New Years

Chris and I bought tickets to the New Years Eve party at the Rusty Spur. I wasn't all that sure about going that night. However, we did. Chris made sure we had a designated driver. Chris did some research on available taxi services. The cheapest service would cost us $30--over estimated to make sure we had included it into the expenses. Anyhow, it turned out, David wanted to go out but not drink. He just wanted to "hang out." David became our designated driver.

Since I wasn't driving, I decided to experiment with some drinks. I'm strictly a rum and juice drinker, half the alcohol in any drink. My usual night consist of two drinks for a five hour period, along with plenty of water and ice on the side. I had a shot of unknown and then a shot of Jack Daniels and coke. Two things I knew I wouldn't have was any type of beer and Smirnoff. There was no plans on getting drunk. I don't like drunk. I've been drunk twice, not plastered, just drunk. The feeling of being on the outside looking in, knowing part of what you are doing is what you want to do and the other part is the sneaky you saying, "Go ahead, you know you're curious, give it a try," bothers me a bit. The biggest part that bothers me is the anger I feel lurking underneath. I know I will say things that will hurt a person because it is hard for me to keep my feelings in check once I am drunk. Then, to be tired on top of the drunk makes it worse.

I recall our trip down to Anderson for a weekend of "get away" at a friends. This was the second time I had become drunk. I had decided I wanted to be drunk that night to test two theories: will I become a mean drunk and does the alcohol allow me to relax, allow me to run away for a short time. To answer the latter: NO. I was still tense about the grieving factor that had gripped me for those few months, a grieving factor that messed with my work. (I did work my way out of it with some help from a colleague.) The only thing the alcohol did was have me stand on the outside of me, having me look in, and still giving me no control to change anything. As for the anger, I kept it in check by not saying anything, by not responding to anyone, and focusing on silly things (the best I could). The one thing I do recall very clearly is being angry because I would have to be the responsible person, again. A drunk can't take care of a plaster, and that is where Chris was heading. This is when I realized my anger deals with "care giving."

Even at the New Years Eve party, I couldn't relax enough to enjoy the full moment of everything. Although, the best part of all was my youngest daughter's presence. A friend picked her up and they both came to the Rusty Spur. David had invited Ginny but I didn't think she would come, knowing that I would be there. She did come.

The alcohol reached into me, bringing out the thoughts of missing Vincent. Vincent loved New Years. It was a night to party with friends and to be wild. I've watched him do it. His joking would become wild.  Thinking about Vincent--even if there hadn't been alcohol in me--made me cry. In the middle of Rusty Spur I was in full blown tears. Chris hugged me tightly. David hugged me tightly. Both said "I love you." The surprising part of the night was Ginny coming over to me, hugging me, cradling me in her arms, and saying, "I love you, Mom." I cried harder. Ginny hadn't said that to me since Garry and I separated. She was holding me, she was telling me all would be okay.

Us in 2010 just months before Vincent's cancer was discovered.

That night, as I watched Ginet, my mind kept telling me she was faking it, just being pleasant in front of Logan. Still, there was a difference about her. I was seeing the old her. Chris said he noticed the difference, and David commented on it. Something had changed in her position about me. I kept my distance and (even with the alcohol in me) was careful with my words. I couldn't take any pain through rejection. My daughters had given plenty of pain in rejecting me (because I couldn't live a lie any longer, because I had to find me, because I had to discover that part of me I never knew, because doing all of this meant ditching the baggage that kept me tied up, because I couldn't care for a dying son and care for a husband who decided his pain must consume all). When she hugged me, when she said "I love you, Mom," the anger I felt building up with the small buzz dissipated. Yes, I was angry with my daughter for thinking I had "abandoned" her--she was an adult when all went down. How could she think this? Plus, I heard Pete's words echoing in the background while Ginny hugged me, "She will return to you." All the anger didn't leave, however. I was still fighting that responsible part of me, the part who takes responsibility of tending to others when that said person needs to tend to him- / herself. (Where does my responsibility end in the village?) It's hard to learn how to be "self" when you are a people pleaser--which I am. Does pleasing people make me happy: yes and no. It makes me happy when it isn't a person forcing me or manipulating me into making a person happy. I AM NOT OTHERS HAPPINESS.

The time I had a discussion with Chris about the possibility of me becoming an alcoholic is constantly in the back of my head. There are times I want to have some alcohol--I like my strawberry daiquiris, my rum and pineapple (or rum and cranberry and grapefruit). Just that initial feeling that I get with one shot or less to relax my muscles is plenty. I don't need a buzz. If anything, I fear alcohol. I know how it can destroy lives. My carving for my favorite drink is like the craving I get for chocolate. I have some and it's gone. Yes, you'll tell me this craving is being an alcoholic. I don't reason away the craving, though. When I have the craving, I don't run out to the local bar or liquor store. This craving is like the want for my favorite meal, a meal I know my stomach can't handle because of the sauce. I will have that meal on occasion, though. It's the taste, the flavor. I have found that there are certain ways to make my favorite meal that disgust me. I won't go to those places to eat it. Alcohol is like that. Captain Morgan and Malibu, so far, are the rum of choice. The most recent fum I have bought . . . just doesn't cut it. No amount of juice makes this rum good. Even the smell of this rum keeps me from drinking it. It's Calico Jack. With chocolate, I will run out to the closest place to get it! However, there are chocolates I won't touch. I must be very desperate to have any milk chocolate. Dark chocolate or nothing, and even then I must have a certain brand. Even so, that craving has been curved with the onset of an allergy to peanuts. I can't buy my favorite candy bar anymore because of the possibility of it being processed on a machine that had peanuts processed on it. I miss you MOUNDS.

As for chocolate, I'm addicted. As for alcohol, no. I don't look for the next buzz. Do I have an anger issue. I would say yes. I keep it well in check and in disguised. The anger comes from me allowing people to "make me" and allowing people to manipulate me. I'm facing it. I can still be a people pleaser but on my own terms. Every year is a New Year in becoming. Without these experiences, I wouldn't be discovering who I am. The roughest years of my life began in the beginning of 2010 (before Vincent was found with cancer in 2010) to the end of 2014. While life is still throwing me curve balls--especially in employment, I see 2015 as a new beginning.