you again

hello again.jpg

Alternate title: please shut up. 

Alternate title: you’re still here?

Alternate title: this. bitch.

How did we get here? How did this all happen? Why am I posting every. damn. day?!? I’m not sure really. But after three posts in a row presented themselves to me, I decided this would be a thing. Like a thing where I post every day in April.  Don’t expect some clever goddamn name though. Trust me I tried. But “Blogpril,” “Spring Blogathon” and “April Blogtacular” all sounded really stupid/sad/like a fundraiser for some school program which would actually be weird since I don’t have kids. Anyway, here we are again. I thank you for being here and reading and subscribing to have this crazy ass shit sent to your email. I appreciate you. As far as me appreciating me goes, however, that’s more of a mixed bag.

As I have mentioned, my first nearly two months in my new place of residence, Portland, OR, will largely be spent alone. I’ve got six weeks to myself as my husband is off working. When telling friends of this before I left Denver, the response was usually, “Oh cool! You’ll have lots of me time!” Uh I dunno. I thought “me time” was like 45 minutes consisting of rubbing one out followed by a bath and Netflix. Not nearly two damn months. Nevertheless, I’m here with all this me time and it’s actually a lot of work. First of all, my friends are right. Me time for a black belt codependent like myself is a good thing. The ongoing lesson of learning how to be good company to myself is a valuable one. And it’s one I constantly need to tweak and work on.

When I first got sober I was also “suddenly single” (which sounds like the world’s most awful CW series). I had to learn to hang out with myself and take my self on dates without the whole idea sounding/feeling incredibly sad and horrible. I sort of loved it in the beginning. Like I could eat at places my ex would never want to go to, I could get up when I wanted and I could listen to Sean instead of trying to please someone else. But after a while it got lonely. Taking away a partner to obsess over from a codependent is like taking Gladys Knight away from the Pips. I was utterly lost and dismayed when the reality set in that I was all I had. This was all very unfortunate. Taking care of me was messy and boring and took ongoing work. When trying to control others, masked as caring for others, you get lost. Your self disappears and I loved that. Making me vanish is my purpose on this Earth and codependency does that seamlessly. Plus, there’s no hangover or overt side effects thus one could go on forever living for others while silently disappearing. No, that doesn’t sound fucking terrible at all.  So putting Sean front and center took a lot of work and I still occasionally struggle with it some eight years later.

All of this said, I’m happy to report I have been a good date to myself. Two weeks in, I’ve walked all over the city and hung out with new friends, seen some art and done the necessary trolling of neighborhood bookstores and libraries. Oh! And I’ve gone to lots and lots of meetings. Which helps with the other side of the coin. Too much “me” time for this drug addict and alcoholic ain’t pretty. Me time can morph into isolation and once I’m there, it’s pretty darn ugly. Plus? I’m exhausting. I need the occasional buffer of other people to drown out the noise coming from the party in my head. Trust me, at this point the cats have done all they can. You can almost hear the inner dialogue of, “She’s still here? I thought she was going out?” Hanging out with other humans like me a few times a week has helped tremendously and keeps that isolation beast at bay. When I first started working freelance and from home, my old sponsor said, “Just remember you’re working with somebody who tried to kill you” and those words still ring in my ear when I need to get out of the house and have human contact. So I’m walking the tightrope between nurturing my relationship with myself and not turning into the Pacific Northwest version of Melania Trump, trapped alone in a gold tower. I’ll let you know how all of this goes. I’ll let you know tomorrow, as a matter of fact.

What any of this has to do with the poster seen above from a movie wherein Shelley Long’s character chokes on a Chinese chicken ball, dies and comes back to life, I have no idea. But if you’d like to relate your current life experiences to the Touchstone comedies of the 1980’s and 90’s I would gladly engage with you on that level. I am here for you.  In a totally, non-codependent way, of course.



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