Thank You

Here's to you, 2014, a year of massive growth, change, and love....

This was the year I laughed harder than I ever have over a stupid celebrity, random gifs, and random LIFE with people I've never even met before.

This was the year I was finally able to get an official diagnosis on my mental illness.

This was the year I admitted my alcohol addiction.

This was the year I learned being an adult doesn't mean giving up your inner child.

This was the year I finally learned my inner voice is the smartest opinion and the only one that matters.

So thank you, stupid male celebrity who shall not be named, because you brought me closer to a group of friends through social media I might never have discovered otherwise. But mostly, thanks to you girls for the endless nights of absolute side-splitting, howling laughter and friendship I never knew before until this year. You will never know how much you mean to me because this moment is already gone. 

Thank you, brain. I understand you now. You come at me with your ninja skills, I have a machete now, motherfucker. 

Thanks, alcohol, for everything, truly- the good times, the bad times, lessons, the heartbreak. And goodbye.

Thanks, inner kid who still builds blanket forts and always refuses to do the dishes. Life is too short to do dishes when you can be dancing outside in the hot summer rain.

And thanks, me. You're smart when you let go and listen, so stop thinking so much. You get stupid when you think.

Here's looking at you, 2015. 

And forgive me for the first two weeks of bad mood swings because the diet starts tomorrow.

Deep Thoughts by Ari

What if people didn't think so much?...like, if we could all go back in time, create tribes and live only among the lions in the Serengeti with only hand crafted weapons as protection? We wouldn't have time to over-think, be depressed and we could live drama free, except for the fact that we'd constantly be chased by fucking lions and that's the only thing we'd have to be worried about. We wouldn't even have time to be sad about our friends who have been eaten by lions because we're running away from them, trying not to get eaten by the fucking lions.

Lions, man. Lions.

My Play Pretend

There is a predominant voice in the mind of an addict that supersedes all reason, and that voice WANTS YOU DEAD.

- Russell Brand

Last week on Spotify, I stumbled across Tove Lo's 'Stay High.' I listened to the groove and then gave it a second go before I realized my mouth was hanging open like an idiot because I heard my whole drinking life in the span of one song in her lyrics.

I eat my dinner in my bathtub

Then I go to sex clubs

Watching freaky people gettin' it on

It doesn't make me nervous

If anything I'm restless

Yeah, I've been around and I've seen it all

I get home, I got the munchies

Binge on all my Twinkies

Throw up in the tub

Then I go to sleep

And I drank up all my money

Dazed and kinda lonely

You're gone and I gotta stay

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

Spend my days locked in a haze

Trying to forget you babe, I fall back down

Gotta stay high all my life

To forget I'm missing you

Pick up daddies at the playground

How I spend my daytime

Loosen up the frown, make them feel alive

I'll make it fast and greasy

I'm numb and way too easy

You're gone and I gotta stay

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

Spend my days locked in a haze

Trying to forget you babe, I fall back down

Gotta stay high all my life

To forget I'm missing you

Staying in my play pretend

Where the fun ain't got no end

Can't go home alone again

Need someone to numb the pain

You're gone and I gotta stay

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

Spend my days locked in a haze

Trying to forget you babe, I fall back down

Gotta stay high all my life

To forget I'm missing you

What I mean by this is, the last 12 years has gone a little something like this.

I met the man I thought I was going to marry in freshman year of college. We were both young and dumb. I fell in love instantly, but for him, well...must have taken a bit longer. He had a girlfriend going into college (in another state, we know how that goes), but it wasn't until (supposedly) the summer before our junior year that he was hostel-ing his way through Europe, sat on a beach one day and realized he loved me. We started dating shortly after and fell deeply, madly, unhealthily in love.

And we drank. A lot.

When I say unhealthily, I mean mainly myself. I can't say fully how the relationship was for him. I gave in utterly to being his everything. We loved, we fought, we drank, we made love. We BBQ'd oysters in the backyard during the last days of summer with our friends and set enormous piles of wood on fire, managing somehow not to burn down the entire neighborhood in fits of drunken glee. We'd take shots of every liquor known to man in dive bars and his parents' lakeside home. We'd sip champagne and Chardonnay (and most of this all taking place before we were actually of legal drinking age.) We lived together, had a dog together, stayed for 4 years together. I would be sleeping and I would know he'd be watching me. He used to gently play with my hair and whisper to me that he'd marry me when he thought I couldn't hear him (heartbreaking, right?). We lavished attention and gifts and piles of disgusting love upon one another until I didn't know how to be...to just BE...without him.

Cut to....

After 4 years and some time after that together, he told me one day he didn't love me anymore. Granted, by that point, I was also treating him like shit, taking him for granted and fairly unpleasant in general. I am not without fault. But....it hurt, like nothing ever had or has since.


...Did I mention even more of this happened after that?

I should clarify, my drinking didn't have to do with just my heartbreak and loss of someone I loved. What I am and will be was always lurking below the surface. I mourned the loss of MYSELF by medicating and shutting off my growth as an adult since age 18. There are certain parts of me that are very far behind in maturity for a 35 year old, such as sometimes being unable to maintain a good relationship with anyone or being confident enough in myself to say no when treated like dung underfoot. Mostly though, I have endangered myself to the point of near death and am amazed that I'm even alive.

I've fallen head first into walls after drinking too much for no reason other than I seemed to have lost my balance and have no recollection of why the day after. I've done things with people I regret. I've had blow out arguments and destroyed friendships and relationships with significant others. I've thrown up in my own bathtub. There are a few nights where I can't recall how I got home. I've blacked out whole conversations and parts of evenings. Three weeks ago, I momentarily gave up on sobriety, went out to happy hour with my coworkers and got blitzed out of my mind. I had a total of 10-11 drinks in a span of 5 hours of varying degrees of alcohol percentage, including a few shots, got into a verbal altercation with a bouncer and STILL managed to run across the street to my gas station after I got home to buy more cider. Finally, after making my way home, I decided to draw a bath, relax, then make my way to bed. That was at 1 a.m.

I woke up partially submerged in my bathtub almost 4 hours later. 

I'm scared. I'm scared I will drink again. I'm scared I will die. I'm scared I will never be fully the person I know I can be: a talented writer, photographer and artist. It terrifies me, the idea of not waking up and be gone. As fleeting and temporary our impermanence in this universe, I am (truly for the first time) scared because I'm not done with living. I'm forming healthy bonds with people for the first time. I'm going to travel and experience things outside my bubble. I'm clear headed and strong and determined. I can write, and sleep, and plan for my future. I share my fucked up stories because each one of us has our own personal struggle, a war within ourselves regardless of what it may be. We can only learn from each other if we share our darkest times and admit our humanity, that we are not held together by perfection. 

Those are my mistakes. And I wouldn't want any other.

“My past has not defined me, destroyed me, deterred me, or defeated me; it has only strengthened me.” 

― Steve Maraboli

The Word is Changed, Dear Sir

When I was 14, my parents were in the middle of an extremely ugly custody battle, myself and my sister the center of the shitstorm of an even uglier divorce. Two possible outcomes for my future dangled in limbo: the first option was that I would go and live with my father in Seattle (with a new step mother to boot) and 'start' a brand new life- make new friends in an unaccustomed state/city/school, or remain with my bipolar/manic depressive/possibly psychopathic mother and attend high school in Marin County, California, specifically at a high school named Redwood High. Those who know me closely and personally are aware my journey did bring me to Seattle from California to the sun-drenched desert of Arizona. Had I stayed with my mother I would have attended above referenced high school, and therefore would ultimately been an alumnus of the same school Robin Williams attended. The idea remained in my head for a long time, all through high school and even college - "Gee, I could have gone to the same school as this genius funny man who makes everyone laugh and laugh! Gosh, he must be super happy and so happy with his success and just happy all the happy all the happy all the time! I wish I could be like him when I grow up!"

Ah, the naiveté of the young.

Reading news reports, friend's reactions and scrolling my Twitter feed, Mr. Williams' passing is hitting everyone especially hard on a global scale. It's no enigma as to why. He was a kind, hilarious, genuine man who brilliantly captured the essence of what it is to be human and imperfect (in addition to why cats are fabulous, furry drag queens). We were aware of his past struggles with addiction which we were invited to witness, and admire the fact that he remained sober for 20+ years. For me, it's also perhaps because he reminded me of, as he aged, a little bit of my father (as Robin was a funny, kind and delightful man to be around, according to stories of those who knew him best). 

It seems within his last few weeks on this Earth, he was once again (possibly and tragically) grappling the monster of addiction, perhaps something he never fully came to terms with when he was sober for such a long stretch of time. While he stated he was not actually diagnosed with clinical depression, he spoke freely about his addictive nature, which made him all the more real and humbling for the admission of frailty. I find it telling he often spoke as addiction in terms that juxtaposed with thoughts on madness; he was quoted saying to Diane Sawyer in 2006:

"...you're standing at a precipice and you look down, there's a voice and it's a little quiet voice that goes, 'Jump,' ...the same voice that goes, 'Just one.' ... And the idea of just one for someone who has no tolerance for it, that's not the possibility."

This is the other layer to our suffering...it was more than the "funny man" that makes this a difficult loss for all of us. Many of us deal with depression on a daily basis. Many of us have lost someone to suicide. Even more of us struggle with some form of addiction. We feel this tragedy personally BECAUSE he was funny, witty, highly intelligent, and extremely successful doing something he loved to do. It is a reminder that regardless of how wonderful a person is and how much success they achieve, the exterior we reveal to others shows nothing of the inner demons we fight. We must remain vigilant, compassionate, and more cognizant that every person has a struggle we don't fully comprehend. His pain is over, but ours remains.

It is my belief the people who hold the most capacity for genius and comedy tend to be the most tortured. It's possibly our lot in life. We tend to over-think, feel, observe and analyze far more than the average individual, and it is perhaps because of this we often find ourselves isolated, alone, and very sad a lot of the time...so we make up for it by inspiring laughter in others. It's genuine, not a ploy for attention or popularity. We are not superficial people by nature. We are kind, brave, loving, real, deep, hilarious and tormented.

I try to be Zen about the fact that all things, situations and people are temporary. Our existence is fleeting. Nothing lasts forever, blah blah blah. My point, younglings, is this: we find it incredibly difficult to remain Buddhist about the fact that we lost an amazing person to a disease that is so misunderstood, judged, and erroneously labeled as a defect in character rather than a genuine malady. I am heartbroken over it. While I can empathize, no one will ever truly understand the pain an individual is going though, and sometimes he/she doesn't either. All we can do is be there for each other and talk to each other. FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK, PLEASE talk to someone...if to no one else, drop me a line in my comments section or on Twitter, and I will be there for you.

I like to think he would want us to keep laughing. We have to, or we will succumb to the tiny voices in our heads telling us we should give up. In the brief time we were given to bear witness to the comic genius of this absolutely lovable man, so shall we do the same.


You, Robin, will be missed, Sir, for more than the moments of pure joy and emotion that gave us tears and laughter, for you accomplished in a lifetime what most of us wish we could and will never be able to get a chance to do: hit Pierce Brosnan in the head with a lime.

Need help? In the U.S., call 1-800-273-8255

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

You are not alone. Ever.

'A cloud can be transformed into rain or snow or ice, but a cloud cannot become nothing; it's impossible. Nothing can die. You cannot reduce being into nonbeing. Life is a process of change. Without changing, life is impossible. Once you accept that with joy, there is no fear.'

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

A Sky Full of Stars

For those who have been residing under a rock lately, Coldplay has released a new song called "A Sky Full of Stars." The band and their music has always touched my life somehow. Whether it was my ex softly singing the lyrics from "Yellow" to me, me singing "Paradise," "Charlie Brown," "Clocks" at the top of my lungs, or driving too fast on the highway to "Speed of Sound," you can't talk me out of feeling completely transported and ethereal when I listen to their music. (I also can't help but giggle when I think of the scene in "The 40 Year Old Virgin" when they are discussing, um, levels of...Coldplay...)

Cal: You're gay, now?

David: No, I'm not gay. I'm just celibate.

Cal: I think... I mean, that sounds gay. I just want you to know this is, like, the first conversation of, like, three conversations that leads to you being gay. Like, there's this and then in a year it's like, "Oh, you know, I'm kinda gonna want to get back out there, but I think I like guys," and then there's the big, "Oh, I'm... I'm... I'm a gay guy now."

David: You're gay for saying that.

Cal: I'm gay for saying that?

David: You know how I know you're gay?

Cal: How? How do you know I'm gay?

David: Because you macramed yourself a pair of jean shorts.

Cal: You know how I know *you're* gay? You just told me you're not sleeping with women anymore.

David: You know how I know you're gay?

Cal: How? Cause you're gay? And you can tell who other gay people are?

David: You know how I know you're gay?

Cal: How?

David: You like Coldplay.

Shut up, guys. I'm only half gay.

Anyway...

I have been listening to this song non-stop. I actually can't stop listening to it. AT. ALL. It's brought up sensations I haven't felt in a very long time...perhaps because for a long time, I wasn't feeling much of anything, really. It makes want to dance. It makes me want to dance with Benedict (SHOCKING). It makes me want to drive fast. It makes me want to BE in a fast driving car, standing up in a sunroof and feel the wind on my everything. It makes me want to spin my niece around in a giant bear hug whilst on the beach, sand  and water between my toes. It makes me want to stand in the rain, during a warm summer thunderstorm (YES EVEN THEN), arms outstretched and the hot wet on my skin. It makes me want to write, and get back to photography, read everything, and talk to everyone. Basically, it makes me want to live a full, amazing, happy life. It's an astonishingly moving song, and I truly believe in the restorative, motivational power of music. It speaks to my soul.

Sad to think, not so long ago, I just wanted to live in a bottle. My "sobriety" date was supposed to be 5/1/14. For the most part, I have stuck with this. However, active alcoholics try and active alcoholics fail. I have slipped several times since that date, and I feel disappointed in myself and letting my friends/family down. I won't beat myself up over it, because every day is a second chance. And it's never too late to turn it all around.

This song makes me want to do that. I'm returning to yoga tonight after months of inactivity due to depressive episodes. I've started eating better. I can actually write. I'm reading ten thousand things at the moment. I dance at home, where no one watches me except my cats. I would dance that way anyway even if I wasn't alone. What a weird, wonderful, crazy life we are handed. It's difficult to remind yourself every day, we are not here to be mundane. We are not here to be bored. We are not ALLOWED to be bored. I am not allowed to be bored with my life. We're only given one shot at this. It's an amazing, bright, beautiful world. We are gorgeous, talented souls inside wonderful, capable, AMAZING bodies. Smell all the flowers. Do all the things. Love. I need to remind myself that I am a wonderful person and a beautiful soul. We all are. 

Except for Kimye (I refuse to sully my blog with their actual names. Soulless whores.).

I am returning...to myself. Return to yourself.

In a sky full of stars, what a heavenly view.

“I am not this hair, I am not this skin, I am the soul that lives within.”

~ Rumi

The Dark Place...

...I'm in it.

Everything is OK, nothing crazy has happened...work is fine, personal life is fine, I just had a severe manic phase last night and I usually plunge into an inescapable depression after. It's so bad, not even Ben can pick me up right now (INORITE?!)

So in case I'm unusually quiet, or absent, or not the funny girl right now, I'm struggling. I'll be back to business as usual soon.

#depressionlies

Please Drink Responsibly

I'm insanely jealous of you right now.

On Friday and Saturday afternoons/nights, I walk by people on patios in cozy cafés, sipping wine or martinis. I see pictures posted from the weekend of those enjoying the hot Arizona nights with a beer or margarita, surrounded by the smiling faces of friends, pools and barbecues. I read tweets, friends posting pictures of a pint at a pub and enjoying the liquid camaraderie that often is shared on a typical weekend, away from the mundane ritual of adult life. 

I hate all of you.*

I hate that my brain desires the one thing it thinks it needs to feel better, only in truth it will make me feel like shit. I hate that I can't go for longer than 5 hours without thinking about how awesome it would be to pour myself a giant glass of Chianti. I hate that people CAN go for longer than 5 hours without thinking about how awesome it would be to pour themselves a giant glass of Chianti. I hate that there are those who don't stare longingly at people drinking in restaurants and secretly covet the dewy glasses of Chardonnay on the table, or wander lustily down the beer aisle at the grocery store. I hate that I have friends who simply "don't drink," because they can just take it or leave it. I hate myself for being one of the special horde who live with this disease.

I'm an alcoholic. It's taken 17 of my almost 35 years in life to admit this. That's a huge, HUGE deal. I know this. Admitting it publicly, I feel, also keeps me honest about it. Even typing it seems incredible to me. "You mean I can NEVER have a beer on a hot day by the pool?! I can NEVER have champagne, not even if I get married? I can NEVER go wine tasting...ever?" But...I can't think about terms such as forever. Forever is a long time, and time has a way of changing things. All I can deal with is today.

I'm 20 days sober. That's a blip on Eternity's radar in time, but it feels as if my thirsty side has been anguishing in a swamp full of asshole alligators. I've certainly been sober for longer periods of time before, but probably not longer than say, 6 weeks at a time in the last ten years. Before that, I don't know. Did I count days before? I can't recall doing that in my 20's, perhaps because I didn't know what I was just yet. Twenty days in, or, a third of what I consider to be a good toehold into sobriety: 60 days. Statistically, the odds are against me. Relapse rate is high, and I'll tell you, a hard cider sounds insanely gratifying right now. All I need do is pop into my car, down the road for 5 minutes and I could buy a bottle of wine, a six pack of cider, a case of beer and wreck all the benefits my sobriety has given me the last three weeks.

I won't.

It IS difficult. I have an incredible support system and I am very lucky for that. And I don't genuinely "hate myself"- I'm very content with who I am and my life these days. But it is frustrating. I have good days and bad. There are days when all I can do is be talked down from the Ledge of Drink, and other days when it seems to be a fleeting thought that I have complete control over. The thing about alcoholism is, it's not "going to get easier," at least not in the way people think it will. I am an alkie for life. Don't feed the Gremlin after midnight (or whatever, I never saw that movie anyway). But I imagine I will, like all things in life, get used to no booze. Time, it seems, is one advantage I have.

I'll let you know how it goes.

*Not really. But kindly fuck off anyway, just for the sake of this article.

The Mother of Demons

I know this lovely artist from Twitter/ Tumblr (you may know her as the beautiful and talented @enerJax) I was looking through her art about 2 months ago, giggling and enjoying her style when all of a sudden, my brain told me to put down the glass of wine and ask her to commission a piece for me.

Those of you who know me know I am A GIANT NERD, therefore a huge Game of Thrones fan. Daenerys Targaryen is by far the most bad ass, favorite female character of mine in the show (and pretty much in any universe). 'The Mother of Dragons,' Khaleesi is what I envision myself to be someday- a kick ass blondie who has a few wild creatures to tame. Only...I don't have dragons. I have demons, and sometimes, they tame me.

So I had the idea of asking Jackie to draw a picture of me (and thank you for making it the skinny version of myself, haha!) as 'The Mother of Demons'...my trio of wild "dragons" otherwise known as Depression, Anxiety and Bipolar. I asked for a powerful piece where the question suggests - "Will I allow my creatures to run wild, or will I tame them enough to find my own inner peace?"

The answer? "They're dragons, Khaleesi. They can never be tamed...not even by their mother." That's true for all beasts, be it in nature or in the mind. But I can find a harmony in my nastiness, a gentle positivity when I feel monstrous, and a calming layer of comfort in my fledgling sobriety- knowing that I can live with a balance of all things in my head, good and bad. 

So I'm gonna rock the shit outta my demons.

(Seriously... She's going to be world-famous someday because she's incredibly talented, kind, beautiful and hilarious. It's a winning combo, kiddo...you're going places. All my love to you.)

Let's go set the world on fire. Dracarys.

Movies n' shit

Today's blog post has no point except to talk about movies. And panic attacks.

I've been taking very good care of myself lately (lately = within the last week). Not to sound too AA or cliché (I RHYMED!), but when you're a non-active alcoholic living each day with my damaged, fabulous brain, I really must count small victories and deal with one day at a time. There's no other way I find that works for me. "Today, I will wake up, take a walk, smile selflessly at another human being, eat well, and not drink. OH, AND BE HAPPY." If I think of "I won't drink for 6 months" or "I will never ever drink again," the thought is honestly too depressing and in my mind, comparable to doing yoga in 6 inch stilettos. 

So I find other ways of keeping myself/busy/entertained. I'm adopting a certain actor's motto of "Keep myself amused and other confused." I recommend it, it's highly entertaining and very easy to do when I'm not distracted by thoughts of how to get my next fix (of booze). However, in an apparently masochistic attempt of having a low-key Friday evening, last night I decided I'd make it a movie night and watch 'August Osage County' and 'Blue Jasmine.' Catching up on some amazing Oscar flicks, right?!

Rather unfortunate choice of angsty movies, A.

Let's talk AOC:

A) I will never think my family is fucked up ever again

2) HOLY SHIT, Meryl, Julia, and cast.

and D) Nothing like watching someone else's dysfunction to make you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. In your own house. ON A FRIDAY NIGHT.

Since I was already blown away by one stellar (albeit, completely messed up movie) I figured I'd follow with the performance that could (unfathomably) somehow beat Meryl's in AOC.

Meat Jesus on a Stick, Cate Blanchett. 

In my humble opinion, everyone has a film or show that regardless of how many times, they feel physically uncomfortable watching it. For myself, it's 'Meet the Parents.' (My sister's is 'The Office.') I'm not sure why; perhaps it's the uncomfortable situations the protagonist finds himself in or the general ridiculousness of everything, but I dislike awkward situations so much so that I run away from fictional ones too.

I haven't had that kind of anxiety watching a movie in a while. 'Blue Jasmine'? WHOLE. NEW. LEVEL.

I have never (NEVAAAAAR) seen a portrayal of a downward spiral done so well in a movie before, specifically, the representation of someone who suffers depression, anxiety, and debilitating panic attacks. It didn't make me physically unsettled as so much I FELT EXACTLY WHAT SHE WAS GOING THROUGH EACH TIME SHE BROKE DOWN. Her desperation made me feel short of breath. The scene of confronting her cheating husband and ultimately destroying her own existence knocked the wind out of me. Every time she reached for the Xanax, I understood....and each time she reached for the Stoli bottle, I wondered where my drink was. (Oh right...can't have one.)

I suppose, in a long winded fashion, what I'm trying to say is, if you're one of the people on this planet who doesn't "get" mental illness or have any idea what anxiety looks and feels like, watch 'Blue Jasmine.' It may make you feel squishy like hell internally, but you'll thank me for the added perspective. Or run screaming. Either way, what bliss for me.

And never marry rich. Or Alec Baldwin. Both should go without saying.

I'd also like to state for the record that I don't talk to myself in public. Anymore. Much.

I'm shutting up and ordering Chinese now.

The Poodle Monster

A friend recently asked me what it was like to be in my head... specifically, she questioned (and had questions) about my recently diagnosed Bipolar Type II disorder. I tried to answer her inquiry and then realized that it's actually something really complex and fairly complicated to try and explain. I can't just summarize what it's like to be bipolar, or to have depression and anxiety simultaneously going on. But I really wanted to talk about it because I think it's important to share my stories. Is anyone ever going to know what it's like inside my head? No. However, I can paint a picture for you with my words and experiences, probably leaving you wondering how such a brilliant, funny person can (much of the time) be imprisoned by nothing more than her own brain. 

WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE ME: A SHORT STORY

So here's a list of some of the fun things that I currently suffer from/ am afflicted with -

*Depression

*Anxiety

*Bipolar II

*Alcoholism (I'm guessing. Most likely. Probably. OK, yes.)

*OCD
*Panic attacks

*Control issues
*Nightmares. I never dream. I wake up in sweat most mornings like someone with PTSD, only I don't have PTSD, so WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, BRAIN?

*And the fun disorder I like to call, "Oh, look, a butterfly!" which isn't really a disorder at all, but I definitely have concentration issues. 

In other words, sometimes (OK, a lot of the time) it's really not fun to be inside my head. And I ache for relief so much to just be away from my head...even if only for an hour or two. 

Sometime after January, after being diagnosed officially and on my new meds for about a month and not drinking, I was feeling really good. For me to feel good for any length of time is pretty miraculous. I've been in therapy for depression since I was 9, and on medication for at least 5 years now. Its been a roller-coaster of different cocktails and therapies to try to alleviate a lot of my inner anguish. I didn't even know I was bipolar until I finally sucked it up and met with a psychiatrist because something else just always felt...off . But for the first time in a very long time, the beginning of this year really FELT like a new beginning.

And then I started to drink again. 

When you think of a drink, like grabbing a drink with a friend after work, or having a glass of wine by yourself in the evening to finish up a hard day, you're probably thinking on a level of one, MAYBE two glasses. Or maybe a six pack. (No judgement, believe me) Most normals do. I GET IT. Six packs are fun. Wine is fun. BOOZE IS GREAT. Unless you have a predilection towards addiction.

When I drink, I don't have a glass. I don't even have just a bottle. I have the bottle AND a six pack. And then I keep searching for more. At Christmas, when two bottles of wine are placed on my parent's dining room table for 6 people to share, I look around and wonder what everyone else is going to be drinking. That's just how my brain is wired.

And it's not just the booze. When I drink, I also tend to reach out for the Xanax or Vicodin too - BECAUSE LET'S JUST KEEP THIS CRAZY PARTY GOING AMIRITE?!?!?!?!

I read somewhere that bipolar peeps are more likely to have substance abuse problems. Not being 100% sure why this seems to be true scientifically, it makes sense to me. Being in my head is, well, a lot of work. You'd want to escape, too. I use it as a way to shut off from other people and the world. When I'm shut down, I don't have to think. I can't feel. Therefore, I am protected. For about an hour, I get to experience an "not totured" mind space. 

But of course, this doesn't last. And it certainly does not make for a present, clear, and purposeful way of living. It's existing. Just being without actually "being." And it's not a way to love yourself or have anyone else love you, either.

I've stopped drinking....for the moment. I don't know for how long. Chances are, will I drink again? Yes, probably. Why? I have no idea. Nothing good usually comes from me drinking for any length of time. I gain weight, I'm unhappy, I get nothing (personally or professionally) accomplished, and there are complete spaces in time I don't actually remember. 

But I will try...WILL try...not to. I will try NOT to get sucked into the darkened vortex that is my pitch-black passenger, telling me no one will ever love me because at that moment in time, I don't actually love myself.

This is what it's like. This is what is called "being me."

So here's to us. The "Broken" People." We are beautiful with our cracks and vulnerabilities and shredded souls. We fight the inner battle and it doesn't mean we have to be silent about it. If I am able to help just ONE person by talking about it, sharing my stories and myself with humor and openness, then maybe I can get up tomorrow knowing the sun will shine a little brighter for this world.*

*Technically, the Earth will eventually be swallowed by the Sun so it really IS getting brighter out there, not to mention we're on a precipice of an Arizona summer at the moment. You can always count on me for the realistic reinforcement. You're welcome.

(Oh, and my darling friend, the answer to your question is, being bipolar is like having a Poodle*-Monster running around your brain. You wake up in the morning not knowing if bouncy ass, ADHD Tigger is going to emerge or Eeyore will be making his presence known today. Either the monster who wants you to stay in bed and cry or the party animal will show up. It's a neurological coin toss.

*For the record, Poodles are the worst.) 

But I get through this. I get through my days and nights with a little lot of help from my friends. I've found good people. MY people. In real life, on Twitter, etc., and I honestly don't know how I could face each day without the light these people shine into my heart. You make me the funny, light, brilliant person I show to the world...except you actually make me BE her, instead of just pretending to be The Girl Who Makes Everyone Laugh.

And in case you ever need direction on what to do if I'm having a moment, or you know a pal in need of any caring from the formerly discussed topics,  please see the following diagram:

An Evening in the Life of a Single Gal...

This pretty much sums up everything about my last date in a nutshell... 

Too much invasion of personal space, awkward conversation, and a blatant attempt at changing my mind about having kids someday....on date number two. TWO.

Believe me...I'm laughing about it all...because this, like anything else in life when you give it enough time, can only be hilarious. :-)

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