Marty Dobbs

Do any of you watch the Netflix show Love? Despite it being created by Judd Apatow and having a main story line involving addiction, I struggled to get through season one last year. I remember warming up to it slowly, and finally getting into and enjoying it by the last few episodes. I finished season two a week ago, and was much more into it. I also  sometimes found myself identifying with the main character Mickey, the alcoholic-addict. I remember watching season one and being infuriated with her! Funny, right? God knows I was a right pain in the ass for a lot of years.

The episode that struck me the most was “Marty Dobbs”. In it, Mickey’s father is visiting from out of town. He’s an alcoholic, and they butt heads because they are so similar to each other. Mickey’s love interest, Gus, is invited to act as a buffer, but instead he blows her AA anonymity to Marty. The visit is a complete shit show, and ends badly. Mickey and Gus are fighting on the way home, and eventually Mickey pulls the car over and gets out because she can’t even handle being in the same car with him anymore.

Mickey: I’ll just give you a ride home so you can have a break from me.

Gus: I don’t want a break from you. (awkwardly hugs Mickey)

dobbs

I can’t tell you how many times that has been me. Navigating through early sobriety is pretty terrifying, as is the realization that you are relearning how to do life all over again. Even worse is learning relationships, especially because I never learned the first time around. I desperately wanted to connect with people, but didn’t have a clue how. I remember feeling that I was incapable of being a good girlfriend, because KC in active addiction was a terrible girlfriend.

But back to Mickey…that was me. Sadly, my fiance has often been on the receiving end of that sort of exchange. How many times did I try to push him away because I felt that I was too fucked up to deserve love? Or that I was an unlovable mess? When that rough day snowballs into a terrible week and those character defects start to come out again. Thinking how the hell could someone love this?¬† Why would they want to?

There was never a button that clicked, where I suddenly realized that I am capable and deserving of love. It just sort of happened. Life got easier and I stopped fighting it and other people. I know that my journey of sobriety will continue to unfold as will my journey of learning to love myself. In the meantime I will remain grateful for all the people who stood by me and hugged me and loved me when I hated myself. I hope in season three Mickey will get to experience the growth and love that I have been on the receiving end of in my own sobriety. Until next season…

 

 

336 Days (11 months + 1 Day)

“Doesn’t everyone pass out on the floor?”

What a gorgeous weekend! I’ve had a lot of much-needed outdoor time this past week and also this weekend. Lots of walks with my boy Cosmo (plus one 4.7 mile walk/much needed catch up session with a good friend). I’ve found myself in full-blown summer fever; it’s all I can think about. In case you haven’t noticed, last summer sucked for me. It involved a million doctor’s visits, painful PT on my frankenarm, lots of anger and fear in my early days of sobriety (and just in general – I almost freaking died, plus I was suddenly involved in a terrifying legal situation). OH! And I couldn’t drive. I totaled my car, spent the money from insurance on my lawyer, and with my injuries wasn’t physically able to drive anyway. I ate a lot of ice cream last summer. I was lonely and didn’t know how to cope with any of this. This summer will be different. For one, my head is in a much better place. I’ve got wheels, I can drive (for now). For my birthday the other weekend, I got some gift cards so I’ve been shopping for tank tops, sandals, etc. I am cognizant of the fact that I may spend my summer incarcerated, but I am choosing not to dwell. If it happens, it happens. Right now, all I can think of is sun, beach, fresh produce, lazy weekends. I’m so damn excited!

Yesterday marked eleven months of sobriety for me. What a wonderful feeling! And what a huge accomplishment. I’m feeling really good in this journey right now. This is where I am meant to be, this is what I should be doing. I am growing in so many ways, and it’s amazing. Life is far from perfect, but everyday I know that I am doing the best that I can. That being said, it’s still incredibly painful to look back on how things used to be.

My boyfriend and I are in counseling. As of this month, we have been together for nine years. The past four years have been quite rocky (if money/pets weren’t an issue, we would not have stayed together as long as we did), and I am still uncertain of us having a future together. We love each other, but are incredibly similar (especially in bad ways). We are well-versed in avoidance of anything difficult, of choosing not to talk when it is needed most. Our session Friday was really difficult, but good and productive at the same time. I said some things that needed to be said, that I haven’t been able to say. For years. There were a lot of tears on my end, and I had to squirm through some detailed accounts of things I have said/done while blasted out of my mind. That’s the worst. I still struggle to not shutdown when someone mentions something I did that I do not remember. But I got through it. I said what I needed to say. And best of all, we had a productive session which ended with both of us on the same page. It was really good.

The above quote (which of course was in jest) was from the lead in my home group yesterday. It made me laugh, even though it stung. My last year of drinking found me passed out on the floor at home – a lot. Often times I would not make it to bed after an evening out. I would wake up on the floor in my office, still in the clothes from the night before. Sometimes there would be vomit, sometimes not. I feel absolutely terrible about what I put my boyfriend through the past four years, when things got bad…then got really, really bad. All those nights he waited up for me. Sometimes I made it home, sometimes I passed out at a friend’s house. So many nights I drove home blacked out. Sometimes he would be awake, and I would lash into him. My speech would be so slurred that he couldn’t understand what I was saying. Last year on my birthday, I passed out on the love seat after my celebrations with friends. When I woke up, he was getting ready for work. He had thrown a blanket over me, as I had vomited all over myself and the couch. The night of my car accident, he was woken up from a phone call by my mother after 2 am. She told him what happened, and he responded with “It finally happened”. That breaks my heart.

While counseling may not save us, it is helping us to better communicate with each other. He can see my progress and is very thankful for it. He is also working on himself, and I am grateful for that as well. If this is indeed our last year together, I am grateful that it is a healing year. That I am no longer putting myself and himself through the emotional wringer. That he no longer has to see me sloppy drunk, passed out on the floor in my own vomit, or wonder how I can be so sick for so long after a crazy night out. We’re both doing what is best for each other right now, and I am so thankful for that.