Buy Me a Drank

#Addiction #Alcohol #Alcoholic #Choices #Divorce #SingleMom #Stress

So where do I start? Stress. We’ll start there, because I’m under a tremendous amount of it. There is something nudging inside of me. Now for the 3rd time over 2 decades I have this very strong desire to pick up a little something. How do I  eloquently put this? I need T-Pain to buy me a drank. Or at least that is the feeling that is subtly speaking to me from some inward place.

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The reason that this is so strange for me is that I have never had a drink in my life. Ever. Not a real one that is. I can count on only two hands how many times I’ve had some fruity slushy thing with a pineapple slice on the top, and I would have fingers to spare. Yes it was laced with some special spirits but I have never had a hard drink. Never had anything over ice. Never had a shot of anything that would take misery away. Now before I go and sound all extra righteous or as if I operate with superpowers, let me say that the reason is not quite that noble. It’s truly out of fear of the unknown. Well maybe part fear, part wisdom.

You see my mother use to rely on a little something-something to get her through the day. She didn’t drink the heavy stuff, it was usually just beer, or every now and then there would be some pink cheap stuff sitting on the bottom shelf of the fridge. But she drank everyday, all day. Her father before her had a full bar built into his basement. It was the best hide and seek place. No one could find me if I nudged just right between the bottles as big as I, filled with bourbon and scotch. It’s funny how even then without having the words of what I was experiencing, I knew that I didn’t like that stuff. I didn’t like how the volume of voices grew as the drinks poured during those Spade and Bidwiz parties. I didn’t like attempting to sleep while breathing thick nicotine clouds in the air.  They always sent me to the ER with yet another Asthma attack. The parallel of alcohol and cigarettes would serve as the demise of the one who gave birth to me. It wasn’t until I was older, a bit into adulthood when I realized the negative effects that growing up with alcoholics had on me. That might be an obvious observance to some, for me it was less evident.

The alkies in my family weren’t raging lunatics. They were what Psychology 101 would call Functional  Alcoholics. I would guess that most who knew my mother and biological grandfather would be surprised that alcohol was even a factor. But there was always this undercurrent, always this restlessness. Finally admitting to myself that my mother had a drinking problem gave me a kind of liberation. All those times she was super mean to me wasn’t because of me, I can blame the beer, at least in part, and I’m off the hook. Now the key is communicating that logic to space in the center of my chest, still working on that one.

Fast forward to that drink I’ve been recently craving. It’s a desire, a real one… to something I’ve never really had. Now why is that? The first time I felt this way was about a year and a half ago. I had to pull over on the side of the road during a blurry drive as I approached my home. I couldn’t see through wells of water filling my eyes. The realities and pressures of single-mom-dum-to-special-needs-child, post-divorceness, and no-financial-emotional-supportsville hit me like a tidal wave. As I sat behind that steering wheel, as clear as day I heard these words in my head, “I need a drink!” In that flash of a moment I could smell alcohol. I mean I could actually smell it! Keep in mind I don’t drink, so what was up with this? I sat up, wiped my tears, realizing the turn of events before me. It’s funny to me know, I uttered these words out loud,

Oh no! You really are gonna be that obvious? You don’t want to be subtle or something? Devil if you’re going to tempt me, be more sly with it!

I started to denounce this desire, this craving I was having. I may not know alot of things but I do know what will not help a situation. Nancy Regan did a number on me, I dont want my brain on drugs, and in my case, that includes liquor. To this, I simply choose to just say no.

Today although I do feel the desire, I just choose not to go there.  Not that this choice is for every one but I must give credence to a struggle with something I never experienced myself. Imagine if I really started drinking for real. Who I could become, what bad decisions I could make. No thanks. No matter the pain I’m in I will not walk into something that will make that pain worse, even if there is some momentary relief from that pain.  I don’t want to walk through a door simply because those that went before me opened it. I cant escape from my problems but I do need to be sober to fight them. Almost really does count. Dodging a bullet is very effective, just ask the person who got hit by one.

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From Who to Wow

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#Who #Divorce #MovingOn

At 13 years old I experienced my first heartbreak. Well at least my first puppy love level of heartbreak. I had a boyfriend who was three years my senior, which I really had no business having in hindsight. He wasn’t treating me very well so the relationship ended and I was crushed. While sitting with my grandfather over fried okra and pie at Furrs Cafeteria, he told me something I thought was ridiculous at the time. “Shug, in a couple of years you’ll be saying Shannon who?” Shannon was the person who caused my tear shed and I couldn’t imagine not remembering his name. My response, “Grandaddy, you just don’t understand how much I love him.” Fast forward about a year later, same spot, same fried okra, same company. Grandaddy asks if I’d heard from that young man Shannon lately. In a flash, without thinking I replied, “Shannon who?” We belly laughed hysterically reminiscing on the short period of time my amnesia set in. Grandaddy was wrong about one thing, it didn’t take two years, it only took one.

I’m a big girl now. That 13 year old heartbreak could in no way compare to my grown woman issues around love. Ending my marriage in 2013 after a short separation the year earlier, I can say I’ve had my share of love lost. While talking to my counselor, yep I thankfully have one, a miraculous thing happened. I hadn’t really spoken about my ex husband at all in the short time I’ve been in these counseling sessions. We’d run out of time so Ms. counselor said that we’d pick up on that subject during our next session. A very busy two weeks passed by and so did my memory of discussing the ex in our session. She opened the conversation with I’d like to talk a bit about Dareck. (Insert miraculous moment). I paused, looking at her quite confused, I thought to myself, “Dareck who.” Now oftentimes what we think is not necessary the first thing we speak. But my first reaction, my first thought was my truth, for a split second I really had no idea who she was talking about. In the next second as both tears and laughter hit me I recognized what had happened. I was no longer consumed with this man, he was no longer at the forefront of my thoughts. This man that I was married to, who fathered my child, who at one time I loved dearly, was now a “who?” If my Grandaddy were still here I’d go have fried okra with him and just say…. wow.

Pursue

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#‎Pursue‬ ‪#‎Welcome2015‬

I just outgrew my environment. Now I’m not talking about my physical environment, although that plays a part too, but I digress. It is an environment of internal limitations. This conception of myself that I must not be able to be or accomplish more than what I see around me, more than what those who’ve spoken over me have believed for me. Yeah, I just outgrew that. I am officially breaking out of this shell, this cocoon, this fallacy. This small thinking. This obstruction in my mind to not make others uncomfortable by being fully who I was formed to be. You see they have the same ability. They have gifts, abilities, but it makes them uncomfortable that I’ve tapped into some of mine. And I’m sitting here thinking, wow, I haven’t tapped into even half of what I can actually do, so I might really want to back myself up if they feel uncomfortable with me at this level. What will they do when I reach that level? I mean just how much rejection can a girl take? But here’s a better question worthy of contemplation. Will I be more abandoned by them and their antics, and their ideals of who I’m suppose to be, their placing me in awkward fitting boxes? Or will I be more abandoned by my own responsibility to myself, to the seeds that lie within me, to the long standing of my legacy, to my namesake, to my children’s identity? Which level of abandonment will mean more… while I lie on my death bed?

In this marker year, in the 15th year, in this year that I look back and wonder what happen to a decade plus, when I look back and reminisce on Y2K like it was yesterday, still emotionally stuck in the unreality that the 90’s were 10 years ago, I question, I wonder, what will I do now? What more will it take? In this year, 2014 I can unequivocally say that I have lost everything so what is the risk in attempting what’s most important? There’s nothing more that can be taken. I stand on this last day of the first 14 years of the new millennium reminding myself that this millennium is no longer new. I can say it is good that I have been afflicted because I have less fear of darkness. I have survived it, that shadow of death that proved itself only to be a shadow. 2012, 2013, 2014 in that order, the most difficult years, and I saw my share of darkness before those years. I still stand with my mind. I stand with my integrity intact. I stand with my morals. I stand with my heart still beating. I stand with my walk with God. The only thing I’m left bewildered by is how some get through times like these without the assurance that their steps are ordered, or that they are not alone even when they are alone. So today I pursue. There will not be another year, another month when I look back and wonder what I did with the time because for the first time I am determined to become.

Psalms 119:71 (Affliction is a’ight.)

May you see all your dreams come to fruition, your doors swing open, and you become all you were born to be in 2015!

The Quirky Kaleidoscope of Woman Becoming