Tag Archives: alcoholism

Not Dead

I don’t go to bars much these days. It’s not that I don’t like them; I just don’t have the time. And, also, I don’t like the way I am when I’m drunk, or the hangovers that ruin the next day.

But I felt like going to my local bar after work today to have a nice cold Hefeweizen. I just wanted to see people. Relax for once. I never relax. I don’t know how.

This is the bar where I met Rebound Guy last year and where the debacle of my addiction to him reached its grisly finale. I’ve been back to that bar since we stopped seeing each other, but he wasn’t there, and since he was an alcoholic who practically lived there, I assumed this meant he was (a) dead (b) in rehab or (c) he had moved back to the state he’s from.

But, of course, no such luck! He was there today, and he came up to say hi. I wish he hadn’t. He’s looking much better, and says he only drinks “occasionally” now. Who knows whether that’s true. Like I said, he does look a lot better.

Just to find something to say, I made the mistake of asking him if he still sold weed. He said, yes, and that he now also grows mushrooms. I’ve only taken mushrooms a few times in my life, and I love them. They’re the only drug I’d be interested in taking again. I then made the second mistake of asking him for his number so I could buy mushrooms. He was, like, “um, I’ve got a girl”.

I can’t believe I put myself in a situation where the dude would think that I actually still want to fuck him! God, I am so dumb. Apparently his “girl” knows all about me because she was the one whom he picked up from the airport the morning after we spent all night fucking.

I don’t want Rebound Guy. In fact, I wish I had the presence of mind to tell him that the only reason I ever fucked him was because I was in pain, and needed the drug of sex to numb me.

But I can’t help but feel sad. I *am*, for some crazy reason, really attracted to him, and it was disturbing to be reminded what sexual desire feels like. Not the desire for him….just desire in general. I just remembered that I like sex, and miss sex….but, more than that, I miss feeling connected to another human being. I don’t like being forced to see how lonely I am.

It’s a beautiful day. Sunny, and not too hot yet. It’s the kind of day where it would be bliss to have someone to love…somebody to come home to and cuddle.

But instead (and this is almost hilarious because I am such a cliché!), I will be spending this evening trapping feral cats so I can take them to get spayed and neutered. :-/



I’m probably not going to have much time to write in here for the next five weeks. Tomorrow I start an intensive outpatient Dialectical Behavior Therapy course. It’s every Monday through Thursday, from 6:00 p.m. until 9:00 p.m. Given that I start work at 8:00 a.m. and only finish at 5:00 pm., it’s going to be pretty exhausting. I have self-diagnosed as suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder, and DBT is supposed to be really effective for treating that. Even if I don’t have BPD, it would still be good to learn not to, um, smash shit, hit my loved ones and verbally abuse them when I’m stressed or angry. Both my therapist and my psychiatrist think it would be a good idea to do this course. I’m wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake, though, because I have a hard enough time as it is getting through the week without adding twelve-hours of intensive therapy into the mix. Also, I am feeling pretty fine at the moment. But that is always my pattern – I have one huge crisis, where my world feels like it’s ending, and then I coast along just fine until the next crisis. When I’m coasting I never feel like there’s anything wrong with me.

Intensive therapy aside what else have I been up to? Well, I had fun this week with my friends, seeing lots of music. I went out more times this week than I would do in a whole six month period while I was still living with MM. I’m completely sleep-deprived, but it was worth it. I also went out on a date with a cute Chilean-American journalist I met on OKCupid who is very interesting –  tall; handsome; creative; funny; educated; a runner; well-traveled; bi-cultural; bilingual etc etc. He is, in other words, the opposite of RG in most ways and yet…I still long for RG.

Speaking of RG, we have started shagging again. But don’t worry – it’s all good. I’m much calmer this time around. It turns out there actually was something he wanted to invite me to after all. We went to a barbecue last night together, and I was supposed to attend a fashion show he was doing the make-up for today but couldn’t because I had to work. I don’t know what these invitations mean. Honestly, I think I’m done analyzing the shit out of everything. I just don’t have the energy.

I started to look at our “relationship” in a whole new light earlier this week when he responded to one of my booty-call texts by saying “Im a mess dont know if i want you to see me this way”. It wasn’t like I didn’t know he was a raging alcoholic before this text. I knew rationally that he couldn’t be present for me because of his alcoholism but somehow that text brought it all home. I felt quite guilty, to be honest…like I’d been trying to take advantage of a sick person. Because, well, he is a sick person. We stayed up talking all night on Friday (didn’t even shag until much later!) and we didn’t start to go to bed until 8:00 a.m. He actually went off then to buy some cheap and nasty gas station wine so he could get to sleep. At 8:00 a.m! Jesus. What a way to start your day.

I don’t know how it is possible to care for somebody I have only known for a couple of months, but, well, care I do. Of course, there is still a huge part of me that wants him to want me/love me, but I can genuinely say now that I just want him to get better. Not for me, not because I have this fantasy that we’ll fall hopelessly in love if he gets better (although there is a wee bit of that) , but for himself. He’s talking about moving back to Colorado to live with a friend he can start a (legit, non-druggy) business with who’s also a teetotaller. I think this would be a great idea because I don’t know how on earth he can possibly hope to get sober while he sells weed and lives right around the corner from the local bar. When he talks about moving away, there is this little voice inside me that says “No! Don’t leave! No! Not yet!” but I know it’s what he needs to do, and I will encourage him. I just can’t stand to see another human being suffer in front of my eyes. He says he’s hardly ever had sober sex in his life! Wow! I can’t imagine being that cut off from my emotions. He is so broken. He needs to heal.

I feel that something changed in me this week as regards RG. I will continue to long for his attention, his affection, his love, but somehow my lust has changed into something sweeter and more tender…friendship, I guess. I’m not saying that I won’t ever shag him again (hell, I ain’t Jesus) but I just want to treat him well, and not make him the brunt of my love addicted obsession.

This might be weird given how much I’ve bitched about RG in this blog, but send a wee prayer out for him tonight, will you? He’s not an angel, but I hate to see him in this much pain.

Things That Fall Apart

I think I might be on the verge of a fucking nervous breakdown. I’m siting here sipping a rum with cranberry juice because I need something to reduce my anxiety.

I texted RG about an hour ago, saying that I would like to meet up with him on Thursday evening. He replied immediately, but the only thing that was in the text was ” : -) “. I asked if that was a yes, but got no reply. This has made me spiral into a deep depression.

My moods are all over the place. I think I have built up this little fantasy all around him. What sort of woman falls for an alcoholic loser? Because once I peel off the blinders that are obscuring my vision I can see that this is what he is.

Two weeks ago, he needed to pick up his uncle from the bus station. He asked if I wanted to come with him, and when we went outside, his car had a flat. I’d been inside his car before, and it was a fucking mess of cigarette butts and fast food wrappers. It turned me off that his car had a flat. It wasn’t a surprise at all.

When we got to the bus station, his uncle wasn’t even there. It turned out that RG had got the wrong day. Yet again, I had a horrible sinking feeling in my stomach that the guy was a loser, but I immediately pushed away that thought because I wasn’t ready to deal with it.

We went for something to eat, and RG said he needed to smoke a cigarette and that he’d be right in. He disappeared for 10 minutes, and a feeling of abandonment and panic set in. I knew that it would always be this way, that he’d always be skipping out on me, abandoning me. I eventually saw him come back, carrying a plastic bag in his skinny hands. I knew what was in that bag because I could see that he’d left an opened bottle of beer sitting on the hood of my car. He needed his fix so badly that he couldn’t wait until after we’d eaten. Again, I was flooded with the awareness that the guy was no good, but I refused to think about that because I so badly needed to believe in some sort of bullshit romantic fantasy.

He came into the restaurant holding three carnations that he’d bought from some flower seller in the street. I  was charmed, but somehow deep inside I knew that this sweetness and thoughtfulness was something that he put on for all the ladies. By this I don’t mean to suggest that he manipulated the ladies consciously, but he had at some point understood what he needed to say and do to get the ladies, and now it was second nature to him.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I have created this little story that he likes me a lot but is just too scared to get involved with me because his feelings are just too intense. Hahahahah! What a fool I am! What a master storyteller! I could win the fucking Pulitzer Prize for fiction. He has also helped fuel this little fantasy of mine because he jokingly says that he “hates me” because I have upset all his plans. This is the only time he has ever given me any indication about what he feels for me, and I clung to it the way a drowning man clutches desperately at a life raft. I interpreted it to mean that he is falling for me despite his desire not to.

Last week, after his “friend” from out of town had left, I kept on hoping that he would send me a text saying that he was sorry about what happened, and that he missed me. He did eventually send me a text but all it said was that he needed to give me back the Netflix movie I had left at his house. Again, I chose to interpret this as a sign of his feelings for me. I told myself that he missed me, but that he was too proud to say it, so he used the movie as an excuse to see me. I asked my friends what the text could possibly mean and they were, like, “Um. He just wants to give you your movie back”. My desperate hope to see something that is not there is so ridiculous that I almost want to laugh out loud at the sheer comedy of it all.

Last night in the bar, when I was sitting with that other guy I had picked up, I saw him come in, and laugh and joke with some people he knew. It looked like he didn’t have  a care in the world. Of course I know better. I know that he comes to that bar because he can’t stand being alone by himself for a second. But it doesn’t matter whether he likes me or not. He is an alcoholic, and his disease means that I will never be in his mind for very long. I go out and socialize, too, but every time I do, I can’t stop thinking of him. I tell myself that I need a rebound guy to get over my rebound guy but I’d probably be thinking of him if I fucked anybody else. RG, however,  doesn’t give me a second thought when he’s in the bar.

I need to stay the fuck away from this guy. He is dangerous for me. Every time I see him, I am filled with such an intense longing for his affection that I spend the next fews days in a state of extreme emotional instability.

On Friday night, he finally called his father asking for help. This was a huge step for him, and he told me it was probably the hardest thing he has ever done in his life. I was cheered by this, and imagined myself being there for him as he finally kicked the booze. I felt hopeful that he admits he’s an alcoholic, and that he has asked for help. However, he seems to be in denial about what going in to rehab actually means. He doesn’t appear to understand that this is going to change his life forever, and that it’s going to be really fucking hard.  He thinks that he’ll spend a few nights there, getting through the DTs with some medical assistance, and that then he’ll leave, and that everything will be OK. He doesn’t get that entering rehab is very first teeny tiny step on a long, long journey. What is this man going to do who, even when drunk, has to head out to the bar to stave off loneliness? How is he going to be able to stand the emptiness and the pain when he is sober? How is he going to replace the bar which is at the very centre of his social life? I ask him all these question and he breezily answers that everything will be OK.

Everything is not going to be OK. Most addicts attempt to kick their habit seven times before they finally manage. Or they just don’t manage it. He needs to hit rock bottom but he is not even close.

But I’m only focusing on RG‘s issues because that’s easier than dealing with my own. I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m a love addict. Some people don’t think that it’s possible to be addicted to romance or relationships but, oh, let me tell you – you can. I can’t even begin to describe the pain and the feelings of desolation I have when relationships ends or when my little romantic fantasies are blown to smithereens. If you knew how dark my world was then you would believe in love addiction.

The irony is that RG is probably a step ahead of me in terms of curing himself. At least he admits that he’s an alcoholic. When I’m still feeling the pain of rejection, I believe wholeheartedly that I’ve got some kind of addiction problem but as soon as I get over that feeling and my life returns to normal I think that I’m OK. The trouble is that there are only certain men who trigger my “love addiction”. They’re broken men that I want to fix and who give me enough tidbits of affection that I just can’t let go. RG is just number three. Just three guys in 34-years. This is why he leaves me feeling like shit. Meeting somebody like him is a huge fucking deal.

The most annoying thing is that RG senses my desperation, my urge to cling. He is backing off, running away, but not because he can’t deal with his feelings for me. It’s because he can’t deal with my feelings for him. He doesn’t want to get sucked into my vortex of neediness. He tells me I’m “intense” and that I’m “a lot of work”. I would be too much for even a healthy man to handle, and it certainly doesn’t feel good to be given the heave-ho by an alcoholic fuck-up like RG.

I’m not stupid. I know that I need to fill my life up with healthy things-  friends, hobbies, creative things like writing in this blog and singing. I will do this. But I doubt that any of this will help. It is just too fucking hard to live thousands of miles away from my friends. It is too fucking hard not to have any family, not to have unconditional love. It is too.fucking.hard. No matter what I do, I think I’m going to always have this emptiness inside me and I am always going to be alone. There’s not a man alive who could deal with my shit.

I need somebody to help me. I wish I had a father I could call for help. I wish I could go into some kind of rehab. I wish I could be strapped down to a table until all the withdrawal symptoms had disappeared and I could go out into the world, trying to re-build my life from scratch. But there is nobody there, and I don’t think I can do this all by myself.

The bottle

You didn’t need your drug. You could take it or leave it.

At first you only half noticed the way the light reflected in crystalline prisms in your glass, and the warm, comforting, back-in-your-mama’s-womb feeling as the liquid worked its way down.

You didn’t need your drug.

It was just something that happened to be there. What was the harm? It made your anxiety disappear for a few hours; you could talk to girls and make them laugh; you could take one home and fuck her, not thinking about anything other than the pleasure of grinding into her. When you woke up the next morning, the sheets stained with cum and sweat, she’d be gone. Or maybe she wouldn’t, and you’d spend the next week ignoring her calls.

You didn’t need your drug. The bottle stood on the countertop, blinking back at you knowingly as your eyes caressed its smooth, perfect sides.

And then you did need your drug… And then it was too late.

Everybody has a drug. You are mine.

A healthy woman would run a mile. I keep coming back for more. I can’t stay away. I step over the piles of unwashed clothes littered across your room, and make my way to your unmade bed with its filthy, crumpled sheets. I can’t wait until your cock is inside me.

The sex is amazing,  but it always leaves me feeling sad and hopeless. You look into my eyes as we fuck, and I stare back, but all I see is emptiness. I don’t know where you are, but you’re not with me. As soon as we’re done, you grab yourself another beer and smoke a cigarette. You always pull on a pair of shorts after we’ve finished fucking. You never let me see you naked.

I tell myself this is just a sex thing. I tell myself that I’m only into you because you’re emotionally unavailable. I stay away for a whole week, while you’re fucking some other girl, and I even go out on a date with another dude who picks me up in his 1964 Ford Galaxie, and who wines and dines me in a fancy French restaurant. I’m wearing my new 26-inch waist skinny Diesel jeans, and heels, and I look hot as hell. Every single man in the place wants me. But I don’t want them. I want you.

During dessert, I slip off to the bathroom to text you, wanting to meet up afterwards. I lie to myself that it’s only a booty call, and just to save face, just so I can feel that you don’t matter, I make out with Mr. Ford Galaxie on the trunk of the car. I hate it. His kisses are sloppy, and he tells me that we’re in “different places in our life” , and that I’m “wild” and “untamable”.

I’m so horny and desperate to see you that I park my car in the wrong spot, and it gets towed. We spend all night and all morning fucking so I don’t hear the tow truck.

My house keys, wallet and phone are in the car. I’m screwed and you make some mean comment about how I should get Mr. Ford Galaxie to help. I think you’re going to throw me out into the street with no money, no car, no keys, no phone. I’m bare footed because I can’t wear my too-new shoes that have blistered my feet. I can’t see because I threw away my contacts. I want to slit my fucking wrists.

But you do help me.

You’re such a mess that you still haven’t fixed your car’s flat, so you  call a friend to drive me to the towing company. You’re exhausted from fucking me all night, but you still come with me. This might mean you care. Or it could just be your Catholic guilt.

Your friend loves me. He keeps saying “Why don’t you like this girl?! Why don’t you like this girl?”. Your uncle I met the week before loved me. The locals in our bar say we’d be a “cute couple”. You don’t say anything.

You still don’t say anything when I tell you all about Mr. Ford Galaxie…the fancy meal, the drinks, his car, his kisses. You don’t need to say anything. You know I want you.

I go to a party, pick up some dude and bring him to the bar where he’s kissing me when you walk in. I hadn’t expected you to be be there – thought you were sleeping off another hangover – but I’m pleased you see. Your expression doesn’t change at all. I want to slap your fucking poker face. I tell you I could leave with this dude, or stay with you. I want you to fight for me, but the only thing you say is “I hope it doesn’t work out”. “Is that the best you’ve got”, I ask? “Yup, that’s the best I’ve got”. I storm out, but you know I’ll be back.

All my friends tell me to stay away from you. But I can’t. Your smell makes me melt. I breathe it in, and think that I want to have your babies. I love your cockiness and the little flashes of vulnerability that appear behind it. I love your bottle-top glasses and the way that your right eye can’t focus properly. I love the way your eyelids droop. I love – and hate – the way you deflect all attempts at serious conversation with a stupid joke.

I’m half in love with you. Or maybe I just think I’m half in love with you. Either way, it still feels the same.

You are my drug. And I will crawl over burning coals on my hands and knees to get to you. I don’t care how much I humiliate and degrade myself. You are my drug.

I need you.

I am not ready to give you up.

Sh Boom

I’m sure you all saw it coming… MM and I broke up about six weeks ago. It is for the best, but the last six weeks have been a roller coaster of emotions. Sadness; guilt; relief; anger; depression and desperation. Every mental health issue I have has been triggered by the break-up.  It was not a good break-up. In fact, it could not have had a worse ending.

I should have written in here to work through it all, but it was all I could do every day to get out of bed in the morning, and go to work. One day soon I will tell the story. But right now I don’t want to think about what happened in the past. I’d rather write about what’s happening right now.

I already have a rebound guy who will henceforth be known as “RG”. He’s a mess. Just divorced two months ago himself; a raging alcoholic and incredibly skinny because, I’m guessing, he gets all his calories from booze. And, oh, did I mention that he sells weed for a living?  I really know how to pick ’em, eh?

I know it’s weak to get involved with somebody else right away, even if only casually. But I guess I need something or somebody to see me through these dark nights. RG, the alcoholic, needs the booze; and I, the love addict, need a delusional hope for love and romance.  The frantic, intense sex (sans condom) is intoxicating. It is some of the best sex I’ve ever had. I had forgotten what passion felt like. I had forgotten what it was like to breathe in a man’s smell, and be turned on just by that alone.  His penis is a like a fucking work of art. An incredibly large work of art! I cannot get enough of it. I never knew that penetrative sex could feel so damn good!

I find the sex confusing. How can it be that I am drawn so intensely to a skinny alcoholic who is not even particularly good-looking? Is it just some kind of weird animal pheromone thing? The last time I felt this way about a man sexually was ten years ago, and that relationship was so horrible that I learned to distrust an intense sexual interest in a man. When I met MM I saw it as a good sign that I didn’t want to rip his clothes off but after our marriage became sexless that didn’t seem like the right way to go either.

Is it that RG and I share a similar kind of pain, and that it’s this that draws us together? Unhealthy people and their unhealthy thoughts and feelings attract each other like magnets.

All of the above are possibilities, and yet I can’t help but feel that maybe there is something more at work. He is just so incredibly easy to be around. He is the wittiest and goofiest man I have ever met. Last night, as we walked in the park with my dogs, he broke into a rendition of “Sh Boom”, complete with all the kooky doo-wop noises, and I joined in, harmonizing. It was one of those “special moments” and I thought it was adorable:

Oh, life would be a dream

If I could take you up in paradise up above

If you could tell me I’m the only one that you love

Life could be a dream, sweetheart

RG is a way worse alcoholic than I imagined, though. On Friday morning, he told me that he had stopped drinking, and that he hadn’t had a drink for “ages”. I thought three, four days maybe. When I asked how long, he said that his last drink was one hour before I came around the night before. He was about eight hours dry! Wow. I knew then that he was not going to be able to detox all by himself. And of course he didn’t. He had to start again to avoid the withdrawal symptoms.

Despite all of this, I find myself worrying about him and developing odd feelings of tenderness. I’m not stupid, though. I’ve been there so many times before…the addict man; and me, the fucked-up woman with a saviour complex who wants to throw all her energy into saving her man to avoid facing her own demons. That won’t be happening this time.

Everything about my life is pretty unhealthy right now. I know I’m making some bad choices. I should be able just to sit with my pain, let myself feel it and work through it on my own. I can’t, though, and that’s fine for now. I’m doing what it takes to get through the night. I refuse to beat myself up about that.

And just like RG knows he needs to check himself into a detox facility, I know that I need to limit my contact with him so I can focus on myself. I can no longer use men as my drug to numb the pain. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. I’m nearly 35. I need to start loving myself and following my dreams and passions. It’s not going to be an easy road, but it will happen….

Rebounding via text – Part 1

Aug 25th 18:13

I need to leave.

Aug 25th 18:32

I hope i see your beautiful face soon.

Aug 25th 18:36

You can call me. But i cant start anything with you. I just need a friend. I can’t do anything more.

Aug 25th 18:47

I understand. i will dump a bucket of cold water on myself. 🙂

Aug 25th 18:59

I am so fucked up right now. It would really fuck me up if I had sex with you. All my life i had sex with guys who didnt give a shit about me. You didnt even remember my name.

Aug 25th 19:22

I feel like an idiot. i tried to forget about you because you are married. dont have sex with me ever. if you need a chum feel free to call

Aug 25th 20:29

What is it you want from me? Be honest. Just a casual, meaningless fuck, right?

Aug 25th 20:47

Honestly…i am a little lonely. you are adorable…i enjoy your company and i can be myself around you

Aug 25th 20:50

Ok, we can hang out. You seem nice. Just please dont fuck me. I will probably want to if I am drunk, but i would regret it. I have nothing but bad experiences with men. I feel kinda broken right now. Just be nice to me. I do need a hug.

Aug 25th 20:53

Deal. a have a basket full of hugs if you ever need to borrow one

Aug 25th 21:07

Any chance you want to share a blanket and watch a movie. i will let you pick the film

Aug 25th 21:09

Not tonight. I am super tired & have work tomorrow. I already flaked out on my friend. We could go see a movie on Thur if you want.