I Can’t Stop Crying
Saying you’re an emotional person is redundant. If you are a person, you have emotions and if you disagree - you’re numbing.
For 12 fuzzy years, I numbed with booze and marijuana. Alcohol made me sad, pot made me mad. Now that I’m 44 days clean, I feel everything. And while I’m not spiraling in paranoia like most days I’d smoke weed, I’m ruminating on all the ways of which I made a fool of myself by speaking with conceit.
I think I’ve led a pretty interesting life. Obviously, this life gives me something to write about. An editor once said, “write the truest thing you know” and while I’m dramatic for sure, there’s no need to exaggerate the drama in my life prompted by the decisions I’ve made when I was drunk and high.
However, my life is so dang interesting that I’ve come to believe that everyone wants to listen to me all the time about my various dilemmas around triumphs and strife. Such theatrical anecdotes quickly captivate an audience, though my stories seem to tire those who see me through every season.
My mother once ambushed me during a coffee date to point out this vital flaw - that I dominate dialogues as a defense mechanism for my insecurities. Well fuck. Her agenda to highlight how I crave validation humbled me… and made me shut up.
She was right and today I still mourn over all the times I’ve been in the wrong. How I assume my compelling problems are more noteworthy than your steady job that I’ve forgotten the value of learning from the lens of someone else.
Today in a meeting, someone requested to speak on the ninth step: “To make direct amends to the people we have harmed, unless doing so would injure themselves or others.”
Still on step two, I really had no right to speak on such a topic, but continued to talk because I’m addicted to drugs, alcohol, and validation after hearing the sound of my own voice.
“Hi I’m Jenny, and I’m an alcoholic addict and while I haven’t made it to the ninth step, I know I’ll need to address my parents first and foremost. Otherwise, I mostly hurt myself in active addiction. Though last night it weighed on me that I’ve pushed people away because I talk about myself too much, and this program is teaching me to listen more than I speak. I’ll pass.”
UGH. I spent the rest of the meeting damning myself in that church because my share directly addressed my self-fulfilling affairs - I spoke just to speak, while admitting I was ignorant to such work of making amends. Avoiding my instincts, I missed an opportunity to humble myself and listen.
Spotting the woman who suggested the ninth step after the meeting, I thanked her for her topic and told her that I really wanted to share that Midwesterners seem to mistake “excuse me” and “pardon” with “I’m sorry”. We apologize out of reflex and rarely say “sorry” at the appropriate times. Thankfully, this meeting further defined what true forgiveness really looks like, which will aid in my ninth step work when I make amends.
There I go talking about myself again…
Beelining to the Whole Foods around the corner from the chapel, I sobbed behind the steering wheel thinking, “how selfish!” This impulsive grocery store stop was clearly a distraction and a hiccup of disease, so once I parked I said a prayer to keep me from a food binge and just buy one of those healthy probiotic drinks. (I bought two healthy probiotic drinks, hummus, celery and cut pineapple that was on sale).
I wanted to self-sabotage. I wanted sugar coat my sour feelings away. But something instilled in me that no cookie, no joint or amount of fermented yeast could mitigate my pain. So I cried in my car, careful not to let those thoughts of driving off a bridge end my misery.
I’m thirty and pretty and smart and yet I have no real job, no “best” friends, and all my romantic relationships have been one-night-stands. What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel so alone when I can get along with nearly everybody?
The healthy probiotic cola I smashed on the ride home did help me settle down. And writing this post helped to stop the cries since writing isn’t very effective through swollen eyes.
I still don’t know why the men who’ve looked my way never took me out on a date. I’m starting to see how I’ve pushed humble friends away by my selfish thinking and why other friends didn’t stick around once I began my sobriety.
I’m learning how to be a friend to myself. To listen to my thoughts, and find comfort in healthier modalities like probiotic drinks and writing. I pray for romantic love to come and that I can truly be good to someone. Staying sober is the best way I can be good to myself today - despite the heavy emotions it brings. But I’d rather be emotional than feel nothing as the day I stop feeling is the day I die, and I’d really like to fall in love with someone special before it’s my time.