I’m Not Okay, and You’re Not Okay, and That’s Okay

Since when is it not okay to be not okay?

We live in a culture of “transparency” - we plaster our lives on social media; perfect snippets of a life that isn’t perfect at all.  In all of this “transparency” we are also perpetuating a lie - that life can be perfect - because look at mine!  It’s of course natural to want to put our best face forward - but when that is all that the world sees, we all have a very big problem.  We are only transparent with perceived perfection or prestige, and so really, all of this transparency is muddy and unclear and really not transparent at all, and we are almost always not really seeing the truth of things - whether that truth be beautiful or ugly.

All of this is a huge reason I eventually decided to author Sober and So Brie after my therapist asked me to - I certainly don’t revel or even find it easy to be open and vulnerable, and if you knew me in real life you’d probably be shocked I was the author of SASB, because I am quite closed-off in real life - I am friendly, but I am not open — however, for whatever reason, I am quite good at not being okay, and I’m REALLY good at being impulsive and coming up with scary solutions, so why not document it all here?  Because I WANT TRUTH WHETHER IT BE BEAUTIFUL OR UGLY, for myself, and from others. To show the world, to show you, to remind myself on hard days - that there is hope and that there is no shame in addiction.  You’ll almost always find Totally-Fake-But-Still-Totally-Annoying Perfection on social platforms online, and then you amble on over here, and you find...this...me...a total train-wreck.  And if anything, maybe you’ll leave this website not understanding me, and you could hardcore be judging me, but at least knowing that there is someone else out in the world who is honest about how hard the world is, and who doesn’t always ge
t it right the first or the forty-first time, but still trying.  And maybe it is only a consolation prize - and a cheesy one at that - but to still be trying, after all this time, is a good and a right thing.

Because, I’m not okay all of the time - and I need that not okay-ness to be totally okay.  I need to feel secure in the knowledge that I might feel like I got hit by a truck full of hot garbage juice, but that I don’t need to drive to the liquor store straightaway.  I need to believe that I can handle the emotions and the despair of it all (LIVING) stone-cold sober, even if I don’t want to. I need to know that even if I don’t feel okay, I AM okay.

Social media drives me batty.  I follow more meme accounts on instagram than actual humans, because I’m much more interested in laughing than I am in getting perfect-only peeks into other’s lives.  Life is so messy and so chaotic - I am so messy and so chaotic - and perfection doesn’t interest me.  I spent too long striving for it, and that longing and that need almost killed me.

For the 90 days I’ve been clean, I’ve been wildily excited and thrilled and also wildly despairing - I have had moments of clarity and beauty and also more than a few moments I white-knuckled through to keep from grabbing my keys and breaking speeding laws to get to the liquor store.  And in all of that - even all of the ugly and the difficult and the embarrassing and shameful, I am certain of maybe one thing, and one thing alone: that I am sober.  And that I am so fudging glad I am. I am not certain at all that my problems are lighter or simpler, and I am certainly not guaranteed my sobriety past the current moment, but I am so sober, and even in my pain, I am so glad that I am.  Because while there was certainly a time when I could have (and probably should have) died in my addiction, I know that today I will not.

So I’ll continue to be transparently imperfect.  To acknowledge and even be frank at how much I've messed up: I have hurt many people, most of whom I love dearly.  I have lost relationships because of this.  I have lost my horse.  My dignity, my integrity.  My health.  Some of this can be reclaimed, and some of it can’t, but I’ll always be transparent as I document the journey on SASB.  I’m a hot mess, I’m a spaz, I wash my hair like once a week and do it about once a month, but I’m trying, and I’m still sober.  I think, at least, that I have the important things covered.  I’m not okay a lot of the time, and it hurts so, so much.

But it’s okay.
I’m okay.
We’re all okay.

I’m going to be writing a few blog posts to introduce myself, as I realized many readers may not know me past a few surface things, here or there.  If you have any questions or things in particular you’d like to know, leave me a comment or shoot me an email, and I’ll do my best to work it into my post.

I Have So Much Left

I think that a tremendous part of my addiction (eating disorder and alcoholism) stemmed from the fact that nothing is fair.  I lost my daughter, Kendall, to a stillbirth, and it wasn’t fair, and I was SO MAD, and I knew that nothing could ever bring her back, no matter how much I tried to fix myself or punish myself, so why not drink myself to death?  I was entitled to this, because of my righteous indignation: LIFE SUCKS BALLS AND IT ISN’T FAIR.

But the problem is, life doesn’t ever stop being not fair.  Not even three years ago, I had a miscarriage, and just like that, my baby girl, McCartney, was gone.  My arms and my heart were empty. I raged and I raged at God and myself and the universe.  When were things going to even out?  (Yeah, kind of like never.)

Life will be FULL of disappointments, sorrows, fear, and grief.  What happened to me, though, was that amidst all of my own disappointments, sorrows, fear, and grief, I became so consumed by it all, that I forgot to see that my life also contained joy, and humor, and love, and hope.  I was so desperately searching for a respite from the storm raging around me at the bottom of a bottle or at a lower number on the scale, that I didn’t see that the respite I was so desperately searching for was all around me, in little ways and in little moments: when my son did a school project on me, because I am his hero.  When I see that my daughter’s sparkly, down-turned, and lovely eyes are my own.  When I hear I love you more times in a single day than I deserve.

And so my life wasn’t fair, and so I continued to starve myself.  To drink.  To swallow pills to fall asleep and numb the fact that I was even ALIVE.  When life got fair, I would stop.  I would.

But really, I wouln’t have.  And I couldn’t have.  My addiction had its sharp and terrible claws deeply rooted in me.

When I went to rehab, all of the terrible things in my life that had happened to me didn’t go away, or morph into something prettier.  I still have my sorrows and my anger, and life, as always, wasn’t fair. The only thing that had changed in my life was that I was clean and sober - but just that - just keeping my body clean from the substances that poisoned my mind and my body...I got clarity.  I could see the hope and the beauty all around me, even amidst the ugly thorns in my life.  I stopped expecting life to be fair, and instead adjusted my point of view to pray for acceptance, surrender, and hope, to forgive myself for the past and to let go of it, and to endure whatever lay ahead of me.

And let me tell you: since I have been out of rehab for the last six or so weeks, I have absolutely had to endure.  Maybe more than I ever thought I could: I lost my horse - my mare who taught me that I could be brave and strong and powerful and bad-ass.  I have lost (and will continue to do so) much of my physical capabilities by being diagnosed with Alcoholic Neuropathy.  I am in so much pain every day, and I feel so bereft, being only a shadow of who I used to be.  Very soon I will be losing all four of my cats.  Because the acute asthma I suffer from has catapulted to insane levels, and is becoming resistant to treatment.  My cats are killing me. Literally.  And knowing I will lose them makes me so frantic and desperate that I cannot dwell on it long.  And, we are losing our home - we are moving.  It is so difficult to stay sober in the home that I spent most of the last few years in drunk, high, pathetic, miserable, and self-seeking.

So much loss.  So much taken away from me.  And I am bewildered and frightened and mourning.

In the past, this would have been excellent ammo to justify my addiction, and I would have wallowed in the loss and grief and not-okayness of it all.  But I can’t do tha

t anymore.  Not if I want to live.  So,  I have stopped expecting life to be fair.  I instead only try as hard as I can to be brave and strong while I endure all of the unfair storms in my life.  I no longer want to be defined in this world by everything that I have lost, but by everything that I fight for.  And I am in the fight for my life.  And it is messy and beautiful and WORTH IT. (You are, too.)

“Oh, my friend.  It is not what they take away from you that counts, it’s what you do with what you have left.”

—Hubert H. Humphrey

I have so much left.  I have three beautiful children, and I have a husband who loves me and tries just as hard as I do to make himself better and to be a good and right force in this world.  I have an amazing family Who doggedly love me, even through the decades of anguish and worry and frustration I put them through.  I have new beginnings and second chances.  I still have my blind pup who is my permanent sidekick and offers his love an protection through his stalwart little affinity for me.  I have my Higher Power - my God in Heaven - who loves me and believes in me, even though He kind of created a hot mess.

And it’s funny.  Amidst the howling wind and the angry storm that the adversary throws at me, despite the endless tears and sometimes the dark, heavy blanket of depression, I still love this damn life.  Sometimes I’m kind of amazed that this Jaded Ice Queen does - but it’s true.  I just do.  I just love this life.  Because amidst the storm and the wind and the darkness, I live in the most beautiful garden - a garden that blooms and flourishes because of the love and prayers and forgiveness given me.  It is a paradise.  A beautiful, dazzling, paradise. 

Life isn’t fair.  And it isn’t for the faint of heart.  But it is beautiful and the grace we get in this world to be better and do better is this most precious gift.  And while this life isn’t always fair, we must remember that the grace, the forgiveness, the second chances, and the uncomplicated and Perfect Love WE get time and again in this life aren’t fair either - we rally don’t deserve it.  But we get them anyway.

Do not forget to see the beauty and grace amidst the unfair and the ugly.  It is quieter, and it is harder to find, but if you look, you will see it everywhere.

“I like living.  I have sometimes been wildly despairing, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.”

The Round Isn't Over Yet and Neither Are You

Been a weird week; I've kind of had my crazy pants on.  I am still proudly clean and sober, but I feel directionless and very, very afraid most of the time.  I am clinging to the Big Book, or prayer, and my dailies, because I know that no matter how crazy my pants are, I can have the willpower and presence of mind to stay sober, even when the bottle calls.

It's so weird to me that people can drink.  Like, normally.  I see someone order a glass of wine with dinner, and I am fascinated that they can drink only one.  Or even two.  I still get a hitch in my breath and my heart accelerates when I'm near the liquor store I used to frequent, or if I see an ad for liquor, or, okay, if someone even says "wine".  They can even be saying "Ugh, stop your whining," and I'll be all "WINING DID SOMEONE SAY WINING HI HI I LIKE WINE" and half (or more) of me is like YOU TOTALLY WANT THE WINE YOU CAN TOTALLY DRINK NORMALLY OR HELL EVEN JUST DRINK ONE AND THEN STOP AGAIN NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO CHANGE YOUR SOBRIETY DATE--

--and then there's the Sober Brie who's like, feet shuffling, Um, Brain?  Hi.  Can I um, say something?  Really fast?  And like, really quietly because I know you have a migraine and I don't want to bug you.  But, um, maybe you shouldn't screech into the liquor store parking lot right now or wine.  But, you can totally whine, don't get me wrong -- But, like maybe this decision isn't based rationally, and you can hate everyone in the world who can normally drink liquor - I think that's fair.  It's like, pry five or six billion people and I really don't think that's hating too much.  So, ahem.  Yeah.  I mean, like, yay!  We're sober!  And okay, I know we're not happy.  And even though we don't feel okay, we ARE okay.  So, like, wine is good but wine will kill you so maybe we should, like, NOT.  Okay, wow.  Thanks for letting me talk!  You may now resume your whining.

So far, my cute little Sober Brain that's all shy and new is the voice I am choosing to listen to - at least, in the end, because I'm here, 76 days later, as dry as whatever that saying is that means I'm totally sober. Usually I yell at and curse my sober brain, but the wealth and depth of creativity my mind has when it comes to profanity is both cool and kind of sad AND SHOULD BE KEPT SECRET.

I know that one glass of wine won't kill me.  But with me, one can never be just one.  And I do not want to have another seizure, or more permanent medical complications from alcoholism.  I do not want the depth and despair that comes from being so out of control I don't know how I can bear to brave another minute alive (or at least conscious).  I never want to feel how SHITTY it is to hear your children downstairs, growing up without you, while you languish upstairs in your drinking and self-pity.  So, is my current day-to-day kind of excruciating at times?  Yes.  But will I take this shitty over the shitty I endured in my addiction?  Oh, hell yes.  A RESOUNDING YES.

I can't ever have another glass of wine.  I can't ever go into a liquor store again, because while you peruse the tequila section, trying to find the brand that won't break the bank but will also impress your friends and also not have you make bad choices that weekend, (free fact fer ya: tequila will ALWAYS end in vomit and regret) in all of those glass bottles - the clear ones, and blue ones, and green ones: in them I found liquid courage.  I found liquid appeasement.  I found liquid apathy, and liquid living-but-not-really-living.  Liquid Thank-God-I-Don't-Remember-Anything-Right-Now and Liquid I-Can't-Remember-Anything-That-Just-Happened-and-I'm-Terrified.  Liquid I-Hate-Myself, Liquid Regret.  Liquid Prison, a kind of death.  I gulped and slugged my way through bottle after bottle, peering into the bottom to see if I had finally found what I was looking for: hope.  Peace.  Respite.  

I didn't find any of those things.

I found: horror.  Pain.  Rejection.

Life is such a wrestle - it is a FIGHT to have a life of meaning and peace and even some joy - and it is WORTH THE WRESTLE.  (Even if you're the worst at arm wrestles.).  Keep fighting.  Keep your head up.  Just stand, before the count of 10.  The round isn't over yet, and neither are you.  And neither am I.

So yeah, I've been wearing some super crazy pants.  I've been chaotic and distracted and sort of all over the place, which really isn't crazy pants for me so much as normal pants - but, even I have perhaps carried all of that to a new level.  But it's okay.  I'm okay.  (Mostly because I'm still sober and I have a really patient support system.)

Because there's always a new tomorrow, there's always a new wrestle worth wrestling at the beginning of each day.  Life can totally be shitty, I know - but please remember that in your addiction, the shit was SO REAL and SO, SO RANK, guys.  Don't go back there.

I will not search for hope, peace, or respite at the bottom of an empty bottle again.  I will fall to my knees in prayer, I will TRY to meditate, (that awesomeness be hella hard) I will call my sponsor, or a sober friend, or my mom, or hell I'll have a giant love-fest with all four of my cats and my blind dog and I'll STAY FREAKING SOBER doing all of this, even though there is nothing even REMOTELY super sad about a 33 year old woman who has sleepovers with her old and blind and diseased animals that involve pillow fights and a great game of Truth or Dare.  (The blind dog never chooses dare.)

I know that life will quiet down.  The normal pants will be washed (but not folded, because let's get real, I don't have that kind of energy) and returned to my closet, and one of these mornings, I'll put them on.  Maybe one day, I will pass the liquor store without putting myself into a hypertensive state.  Maybe, just a little bit more often, I'll find the hope, peace, and respite that I am yearning for.  

All of this is worth the fight.  Crazy pants, normal pants, or no pants.  We got this.

Leaping Into Recovery Like

...hella awkward.

But it's okay.  I'm an awkward person; just look at me!  5'11" and my legs alone are 37".  Finding a store that actually sells jeans long enough for me is about as easy as me strolling into the Louvre, perusing the paintings, pointing to the "Mona Lisa," and saying, I'll take that one.  How much do I owe you?

I stumble over my words and when I'm the center of attention I get crazily self-conscious and try to shorten my sentences so I can stop talking more quickly, but in the process make my sentences even longer because I'm stumbling EVEN MORE over my words and then I need to apologize for the word stumblage, and then have to re-phrase (and likely apologize again) and stumble over my apology, which makes, oh I don't know, a simple few sentences that should have taken maybe 14 seconds to say be more like 14 minutes.  Agonizingly long.  Kind of like this paragraph.

Butit'sfineI'mfinewe'reallfine.  ;)

If I have to leap into recovery looking....well, looking like I do in this picture...then I'll do it.  I'd prefer to do it with a bit more grace, but grace hasn't ever been my strongest quality.  Or like, anything I remotely possess (ask my 3rd grade ballet teacher...).  All around me, I see my beautiful brothers and sisters in recovery killin' their sobriety with grace.  They're agile, and nimble, and if they were to be substituted in the picture of me posted here, they'd pry look...I don't know.  I was trying to come up with some really poignant adjective, but honestly... they'd pry just look normal.  And not, you know, like a gawky giraffe who got peer pressured into skydiving and has just leapt out of the plane.  So for all you beshes who are bummed that you're "just" normal, it could be worse.  Gawky Skydiving Giraffe worse.

You know what though?  I'd rather be taking the most uncoordinated, unrefined leap into recovery than to not take that leap at all.  Because after the leap comes the calm.  After the leap, you begin to gain self-respect, gratitude, and humility.  After taking the hardest leap of your life, you realize how freaking brave and just cool you are.  All human beings are pretty cool, (except like Hitler 'n stuff) but I'll tell you what - I know that us addicts are some of the strongest, bravest, bad-ass-est, (I just made that a word) resilient, and loving people out there.  Whether you're addicted to a substance you use a needle for, or whether you're addicted to cutting, or shame, or looking in the mirror and hating what you see...please know - KNOW - that there is a way out of this garbage.  There is a different, beautiful path available for you.  It isn't easy, and it does require that (normal or gawky giraffe-ish) leap of faith, but that leap is worth it.  You may not be ready to take that leap yet, and that's okay.  But please remember that you are worth that leap, and that I need you, your family needs you, THE WORLD NEEDS YOU - and that in your recovery - full of vulnerability and imperfection and scars - we will all see the fudging awesome warrior beneath that.  We recovering alcoholics and addicts are the strongest warriors out there - we are an army - a cussing, smoking, tattooed, pierced, wise-cracking, joke-cracking army -- and we will fight for you.  And for each other.  And for ourselves.  And to those that try to stop us, hurt us, or do so to another in recovery, they better be ready for some hell and like a beat down.  (Or, with me, since I really can't throw too hard a punch, I will BRING YOU DOWN with some vicious rhetoric.  ;)  With words, I will always win.)  You DEF want a recovering alcoholic on your side in a bar fight.  Trust me on this.

Point is, we are an army, and we are getting bigger and bigger at an exponential rate.  We all had to take that leap of faith.  We were all scared as hell.  We all stumbled along the way:

Oh boy.  The Gawky Giraffe stumbles.  Really, are we surprised?  And who the hell photographed this anyway?  (This was about a decade ago, when we all carried around these weird things called cameras, and cell phones simply made and received calls.  We also had to hunt for food and make fire with like string and friction and I did all of my writing on cave walls.  It was barbaric.)

So, stumble.  Okay?  JUST STUMBLE.  And know that it's absolutely okay.  Addict or not, you won't ever do this life perfectly.  You may project that on social media, or to your circle of friends, but you are not helping anyone - including yourself - by doing this.  The world NEEDS to see your imperfections so that they know that it's okay that they're imperfect, or making mistakes too.  The world NEEDS to see those of us in recovery, or fighting like hell to WANT to be in recovery, that we're doing this - we're fighting and we're stumbling and we're taking that leap of faith into recovery, and we're all doing it messily and imperfectly and sort of blundering along.  But we're laughing.  We're breathing easier.  And we have each other.  We aren't alone anymore.

I could have found a million images online of an awkward stranger taking a leap, or someone else tripping.  I thought about it.  Do I really want the whole world seeing me taking a leap of faith while my face really looks like I'm passing a kidney stone the size of a Suburban?  And then, even WORSE, the whole world seeing my ARSE?  I mean, no, not really.  But I gotta be real.  And those pictures are so, so painfully real.  My sobriety and my recovery is full of bumps and barriers, but it is REAL.  I overcome one obstacle, only to find another in my path, this one bigger and meaner.  I cry.  Like all the time.  But I also laugh.  Like all the time.  In my addiction, I neither laughed or cried, because when you're high (or black out drunk) you can't feel anything REAL.  And so I attack each obstacle, and through it all, I am laughing, or crying, or sometimes both at once.

I want REAL.  Even if real is messy and complicated and stumbly (made that word up too) and Gawky Giraffey.  Even if, even if.  Because life is also like this most precious gift.  It's beautiful and wondrous and breathtaking.  Leaping into recovery is scary.  Risky.  Taking that leap is terrifying. TERRIFYING. But that's kinda the point.  Leaping is terrifying, recovery is terrifying, living is terrifying.  But it is also alluring, astonishing, awe-inspiring.  (Alliteration: 3 points!)  Be brave, be terrified, but take that leap anyway.  And we'll all be here to cheer you on and greet you with pure elation (and probably some really bad profanity) on the other side.

To all of the alcoholics, addicts, or flawed human beings out there: shine on you crazy, nerdy weirdos.  Y'all are my people.

Let's go shine on.  The world needs us.