February 28, 2013

Oh, Noah… You Old Drunk…

Posted in Alcoholism, Uncategorized tagged , at 4:46 pm by Yeah, So, I Quit

20 And Noah began  to be an husbandman , and he planted  a vineyard: 21 And he drank  of the wine, and was drunken ; and he was uncovered within his tent.

God, The Bible, Genesis Chapter 9

Do you enjoy my proper citation?  I have to do that for school.

That little story always kind of bugged me.  I won’t get into the Ham/Canaan curse part, and all the stupid misinterpretations.  What bugged me was the part I quoted.  Noah is beloved of God.  He’s a Big Deal.  Noah is the grandfather of  everyone currently on the planet.  Noah is a hero, and legendary within his own lifetime.

Noah was The Guy who was chosen by God to be saved, from all others, to continue life on Earth.

So, my problem with these verses had been two-fold.

  1. Noah speaks with God.  That’s pretty amazing.  He’s undeniable a special person.  Why would he resort to alcoholism?  Life is good!
  2. Noah is special.  He is a man we should look to with reverence.  Why would an account of his alcoholism be preserved in antiquity?  That seems so disrespectful!

It was only after typing that, and re-reading it that I realize that it mirrors things I have said of myself and alcoholism.  Strange.

Back to my point.  I have recently read the book Rumors of Eden by Kathy Frias and I am shoving it forcefully down the throat of everyone I encounter.  Among many other great things, this book explains why Noah was an alcoholic AND why it is told in the bible, and I am not even sure that Mrs. Frias is aware that she did that.

“Yes, my son,” he answered in a lighter voice, “the first earth was very beautiful. It never stormed. It was filled with the gentlest and greatest of beasts. I am fond of beasts.” He picked his cup up and drank. “And it was neither too hot nor too cold. It is boundless cold here; I can not get used to it. You would think I could.” He drank again. “And a mist watered the earth…“ He put his cup down, having acquired a slightly wistful expression.

Kathy Frias, Rumors of Eden

Though Noah is drinking throughout this passage, it never says he is drinking wine.  The book never has a drunken episode of Noah.  I don’t believe it ever even explicitly states he presently or ever in the past drank alcohol.

But it gives some pretty good reasons to want to drink.

Those of us nature-y types have appreciation of the beauty and splendor of the great outdoors, but we cannot fathom the First Earth.  God created it, and it was Good.  Good meaning holy and perfect and harmonious and beautiful and words I do not even know, as opposed to good meaning apathetically acceptable.  The loss of that Goodness for the duration of your lifetime, as well as the inability to share it with your grandchildren is a greater loss than I will ever have to suffer.

Poor Noah.

Having been born in that earth of the original plan, he did not have the disease and decay present here.  Due to the nature of the holy-perfect-harmonious First Earth, people lived much longer.  Noah had to watch as his generations of great grand children died.  Everyone understands that the parent outliving the child goes against nature, and that the loss of a child or grandchild due to this incongruity is all the more painful.

Poor Noah.

Noah saw the people of the First Earth running towards corruption, and their inevitable destruction.  In his very lifetime he saw them doing it all over again.

Poor Noah.

Makes me want to drink.

The book follows Madai on his quest to seek the truth about the Great God.  Madai, who is disenchanted when he first meets Noah.  Noah is just a man.

Noah is not an ageless legend, crushing evil with his thumbs and calling forth lightning and having the very thunderous Voice of God speak where ever he goes.

Noah is some old man.

Nothing extraordinary.

The kind of old guy who could contemplate how sad life is, and get drunk.

I have new appreciation for these verses.  Noah is honestly a human.  Noah is a regular guy.  And he has much more profound reason to get naked-drunk than I have had.

And the book brings about this revelation in a terrific way; you are not left feeling disenchanted that Noah is just a man, nor are you left angry that somebody has dared to diminish the awesomeness of this legendary historical person.  He becomes a man with feelings and vices, he becomes real.  The fact that he truly is just a man serves to increase the awe when looking at what he has accomplished.

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October 23, 2012

That Just Is Not Right

Posted in Alcoholism, Uncategorized tagged , , , , at 1:48 am by Yeah, So, I Quit

Very well then.  The moment you say that one set of moral ideas can be better than another, you are, in fact, measuring them both by a standard, saying that one of them conforms to that standard more nearly than the other.  But the standard that measures two things is something different from either.  You are, in fact, comparing them both with some Real Morality, admitting that there is such a thing as a real Right, independent of what people think, and that some people’s ideas get nearer to that real Right than others.

C. S. Lewis. Mere Christianity

I have always believed that the intangible Thing made up of morals, civil conduct, and values was part of that “everyone just has it” sort of quasi-Jungian collective unconsciousness thing.

You know, ethics.

Evidently it is not.  Evidently, “ethics” is a class that you must take at university level in order to obtain a degree.

It baffles me that there are so many people who will violently argue against the idea of a Real Morality.  Often enough these same people give generously to charity and strongly support equality and other good things.

The Golden Rule states: don’t be a jerk, and, if you are able, do some nice stuff too.

Who doesn’t want that?  Everyone wants that.  Cultures and religions all throughout the world and recorded history have had this very rule.  Different wording, same rule.  And that is ethics in a nutshell.

And I guess this has to be an entire class because too many people in the world don’t like to follow the “don’t be a jerk” part of the rule.

October 10, 2012

Oh Yeah, I Did Have News!

Posted in Alcoholism, Uncategorized tagged , , , , at 1:26 pm by Yeah, So, I Quit

Hello, my name is Violet and I am a girl of 14 years.  I have the green eyes and my hair she is brunette.

So began the first letter I had ever recieved from my real live pen-pal.  It was in purple pen and she wrote with all the swirlques of 14 year old girls around the world.  She lived in France, and sent along photographs.

Being a 12 year old girl I was fascinated!  I never knew anyone named Violet before, that’s a pretty name.  She lives in France, France is so foreign and interesting (especially if you have never been to France).  They have ballet and fashion and manicures and lace and toast! She writes with purple pens!  Most of my writing is with a pencil.  She looked so pretty and French.

And if you have ever been a 12 year old girl who had never been to France, than you know what I mean by looking “French” and it is amazing.

I have not seen any recent photographs of Violet, but I have a picture of her in my mind: she wears her thick brunette hair in a tidy chignon (no, I don’t really know what a chignon is or how to pronounce it, but it seems French and the word evokes the idea of the intricate and beautiful bun I envision), she wears a stylish hat with dark veil which half covers one eye, and she smokes cigarettes languidly from one of those telescoping filters the length of my forearm as she sits at a cafe having mysterious conversations that have hidden meanings, occasions of mirth light her eyes and then touch fleetingly on her vermillion lips which part to expose perfect little pearls.

Or perhaps she is at this very moment hunched in her pajamas at her laptop, hair in a pony-bun (like we all do when we want it up and out of our face, but it never looks good on anyone and isn’t very French), old Sobe bottle with seven cigarette butts inside on the coffee table next to her, one with a lingering tendril of smoke snaking its pungent way out of the wide mouth of the bottle.

I love to write.

I came here on WordPress thinking that I didn’t have anything to write about, but wanted to write.  The result was my romantic ideas about a girl in France.  I just now remembered that I do have news.  I have returned to school!  Of course, now I have no time to write about that.

August 28, 2012

God Does Answer Prayers

Posted in Alcoholism, Dirty Dishes, Uncategorized tagged , , , , , at 3:31 am by Yeah, So, I Quit

Not very long ago, I was having a (WordPress comments) conversation with somebody (I have brain damage moments lately, so I can not recall whom), and the conversation turned towards God answering prayers.

I do believe that God answers every prayer, though sometimes the answer is “No.”

We had been discussing many fancy things like string and sealing wax and I don’t know what all (brain damage, remember?) but we had definitely been discussing housework in general, and dirty dishes in particular.  I had made the statement that I very much wanted a dishwasher, but have no space in which to put one.  Therefore it would be silly of me to ask God for a dishwasher.  I quipped, “I suppose I will just have to start asking God for a place to put a dishwasher.”

This was simply a statement I made in jest.  As I have said before, my husband and I currently live in the home he inherited from his parents.  It is, aside from the lack of dishwasher space, more than large enough for the two of us.  It is set on beautiful land with a nearby stream and lovely forest.  The town is convenient, and the people here are pleasant.  I can envision us living here for a very long time, possibly the rest of our lives (unless God calls us elsewhere, as He has a way of doing, but that’s another topic altogether).

But I have thought on and off about it since making the statement, and I have made the prayer, “hey… if it isn’t out of the question… it would be really nice to have practical space here to have a dishwasher.”  I made a good case for it.  I reminded God how horrible I am about doing dishes, and how having clean dishes would enable me to be a better wife.  How this would help me to feel better about myself as a wife.  How this would help my husband to have a tangible display that he is loved and respected.  How this would help our marriage to be more wonderful and good than it already is.

I never got on my knees and handed Him a printout of my power-point presentation “How God Can Increase The Godliness Of Our Marriage With A Place To Put A Dishwasher” (along with keepsake pen and magnetic paperclip holder).  But I did have these ideas floating in my head when I made the “it would be really nice if you would” prayers.

And then one day it happened!  I found the wonderful world of counter-top dishwashers!

I do not mean those wimpy little things that can only fit three salad plates and a tea-cup, and then it squirts water on them for a few minutes at a velocity and volume roughly equal to that of a dollar store water gun.  God led me to an actual appliance.

null

It is like a one-rack dishwasher.  And it fits easily on my counter.  God already provided me with a counter.  All I had to do was clear it off to make room for my dishwasher.

This thing is awesome.  And it has been working hard.

Hurray for teeny appliances!

August 25, 2012

Hunger

Posted in Alcoholism, Uncategorized tagged , , , , , at 2:26 am by Yeah, So, I Quit

If He meant to draw me nearer to Him, and make me better by exhausting me and placing obstacle after obstacle in my way, I could assure Him He made a slight mistake. And, almost crying with defiance, I looked up towards Heaven and told Him so mentally…

Knut Hamsun. Hunger

I love this book.  I feel as if I could have written it myself (of course this is vanity on my part, for, if I could have in truth written it myself, I would not so passionately feel so much of it presently, but would rather be celebrating my fortune).

I have, for the most part, come to embrace life’s trials as they do only strengthen me.

Except this one.  This one sucks and I want it to be done.

The insomnia, the vivid nightmares when I do sleep, the brain damage, the sweat.  Then, let’s not forget the knowledge that it could all be over if I would just grab a bottle of poison.

I will be even stronger after this.  And my relationship with my husband will strengthen too, when we make it through yet another challenge together.

I know that is true, but I so don’t believe it right now.

I’d kind of like a drink.

August 19, 2012

I Apologize In Advance For My Continued Venomous Behavior

Posted in Alcoholism, Uncategorized tagged , , at 2:42 am by Yeah, So, I Quit

oh so many options

Now then… What was it I came in here for again?

Today I got into the shower, had the curtain three-quarters of the way closed, and had another one of those moments.

I stood slack-jawed and mindless.  It was a good 15 – 20 seconds of complete brainlessness.

What am I doing here?  Well, I’m standing naked and dry in a shower, so chances are pretty good that I am about to start taking a shower.

Just call me Nancy Drew, because I cracked that case in under a minute.

Then I stood there in the shower, doing shower things, and being furious with myself for my recent brain damage moments.

This led to thoughts of fears.  I fear my brain damage might be permanent.  I also fear being sober with my husband.  Granted, we have not been heavy drinkers for a very long time.  Nevertheless, I began to wonder and fear what he may think of me.  I feared that he would think that I was insulting him in some way with my idea to quit.  I feared that I might forget what I was doing again and decide to start cleaning the bathroom and neglect to go to work.

Then I turned my fear back into rage directed at myself.  Because that’s easier to deal with.

I turned off the water, and my husband asked me something.  I was so self-absorbed with my anger and fear that I snapped the answer at him.  I hadn’t intended for it to come out that way, and it was not a question that deserved a vicious reply.  Not only that, but being bitchy is completely out of character for me.

I’ve apologized twice to him for it today.  Once immediately after I did it, and then I texted him again that I was sorry while I was at work.

Right now I am bitchy.  And it will probably continue.  I might as well quit smoking too.

My head hurts and my entire body aches.  Horrible things have been coming out of my body.  My fingers still tremor.

And I’m losing my mind.

August 18, 2012

Did I Already Order The Egg Rolls?

Posted in Alcoholism, Uncategorized tagged , , , at 2:56 am by Yeah, So, I Quit

I called to order some food today from some restaurant and then I had intended to go give them money and pick up my food and go home to eat it.

At least I think that’s what that call was all about.

I think we have all been on a call with a restaurant and gotten distracted and asked “oh, did I already say extra rice?” Or thought that the person taking your order was distracted perhaps and asked “did you get the ‘no onions’ on that gyro?”

Which probably leads to extra onions if the person taking your order was already having a bad day.

I was placing my order and kept having moments where I couldn’t remember if I was ordering pizza or Indian food or what.

Pizza Burger

A few times I regained my train of thought, and went on with barely a stutter.

Then… I sat silently for several seconds.  I had completely forgotten why I was on the phone at all.

What is this object in my hand?  Why am I holding it to my head?  Okay!  I have this one!  It’s a phone! I’m on a call!

Who am I talking to?  What are we talking about?  Why is this torture continuing?

A voice on the other end interrupted my epiphanies, “were you going to order?”

Oh yes!  This was about food!  And I hadn’t even begun my order.  Well, then.

I still didn’t know what kind of food.  “I’m sorry, my brain died for a few minutes there,” I admitted to the lady on the phone.  I did not admit that it had not fully recovered.

I wisely chose not to order.  Shortly after this I went out to the kitchen to take dinner out of the oven.

If this brain damage is going to be a permanent thing, I may just want to drink myself to death.


Click!

I have had a headache all day that feels like a pony-tail that is so tight it is pulling my brain through the hair band.  Now I will go lay sleepless in my bed for several hours followed by the beating of my snooze alarm for several minutes.

August 17, 2012

What Day Is This? Nine Hundred? Four?

Posted in Alcoholism, Uncategorized tagged , , , at 4:08 am by Yeah, So, I Quit

A couple of weeks ago, I thought to myself, “surely I have passed day 21 by now?”

I had honestly lost count.  I wanted a couple drinks.  I am a big girl, and I don’t need to go back to my piece of web and count what day it was.  I can have a couple drinks and I will be fine.

I had a couple, and a couple didn’t do it.  So a couple turned into an entire liquor store.

And I didn’t realize it while it was happening.  I went from “gee, I would really like to have a drink or two” to “what is with all the empty bottles?” without any awareness.  I think it happened quickly.  I wasn’t paying attention.

My first cognizant thought was “oh fuck” when it came to me that I had definitely had more than “a couple” drinks.

So I came here to my personal confessional booth to admit to my back-slide.

My article which was going to be titled “Oh Fuck” but was instead censored had no content.  Only a few swear words.  These were also edited out, because, although I do have swear words here, I don’t believe they should out-number all other words in a single article.

There was nothing to say.  There was no reason for it, and I wasn’t even sure how it happened.  Sure, logically it happened because I continued to pour more poison into my glass and then pour it down my throat.  But I don’t remember that process.

if I were a boy, even just for a day

The next ten days are mostly a blur, and I can not put a proper sequence to the events which occurred during that time.  I can’t even recall many of the events which occurred during that time.  Some of the highlights include: the day I arrived at work thinking I might still be legally impaired, and being extremely paranoid that I might be tested and then fired (you might think this would have scared me straight, but I do know there was at least one other work night heavy drinking episode during this time); the day my husband did not have any whiskey, and I did not expose my stash because I really did not want for us to drink; the day I woke up cold and wet because I had been laying in my own pee; the day after that where I drank nearly as much; the day I took out all of my stashed bottles and dumped them down the drain.

tinkle tinkle little star

You read that right.  I wet the bed.  I was passed out and could not be aroused by my husband elbowing me or moving the soggy sheets and blankets, the package delivery guy who came to our house, or the river that flowed out of me.

In the distant past, when we drank much less frequently, my husband once passed out and peed himself.  This scared me sober and I watched over him all night to make sure he continued to breathe and didn’t choke on his own vomit.  Neither of us drank for quite some time afterwards.  I know that this is a clear warning of potentially fatal alcohol poisoning.

I pass out and wet the bed, and the very next opportunity I am drinking as hard and fast as I can.

Why?  Am I thrill-seeking?  I know very well that I am doing not only long-term damage to myself, but that I am dodging a bullet every day that I actually wake up after drinking.

We currently have no alcohol in the house.  Four days ago,  I wrote a letter to my husband in a very shaky hand.  In it, I explained that the alcohol will kill me.  There is no maybe about it.  Later that day, I dumped all of my hidden bottles.  God must have spoken to me, because it became clear to me that if I was continuing to hide and cling to my poison I really wasn’t giving it up.  Sure, that makes sense now, to sane and sober people; but that isn’t exactly clear when you are still making excuses and reasons to drink.

Four days now that my sweet, wonderful husband has continued to keep our house alcohol free.  Four nights I have come home from work heavily tempted to stop to get some poison.  Four days I have felt like absolute shit.  I’m shaky.  Not like a poor Katharine Hepburn impersonation, but I do have a tremor.  I am so dry, my eyes are sticky and my tongue is a white carpet.  My back hurts.  My poop is like slimy, stinky, brown yarn.  And today I was sweating.  Buckets of sweat even during idle times in a cool room.  My face formed droplets I could flick off while performing negligible tasks.

I can’t concentrate.

I’m a little cranky.

And right now… I’d really like a drink or two.

August 3, 2012

Censored

Posted in Alcoholism, Uncategorized tagged , , , , at 3:57 am by Yeah, So, I Quit

Censored.  Multiple swear words.

July 31, 2012

The Wonder Drug That Works Wonders

Posted in Uncategorized at 4:07 am by Yeah, So, I Quit

My husband and I were reminiscing about the joys of youth.

Youth of days gone by did not go a playful day without a cut or scrape.  Playgrounds were lined with gravel (and sometimes also broken bottles).  Tree-forts were of rough-hewn lumber just waiting to drive a sliver the size of your mom’s knitting needle into your hand (this is how they eventually become worn and soft with time).  Animal friends were kept behind barbed wire that had the unfortunate habit of getting rusty and digging a jagged gash across your leg (and possibly animals were contained by the scent of blood more so than the barbs that they used as a scratching post).  The best day riding your three-wheeler usually ended with you flipping it over on top of yourself with the still running chain cutting into your flesh (why don’t they make three-wheelers anymore anyway).

Then you would walk it off, and keep playing because you were having fun.  If bleeding persisted, you would tie something around your wound so that you didn’t stain everything with your blood.

Then you went to your parents, who supposedly loved you, and would display your victorious battle wounds.  By now they are partly clotted; partly filled with dirt, gravel, bark, and other debris; and fully awesome.

Your parents, who supposedly loved you, would take you to the sink and wash away the nice clotted mass you had gathered.  This wasn’t so bad.  In part because soaking in water isn’t really that bad, but also because you were already dreading what was to come.

Your parents, who supposedly loved you, would then bring out the tincture of merthiolate or Mercurochrome!!!!

The larger parent, who supposedly loved you, would hold you down.  Meanwhile, the smaller parent, who supposedly loved you, would apply the vile mercury-infused acid to your injury.  The application stick of doom was fashioned a bit like a tiny pitchfork, and brought to mind the cartoons where devils stabbed at evil souls with the tines of their pitchforks.  The liquid was the color of flames, and burned more than any earthly flame could.

OWIE OUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The treatment was always worse than the initial injury!!!!!!

If it were a particularly gaping wound, it would be further treated with electrical tape in order to hold it together.  The tape also serves as a tourniquet since a gaping wound is probably also a good bleeder.

As you grow older, you become more wary of the treatment.  If you’re pretty sure you won’t die or lose a limb, you go more for self help.  I still carry scars from a cat scratch and an unfortunate seating accident and a careless slice of a knife.

Strangely enough, I had deeper, more horrifying injuries which were from the same time period or newer, and recieved the vile mercury-infused acid treatment.

I have no scars from those.

The vile mercury-infused acid treatement could knit together nerves, eliminate scarring, knock out any chance of infection, and make you an entirely stronger person.

It’s no wonder they won’t sell it in most of the world anymore.  The world couldn’t handle having so many super heros.

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