100 Days: Part 2.


Sometimes you wake up anxious and lonely and scared about the future and you don’t understand how something that’s supposed to be good can feel so awful and isolating… and then someone takes the time to remind you of why you chose this path and that it’s not always going to be sunshine and rainbows but it certainly will be worthwhile (even if it takes for fucking ever). I am so grateful for these kind of days. Today marks one hundred days of sobriety, days which included many tears and ugly heartbreak and also so. much. love.

I shared this on instagram/facebook today. Guess I’m out of the closet so to speak! Feels good. Feels right.


100 days.

I wanted to lie, you know, when I was asked the other day how I was doing. I was asked if I was ‘seeing someone’ to keep my body/mind distracted. Pssh. That’s cute, isn’t it? I wanted to lie when I was asked if it felt fair, this loss as punishment/consequence for my behaviour. I didn’t lie because I’m not going to give in to that wily cunt that lives deep inside me.

The lying bitch that kept trying to silence the truth when it whispered for years ‘you have a drinking problem’. The liar that shushed me so many times when I said that something felt off. Something’s wrong, Lana. Run, don’t walk. I let this voice dictate most of my life. She’s a part of me, I can’t get rid of her. But I allowed her to have her way with me, this I know. Most of my problems were minimized or dismissed. Most of my pain was diminished or laughed away. This liar is not just cruel, she is smart. She is ugly. But she can be oh-so-comforting. I now have to tell her to fuck off daily. I am doing it as I type this.

No, I’m not okay, and no I’m not fucking anybody AND NO, I DON’T THINK THAT THIS IS FUCKING FAIR. I’m empty, guys. I’m alone and I’m confused and I’m working too hard because it’s easier than sitting at home. I’m freaking out over changes in my body/mind/life because it’s easier than letting the real-er shit take over.

I’m not fucking okay, and that in itself is okay. I say this repeatedly. My mantra.

The past few days I’ve decided not to fight any of this. I’ve decided that even though I’m terrified of what’s coming, letting the liar take over is the more horrifying of my options. I have to give myself up to this process. It’s trying to teach me something, I can feel it. It’s saying more than ‘I hope you learned your lesson’. It’s trying to show me a part of myself I’ve been avoiding. The alone me. The lonely me.

I’ve done a lot of whining on this blog and I haven’t meant to, I’ve been experiencing intense conflict and loss and haven’t found an outlet for it. I think that the more time that passes the more insight I will gain, even some may come from the angry, needy girl who shares my brain space. I am trying to open myself a bit more to this part of the journey each morning. I do so without the help of him or anybody else. I sit with myself no matter how uncomfortable and even though I experience mostly deafening silence, I know this too is a lesson. I just don’t know what exactly I’m being taught yet.

I’m trying to get all of the women that live inside me to say the same thing until I can’t do a thing but listen to them. A few have quietly begun and the chorus gets louder every moment.

Surrender. Surrender. Surrender.


Obsess. Scream. Pull my hair out. Wail like the shitty little puke that sat at table 45 did today when his waffles didn’t get put in front of him as soon as he sat down. That’s what the past few days have been like. Context is important but I’ll spare the play-by-play for now. The short version is that NB subliminally (no, I’m not crazy, he really did) reached out to me, because of course he fucking did. So I then wrote him a calm and collected message to tell him I thought it was unfair/cruel and that he had until mid-August to speak actual words to me before I blocked/deleted his number and changed my own. I guess She got ahold of his phone and somehow my address, and we had a lovely impromptu chat outside of my house. I didn’t try to correct her or fight her or compete against her or plead with her. I listened, apologized sincerely and answered any question she had honestly.  She had plenty to say, obviously, most of which I anticipated and took as dignified as the Other Woman can in this situation. Apparently I am delusional and manipulative, and with my wily witchy ways, wooed him into my web. Like that alliteration or what?  So, basically, I’m a sorceress with a magic vagina who eats people’s partners for funsies. Yep. There’s the short version. 

Here’s how I’m not handling things. I’m still sober. That’s all I’ve got. I think a lot. I spend much of my time on the couch staring off into space. That’s it. Tonight I was thinking about feelings and how we describe them (or choose not to). I have a lot of opinions on what’s gone down lately, but I have a hard time expressing myself honestly. Sometimes we say things because we think we’re supposed to. They fit. They make people more comfortable. They sound better out loud to us, to them.

I say, ‘I’m working on acceptance. I want to get to the place where I can forgive him’. I’m really saying, ‘how could he do this to me? How could he not protect me? I was the only one on his side’.

I laugh at work and a friend says, ‘I haven’t heard that in a long time, you must be doing better!’ I say, “Yeah! Today’s an okay day actually”. I’m really saying, ‘the absurdity of what just happened to my heart makes me burst into laughter because there is nothing left to do’.

I say, ‘I guess it could always be worse, right?’ I’m really saying, ‘what is happening is far worse than anything I’ve ever imagined’.

These small conversations make me laugh and cry and rage. How do you handle the fact that the person that you held in such high esteem betrayed your confidence, privacy, and love without saying a word? You don’t. I don’t know how. Is it even possible?

I sit in my house, I go to work, I run errands, I watch TV and am learning to ignore the questions cycling through my head throughout the day. I try not to look over my shoulder at work and at home (I’ve been told I won’t be left alone unless I leave my job, and Vancouver).

I ask myself a hundred more times, ‘how could he do this to me?’
I say, ‘guess he wasn’t who I thought he was, that pile of garbage’.
I’m really saying ‘he owed me more than this.’
Ask another hundred times, ‘how could he fucking do this to me?’.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Betrayal, what a bitch. I’m an idiot, a naive little girl.

P.S. Rot in hell, you piece of shit.

Accept and Let Go.

I am meditating on acceptance. I don’t really know where to start. I guess I could go with ‘I can’t change a decision that was made by somebody else‘. So I’ll say that again.
I can’t change that NB chose to remove himself from my life. Whether it was by force, by choice, by blackmail, by whatever! I can’t do anything about it. The circumstances that surround it do not matter. It is what it is. There is nothing to do except embrace the facts of the situation. He chose a different life, and now that means things must change in mine. Just writing that make me feel a bit better.

I don’t have to mope or mourn if it doesn’t feel natural.
I don’t have to laugh and pretend nothing is wrong if it doesn’t feel natural.
I just have to be true to how I’m feeling and wait for it to pass.
That’s it. I think I can handle that.

When I was still drinking, I (vaguely) remember being shit-faced and crying because I hated what the NB situation was doing to me. I was lying on my kitchen floor sobbing into his lap. Snot everywhere (über attractive). He stroked my hair and told me honest but comforting things while I cried it all out. I remember saying that I didn’t care what choice he made but he had to make one. I said that frequently. Part of me did mean it, but the bigger, uglier part wanted him to choose me. So there it is, the thing that hurts the most to admit.

He chose to let me go, which means I have to let him go, even though I don’t want to. I didn’t want any of this. But realizing that I don’t want to let him go, and that I would have done anything to prevent it from happening doesn’t fucking change anything. It’s still the way it is, against my wishes sure, but that also doesn’t change a thing. The only thing I can do from here is keep living my life, albeit a little differently now.

No more making extra coffee on the days he’d pop by mid morning.
No more waiting to hear when he’s free, changing my day around to spend an hour or two together.
No more monitoring how much perfume I wear so he doesn’t leave the house smelling like another woman.
No more lonely evenings waiting to hear back from him.
No more staying up later than I should to see if he can steal away on the motorcycle.
No more secrets.
No more guilt.
No more waiting.

I anticipate feeling relieved someday soon. The confusion and struggles I’ve been facing in all of this makes me think of my first two weeks of sobriety. I was fucking terrified when I made the decision to never drink again. Firstly, I didn’t think I could do it and secondly, I didn’t think I would be the same person if I did (in a bad way). I didn’t know myself without the poison that kept me numb. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I didn’t realize I would wake up one day not long after making said choice, feeling that a huge weight had been lifted off of me, feeling like a more authentic me. It was the best decision I’ve made to date, I have no true regrets even on my worst days.

Perhaps a similar epiphany is on the other side of this pain? I really hope so.

What Is Left To Do.

It’s my Sunday. It’s overcast and spitting rain which means I won’t be able to zone out at the park today. I have little errands to run and some house stuff to attend to but it’s been a productive weekend for me so I’m procrastinating a bit. I went and got a physical yesterday, glad it’s done with. It was uncomfortable but quick, as they usually are. In-and-out in 10 minutes (hardy-har). I’d like to meet someone who really enjoys being probed by a stranger… Anyway!

I sent NB a message the other night before bed, after debating for some time whether I needed to or not. Turns out I felt the need to apologize for how things ended and to clarify a couple of things about our final conversation. I feel like it was the right call. Perhaps I was apologizing on behalf of him, knowing I won’t ever get the apology I feel I deserve. I’m creating my own closure here. Whether he responds or not is irrelevant, I said what I had to. I meticulously thought out what exactly I was feeling and pressed send once I knew I didn’t have ulterior motives in doing so. So here we are, over two weeks without communication at all. The days are passing painfully slow. I feel different than I did in the first week. I’m exhausted. And the sadness is now coming in waves. I crave even more alone time, and I’m sensitive to every kind of stimulus around me. I guess this is normal for a break up? I’m getting smacked with insignificant memories which hurt regardless of how ridiculous/unimportant they were. Swallowing how much I miss him is no easy feat. I feel like I’m drinking poison.

All that is left to do is start moving on, I suppose. Is progress measurable when it comes to break ups? I don’t feel like I’m making any. I’m still in shock. I’m still angry. I’m still wondering how I will ever get close to another person in that way. I’m not going to go on dating sites. I’m not going to be able to have rebound sex. I just won’t. I know myself. I can’t drink this away. I can’t fuck this away. I can’t work this away. I just have to feel it, I guess? How long is it going to hurt like this? How many more hours do I have to jolt myself back to reality and remind myself he isn’t coming back?

In other news, I’m booking my flights back to Onterrible for the holidays. I’m being forced to visit, as my sister is having a baby in October and apparently family members are supposed to care about that sort of thing. Last trip home I took was an awful time, so I’m hellbent on making this one better. I won’t be staying with my parents, which was part of the reason everything went to shit during my previous visit, and I’ll be sober! I hope the sobriety makes dealing with my insane mother a bit more manageable (although intuition tells me the opposite).

Speaking of sobriety, July 25th is my 3 month mark. Feels like it’s been years.

This Is Where I’m At.

I read the newest post from one of my favourite bloggers this morning and was (as always) struck with envy that she could just write, even when she didn’t know how or what to say, or have an idea in mind. That is something I struggle with daily. I wake up saying “I will write today” and then lose motivation when I realize I don’t know what I want to say, or how to begin getting to the point I want to make.

Today I’m going to do something different. Today I’m just going to write.

Continue reading “This Is Where I’m At.”

Everything Is On Fire.

Here’s a list of some things I know/fear/hate/question about what’s going on in my brain/life/etc. It’s all in point-form, because writing in any other way hurts too much.

  • I’m afraid that I won’t feel this way again.
  • I’m afraid it won’t be the same no matter what I try.
  • I know I will force myself to get through this.
  • I know I will force myself to move on to something new.
  • I know I will meet someone eventually, even if it means I’m old and exhausted from heartbreak when it happens.
  • I know someone will love me, too.
  • I’m afraid of how I will handle the fact that it won’t be him, not ever.
  • How do I swallow knowing we never had a chance?
  • Or that we did and he was too fearful to give us one?
  • Will this hole always be shaped like him?
  • Will he regret not fighting for this?
  • This is not my first serious relationship, nor my first love, but this one in particular has changed me.
  • I guess they all do to some extent.
  • He helped me get sober.
  • He believed in me.
  • That makes this harder.
  • I do know that I did all I could.
  • I do know I couldn’t have fought harder than I did.
  • The rest was on him.
  • I have to live with this empty space now.
  • I couldn’t have done anything to change this.
  • I don’t blame him.
  • I don’t hate him (even though I’m furious and disappointed and hurt).
  • I adore him.
  • I respect him.
  • I hope he finds whatever it is he’s looking for.
  • I haven’t forgiven him.
  • I don’t know if I will.
  • I should feel free but I am petrified.