now it is no longer there.

I am aware of this avoidance that I have veiled over myself. The cape is see-through. It has slipped down to my shoulders. It pins me still.

Drinking is behind me. The present is in front of me, it is around me, it is here, but I still feel frozen with fear. Fear of what exactly? I have no idea. The fear of stupidity? Of failure? Of success? Of boredom? Of nothingness? Of repetition? Of feeling? Of letting go? Of control? Lack of control? The unknown?

Ah.

Control. A fear of a lack of control? Is that it?

Does that boil down to ego?

I have no ambition. Never had. I used to think that was a minus. Now I see it as a plus. I had no self confidence. No self esteem. Now I have some. I used to feel guilt, paranoia and perfection. I have managed to shake them off. Anxiety lets itself in still. It comes hand in hand with depression sometimes. They are a pair who have a key. I asked for it back but it fell on deaf ears. I changed to locks. But we are in a heatwave and I need to let in fresh air. Sometimes they creep in an open window. Tonight they are bothering someone else. I am alone with my fear.

The present is now. I am here. I am showing up. I am present. Now what?

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Blemishes

Summertime and horror go together. Was watching Kaidan, Japanese Ghost Story, a few days ago, a story of revenge, then the next day I was reading Allen Carr’s book, “The Easy Way For Women to Stop Drinking” and found the similarity between the blemish/cut on the face stories to be fascinating.

The samurai fails to pay back his loan to the money-lender upon request and in return the samurai kills him and dumps his body. The samurai then suffers bad fortune and ends up killing his wife and himself in a murder suicide. The daughters of the money-lender never know the fate of their father and grow up, meanwhile the son of the samurai is raised by relatives and becomes a tobacco traveling salesman. One daughter meets the son and they fall in love. Their love is tainted because of their fathers so their love is doomed. The longer they stay together the more they ruin each others lives. The daughter gets a cut over her eye. She is tended to by the son but instead of getting better she becomes worse, the infection spreads and she eventually dies. The story doesn’t end there but that part, the cut or the blemish is the point.

The cut/blemish on the face if left alone would have healed by itself. The daughter should never have been with the son. But fate was cruel and they both suffered.

In Allen Carr’s book, “The Easy Way For Women to Stop Drinking”, someone had a spot on their face and kept using ointment to try and heal the spot. Instead it kept getting worse. So they applied more and more ointment. Turns out the ointment was poison. In the film the son was poison. And in life alcohol is poison. I found it interesting the horror story and a book to quit alcohol both had the same poison scenarios. Revenge and addiction served as one.

Sometimes it’s best to leave something well alone.

Mrs D is Going Without

Mrs D is Going Without by Lotta Dann

I have taken Lotta Dann’s advice and gone to the library to get books on getting/being sober. I picked up a bundle today and I am already halfway through Mrs D is Going Without. At the rate I’m going I’ll have it finished tonight.

To read a book that speaks to you is quite a Godsend. Every person’s reason to give up alcohol is different. Every person’s triggers are different. Every person’s symptoms are different. Depending on which questionnaire you fill out you can either breathe a sigh and think falsely that you aren’t an alcoholic. The stages of alcoholism are different depending on which website you look. Every country has there own relationship with alcohol. Some are closer than others.

Some people drink from the morning, others from 5pm. For me it was 6pm. Some days dry some days not. Life used to revolve around alcohol. From trips overseas, to a theatre visit to a night at home al fresco in the garden. Oysters? Why not. A nice glass of Chablis to go with that. When in Spain do as Spanish do. A brunch sandwich? Yes. Why not. A glass of red to go with that? What an excellent idea. Intermission. A wine? Or an ice cream? Why not both?

I have no regrets of what, where and how and with whom I have consumed alcohol. To regret would be redundant. I do enjoy wine. I can’t say did yet because it is still too soon.  I have a sneaking feeling that my idea to go back to wine will be a disaster of an idea. The concept of moderation is not why I am here today writing about quitting alcohol. I go to this point by over indulging, drinking to excess. Because I couldn’t drink in moderation. I haven’t woken up to the idea that moderation is not me. All in or not at all. I will learn eventually. For now though I concentrate on not drinking and trying to sleep. This insomnia is being to become stale. I am well and truly over it.  I accept insomnia as a side effect of giving up alcohol. i bear it stoically. This is all self inflicted. There is no one else to blame except myself. But even with that said I do not blame myself. It is what it is.

Back to my book….Thanks Mrs D.