My Recovery Rock Bottom – Part 3

Here’s the third of five UN-edited articles that I’ll be sharing before I shut down my blog for re-construction. It was composed in October, 2019.


“You wouldn’t know, you’re not a mother.”

My friend was right.  She was a mom in the depths of toddler hell and I was childless.

What you don’t know is, I had suffered a miscarriage less than 6 months prior and was actively trying to get pregnant again – I wanted to be a mother more than anything.

But she did know.  She knew that and she uttered those hurtful words anyway because she was struggling with something I knew nothing about. Which is funny because, I ALSO was struggling with something she knew nothing about. She didn’t have to “try” for a baby and she never knew what it was like to lose one either. I don’t remember if I pointed that out to her then or not. My guess is, I did.

I called my husband on my way to work to invite him to my daily pity party of 1:

“Can you believe she’d say that?” (waaaah waaaah) “She KNOWS how bad I want a baby!” (waaaaaaaaah)

What you also don’t know is, I had already polished off the wine from the night before. But he did.

“Have you been drinking?”

Of course I lied. I lied all the time about my drinking. But everyone close to me knew I was an alcoholic. Down deep, even I knew, but I was drowning in a sea of denial at the same time.

Less than 6 months later, I got my second DUI on my 32nd birthday. 2 days later, my husband told me he thought it best to wait 6 months to get pregnant. Devastation is an understatement. I wanted to get hammered but instead, cried myself to sleep because it had been decided for me that I was done drinking. Sure, I could have drank but I did not want to deal with the consequences…not that weekend, anyway.

I went on to relapse a handful of times over the next two months and for some reason, my husband changed his mind on baby making.  I picked up a sponsor to make everyone think I was serious about sobriety (cuz I wasn’t) and she highly suggested I wait a year to get pregnant.

What do you think this dry drunk girl did?

1 month later, I saw 2 lines and it wouldn’t be too long until I would experience the challenges that come with ages 0-5 that my friend was lamenting about just before she dropped that insensitive statement on me.

Do I regret getting pregnant in my first year of recovery? Of course not!  God did for me what I could not do for myself.  I’m convinced that had I not gotten pregnant, I would have drank again and again; causing more wreckage along the way.

That being said, I’m also positive that had I put more effort into my recovery that first year, I would have been better equipped with tools to handle life when it got harder after we brought home baby #2.

Because being a mother is hard AF. I cannot imagine doing it drunk.

Being a mother (with alcoholism) without a complete reliance on a Higher Power proved to be unbearable. For me anyway. Hence the name of this series – My Recovery Rock Bottom.

2 more posts and a final “sign off” before I shut down my page for all things new.

#morewillberevealed

Skeletons 2.5 – My Reactions

Reactions (past):  Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it. – Charles R. Swindoll

I’m just going to cut to the chase and give you a clear picture of what alcohol does to an lush like me: a codependent, conflict adverse, people-pleaser who needs validation, praise, love and acceptance from others.  In my right mind, I’d never be on a rooftop as my family approached my front door below shouting “WTF are you doing here!?!?”

And on that note…

Intervention #1, 2006

My sister was concerned after I shared something disturbing that had recently happened when I was drunk at another DUD’s. Disturbing enough that she felt it was time to get my parents involved. All 3 of them arrived unannounced. They calmly expressed their worries and asked why I was so sad. I recall mentioning not being pleased with my life, depression and whatever else I could muster up for self seeking pity. There was no drama. I knew I had a drinking problem and I was going to fix it! I set out to stay sober for 2 weeks. And I did. But then I drank again and I picked up right where I left off.  I moved back in with my parents for the last time and gained SOME control but not for very long (per usual.)

Fast forward 6 years and being the go-getter that I am, I managed to set myself up for not 1 but 2 interventions, back to back. Go meeeeee!

Intervention #2, February – 2012

In Skeletons 2.3, I talk about the events leading up to this quiet sit down. It was just H & my parents and once again, I was calm and not defensive. But that’s only because I was sober and knew I couldn’t talk my way out of this one. H asked me why I kept relapsing and my dad said “it’s the disease.” At that moment, I silently agreed with him. I had no defense of my own. Once again, I solemnly swore that I was done drinking for good.

I told you what happened next: I took advantage of a stop to run into the store for something and prepared for Intervention #3 by smuggling 2 mini-boxes of wine back home for a rainy day.

Ha! Just kidding…

Intervention #3, the very next day

I also share details about what led up to this showdown in the post before this.

You know that horrible feeling when you wake up in the morning, not remembering something troubling from the day before and then you do remember and your heart sinks? I’ve experienced this feeling many times, post drinking and not drinking. Well this was my reality waking up and I was going into panic mode. My mom was talking to my mother in law and what I was hearing discussed enraged me. I was chain smoking in the back yard trying to think of a reasonable excuse I could give my boss as to why I had to miss work.

I was beside myself.  Not because I was being forced to quit drinking. I knew I needed help stopping, just not the level of help everyone else was insisting I needed.  I was trying to tell them all this but no one was listening to me.  I knew how much I was drinking and it sure as fuck did not require a supervised detox and 30 days at an inpatient facility.

But again, no one was listening to me.  My internal need to be heard was being ignored and I felt like I was being a treated like a child; and in their defense, I WAS acting like a child. 100%.  My power of choice had been taken away from me and I was throwing a tantrum.

Long story short, I did end up getting evaluated.  Physically, I was not in withdrawal and I answered all questions honestly, thus determining what I already knew: I qualified for outpatient rehab, NOT inpatient and I started the 6 week program right away.


When I have shared scathing details of my drinking career, people say “I can’t picture you acting like that.” I know. Neither can I.  When I think about all the questionable and downright unacceptable things I did, it almost feels like a completely different life. Like, I can’t even fathom living that way.

But I did. I lived it. And by the grace of God, I lived long enough to come out the other side. However, my inability to take responsibility made it take much longer than it should have. As a result, I stayed a dry drunk until December, 2016.

It wasn’t long after then that God said “alright, she’s ready now” and intervened in a way that made me question EVERYTHING.

Including my chosen path of recovery.

#morewillberevealed

Skeletons 2.4 – My Recovery Responsibility

Responsibility (past & present): “Every time you point a finger at someone, there are 3 pointing back at you.” – Unknown

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My favorite game to play in life has been the “blame game.”  Call me out and my go to reaction is more often than not, defensive. I will go to great lengths to justify my mistakes by giving you all the details that led up to them, paying particular attention to who and/or what I could blame so that I am pardoned. Not only that, if push comes to shove, I’ll even unfold my laundry list of transgressions made against me to deflect from the issue at hand.

Before taking my recovery and spirituality seriously, ROD had pointed this out to me in the past and I would deny it tooth and nail. I didn’t even understand this concept and had never heard of the “blame game” until S2 related to me when discussing marital quarrels. She stated that she too could be a “blamer” and that it’s important to be mindful of our roles in difficult circumstances and to not shift blame where it doesn’t belong.

When it came to my drinking, everyone, everything and what happened around me was to blame and I carried that mindset with me into recovery.  If I couldn’t make a meeting, complete some step work or get together with my sponsor or friends in the program, you best believe I had an excuse as to why and it was almost always not my fault. Unless backed into a corner, I straight up could never take responsibility for ANYTHING.

If I didn’t know better today, I’d likely still be twisting, manipulating and lying my way out of everything so long as it didn’t hurt anyone and I felt assured that I remained in your good graces. Old habits die hard and I have to really check myself at times.

Truth be told, my recovery suffered because of all the lies I was telling myself: I’m not an alcoholic, I’m not like everyone else, they need help more than me, everyone else made do (or not do) it, I will drink again someday, blah blah fucking blah.

There’s only one person to blame for my slow progress and spiritual growth in recovery. All I had to do was take a look in the mirror to see the real person at fault:

Me, myself and I.

#morewillberevealed

Skeletons 2.3 – My Reckonings

Reckonings (past): “Most of us have been unwilling to admit we were real alcoholics. No person likes to think he is bodily and mentally different from his fellows.” (BB, Chapter 3)

I’ll never forget a moment that occurred while talking to my sister on the phone.  It was day time. I was drunk and I remember saying to her something to the effect of:

“I’m an alcoholic and I don’t care.”

I’m quite certain that is the only time I ever called myself an alcoholic and actually believed it. Up until the end of 2016, every other time was me just saying it because that’s what I knew everyone wanted to hear and/or expected me to say. In my heart of hearts, I knew I was but I just could NOT accept it.

“My name is Pixie and I’m an alcoholic.” And in my head I’d say next , “not really but I’ll pretend to be so you leave me alone.”

I was no stranger to AA, however. See, with every sizable consequence that could have been way worse, I’d go to a meeting or 2 just to compare myself to REAL alcys and prove to myself that I wasn’t AS bad as them. They say to look for the similarities and not the differences. Not this stubbon ass. Alllllll I cared about were finding the differences and if there were similarities,  I still deemed them way worse off than me. The most common comparison I made was to my uncle. Alcohol literally ruined and essentially took his life. Surely if that’s what alcoholism looks like, then I am definitely not an alcoholic…right?

What I didn’t realize for a long time is that I was exactly like him, I just hadn’t gotten there yet.

My fierce pride and obsession to drink was so strong, it took several interventions to finally get me to agree to seek treatment (albeit, kicking and screaming.) And not the type of interventions you see in those reality shows where there’s a professional interventionist and letters being read by a big group of people. (Yes, I compared myself to those people too.) Just a handful of concerned loved ones telling me I needed to fix the drinking problem before it got worse.

Fact: alcoholism is a progressive disease. It always gets worse the longer one stays in their addiction. And mine did. Aside from an intervention I did on myself in 2011, I was intervened on 3 other times. I was hanging out with one of my DUDS, drunk on the rooftop in the middle of a work day just minutes before the first one happened. The final two interventions occurred 6 years later on a weekend – one on Saturday and the other the very next day.  I was in legal trouble and wasn’t supposed to be drinking anymore. But I just could.not.stop and I’d get sick thrills out of hiding it when I could. So having that attractive image in your mind, try to get a a clearer visual as I relive it for you here:

#1: Saturday –  The previous night, I went to see a movie with one of my besties*, aka one of my peas in my pod (PEA) or my ride or dies (ROD.) I was 3-4 drinks in before meeting up with her and she could totally tell.  We had a bite to eat and then went to see a romance movie. I passed out and missed all but 5 minutes of the flick.** PEA had to wake me up and I drove home…without my phone.  I don’t know how I made it home safely or how H didn’t smell the booze on my breath in the morning.  We went to an early breakfast and I couldn’t believe I was pulling it off.

By now I had realized my phone was at the theater so I retrieved it on my way to my parents house where I was meeting my other bestie, ROD, to go for a hike. Shortly after my arrival, H called my parents’ house requesting a sit down. PEA had texted him to make sure I had gotten home safe because I didn’t text her when I got home.

I can’t remember my exact demeanor but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t freaking out.  In fact, I know I was relatively calm because as soon as I met eyes with ROD, it was almost as if I didn’t have to tell her. She knew. I knew. We both knew. Yep, I had been caught red handed and it was right then that I laughed my last laugh for a good long while when ROD looked at me and said “I’m going to call you RED from here on out.”

Hence the birth of a new nickname and boy did I take it seriously. So much that on the way home, I was sent into the grocery store to get I don’t even know what, and I had the balls to buy 2 more mini-boxed wines and smuggle them inside my purse for the next day. Nevermind the fact that I had literally JUST promised my husband and parents that I would never do that again.

#2: Sunday – H went into the office, as he did often early in his career. I figured I had enough time to drink one and sober up before he got home. But then he called and told me to get to an AA meeting. My car was at my parents house so I asked a dear friend for a ride and she gladly obliged.*** I went to a meeting buzzed, came home and continued to drink a little more. Next thing I know, H is home and he smells it. He leaves to get our parents and so what did I do? I left too.

It was about 2 hours and an ultimatum later and I was back in my living room telling H and our parents how much I hated my life. It was decided that I was to stay at my parents house that night and get evaluated for rehab the following morning.  Can you imagine what that must have looked like?

Have you ever experienced….

…..taking a dog for a walk when they don’t feel like it?

…..trying to give a cat a bath when it’s in their natural instinct to clean themselves?

…..dressing a toddler who is does not want to stay put?

Yeah, it kinda went down like that.

#morewillberevealed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skeletons 2.2 – My Recovery Review

**Disclaimer: As mentioned in my About page, this blog has morphed into way more than I thought it would and with that has come various changes over the past 4 months.  I’ve updated the Home Page again to reflect those changes so check it out if the mood strikes you. Wanna know what else I did? Obviously that’s a rhetorical question because of course I’m going to tell you whether you want me to or not. I decided that I need to stop insisting new readers start reading from the very beginning; especially since this is Part 2. If I need to reference something from Part 1, then I’ll just link to the referenced post; just like I did in this paragraph…twice…and in the first sentence under this disclaimer. Simple as that.**


Review (past) : KISS – “Keep it simple, stupid.” 

In June, it will be 20 years since I graduated high school. As you already know (and if you are a new reader, then you don’t; so if you are curious, click the link above) I became ASB President by default, not by choice. This meant I gave the graduation speech and (basically) was committed to planning our future reunion(s).

Since I planned the 10 year* I knew that everyone would automatically assume I would do the 20 year and I was procrastinating. Honestly? I really didn’t want the responsibility. I was kiiiiinda hoping it would just pass by and no one would say anything. But I know myself. I would then feel bad and start wondering if I let people down, sending me into this little rabbit hole of “what ifs” and “what do they think of me? do they hate me now?” etc.**

But someone did say something and the more I mulled it over I was like “fine! I’ll do it. But not by myself,” and an event page was formed.

Here’s the thing though: I’m a perfectionist.  I obsess over finite details and complicate things for myself. Like, all the time.  So now my brain is getting a smidge overwhelmed by all the ideas popping into my head – the whos/whats/whens/wheres of the whole thing. The more I think about it, the more daunting the task feels….ugh…but then I remember, ‘oh yeah, I’m not doing it alone this time. Phewf!’

The same can be said about my recovery. I have made it waayyyyyyy harder for myself than it needs to be because I have allowed myself to believe that I need to do it perfectly. I have listened to countless shares in the rooms of AA and compared my recovery to everyone else’s. Simply put: my alcoholic, codependent, perfectionist  thinking told me that my recovery had to look a certain way in order to be considered (and remain) sober.

Before I dive in to WTF happened that finally forced me into a new life without alcohol, let’s review what my recovery has looked like, as laid out in Part 1; in chronological order, of course :

  • I’ve been lying and carrying around a BBS and I’m sick of it.
  • I was a dry drunk feeling bad for not working a program the AA way and have spent a lot of time reconsidering my AA membership.
  • Aside from a few relapses in early recovery, I have reverted to thinking and behaving alcoholically and I blame this on not having put more effort into my program up until this past year. So essentially, I’m still a “newcomer” and learning.
  • I’ve had 2 sponsors in recovery and have been without one for almost 3 years. I’m not 100% clear on if I will ever have one again. I also have never sponsored anyone and I’m not 100% clear on whether I ever will either.
  • At (almost) 6 years in recovery and being in and out of the rooms of AA the entire time, I have discovered two things:
  1. I AM an alcoholic and should stay sober from alcohol for the rest of my life and
  2. While I no longer have a drinking problem, I still have a thinking problem that I need to work on with the help of outside support.

Just like becoming ASB president wasn’t my choice, neither was recovery.  I started my journey with support, but wanted to be left alone.

Just like not wanting any part of planning the reunion, I wanted no part of recovery. I started my journey alone but didn’t want to be IN it alone.

And just like accepting my role as reunion planner took me a few, so did accepting my alcoholism. I started my journey a hard core dry drunk and the road to getting where I am today has felt somewhat lonely.

By choice.

That is, until God intervened.

#morewillberevealed

#step7

 

 

 

 

 

Skeletons 2.1 – My Recklessness

**Disclaimer: You may or may not have noticed but in Part 1, my posts pretty much alternate between past and present – discussing my drinking career and recovery in the past and my recovery in the present.  Part 2 will primarily focus on the past for both.**


Recklessness (past): “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results.” – Albert Einstein (so it is written.)

Suffice it to say, I brought upon myself a multitude of consequences in my 14 year drinking career – physically, emotionally, mentally, financially and legally.  I also dodged many bullets in between all of the ramifications that I suffered.

I mean, seriously? I don’t know how I am still alive to be completely honest.  My drinking took me to some pretty low places with some pretty low people.  You know that song by Garth Brooks “Friends in Low Places?” Yeah, see, all of those “friends” were never really my friends at all.  No, they were only my friends for the following reasons:

  1. NGL, I was pretty fun to party with. If I were you, I’d want to party with me too. But only for like an hour, 2 tops.
  2. They had something to gain from me – physically, financially or both – I’m talking about the opposite sex people, do I really need to explain this one? I alluded to my history with these DUDS in the last post of Part 1 and elaborated even more in the final asterisk of that post.
  3. They were friends with one of the winners referenced in #2.

My “drunkalogue” is jam packed with stories of embarrassment, humiliation, shame, remorse and then some.  I couldn’t possibly recount every single one of them for you in this post, nor do I even want to.  That being said though, Part 2 is all about WTF Happened, so in short, here’s a list of some of the consequences I suffered as a result of my drinking.

  1. Physically – hangovers that felt like death sentences,  a severely bloated face and midsection, bruises spread out all over my body, terrible sleep on a nightly basis, and in the final years of my alcoholism, it jacked my reproductive system.  There’s more but that’s enough.
  2. Emotionally – I binged on the weekends which left me with major “booze blues” come Monday morning.  Depression set in and took me down for days. This is where I’d make grandiose promises to cut back or quit for a certain amount of time. However, I never made promises to quit all together. I mean, that was unfathomable – never drink again? – yeah fucking right.
  3. Mentally – I had zero control of how I was going to feel on any given day and had no idea on how do life like a normal person.  To this day, 6 years later, I’m still working on this piece but now that the obsession to drink has been removed, I can actually acknowledge that I DO need extra help in this area and I’m taking action to improve my mental strength.
  4. Financially – DUDS took advantage of me for their own financial gain.  Now, let me say this: I have ALWAYS been over trusting and codependent. Even if I wasn’t drinking, I’d likely still have made the same poor decisions. However, I’m sure if my head wasn’t so foggy and I wasn’t so concerned with being liked or needed by these dicks, I would have “seen the light” and dropped their sorry asses a lot sooner.
  5. Legally – as previously mentioned, I’ve seen the inside of a jail. More than once. And all I’m going to say about that is this: alcohol made me make really bad decisions when it was time to go home at the end of the night.

Soooo, that’s that. I’m sure I’ll elaborate on some of the items above because, well, you know, I can’t help myself.

15 more days until I have been alcohol free for 6 years.  I don’t know what the future has in store for year #7 but I’m hopeful.  Here’s the one thing I DO know:

I don’t ever have to suffer consequences as a result of reckless drinking ever again if I don’t want to. It’s my choice to make.

I wasn’t really given the choice 6 years ago.  As far as I was concerned, I was forced into early retirement from my drinking career, hence why it took me so GD long to get to this point in my journey.

Today, Iiiiiiiiiiiii choose my recovery. No one else can make that choice for me.

So there. 😉

#morewillberevealed

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Rebel is Resisting Change (of her Closet)

Remember my very first post about purging my closet?

Wait, before I continue, if you are a rebel like me and didn’t start from the beginning like I told you to on my home page, then you best click here and catch up. This post kicks off Skeletons Part 2: What the Fuck (Has) Happened. Oh, sorry, some of you may not have been to the Home page before. My bad. Know what, no, read this post and then decide if you want to start from the very beginning.

Anyway, remember how I was all proud of myself for the progress that I had made in there and my shoes – those damaged, used, discarded, shoes? And how I still had some things to sort and sift through? Wellllllllllll…

It didn’t last. Along came the holidays and with that came presents. Lots and lots of presents. I barely had any floor space and had to move things around to access my shit. It was really annoying but I told myself that once Christmas was over, I can resume the “transformation” if you will.

Yeah right.

My closet was slowly returning to the chaotic disaster that it once was and next thing I know I’m promising myself “you’re doing it this weekend” or “you’re doing it on your days off while A2 naps” blah blah blah blah, never following through. Because it hadn’t gotten THAT bad yet. It wasn’t like it was before so I didn’t have a sense of urgency to do something about it.

See, I’m one of THOSE people. The one who will wait until an illness or pain is bad enough to go see her doctor. The one who will not wash her car until it is beyond filthy before getting it washed or who (sometimes) waits until her car is basically running on fumes, barely making it to the gas station to fill up.  I could go on but you get the gist. I procrastinate on pretty much EV-ER-Y-THING.  Things have to be bad enough or the pressure has to be ON to light a fire under my stubborn, lazy ass.

My closet cleaning sabbatical was short-lived though. After things settled down, I went back to work on the transformation. I must say, I am quite pleased with my progress. And no, this isn’t what it looks like now. I haven’t gotten there yet.

Get it? We’re talking about what happened, not what it looks like now. Don’t get it? It’s okay. Click here and then you will.

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So that, my friends, is also the story of my life when it comes to WTF happened that sent me on this long AF path to recovery (past) and what’s been happening along the way (past/present.)

And I’m going to tell you allllllll about it.

Buckle up bitches, you are in for quite a treat.

#morewillberevealed

P.S. I’m shocked I didn’t use a single ” * ” in this post. However, I did notice that I forgot to include the asterisk notes from the previous post, My Rebellion and Recovery Rekindled, on the *** page.  It explains some stuff that you may or may not care to even know. If you are one of those that clicks on the ***….go ahead, take a gander, they’re there now.

My Rebellion and Recovery Rekindled

Rekindled (past and present): Friends walk in and out of our lives but the good ones always find their way back or never leave to begin with.

**Disclaimer: This is the last post of “What the Hell it Was Like” and it is long AF. The topics include nicknames and roommates (and it has a lot of asterisks!) If you don’t GAF about such topics and would rather skip this post all together, then I guess you’ll just have to wait until the next post now, won’t you.**

Excluding my husband, I have had a total of 7 roommates in adulthood. All of these roommates have experienced me at various stages of my drinking career and it’s safe to say that I still owe some of them amends. Of these 7, 3 are still in my life today. 1 is my sister and the other 2 are friends for 20+ years – I love them so much they might as well be family.

I’ve gone by numerous nicknames given by these 3 individuals. Most fizzled out and others I answer to to this day. In fact, one of the names with my sister (R2) that we both STILL answer to stemmed from a non-word an ex-boyfriend would add to the end of people’s names.  15’ish years later and we still call each other this 3 letter non-word-nickname.

My very first roommate, R1, was one of my BFFs from high school. You know WTF you are. We were connected at the hip.  We did everything together – wore each other’s clothes, spent the night at each other’s houses, made embarrassing music videos, shared a couple hook-ups, went to the same college, shared a dorm and of course, discovered our fondness for alcohol together.  Our high school shenanigans and silly nicknames long gone, we were embracing this new freedom of living on our own; and with that came a lot of fun for us novice party girls. Remember, we graduated from a relatively strict school – a school that parents would send their kids to if they were up to no good at their public school.* So going from our conservative backgrounds to a very large public university in another state was like an episode out of Season 1 of “Breaking Amish.”**

Sophomore year we shared an apartment with 2 other girls we met through a mutual friend. At this point, I was now in an exclusive relationship with my first long term boyfriend – the previously mentioned “loser of all losers” – and my grades were suffering. I was infatuated to the point where I just wanted to be back home closer to him. Selfishly, I ended up subleasing my room out to a total stranger and moved home.  That’s when our friendship changed. While I try not to wish to change or regret the past, I do have remorse for how that made R1 feel.

Post college life, we both went on different paths in different states.  She settled down earlier in life with a career and family while I just partied and cruised with no plan or direction. There was never a definitive “end” to our friendship, per se.  Things just never were the same and eventually I let it go. I always loved her, thought of her often and wished her well.

Years passed and once again, God knows exactly what and who I need in my life at the right time. His perfect timing, not mine. I heard from this friend about 6 months ago, at a time when I was experiencing “valleys” in life. One online communication led to another and next thing we knew, we’re chatting daily via the Marco Polo app. We had discovered that we each had something valuable to offer the other and our friendship rapidly rekindled.  Both of our lives have changed drastically since God got us back together. We’re just scratching the surface and finding out what we are capable of as re-kindred-spirits. He works in mysterious ways, I tell you. Mysterious ways.

My sister, R2, was my roommate my entire childhood up until I left for college (obviously.)  We didn’t live together again until about 5 years later. Considering what little information I have just provided you, all you need to know is this: girlfriend has seen some shit. Especially when I was living with R3, my brother by choice (BBC.)

I’d known R3 since 7th grade and we ended up being in the same social circle in high school.  I hooked up with his friends and he hooked up with mine but we never were like that with each other. We’ve always had a brother and sister vibe going on. I’ll never forget back in 2005, another BBC and I met up with R3 and his best friend, the same guy I lost my virginity to on high school graduation night.***I can only recall snippets of that short visit to that downtown drinking establishment (I talk about those snippets in the above asterisk,) nor do I remember going to bed. I do remember the morning after though. R3’s mom woke us up and I was in his bed….WITH him…(GASP!)…fully clothed (PHEWF!)

Unlike many a’dirtbag I unfortunately wasted my time on, he was a perfect gentleman and did not take advantage of my vulnerable state while severely under the influence. Within a couple of months, at the suggestion of R3’s best friend (and my future husband,) I was moving in with him and another guy I did not know.****I had a boyfriend at the time so this living arrangement was purely platonic.

Sidenote: Yes, I had just cheated on said boyfriend (BF) with said future husband (FH.)*****

Yes, BF suspected said indiscretion and I totally lied; shamelessly convincing him I was telling the truth so that he’d stay with me. Never mind the fact that I did not love this dude AT ALL, nor see a future with him, I simply just couldn’t be alone and just HAD to have someone. (eye roll)

Remember, I said to expect brutal honesty and when it comes to men…I mean, guys…wait no, boys…the good, bad, mean and obscene…they are a huge part of my story. So huge that they will get their own page.******

Anyway, R3 and I discovered we both enjoyed the effects of alcohol so much that it became our favorite past time. We frequented dive bars, snuck into hotel pools, took a gazillion pictures for MySpace and “bit the hair of the dog” more times than I can count. My alter ego was born and R3 gave me the name Pixie. This period of my life stands out as one of my most alcoholic times and memories from that chapter are bittersweet.  I was on the path of self-destruction AND falling in love with FH at the same exact time.

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R3 gave this to A1 a couple Christmas’ ago…clearly I decided it belonged to me.

The longer I lived in this home by the bay, the worse my alcoholism got and I started to suffer consequences (again.) At the end, FH was now my boyfriend exclusively and we agreed R3 and I were bad influences on each other.  Telling R3 that I was moving out was hard and I think he was pretty mad at me at the time. R3, you know WTF you are. I have more to say and you can read more by going to the Letters page.

When I decided to embark on this anonymous project, it only seemed appropriate to rekindle my former alter-ego and use Pixie as my “pen name.”  It’s safe to say that I now have grown attached to it and even considered using it in “the rooms.”  But then B1 talked me out of that one saying people might think I was a little crazy.

Which, I am. I accept that. But she’s right. Just because I embrace the crazy doesn’t mean I need to unleash the crazy. Being in recovery has helped me practice mindfulness and self-awareness to recognize when my thinking goes sideways. It also helps having people in my life who inspire me to see past the one thing that gets in my way of living happy, joyous & free and that one thing is this:

ME!

#morewillberevealed

#part2comingupnext