thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Default)
[personal profile] thrihyrne
There's a whole lot of emotional upfront in this. Consider yourself warned.

This year has been really difficult. Or, to be more accurate, I've let the different events of this year really take me down. I went on FMLA to try and get my shit together, and sort of did, but then needed to do so again because I didn't have my shit together. So then I went to Hawaii to prove that if something happened to Evan that I could survive for more than a year (yes, that's really what that trip was for me) and all it proved to me was that I'm incredibly dependent on other people. Because without them, I'd be toast.

My mom came to visit, which was both wonderful and terrible: wonderful in that I recognized just how candid I can be with her now after years of having a non-relationship. Terrible in that I could see and hear just how much pain she is in, physically and emotionally.

There was the Sinclair Method. In March, I'd given up. I'd said to myself and to Evan that I had given up. There was no hope. Then I was given hope. With the Sinclair Method. And that brought with it a lot of feels, and crying, and hope.

Now it's November, and I must admit that I'm really struggling not to give up hope. And that is why I'm looking into non-AA centric rehab. Because there are a lot of new facilities out there now that are non-Minnesota method. But I'm realizing that it's really difficult when I can't tell what's perimenopause/alcohol and am just really struggling. And that even though I have lovely, gorgeous tales to tell… what does it matter? I'm an atheist now, and firmly believe that there is nothing beyond this life. It's reassuring, actually, even though I was just singing along with the Godspell soundtrack. But I don't believe any of that. As Evan has so eloquently written, this is all we get, and it's a bowl of ice cream, but when it's over, it's over.

That said, I would give anything for another 50 years with him, and I have to figure out a way to do that. I want to be able to live in my own skin. My friend Rosie couldn't do so. I've loved her throughout that, and recently donated a chair to the St. Peter's Performing Arts Center in her name— she committed suicide on her 30th birthday — and I got in touch again with her parents and older sister. My former husband was not very understanding of all of that, but that says more about him than me. My work pseudonym is Rosie, for her.

So if any of you have thoughts and/or references for facilities that are non-AA centric, I would welcome them. I just don't want to despair, but am finding it more and more difficult not to. That said, I don't feel that I'm in desperate straits, but sometimes it's hard to know.

May 2016

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