Tag Archives: family
(In which I whine about not being able to pursue the path to alcoholism)
I officially started trying to be sober on May 14th or so. I've had one slip where I drank four beers one night. Honestly to try to feel good about the time sober I'm not sure I'm going to count that. It has been very difficult to resist drinking. Which I suppose tells me I really have a problem. I'm fine acknowledging that I had an issue and need to stop. What I'm impatient about is when the hell I'm going to stop wanting a drink.
I stopped the weed around Valentine's day. It had gotten out of hand as I've written earlier. It was a cheesy stupid attempt to do something significant for Mary other than a box of chocolates. She was patient and did not demand I stop. So wise, because I can look back at that and know it was my choice at my time and I don't resent her for quitting. I do resent myself for doing it though (only kidding a little). It took a long while for that craving to go away. Of course, it wasn't too long after that I got to smoke again when I had to travel to... some state where it's legal. It's a mystery.
As an update, I started writing this post on June 23rd. And I was definitely thinking about sobriety at the time (obviously). That night I did not go to the dinner table, drank like a rock star on an empty stomach, and vomited violently. At least I made it to the toilet. I have often not made it to the toilet and spewed wherever and whenever it needed to happen. So... the new date for sobriety is June 23rd. I'm not sure this all or nothing approach is the best way to do this. Mary pointed out that losing control every now and then had to be better than drinking every night. She has a point.
This week I went to my grandnephew’s kindergarten graduation. There’s just all kinds of weird in that sentence alone. Children. Family. Social Event. Inclusion.
The school is K-12, laid out in a campus of what reminded me of Morton buildings—low-slung, metal barns. Here’s the south side of my sister as we make our way to the auditorium building
While I’m not one to follow the endless flow of depressing national news, I am invested in Oklahoma’s educational woes. A January report in Education Weekly ranked Oklahoma schools 47th in the nation with teachers’ salaries ranked 49th. Teachers went on strike in April, and while the state passed a bill to raise salaries slightly, it neglected to fund the bill. It never addressed other issues like the lack of program funding and huge class sizes
Teachers are leaving the state like psychiatrists left Iowa, fed up with a system that cares very little about the end-user or those who provide for them.
Oktah, my grandnephews’ school, is considered better than average and receives a federal grant due to its number of low-income students. The superintendent, who spoke at Zane’s graduation ceremony, asked parents and friends to stay involved. More than ever, it seems, it takes a village.
So, I was verklempt, watching my one out of forty-eight kindergarteners dance, sing and use sign language to proclaim his new status. So was my sister, the retired teacher.
I don’t know if I can help him or his older brother. Volunteering has always ended up a bipolar casualty. But I’m staying open to ways I might be part of that Village, even if it’s just being another grown-up (in closer proximity now) who will listen and answer their questions.
You never know the effect of just showing up. That’s something I can do.
One of my least favourite days is fast approaching – Mother’s Day. Even though I have come to terms with the relationship I had with my mother and the fact I never became one, it is still hard watching other women getting honoured by their families. I have so many “adopted” kids who give me …
This week’s theme is angels and while there are hundreds of applicable songs, one stood out to me immediately – “Concrete Angel” by Martina McBride. Now, this is not your average angel song and it is by no means a happy one. It is about a girl who is beaten regularly by her mother and …
Kat’s recounting of dreams quashed and others coming true with hard work is very humbling and inspiring. Chronic illness hits us all hard; however, it is what we make of our lives in spite of it that matters. Lydia!
Well, if there was ever a time to be reminded of the necessity of my continuing existence, yesterday was it. It was one of the BESTEST DAYS EVER! Not only was the weather perfection itself, I got to go to lunch and I heard from different people during the course of the day who made me feel that my life really matters.
First of all, I spent most of the day and evening texting back and forth with my oldest daughter, who is going through some tough stuff following the sudden, grisly death of her father-in-law. She never really knew him, but the circumstances of his death are so sad that it really got to her, and it made me feel good to have her reach out to me in her distress. She has so much compassion and she’s all about family, and I love the fact that this amazing woman is my daughter. We didn’t always get along so good when she was a teenager, but at 35 she has long since forgiven me my transgressions as a mother, and I think everyone should have someone like her in their life.
Then I got a Facebook Messenger message from a childhood friend I haven’t talked to in some time who, for some reason, was thinking of me. She lost her son 11 years ago, and we share the bond of mothers who have had to say good-bye to a child. She proceeded to tell me I was an inspiration to her, having lost my husband as well and surviving as best I can, and ended the conversation by thanking me for letting her vent and being a friend. We go back to the third grade, though we weren’t that close in junior high and high school, but we found each other on Facebook several years ago and she is one of the people I admire most. Needless to say, this made my day.
So did the post from a complete stranger in my online bipolar support group. The question in the original post asked if we felt ashamed of not being able to work, to which I answered honestly. I went on to note that I used to be a nurse, but the only thing I’m capable of now is writing, and even that is hard to commit to. This fellow responded by saying that as a nurse I’d already given the world plenty of my time and talents, and that I was helping people in another way by sharing my story. He also said even my simple post was well-written and hoped I would go on to write for publication in a larger market. This didn’t hurt my feelings either.
The capper to my awesome day was a private message from an administrator at my nursing website, where I’ve been for over 15 years and am a site guide. (I used to be a moderator there, but bipolar got in the way and ruined things for me.) She wanted to know if I would like a free shirt from the company. These are nice collared polo shirts that the admins wear to nursing seminars and expositions, and they don’t give them away. I was flattered that she had thought of me and said I’d love to have one. Now, this administrator and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye, and once she gave me an official warning for insulting another member. Which I indeed had done, and I deserved the warning, but I was angry about it for months. This was just prior to being diagnosed. Eventually I got over it, and she got to where she felt she could trust me again, but this gesture of friendship years later means a lot.
So, that was my day. I just hope I can remember it the next time I get down on myself and/or depressed. It doesn’t get much better than this!