This Is A Clusterfuck.

It’s fucking SNOWING and my skin is so dry it’s cracked and bloody no matter what I do to prevent it. It’s cold as fuck at work and cold as fuck at home. The roads are slippery disasters for drivers and pedestrians alike. I missed therapy today because the bus I was on LITERALLY STOPPED IN THE MIDDLE OF AN INTERSECTION and made us get off because it couldn’t continue. Vancouver is NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS WAY. AGHHHHH. Okay. Alright. Sorry, I just had to get that off my chest.

So here’s where I’m at. I feel shitty that I live across the country from my dying father. I feel guilty that I’m not around to be moral support for my mom or my sister and her family. I feel ashamed that I am so far away. I have been finding it difficult to keep my headspace positive in wake of everything that past year has thrown at me. Most days it feels like I’m getting it from all angles. Love life/work life/home life/family life. My brain often tries to convince me to give up.

Have a drink, Lana. Buy some cigarettes and smoke them all today. Hurt yourself. Hurt somebody you love. Anything to keep the pain from swallowing you whole. It’s all kinds of fucked up and somehow I’m used to it being this way. Luckily I have an incredible support system at home and at work and they manage to talk me down when I’m unable to do so for myself. I am grateful for them, for you. Things can be so overwhelming, guys. We’re all familiar with that feeling. I do have a sense of relief being able to use social media/writing as an outlet, so thank you all for giving me the space to do so (even if you never read what’s written, haha).

I am still sober. Smoke-free. Single. Sad. Scared. Soft. All the s-words you can fit in one description. I am vulnerable. I feel weak and terrified of what’s to come. But my carefully curated toolbox is keeping me on the straight and narrow, even if I’m chattering my teeth the entire way. I am waking up early and doing yoga, eating breakfast, taking my time getting ready for work. I am doing my best to make healthy food/drink choices and nurturing my body in whatever way is necessary for me to feel strong and capable. Reading as much as I can. Exercising. Drinking a copious amount of tea. Snuggling with the kitties. Crying when everything hurts. Laughing when things get downright ridiculous. I don’t know what else to do. I’m trying to truly connect wth the people I love. I take deep breaths to appreciate my working body, my beautiful eyes-wide-open life. I really do feel grateful that I came out on the other side of my dark and shaky past. But I still do feel angry, jealous, envious, judgmental, alienated, and alone. I feel ALL THE THINGS. Sometimes all in the same day, the same hour even. I’m 99% mess. 

With that, I’ve been thinking a lot this week about envy and greed, and about wanting what we can’t have. Or yearning for a fuller life and not doing anything about it. The subtle way we convince ourselves that ‘if only things were just a bit different’ we’d be happier/successful/better. It’s all bullshit. I’ve always been a grass-is-greener kind of gal and all it has done for me is set me up for disappointment. I (naively) hope that once I find the secret ingredient/piece to the puzzle, things will lock into place and I’ll discover the sweet spot where I’m able to maintain equilibrium, or balance things perfectly.

I rarely blame other people for my inability to achieve whatever it is that I’ve set my sights on, but I often blame circumstance. I usually say something like the timing is off or that I’m not in the right place to succeed, whatever. It’s ridiculous. If you can’t find your centre, your balance, your sanity (ha ha), it’s because it requires constant practice and vigilance. And most importantly, it comes and goes. It isn’t static or permanent. There are so many self-help books and blurbs floating around that remind us to ride the good waves like the bad because both come and go, but nobody gains any insight from simply reading a quote, lesson learned.

We have to fuck up. We have to envy and want and gain and lose. We have no choice but to be disappointed and adjust our desires, make our goals more authentic. We find ourselves in shitty situations and we must digest the things they are trying to teach us. Learning these lessons can be very uncomfortable and ugly. It can simultaneously be awesome and inspiring. But most importantly, this learning, this growth, continues forever. Whether we like it or not. We had better get used to it, make our peace with it, invite it in to muss up our lives whenever it knocks. We have no choice in this, it just is how it is.

So I guess I’ll invite my guilt, shame, and fear in to sit down and enjoy a cup of tea with me? I have no idea what else to do with it, and I’m fucking done letting it have it’s way.

Sending you all love and light and all the good things xo


Checking In: Part 2

I’ve been in a bit of a funk this past little while. I know that breaking from my routine makes me feel like shit, yet I couldn’t motivate myself for a couple days and voila- that’s all it takes to backslide into a depression pit. In order to pull myself out of this rut I have to force myself to do the things that make me feel better. This is no easy feat. Try making yourself a nutritious dinner when you could literally eat the pizza that’s sitting in front of you (having a roommate is a blessing and a curse). Try waking up at 430 to do yoga before work when you could easily just sleep until your alarm yells at you. Try meditating when you get big and possibly important news and your brain is firing 5000 times faster than it usually does. Man, I suppose this is the shit that everyone talks about. Doing the work when it’s the hardest.

This rut that I’m in may have to do with the plethora of noise in my personal life, or it could just be me losing steam in my high-energy days of late, but either way, it’s time to get back to it. I’ve been feeling off-centre because NB decided that it would be okay to drive by the restaurant a whole lot since the beginning of January. It bothered me quite a bit but I tried my very best to take it in stride and brush it off. It happened when I was at work on one of my usual days off. I told myself it was a coincidence and to let it go. Then it started happening on the days I’ve ALWAYS worked. Right around closing time. When he knows I’ll be there. He did it last week, coming towards the restaurant with his window down. Face to face. I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I started to shake, feel weak. I got angry. I was visibly hurting. A friend of ours was in the restaurant while I was locking up, as he always is on Tuesdays, and he saw him too. I tried my best to hold it together but I couldn’t help it, I started to rage about the nerve it takes to do that to me. How cruel and inconsiderate. It wasn’t enough to abandon me, now he’s going to rub our proximity in my face? Show me that he could very well still be in my life but instead is dancing on the outside of it? What a flat out mean thing to do. I went on for a long time, crying and shaking my fist. I felt silly but I couldn’t help it. These things claw at me until I give in to them.

Anyways, as I had every other time this happened, I contemplated sending him and his partner a message. The only difference this time around was that I sent it. I thought long and hard about what I wanted to say. I edited it probably 5 times. I waited until the next day to send it, you know, to ‘sleep on it’. I don’t regret it. I felt freer than I have all year. Instead of going with ‘MY DAD IS DYING, YOU PIECE OF SHIT. STOP TORMENTING ME’, I went with a cooler, calmer approach that asked him to take another route to wherever he is going. He and I both know there is absolutely zero reason to drive by my restaurant, nothing in that block could be one of his destinations, so he’s passively just trying to insert himself in my periphery. Which is infuriating and cowardly. Ugh.

Anyway, two days after I sent the message a mutual friend of ours came to visit and crashed on my couch. He dropped some news on me about NB that I wasn’t anticipating and I’m uncertain how to feel about it. Apparently he took off that day, in a motor home, by himself. Driving somewhere far away to get in touch with himself? Our mutual friend, S, has always been clear that he will not pick sides and wants to remain friends with all of us. Because of his willingness to stick around, I don’t ply him for information about NB, nor do I ask for tidbits (even on the days I desperately want to). He offered this as response to me admitting my anger and frustration re: the drive-bys. Again, I don’t know what to say or how to feel, or the context of him taking off. It could mean something, it could mean nothing. I resisted the urge to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes (it’s been over 6 months since I’ve had one).

I went back to work the next day, glad to have caught up with some friends that Friday night, and this time I received news from my family. My uncle had died over night. My Dad’s brother. He had cancer. They were estranged from years of family drama. I always liked him. He had a wicked sense of humour and a soft spot for me. I’m sad I didn’t get to see him. My dad is barely out of another round of chemo and his mother (my Nan) is devastated that she’s lost her oldest son. She does not yet know that my father is sick. He thinks it would kill her, she’s 94. It’s a fair concern, but she’s a tough lady. I hate lying to her. I hate lying in general. I’ve been avoiding speaking to her because of this. I can’t get it off my mind.

The rest of the week passed in a blur.

Yesterday was my Saturday and all I wanted to do was take it easy. But instead of dicking around in the void (my brain) I ran all my errands. I went to get my license renewed, picked up groceries, dropped off dry cleaning, and bought some books/organized them into my bookshelves (alphabetically, cause that’s how I roll). I did still manage to get caught in my head a few times, but whatever, nobody’s perfect! I woke up this morning and did yoga, made my smoothie, took my supplements, ate breakfast. I’m already starting feel back to myself. I have therapy at 1 which means I will be forced to unload the weight I’m carrying and hopefully create a positive outlet for whatever the hell is going on inside me. I am hopeful that March will bring good news even if there’s more bad alongside it. I just need something to remind me that I can handle whatever is coming.

So there it is; my 2018 thus far. Kind of dark and kind of light. I’m still here and I’m still sober, 10 months next week! That’s the most important thing. I’ve overhauled my life and my brain and hopefully sometime soon I’ll be able to do the same for my heart.

Checking In: Part 1

I thought I should check in with the WordPress world, I keep meaning to post more than once a month, but life gets away from me, and I’m sure you can all relate!  But here I am, in all my exhausted glory…

My dad finished round 2 of chemotherapy on Friday. He has lost his hair, his beard, and his well-known and respected handlebar moustache, too. None of us (including Mother Dearest; his partner of 42 years) have ever seen his face bare. It must be jarring for him to look in the mirror. He has four more rounds of poison to get through before they will amputate his leg from the pelvis down. This is a non-negotiable surgery that he will endure if the cancer responds to treatment. I’ve known this news since his first round but haven’t had much of an opinion. Obviously our family is attempting to get prepared for the challenges this will bring, but honestly I feel like we’re all just holding our breath. Awed and terrified and hoping he makes it through this ugly fucking nightmare. We can deal with the leg thing once we’re out of the woods. I don’t know how MD is managing but she seems okay. I’m not going to poke and prod for deeper conversation when everybody is fucking exhausted from this ordeal. All I can do is be here and keep my phone close by in case somebody decides to update me. My sister is in the same province as them if help is needed, and I suppose I’m just a 5 hour flight away.

Otherwise I am doing my best to keep my head above water, thanks to yoga, 5-HTP and the sun gracing us with it’s presence for the first time in forever. I am frayed, folks. Emotionally I am so raw I can barely interact with Roomie let alone the rest of the world. I have been crying, A LOT. I have been raging, A LOT. However, I have been ignoring my brain and keeping with my routine. I think it’s helping although I still feel volatile most mornings… I force a change in perspective when I can manage to, and write gratitude lists. They often go like this, off the top of my head-

  • I am grateful to be sober.
  • I am grateful to be cared for.
  • I am grateful to have a home.
  • I am grateful to have a working body.
  • I am grateful to have 2 fuzzy kitties who seem to sleep more than I thought was possible.
  • I am grateful for ice cream.
  • I am grateful for chai and earl grey tea.
  • I am grateful for clean sheets.
  • I am grateful for the sunshine.
  • I am grateful to have a broken heart.

That last one isn’t true, but I try to put one thing in there that I hope to be grateful for someday. I ain’t there yet. I know you guys don’t need me to prattle on about how cool gratitude lists are and how much they actually force you to shut up and be humble and all that good stuff… all I’ll say is that spreading love is a lot harder when things are bleak, but spreading hate will suck the fucking life out of you and everything you love. I try to find a way to be thankful when I am on the verge of collapse, and I find my lows a lot less suffocating when I do.

That’s all for now, it’s time to appreciate my quiet house while it lasts. Drink some tea. Meditate. Read one of the many books I have scattered at my feet.


To be continued…


Happy post-holidays and happy 2018 to all of you lovely people!

I’ll start with the fact that I stayed sober through all of the awkward, wonderful, and not-so-wonderful experiences I had over my 2 week holiday in Ontario! I hit my 8 month mark on Christmas Day, hooray! Not only did I shut down the bar I spent much of my drinking life at, I stayed up all night with an old flame and had a magical evening reconnecting (I was 150% sober). It had its (very brief) weird moments but it was definitely worth the tiny discomforts I felt. I went to a few bars on this trip, actually, and either drank sparkling water or a fancy coffee. It felt natural and I didn’t question myself at all. No hesitation whatsoever. What a reassuring feeling, that confidence.

I saw my (other) best friend C, and his high-energy partner, J. They have a handsome 2-year-old who I adore. I met my niece for the first time, too. She is a radiant little thing at 3 months old. I ran into a few people (and more old flames) from my past, all of whom I love and respect and covet time with. God, it was such an eye-opening trip. Even the less exciting parts were just beautiful. It was all new and shiny and not bogged down by the heavy news my family received just before the holidays.

I used to remind myself that people have real problems whenever life was holding me under water. I also used to tell friends that just because their problems don’t seem important doesn’t take away from the fact that they have them, and that they are real and big and scary nonetheless. Spot the inconsistency? I was certain that my problems were in no way worth the distress they caused me, but everybody else’s were worth using all the mental super powers I had. That’s flawed logic and not a healthy way to approach life’s ugly stuff, but it did help put some perspective on things that are also known as ‘first world problems’. Anyway, it’s no secret that life is draining and exhausting and as you get older things get more complicated and the weight we carry forward with us only gets heavier. The trick is to prioritize what’s worth testing our mental abilities (I’m terrible at this).

We found out that my wise and wonderful father has cancer. They found a mass on his pelvis and he’s currently in the hospital getting treatment. The outlook isn’t great. 10% survival rate at 5 years. The numbers from the first year of this type of cancer are even scarier. Fuck statistics though, right?

This has put a lot of things into perspective for me and I don’t really know if I’m ready to explore the vast ocean of ‘what ifs’ just yet. All I know is that this is real. And that this is a priority. A worthy use of my time; my dad. Letting go of what fell apart between us the past few years. Enjoying the time we have left. Realizing what is important when the foundation starts to crumble. I am terrified. However I won’t let my fear be as strong-willed as my courage. I have to go through this (most people do at some point) and I will face it as best as I can. I will not numb myself out in any way to avoid this reality.

I’d love to say that this news slapped me into a rational head space in terms of my heartbreak, but it didn’t. It helped quiet the obsessive idiot in me a bit, but I’m sad that NB isn’t here to help me through this. How silly, right? I remind myself daily that if he wanted to be here, he would be. Period. End of story. More importantly, I have Roomie and my work family and my actual family by my side. These are the people who matter.

This life matters the most as it’s the only one I’ve got.

The Things I’d Say

I often think about what I’d do if I were to see you walking down one of our shared roads, while I wait for the bus to therapy or while I’m on my way to work. 

Some days I’m certain I would scream and cry and maybe even spit in your face. I would beg you to explain to me how you could do this and go on living with yourself, without me. I would ask you if you actually loved me or if you used me solely as an escape. 

Other days I’m certain I would shake my head and walk away, without so much as a word to you.

Today I’m certain I would hug you very tightly and tell you that I think you’re pathetic but that I understand and forgive you anyway. I would cry and admit that at least that I’m trying to forgive you. The honourable way. The way that lets us all be free. However the fuck that works.

I would want you to know that you did this in the most. backwards. way. The opposite of what would have been thoughtful and respectful and dignified. I would tell you how much I miss you, every fucking day. How much I don’t want you to come back while also yearning for you to. How full my days are now that I don’t wait on you, but how much fuller I think we’d both be if we had each other. How much care I take of myself even though you aren’t around to police me. How much I wish you were.

I would thank you for encouraging me to get sober and for telling me you’d love me anyway even if I started drinking again. For being gentle. For being honest. For being patient. I would tell you that I am, in fact, sober and that I did quit smoking and that I’m working out. That I would never let you take my new life away from me because it is mine and only mine.

I would then tell you that you humiliated me. You made me feel like this time would be different, that this time we got it right. That the years we spent with the wrong people were for one purpose, because we found each other at the end of them. This is both of our faults; you for asking for me back after I left, and me for believing you meant what you said. I see the red flags now that we’ve been separated for so long. You weren’t who I thought you were. I wasn’t either. You turned out worse, I turned out better. I’d tell you that saying that made my skin crawl. I’d apologize for being cruel.

I would tell you that I scold myself daily for being the stereotype of ‘the other woman’. That I still find myself seeing you in every stranger, every truck, every guest that walks in to the restaurant. I see her and the kids, too, in everyone else.

I would tell you that I’m not attracted to anyone that has expressed interest in me, no matter how sweet, kind, or wonderful they are. I would tell you that I don’t think I can have sex with anybody for a very, very long time and that it infuriates me. I blame you for this. 

I would tell you that letting you go is supposed to be freeing but I fucking suck at it. I’m not going to give up trying, though. Clearly this is what you wanted and it is what I’m supposed to do. I would tell you how many people comment on how well I’m doing and how great I look, as if I’m in remission from some terrible disease. I resist the urge to bite their heads off with each word. I would smile comparing you to cancer and then feel guilty for it. I would also admit that I don’t feel as sexy or as confident as I did when you were around and this new insecurity makes me bitter and fragile. I would also express my disdain that my self esteem is wrapped up in someone else. I would yell that I never thought I was that kind of person. 

I would want you to know that I am fiercely protective of my sobriety, my heart, my home and my sanity since you left. My life is my own and I refuse to give it up to anyone or anything. Not even you. I would tell you that I’m fucking angry at you for not sticking around to see the person I’m becoming. That you’d rather stay numb and asleep and repeat the same mistake instead of blossoming into the wonderful person I know you are. 

I would tell you that I still defend you even though you never once protected or sheltered me from the fallout of the affair. That of course I didn’t need protection but I only wanted you to be beside me through the mess. I would tell you I don’t understand what you’re going through day-to-day, how bad it must be, or how you are managing to justify what’s happened between you, her and I.

I would ask you if you actually wanted (and tried) to leave or if that’s just something you told me to soften the blow of your departure.

I would ask you if your new life is better or worse than the one that had me in it.

I would tell you that I love you, even though it hurts and even though I don’t get to anymore.

Musings At 6 Months Sober

On April 24th of this year, I took my last drink. I didn’t know it at the time, but something had shifted in me while I finished the last of a 6 pack at home. I was surprise picked up from a local bar after imbibing heavily. I was shitfaced. I pretended I wasn’t but NB knew. I suppose it happened during my drunken crusade against everything I love that night, although I don’t remember a damn thing. The following morning it was there waiting for me even though I didn’t expect it to be. The echo of a click that I was unfamiliar with. This feeling took me a long time to name. I still don’t have one word for it. It was kind of a throbbing ache and kind of a sharp stabbing. It was kind of a relief and kind of my worst fucking nightmare.

It was different because I didn’t have a hangover that day, yet I still didn’t remember the majority of my night. The dread I felt is indescribable. The discomfort I felt was palpable. The knowledge that I was not living up to the person I knew I could be was lying in front of me, writhing around. It was the truth that had been waiting for me for years. With every sip, every shot and every morning after, it remained the same. I had kept my eyes so tightly shut in fear of how hard it would be to execute what I knew in my head and heart I absolutely had to do. I had to stop drinking. Forever. The truth is that every hour I spent drinking I spiralled further into oblivion. I was leaning in to my pain but not in the way I needed to be, not in a healthy or productive way. I was leaning in to wanting to die. I have always struggled with depression and more recently have been working on it in an honest way, but when I was drinking all my attempts at self-love/self-improvement were a fucking joke. I wanted to die because I thought it would be easier than what I was going through. I was leaning in to self-pity and self-sabotage because I wasn’t getting ‘my way’. I wanted it to stop, or for someone to save me, or for something to distract me long enough that I could find a new life and start all over again. The good news is all those things did happen, just not in the way I expected them to.

It did stop. The relentless cycle of being hurt, drinking to forget/numb out, waking up apologetic/filled with shame and then starting back at the beginning (whether it was the morning after or the weekend after). It stopped when I realized I was in a hamster wheel with all my regret and missed opportunity and until I ceased running I would never get free. It stopped when I admitted (out loud) that I hated myself and I hated being drunk and that I had to fucking change. It stopped when I accepted that alcohol was prohibiting me from moving forward. Alcohol was prohibiting me from growing up. It stopped when I admitted I was done blaming my problems on life/work/boys/girls/Mother Dearest/whatever else. It stopped when I admitted I was living a big fat lie.

I was saved. Not by any version of a god or Jesus. Not even by a cute boy who kinda looks like Jesus. Not by rehab or medication or AA. I don’t do the god thing, I don’t have faith in a HP and I don’t feel like less-than without one, but my recovery has certainly looked different because of it. I was in love with a man when I got sober and he played a huge part in this path but he didn’t do this for me, either. I wanted to go to rehab because I thought it would make my problem seem more real (whatever the fuck that means) and I didn’t go because of money and the idea of taking a month off work. I’m kinda glad I didn’t in the end. I’m proud that I was able to do this the way I have. I found a lovely therapist in recovery, but she didn’t save me either (she certainly helps, though). I am on no medication and I don’t swear by a program or a system. I wasn’t saved by anything specific, rather by everything all at once. I saved myself somehow. I dug deep and stopped being a fucking brat; that’s what it came down to for me. I had to stop acting like the world owed me an easy way out. I had to stop acting like I was the only person who was in pain. This is just what my journey looked like, although I know everyone’s is different.

I did find a new life. It is incredibly full but with holes of who I used to be punched through it. These holes are in the shapes of lost loves; cigarettes, alcohol, NB, my depression. It is exhausting and scary. It is also ridiculous and hilarious. I am so filled with gratitude that I’m 100% certain most of my friends now want to puke whenever I start talking about it, but I don’t give a shit! I am thankful and humbled and terrified and all the good/bad things. It can be non-stop which is when it gets taxing. It has two no-longer-tiny kittens in it that make me want to scream from cuteness and frustration. It has a best friend/Roomie that I actually get to be there for and with whom I share a one-in-a-million connection. It has a 1 month old niece that I can get to know and love and who will be in my life forever. This life has meaning even though it fucking hurts sometimes. This life has purpose even though I don’t always know what it is. This life is honest even when my once-addicted brain tries to lie to me.

I had to start all over again. I had no choice. Roomie calls this the ‘overhaul’. I had to reset my brain; all my coping mechanisms, all my misdirected love, all my not-good-enough thoughts. It wasn’t easy and it still isn’t. I think for the first few months I was so awed by my rawness that I just went along with whatever my brain was doing. I cried a lot, I ate a lot, I slept a lot. Now that it’s less fresh, my brain has begun to fight back; which can be alarming at times. My depression has resurged in a floating/looming way but hasn’t touched down fully yet. I’m anticipating this and it petrifies me. I have started eating regularly and running every other day and with that my self-esteem has plummeted from the weight gain; even though I’m told I look fantastic I still feel fat and unattractive. I guess it comes with the territory, all this change can be uncomfortable. I work on these new insecurities daily.

I’ve just begun to recognize the woman I am, as me. I’m starting to know what I like and what I don’t like. I’m learning what is too much for me and what is not enough. I laugh so much now that I can’t control it; this was a foreign thing to me 6 months ago. I feel like I have so much more to learn about myself and the world around me AND the acceptance of that undertaking genuinely excites me. I do get sad often; about my lost life, about Mother Dearest, about NB, about the time I spent pushing this life away from me, but I can’t explain how incredible it feels to also know that I am so fucking lucky to be where I am today.

Ultimately all I can do is take this life as it happens. Sounds overly simplistic doesn’t it? It isn’t. It’s fucking hard. It’s hard to surrender to it all, every day. Let things humble me, every day. Let people in with the knowledge they will probably hurt me, every day. Let the bad and the good wash over me and then trickle away, every day. It’s hard but it’s worth it and that’s why I do it. That’s why we all do it. Everybody following this path knows that we’re ‘on to something’.  We may be green and raw, we may be scared and lost, but we are warriors and we are unfuckwithable. 

This. Fucking. Week.

Man oh man.

I’ve had my ass kicked a few times this year by Life. She can be a real cunt. When you’re certain you can’t possibly handle any more feels she will knock on your door with heartbreak and a bottle of Jameson and a tall dark stranger. She will test you and watch your edges fray while panic sets in and she will enjoy it (She will also try to kill one of your 6 month old kittens). So here I am, it’s my Saturday and I’ve survived This Week.

We almost lost one of our fuzzy idiots to acute kidney failure. Work was annoyingly busy and demanding. Miscommunications caused problems in every area of my life. I couldn’t sleep most nights, and on evenings that I did manage to get a few hours rest, I had assaulting vivid dreams. My stupid fucking less-than-a-year-old phone constantly dies if I remove it from the charge, so I missed important messages and calls. My body was sore from pushing it at work and pushing it on my evening runs. My appetite was non-existent from all the stress. My anxiety and depression have been playing hopscotch in my head every single day. An unexpected visit at work from NB’s partner caught me off guard and stirred up 500 things that I’ve been trying to handle internally for months and I just don’t fucking know how to deal with any of it. I feel burnt out and overstimulated so much so that our finicky front door lock reduced me to tears yesterday when I couldn’t jimmy it open on my first try. So yeah, that’s where I’m at. Needless to say, this week can kiss my ass.

But then there’s the other side to this messy life… Spock is now home and back to his old antics. Work being so crazy helped foot the bill for his vet care. I had some deep clarifying conversations with people that I respect and love and now feel closer to. My dreams brought up four or five things I hadn’t considered about my recovery and are encouraging me to think harder about the type of person I want to become, even though the idea makes me squirm. I will get a new phone soon because mine is still under warranty and is clearly a dud, but honestly I’ve enjoyed not hanging off of every ding and vibration. I’m running again and that means my smoke-free (47 days), alcohol-free (150 days) body is getting one step closer to being happy. My brain can’t always be my friend but I’m now able to fight back when it’s attacking me, which is something I never was able to do even 6 months ago. Uncomfortable situations continue teach me about myself and about the people around me and how much has changed in such a short amount of time. And yet my heart still really hurts and I’m even more lost. I get fucking angry when things are thrown at me and I can’t fix them or will them away with all the good intentions in the world. I am learning that the person I want to be is waiting patiently at the end of every awful day. The person I want to be realizes that the universe is not out to get her, but that sometimes it will feel that way. She is keeping her mouth shut instead of provoking needless confrontation. She is meditating in the mornings, instead of popping Advil and frantically searching through her phone to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid the night before. She is hurting for all the people affected by weeks like this one. She feels sorry for hurting anyone even if they aren’t the most savoury of people. She is hugging her close friends and missing the far away ones. She is reaching out to her family and telling them her story. She is so damn excited to be an Aunt, really REALLY soon. She is not changing her plans even though she wants to burrito in bed until things get easier. She is writing down cheesy inspirational things and posting them around her house to make her feel like a warrior. She is comfortable telling an entire group of co-workers/friends/regulars that if she doesn’t leave right this second, she will absolutely have a drink and that is not a fucking option.

This person is having a hard time with these things but is trying to do them anyway, because that’s what being brave is alllllll about, right? Doing the thing, even though your legs are shaking and you feel like you’re gonna puke and it sucks the goddamn breath right out of you. You don’t drink or smoke even though you’re furious that Life is fucking with you and you’re convinced you’ve earned the right to numb it out. You don’t lash out at the people around you because they are not the ones who made your decisions for you and they don’t fucking deserve it and somehow they love you in spite of all the shitty things you’ve done. You don’t bitch about the cost of saving your pet’s life because what would you prefer, having a healthy pet or commas in your bank account? You bite your tongue and count to ten and if you still feel like exploding, you continue to bite your tongue and count to twenty instead. If all else fails, yesterday taught me that taking a moment in the walk-in fridge at work does wonders with chilling insane overwhelming emotions. Sometimes you gotta take what you can get.