oosh lifetho

Faltering

Its rough isn’t it? Trying to be the best version of yourself, especially when no one witnesses it, no one is there to fly your flag and tell you you’ve done a good job. So why not be the person you know better? The person that sinks. That lets the sadness and anger get to them. The person that drinks to forget. The person that drinks to pass out.

I have tried, and I will keep trying. The hardest part is knowing that I’m joking myself when I say “one bottle of wine won’t hurt”. I’m only one glass in and I’m already thinking, but that whole bottle will be gone soon, I should have gotten more. I’m already thinking, I should have gotten spirits, wine makes you sleepy.

What pushed me here? Why has my opinion changed on not drinking? Why am I not being as firm with myself? Because I feel like it doesn’t matter anymore. I understand that not drinking is for me, above and beyond everything else. But right now, I just suck a bit. Right now I’m a little broken, and I feel like I’ve tried my best and not succeeded, so why even bother at all?

I should bother. I should love myself. I should love my life, and want to take every day with starry eyed curiosity and bemusement. I should want to love learning more about myself. I should show gratitude, cherish all that I have achieved. I should push and push and FUCKING push through.

But although I know I was strong enough, I’ve chosen not to be. I feel like its a protest that nobody but me knows about. A protest where theres no winner, theres no learning, just shouting “I’m not OK look SEE!” to absolutely no one.

And even if they did see, would they even care? No. Because it’s my life to care about, not theirs.

I’ve read, and I’ve read…. trying to understand what on earth is going on in my head and how to help myself. I can understand, I can try and make sense of it, but I can’t change how it makes me feel. I have tried my best to convince myself that it’s only short term. I’ve felt worse before, I’ve overcame worse before. It hasn’t mattered. The feeling on my chest hasn’t passed for weeks. I’ve looked at the clouds, I’ve looked at the blossom. I’ve used humour. I’ve given myself time. I’ve exercised. Why the fuck am I still hurt?

I’m still hurt because I wasn’t good enough no matter how much I changed myself. No matter how hard I tried. No matter how much I sacrificed my own feelings. I supported. I gave. It just wasn’t enough.

I think maybe… Because I related this guy to someone that I once knew, that adored me, that I lost by my own doing, I tried absolutely everything to make him love me. To keep him and not make the same mistake. But was he even really like him if he didn’t love me for who I was? Probably not.

It was soul destroying listening to someone try and convince themselves why they should have feelings for me. Yes, I did x, y and z. Yes, I make the milk man feel comfortable why wouldn’t I make you? Yes, I accept you for all your flaws because FUCK ME I want to feel the reciprocation. But… Thats not enough is it?

I remember the times where my heart has been on the floor, the dread through the relationship. The good only felt good when he was happy. When I thought I’d cracked it. I’d made him happy, I’d made him love me. I’d won, in those moments, I’d won. It was only ever passing.

It was a fleeting relationship and I need to get over it. But it was a relationship that showed me a lot. Fuck Penny.

I love to love, and I love to be loved. And I put that above all else. I realise that I’m not ready for a relationship. But I can’t help the longing. I was better when I seperated from B, because I really needed to be alone, I really needed to rebuild. I had a LOT of work to do. But now it just feels like I’ve proved I can live my lie life and still be rejected… Still I’m not good enough.

The wine has gone. What you gonna do Pen? Wallow.

The new sober me (3 months)

So I’ve had a site for a little while and just logging onto this gave me more reason to stay strong and stay sober. The posts I’ve made and published were bad enough, but the things in my drafts were just horrifying. No matter how you feel you come accross when you have had alcohol, how well prosed you think you are, how righteous and and justifably angry, you are not.

I always wanted to write, I thought not only would it be cathartic, people would enjoy some of my sarcasm or dark humour. But when you’re an alcoholic theres never the time to write sober. If you want to write, you may as well do it with a glass of wine, a bottle of wine, a few spirits to wrap it up. That’s what you see on TV anyway, its suave and sophisticated to write with a wine glass and cigarette in hand. It would just feel like work to do it sober.

The problem with that is as you read it sober, you can see the effects of alcohol setting in. The initial few paragraphs with wit and charm, with a point, but slowly it unravels and what you believe is “just being honest” is just unecessarily dark, self pitying, and not really sensical. I’d never really read this. When I’d re-read it before I’d nod along, it’d reaffirm it to me how shit my life was, why I should be sad… Because if I ever wanted to do something creative it was almost always after the initial first bottle.

Sadly, that was across the board. Drawing, writing, painting, singing, housework, selfcare… Everything was associated with alcohol. And it wasn’t a case of I would start painting and then pour a glass, I would wait until I was drunk to start my planned activity. The planned activity was the drinking, the other stuff was just to fill the time so i felt that I had achieved something alonside sitting lstening to music, dwelling on my feelings and necking enough alcohol til I blacked out. These activities, I thought, meant that I could still function through my alcoholism. See, I still have hobbies other than drinking! Its just more fun WITH drink, so why wouldn’t I?

Because, surprisingly, I’m fucking shit at everything when I’m leathered.

I caused enough problems than enough pulling off this kind of shit when I was drunk. I could publically embarass myself, posting long winding posts on social media thinking I was being deep and basically a blogger, just on Facebook… no one would know I was drunk because I spelt everthing right… yeah yeah.

I could make such a mess with paints, I’ve ruined clothes, furniture, walls, floors, I’ve gotten it in every place you can imagine. I would still wake up in the morning and self-talk that it was fine because “I had so much fun, I did my hobby”… Let me tell you, theres not been one salvagable painting I’ve done when I’ve had a few.

Housework was a mundane list of chores that was a must for wine, and there was so much of it, how could I possibly cope with it all without a treat?? One of the first things I started to do in my second week of sobriety (first week I gave myself the leeway of it being a shit hole or not, my only focus was NOT TO DRINK) was do my housework on a morning. I knew for a fact that the kitchen, and cleaning, were massive triggers for me and I needed to make sure i was well clear of either in the evening, or even the early afternoon, or even all together. I’ve broken my fair share of hoovers and washing machines, and countless cups, glasses and plates. I haven’t broken a single thing in 3 months, which strangely coincides with my sobreity, who’d have thunk it?

Thats without mentioning the self-care fails, the streaky tan, the hands covered in nail varnish, the cut legs… and worse, the waking up in the bath. When I’m doing it sober I’m less careless now, but it did take a while to try and change my self-talk that I’m not “wasting time”. I have no idea why I think that self-care is wasting time but its pretty damn engrained.

So for now, this is me, I am 3 months sober, and I will be starting to blog with an earl grey and a a few chocolate malted milks to replace my wine and fags. Hopefully I’ll make a little more sense, but just for reference I’ve left an old post (that was actually the least embarassing one… would you believe).

Pendrid xox

New type of anxiety

Makes my skin literally crawl thinking of ringing the doctors to be the 70th in the queue.

Because get this, I am unmedicated when I clearly need it! The thought of ringing is enough for me to bury my head in the sand and say “just change a bit of your lifestyle, oh you don’t feel you can, just wait til after morning and pour a drink then, that’s accessible”.

Not on work days I may add.

I have maybe lasted 40 minutes on hold, at a push. Without thinking psssh there’s no issue. You’re being dramatic. You wanna cry to a doctor that’s probably gonna whack you on some drugs that have already made you MASSIVELY suicidal before? You’re probably best to not make the call, to be honest. You’d probably die quicker. I mean it was 10 years ago the last time you tried medication but 100% you would still neck them all… And the rest.

Ridiculous.

So just pour another drink, it’s safer.

My fear is I’m so controlling of my panic attacks now at work that they end up lasting for hours. I am in a supervisor position and I can’t openly weep at work, so it gets all pent up. I end up slurring my words. I can’t form a sentence. I sound like an absolute dickhead when other staff talk to me, staff that I think are “dangerous”.

My normal talk is reserved for complaining customers that I absolutely talk to calmly, but the customers that ask where something is probably don’t appreciate sometimes I can’t physically speak and guide or point, because I’m reserving the last of my energy for “need to talk issues”. That’s not me it’s my anxiety.

Madness right? But it’s genuine. There’s some guys I know are ok to see me stressed, I know they won’t judge. Then there’s some guys when I’m stressed I feel they’ll take a victory and it’s when I’m around them I can’t. Get. A. Sentence. Together.

I had an emergency situation today, as normally happens for a store worker… Absolutely not.

Within 3 months of starting for this company (at my old place) my supervisor had a heart attack. On fucking site, never dealt with seeing that. Wtf was I meant to do with that? I didn’t really know her, not as well as the others did. She died before hospital and well I’ll always feel like it’s because I couldn’t close the store and because of customers barging in. Because it wasn’t an emergency til she was dead.

Couldn’t go on tills anymore coz it all blurred after a while. I couldn’t focus being trapped behind there. The fucking papers turning up and photographing the shop was horrible. I’d tried to be strong but hey, dealing with death is personal it’s not a huge story. I was so angry.

The feeling didn’t go away, I couldn’t stand and can’t stand more than an hour behind a till. I love it too, it’s such a shame.

Then court ey??? Just toss it up that we didn’t do enough.

You know CLASSIC STORE WORK.

So a few years pass, I moved to the busiest site in the north east. Up for the challenge, controlling my anxiety.

Absolutely fucking not. No one thinks of a store worker saving lives, I cannot fathom how many times ive dealt with real issues that would kill 20+ people if it escalated. And customers have treat me like I’m an issue. Honestly, I’m done.

I come home, regardless of how many nice customers, and don’t even put coke in my vodka. Coz I can’t fucking accept that someone sees a fire engine and thinks it’s acceptable to drive through bollards to get fuel. Literally drives over cones and complains the pumps aren’t on. Who are you? Who are these people?

Genuinely, feel like life is training me for this whole massive crisis thats coming. Coz I’m dealing with so many crisises that I’m just collecting them. Badges and that, proper good girl scout.

No the world isn’t ending.

Just me ending really.