old (2007), Uncategorized

my jesus day

The past 36 hours have been intolerable. I feel as though I’m in a time-travel movie in which I fell asleep Saturday and woke up Sunday back in my first week of sobriety, when all I could do was think about how miserable my life was. Last night, crying on the phone to L., she said, you should be grateful that you don’t have the urge to drink. My response, which I think quite clever, albeit less than sane: Maybe that means I’m not really an alcoholic. Can I quit going to meetings now?

After an intense tear-saturated therapy session today that left me certain I belonged in the Dysfunctional People Special Olympics, I found myself praying in the handicapped stall of the women’s bathroom. I can’t remember how I got there — it’s all fuzzy, which I blame entirely on the massive amount of snot backed up into the frontal parietal lobe of my brain from all the crying — but it was a compulsion to get on my knees and rest my elbows on the icky germy toilet and just close my eyes and cry (sob, really) and ask for relief. My grandmother better be a damn strong woman, because I’m asking her for a hell of a lot.

I don’t know what day 33 is supposed to look like, but I never imagined it would be like this.

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