Hello friends! Today was supposed to be the debut of my "Working Woman Wednesday" post here in the Diaries but I'm still tweaking my idea. I decided I would post the first Wednesday of every month unless there is a great influx of feature-ettes-which would be awesome by the way, so feel free to spread the word amongst your friends and readers.
This week is trying to kill me. On Monday I had the palpable feeling of fighting a wave of depression and anxiety as it threatened to overtake me. At one point I wondered if a straw would fit down the open bottle of red wine in the dining room.
This continues to be the most fascinating aspect of my addiction. I have nearly 25 years clean and that mofo is still inside me, swinging for the fences whenever I feel severely overwhelmed. I've learned to let the destructive thought settle and then I run the whole scenario start to finish:
Me: I wonder if a long straw would reach the wine in that bottle. But it's red wine and I don't really like red wine so what would be the point anyway?
Junkie Me: You know the point--this day totally sucks, you hate the public schools, there's way too much to be done around here, and it's all killing you. Wouldn't it be easier to just take a break, have some wine, pack the kids up and move to the middle of nowhere?
Perhaps. But after I have the drink I'll have to tell the Captain.
Well, you don't HAVE to tell him. It would really hurt him to know. You've lied before...
Exactly! Wow, I can't believe we're still having this conversation after all these years. I'd have to tell the Captain and then I'd have to leave the kids and go to rehab. They'd be really upset and the Captain and I might not survive it. I'd have to start counting one day at a time all over again, AFTER 25 YEARS CLEAN. Yeah, it's not worth it.
Now the Captain will read this and remove the bottle of red wine.
But that's not really the issue. There will always be wine available if I want it (and just for the record that's totally not what I would drink if I chose to fall off the proverbial wagon after all these years--I'd order champagne). What is important-always-is that I didn't drink, lie, or run away.
This week is still fighting me but I'm staying put and fighting back. I may be engaging in this sporadic struggle forever, because, well, I'm not perfect, dammit. Just like "Working Woman Wednesday," I'm a work in progress. I hope you'll stick around while I tweak us both.