Family in town and from out of town sometimes means heavy remembering, and just a little trying to forget though you are no longer disappearing. Into the bottle. Family in town means many goings-on, even when you’re sick and tired. It means running out of money. It means trying hard to make everyone happy. Trying…
Search Results for: addict
Being Broken by Addiction
My dog Comet is being groomed for the first time today and as I was dropping him off I glanced over at the magazines. I was drawn like a bee to pollen by the cover of Brava Magazine. It had an article about the secret addictions of women in Wisconsin, aptly titled The Silent Treatment….
Addict
Being an addict catches me by surprise. Today, seemingly innocent things — a drink, a smoke, a purchase, food, even exercise can become urgent need. In the time that it takes to feel a flash of happiness, sadness or regret; less than 60 seconds of my life and I remember, I am an addict. How…
New: A Solemn & Ordinary Life. #Self-Care in Living with Depression
on one level, her day-to-day life had become solemn and ordinary; awkwardly commonplace, when {self-care} is at the top of her To Do. she thinks. what kind of person needs that to do? — a person that deep down disgusts herself. she starves herself all day long until her hungry body confused enough to relentlessly…
How to Love a Drunk: Bits of My Story are published and #FFWgr
How to Love a Drunk When you’re an alcoholic you get to tell your story and admit to your illness at the oddest moments. There is usually no time to prepare emotionally or to get the words just right. What comes is what comes. I actually enjoy these unrehearsed moments. The questions I’m asked push…
{When the Truth Hurts: “Being Broken” is Not My Life’s Metanarrative}
Rilke says to celebrate the questions. 1. A truth has circled me like a persistent fly, zooming in close and then away again. When I stare straight at it, it becomes momentarily clear. Then suddenly it’s gone disappearing into thin air. The truth hurts almost as much as my perception of my Being Broken has wounded me, at…
If Winter is Dying, then Writing is Life
This isn’t my usual type of post. I have some thoughts ruminating into a slow boil. Aching about justice & the Stand Your Ground law and being white and privileged. A response. But I need more time to mull. I finished the article on loving a drunk for Today’s Christian Woman. Ahem, I know. I’m not a likely writer for…
When I Was A Falling Down Drunk: A Love Story
It’s only been a few days but I feel it. In the hidden, hard place where I keep my little girl heart that learned to be scared too early. That place in my heart has shifted. It might be that I am writing out the story of how I once was a falling down drunk. …
As The Winter Is Long [a NEW Poem]
In the dreary midwinter time is never-ending and merciless. I chase the shadow’s bright reflections, brittle patterns on the silvery snow. This distracts me from the echoing lament I woke with today. Melancholy sits dismally on my chest, like a lethargic cat As I consider what’s gone wrong with me. There’s always something and I’m…
New Year, Old Pain, Sudden Hope: When Depression and Heartbreak do not Win
[Warning: this is longer than my usual posts. 2,779 words] “In the silence of the heart God speaks. If you face God in prayer and silence, God will speak to you. Then you will know that you are nothing. It is only when you realize your nothingness, your emptiness, that God can fill you with…
{Chasing the Light}
Writing about sobriety puts a pit in my stomach today. I am sober but many days this doesn’t by implication mean happy. Getting dry isn’t a formula for bliss. It is only a pathway toward discovery. When I was a drunk I didn’t feel sensation – there was mostly emptiness. I didn’t feel the ache…
The Tale that Cautions: I was a Drunk
I write down words. I was a drunk. It hurts still, the heavy story bulges in my heart. Knowing it’s true, that’s one thing. Going back to the vomit and need and empty ache the desperation sits heavy with me again all day. But in writing comes a slow redemption. My words are a gift:…
