Still passing the open windows and falling down the stairs

Retrospect

In many ways, this blog has been the best thing that ever happened to my mental health. I dabble in traditional journaling, but I find it so much easier to just emotionally vomit into the keyboard than onto paper; I can purge the yuck and clear my brain faster here.

An added benefit is that I can very easily review my past and in this case, my recovery from my relationship with McFuzz.

I had almost this exact experience last night in my weekly counseling session. Lots of tears. Lots of discomfort. One large ah-ha moment. And when I found “the couch trip” I realized that I’m just about on the same pace with the Baron recovery as I was with the McFuzz recovery. Although, this recovery is quite a bit more difficult because I always knew, not so deep down, that McFuzz was not life-partner material. At least not then. And the Baron was. Or so I thought.

You may notice that “the couch trip” also contains on of the very few (maybe two or three total) comments McFuzz ever made on this site. I VERY HIGHLY doubt you will EVER see a comment from the Baron. Which is why I feel so comfortable using this lovely little blog in times of journaling need.

No longer on the passenger side

In 2004, I purchased two tickets to see Wilco with the intent of introducing a favorite band to a favorite boy.

We broke up a month before the concert and I took a friend.

In 2009, I purchased two tickets to see Wilco with the intent of introducing a favorite band to a new favorite boy.

He left town for six weeks of training and I took a friend.

In 2011, I purchased two tickets to see Wilco with the intent of (finally) introducing a favorite band to the still favorite boy.

We broke up two months before the concert so I am taking a friend.

In the future, I will wait for a favorite boy to introduce me to his favorite band and I will keep Wilco all for myself.

NaBloPoMo – Day 28, Post 1

With the help of my web-bro-ster, I’ve recently spiffed up the joint a bit. For the most part, I like the changes, which is good because I’m not embracing all change lately.

One thing that I’ve done is try clean up my category tagging a bit. I’ve just started, but in my tidying I’ve found an entire category that I had made private.

The Heartbreaker was probably one of my first categories and we broke up and reunited several times before I agreed to remove any posts concerning broken heart or spastic colons.

At that point, the Heartbreaker became known as PJ McFuzzybottom. After we split for the last time, I removed that category as well.

But I am now reclaiming all of the posts that made this blog what it was in 2004.

McFuzzybottom is a category again and it’s a little bit saving my sanity right now. If you had asked me a month ago if I’d ever been truly broken hearted, I would have said, “probably not”.

That is the gift of time. Rereading the old posts reminds me that I was TERRIBLY broken hearted. Still, nothing compares to the shock of the emd of my relationship with the Baron, but at least I know that time will eventually dull these sharp memories.

The anxiety will eventually subside and I will forget how every morning felt like a sucker-punch to the heart after having had ONE MORE DREAM about loving him so much.

I’m so grateful to have this space for a little cyber-journaling, but also for quick access to my past. It helps me see my future with much more clarity.

10 + 5 = growth

Where were you ten years ago? Ten years ago today?

I was on my way to rehab.

Well, I guess that’s not “technically” true. I was actually on my parent’s couch, nursing a hang-over, calling to find treatment, all after I had spoken to my boss and quit my job. It was a big day, which was following a big night of drinking in which I scared my cousin, lost a friend, and had to be rescued by mom and dad.*

Somehow, I managed to slowly pull my shit together. I went through treatment. I lost fifty pounds. I got a job. I went back to college and actually graduated. I bought a house. And then I wound up entwined in addiction again.

This time it was second-hand addiction. A boy. A nice boy with a bad problem. And I lost myself again.

Until my brother introduced me to the world of blogging. I’d always been a dabbler in the world of journaling but blogging somehow made me feel free. I could pour my heart out into cyberspace and strangers would tell me what they thought. It was like group therapy without the coffee and smokes.

I worked through that relationship on this blog and, looking back, I prepared myself for something better. I was getting to know myself, finally. And now, five years later, I’m finally right where I want to be.

The Red Baron never reads this blog, but if he ever stumbled across this post, I would want him to know that ten years of sobriety and five years of therapeutic blogging have brought me to him. The universe would never have punished someone so good as him with someone so effed up as I used to be.

I’m not sure how long I’ll keep blogging, as it seems to get more sporadic with each passing month, but I do know that I will be sober for the rest of my days and I can only hope that each decade brings with it the kind of growth that I’ve had in my first.

*It wasn’t the first time they rescued me and, even with all of the progress I’ve made since then, it wasn’t the last either. They haven’t always understood what I was going through, but they’ve never walked away. Thanks, mamacita and poppo! I love you, probably more than what is considered healthy.

Oh, and, thanks to my brother for being a great role model in sobriety. Uh, oh. Here comes Kanye West; I’d better wrap it up.

The Heartbreaker: Act III

No one ever gave up on me when I was a lush.

I had given many people valid reasons to tell me to fuck off. I was hurtful, selfish, and inconsiderate of the people who loved me the most. But, for some reason, these people forgave me repeatedly. These people stood by me when I was my most cruel and my most pathetic. These people watched over me, trying to protect me from myself. And these people never walked away when I fell on my face after many false starts at sobriety.

So, in turn, I will not walk away from him. He needs me and I am more than willing to help. He’s driving up right now and will be spending an undetermined amount of time at bandick’s halfway house. It will likely only be a few days but during that time we will be developing a “game plan” for his return to normal life.

He’s hurting and a little lost and I want to help him, the only way I know how. The way so many of you helped me, the only way you knew how.

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