Why?

Image result for flowerWhen I first started writing this blog, I was determined to get it right. I wanted to say the right things and have the answers to all the questions that may come my way. I bought every book with alcohol and addiction in the title I could find. I have a whole shelf dedicated to these books. These are books written by professionals, celebrities, people who have been there or people who have been affected by someone’s drinking. There are so many facts and figures. There are so many stories being told. There are so many words of advice. 

If I had the time and patience to sit and read those books, I may be in a better position to answer my question of “why?” The thing is that no two stories are the same. The medical stuff is pretty consistent. The words of advice and potential solutions are sensible. There are people writing from a place of knowledge and there are people writing from a place of experience. But, none of the stories are my story. None of the feelings are my feelings.

It is almost 9 months since I gave up drinking. I am told I should be proud of myself. I am told that I am one of a minority to get to that point. I question that. I hear many great stories everyday. People reaching significant milestones. Maybe however, they too are part of that minority. One thing I have done and one thing that I know has helped me, is connecting with people who understand. People who are on their own personal journey.

So, back to the “why?”. “Why what?” I hear you say.

I am frustrated. I feel so restricted in what I can do and what I want to do. I know that if  hadn’t stopped drinking when I did, I wouldn’t be sat here writing this. I remember very clearly the words from the consultant. “Carry on drinking, the likelihood is that you won’t see Christmas and if by some chance you do, you certainly won’t see the next.” I will see this Christmas and it is likely that I will see the next. The problem is that sometimes I just feel like I’m alive. 

Everyday I wake up and I hurt. Every movement is an effort. Sometimes my muscles go in to spasm. My body is misshapen. Taking those first few steps of a morning take real courage. Sitting down and standing up takes real focus. I have to psych myself up. I want to walk. I want to run. I want to start playing my oboe and the piano again. I want to do so much, but my body won’t let me. And that is my “why?”. Why do I hurt so much? Why do I have such a useless body?

My husband gave me the answer “because you drank babe.”

Simple.

I was going to leave the post there. However, I want to add this…..I am not proud of the self-pity. I am not proud of where I am and why I am here. I need to read my journals back. I constantly asked myself how long I could get away with it. I knew I was pushing the limits. I documented this train of thought. It is a lottery. Some people do get away with it. Some people don’t. The longer you “get away with it”, the more you indulge. The outcome and the experience is never the same. 

I promised to share my story as it is.

 

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