Tales of an Addictive/Compulsive/Impulsive Sparkly Girl

No, I didn’t break out in handcuffs. However, I did break out in stupidity. Read on, dear reader, read on. Oh and on the subject of RDJ, yeah I’d hit that. In 100 different ways. Giggle!!!!

I started writing this on 10/19/2012. Not sure when I will post it. Not sure of anything as of late. Except the fact that life is only as good as you make it. So I’ve decided to make a good life for myself and those around me. First off, I have a confession to make. I am an addictive personality and very compulsive/impulsive. I think with my heart most of the time, and to hell with the outcome. Then my conscience gets the better of me and I have incredible panic and anxiety over my actions. I’ve always been this way. It’s not something I can shut off. It’s something that I must live with and control every day. It sucks, but it’s who I am. Secondly, I am an alcoholic. Yes, I am. My addictive/compulsive/impulsive brain thought that I could drink again after all the weight loss and exercise. What I got was a big, fat nope, you can’t do that!  I got the message after I proceeded to drink a magnum of wine one night and pour my heart out to a friend that I had no business pouring my heart out to.

My Roger Darling knows nothing of this binge and if he reads this post this is where he will find it out. I’ve been married to the man for 23 years. He’s kinda got this sparkly but tarnished girl figured out. For reasons completely unknown to me, he stays. He stays with an addictive/compulsive/impulsive woman who does stupid shit when she drinks. He stays with an addictive/compulsive/impulsive woman when she doesn’t drink and still does stupid shit. He stays. And why does he stay? Because he loves this addictive/compulsive/impulsive woman. Yes he does.  For that, I love him with every part of me that I can.

He sat down with me a few days ago after my wine binge, which he might have known about but didn’t acknowledge, and said, “woman, I love you, get your shit together.”  I said, “you’re right honey, I’m sorry I will.”  AGAIN! I’ve been saying shit like that for hmmmmm, going on 23 years now. That evening he had to go back to work for a few hours. We sat, had coffee, watched the Tigers sweep the Yankees (YAY!) and chatted. I gave him my word that it was a night for me to disconnect. To watch 30 Rock, Up All Night and The Office on NBC. Then it was bed and a book. No computer. No writing. No texting. Nada, nothing, zip, zilch, and zero. And that my friends, is exactly what I did. I threw out the empty wine bottle, I kicked my feet up and watched crappy t.v. Which isn’t that crappy because 30 Rock is the shit! Tracy Morgan makes me laugh so hard, I wet myself. I talked to Roger Darling on the phone. Then crawled into bed with the Wonder Schnauzers nestled around me and slept the best I had in weeks. I never even heard RD crawl into bed with me later that night. I was out!

The next morning, I awoke and I was happy. Maybe even a little sparkle had returned. I’m a little tarnished still. I always will be. Because, well, I’m an addictive/compulsive/impulsive girl. But I’m one that is dearly loved by her Roger Darling, her Meggie, and her Adam Boy. And by many, many, many others.

First and foremost I need to find the love I have for myself. I’m a good person. I have a good heart. I love with all of it. Though not too wisely sometimes. I am smart. I am funny and sarcastic as fuck. I say fuck a lot! I’m a bombshell and dammit, I’m a fucking rock star! Yes, I’m in therapy. And that man is a fucking rock star too. He keeps me in check and makes me realize I AM NOT CRAZY! I am not bi-polar, and I’m not narcissistic. The highs, lows and and intense emotions I feel are what make me, me. This is me!

Here’s a bit of random trivia for you. Robert Downey, Jr. was born April 4, 1965. I was born April 3, 1968. We’re both Aries (stubborn/bullheaded/fiery/passionate/sensual/adventurous/fun). We are both addicts. Why am I not surprised I am born under the same sign and only a day apart. I’ve always loved the man, but now I get it even more. Hey, I watched Biography recently because, well the man flips my damn trigger. I’d let him watch t.v. while he did me for the love of God! Okay, enough about him. DAMN is the man HAWT! Seriously, enough.

I’ve been sober for a week. I’ve been getting better by the day. The depression is waning and so is the anxiety. I went back to exercising. Which is such a good addiction to have. My joints hurt and my muscles are sore. But hey, it’s so much better than a hangover.

Not sure why but the song below resonates with me. He was newly sober, but had incredible support. I have incredible support. So on and on this sparkly but tarnished girl goes. BTW the book writing continues…… On and on I go….. With love in my heart, and love by my side.

Special thanks to Harry for sending me a message to tell me to keep writing. You’ll always be my BFF who gets me. Why in God’s name you are still my friend after 14 years I will never fully understand. But I love you Harry.

Advertisements

You’ll Swoop from Incredible Highs

‎”You’ll swoop from incredible highs when you’re just glad to be alive, to those lows when you wish you were dead. And just when you start thinking that you’ve accepted who you are, that changes, too. Because who you are is not permanent”
— Andrew Davidson (The Gargoyle) 

I’m really busy today and don’t have much time to post but I’ve been reading one of the most incredible books. It’s called The Gargoyle. t from As Long As I’m Singing wrote a top 10 book list that I’m trying to work my way through. Of course I had to read a tragic love story first, because it’s the kind of girl that I am. I LOVE love. Especially impossible love. Redemptive love.

I’ve been thinking a lot about redemption this week. About changes. About why I’m still here. About how I could have killed a 19 year old boy that was just going to get a pizza. About my life. About slowing down. About losing two best friends. About, everything. And re-connection. And love. Of course about love. I forgot about the love for myself. The one person that I’m supposed to support I forgot about. Me.

I’ve been so busy flitting from one shiny thing to another I forgot to take care of myself. To stay in touch with old friends. I forgot about God too. I forgot to pray. I forgot to ask for guidance and forgiveness. I forgot my way. Do I believe my car accident was divine intervention? Yes, I do. I know it was. I could have killed a boy. I could have died. I looked down to fuck with my stupid phone and that was all it took.

I have no lasting injuries from the accident. I actually slept better that night than I had in years. The next day, as I lay in bed listening to Roger get ready for the day, I wrote one of my best posts about comfort. The comfort of him. Of his being in the next room. It really was one of my best. I took a pain pill and drifted back to sleep. Roger went to hang out with my mom. They’ve known each other longer than we’ve been married. It’s a long story of how we met. Some day I’ll tell it to you, I’m sure. After I woke up I called the young man that I hit to make sure he was okay. He was and I thanked God.

I’m still thanking God. For the fact that I was injured and he didn’t have a scratch on him. I thanked God for that young man having the where with all to call 911 while I sat in my car in shock. I thank God for that young man, although visibly shaken, kneeling down and holding my hands while I sat in my car. I thank God for that young man that pulled me out of my stupor and my car. For standing in the middle of the road with me and waiting for the police. He and I didn’t let go of each other.  I asked him how old he was and he told me 19. I reached up and touched his face, and said, “My God, you’re a baby. I could have killed you.” After that the police, ambulance and Roger arrived. It was chaos and I remember nothing.

It took a friend telling me she was worried about me to make me realize that maybe there really is something more to my incredible highs and my incredible lows. My impulsiveness. My need to be always doing something and never slowing down. It’s all about fear. Fear that there is something wrong with me. Fear of not being happy. Fear of growing old. Fear of getting fat again. Fear of fear. Fear of love. Fear of not being loved. Fear of not being pretty. Fear of being full of myself. Fear, fear, fear. Fucking stupid fear!

Talked to Harry and Rory and told them that I forgot about God in all of this. Said I needed to pray. I’ve been praying so hard, it hurts. It doesn’t mean that I’m going to get all Christian up in here and stop saying the F word.  I am a Christian and I always have been. It took me smashing my head up against my driver’s side window and the thought of possibly killing a young man to realize that I need to slow down.

The accident was a divine intervention, yes. It was my epiphany. I’ve been receiving them in so many ways, but I ignored them. I just wanted to keep feeling good. Keep feeling everthing after being numb for so long.

Now I don’t feel good. I feel like shit, and I have to realize it’s okay. I don’t have to feel good all the damn time. Because if we don’t have the bad times, how the hell can we love the good times? How the hell can we tell the difference?

I miss my friends B and K. I sent them a message this morning. Still haven’t heard from them. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I will. I know they read me. I hope they know that I love them. They’re my family. My sisters. And I miss them so. Today I’ll pray for them to come back to me. I’ll pray and pray and pray. For them to come back me. And for me to come back to me.

St. Cecilia and the Sparkly Girl

St. Cecelia, Patroness of Music

As you all know I have a lovely friend named Harry. He is my best friend and was the first person in my life to give me the gift of words. He also gave me the gift of music. He is a man but I tell you he has the gentlest heart and a song lyric can bring a tear to his eye and a catch in his voice. I love that about him.

He was the one that told me to send my entry I’ve Become the Lionhearted Girl to Florence + the Machine’s peeps. Little did he and I realize, they were having a contest, so of course I entered it. The winner is to be selected in the middle of September (now!!!!!).

I emailed him last week, freaking out because I hadn’t heard any word from them yet. He set my mind at ease and told me to hang in and wait. To know that the winner had not been selected yet and they were probably trying to select the proper limousine to bring me the news of my win. I tell you the man always know how to make me laugh and not take things too seriously. He told me to just relax. For some reason when Harry tells me that, he calms me. Not many men have that effect on me.

When I arrived at work the next day, I found this wonderful story in my email inbox. Like I’ve said before, Harry can always set my mind at ease. I love him and I love his words. He told me I could share his story. It is below. Please check it out. I know you’ll like it. I sure did.

St. Cecilia and the Sparkly Girl

St. Cecilia knew of your eventual success as a blogger.  She told Emperor Marcus Aurelius of a majestic goddess of blogs, Renee of Michigan.  She said your words would be read by people the world over. At that time, the preferred method of quickly spreading knowledge was to send a runner with a message, as far as he could run, until he died.  The Emperor thought, that’s not scalable.  How will Renee of Michigan’s words reach so many people?  The runners we’d need to send to their deaths just to distribute these writings will deplete the population quickly.  So the Emperor declared her insane for babbling about blogs, whatever they were, and calling for the mass deaths of these marathon runners, so he had her beheaded.

After she was canonized, St. Cecilia felt this burning desire to tell the world of this eventual woman of worldy words.  So she spent a millennium preparing for the perfect time to unveil her prophecy. After toiling for over 1000 years in a desperate attempt to do you justice, she knew it was time.   In 1310, there was a Maori tribesman from what is now New Zealand. Bone Bekke was visited in a dream by St. Cecilia. She foretold of your impending arrival to the tribesman in great detail. In the dream, she used scrolls to explain your writings traveling the ether and reaching the four corners of the world.  She created vivid imagery, invoking a color palette never before or since equaled in it’s vibrancy, in an effort to evoke to powerful emotions yet to be exposed to civilization.  And she sang him songs she composed herself to make the world aware of the day when your blog would be.  
Being an artist, she was a little flighty, and hadn’t considered that an isolated Maori tribesman in the Southern Hemisphere wouldn’t understand Latin. She was to be greatly disappointed to learn that he had no idea what she told him.  All he got from the saint was some yellow haired woman with a mouth to match the size of her boobs visited him in a dream, and she was coming.  He thought to himself, she’s not the only one!  Whoa, baby!  I’ll never be able to look at a grass skirt in the same way again!  So St. Cecilia said screw it, I’ll just work on inspiring musicians to write songs.  Hopefully that’ll eventually lead to Renee of Michigan to discover blogging.  She decided giving presentations wasn’t one of her strengths anyway, and wondered what she had been thinking.  Luckily though, St. Cecilia, patroness of musicians, was successful, and Renee of Michigan found blogging, and the world found a new voice.  🙂