A few things I'm thinking about this trip around the sun.
Today marks 1,000 days since September 28, 2014. The day before, I drank. Again. On that day, I was also the Vice President of Marketing at a PR agency in Boston, a not-yet-divorced-but-newly-separated single mom of a five-year-old girl, 37 years old, running and doing yoga regularly, and outwardly doing just fine.
The answers to the big questions are always both complicated and simple. There was a tipping point and there were countless things that nudged me toward it. I needed every person, every conversation, every book, poem, and word, every mistake. I needed the hands of thousands of others who'd gone before me, pressing gently on my back, lifting my feet, catching my falls.
This past weekend, a friend who I hadn’t actually talked to in years sent me a message asking if we could talk. She was scared and afraid she was in trouble with her drinking and she knew it was late, but was I there? I was, and we talked, and I don’t know if it helped or if it’ll change anything for her, but I was just so damn grateful I could answer.
What if my lobster is addicted What if she's in trouble and her life has become unmanageable? Glennon talks about her family loving her very much, just not having a plan. I am stuck in this cognitive mess of "don't judge,” "just love,” but "don't enable,” "don't turn your head/sweep it under the rug/act like it's not happening" but I don't know what that is all supposed to look like from day to day.
I'm furious the alcohol industry is allowed to get away with peddling their drug in all its cheap and beautifully packaged guises in broad daylight. Right next to where I buy my kids veggies and milk. It should be sold in a seedy dark back alley in a shop with the windows blacked out (symbolism) where you have to ring a doorbell to gain entry and walk past a slobbering, growling Rottweiler to get to the dealer to ask for your Rose.
Happy Birthday, my sweet Alma. It’s been a long time since I’ve posted a letter to you. In the first couple years of your life I did them more regularly, as they were the easiest and only thing I could write about honestly and naturally. That’s the neatest part about loving you: it’s never been a question.