Choices, again.

It never fails. Just when I refurbish my commitment to be strong in God, to not complain or whine, or start up the, "Why me?" list, s*** happens.  I have really been forcing myself to walk a mentally cleaner path.  Not having that 'spirit of fear' has been my mantra.  I'll feel some horrible thought start to simmer, and immediately, I say to myself, "God does not give the spirit of fear, but of power, love and self-discipline."  It was helping.  Until I came to that fork in the road where I had to choose the new path or tempt the old. Of course, I tempted the old.  This is going to sound silly, but here goes.  I  don't like my ex. as a person.  I don't like anything that happened here when he was here.  I don't wish ill but truthfully, it takes a lot from me, sometimes, keeping present anger at him, submerged.  I have looked at that anger, and recognized it and 'let it go' mentally watching it float away in the breeze, but somehow, like a magical penny, those thoughts end up back in some dusty corner of my mind, and something happens that frustrates me, then I remember if he had done this or that it wouldn't be like this and pretty soon, that dusty penny becomes nice and shinny and I'm holding onto it like a rare, but dangerous, diamond.

I need a new roof, something he should have taken care of when he lived here.  The porch in the back needs a lot of repairs, another item he should have fixed, but didn't.  There are a lot of little things that have grown to bigger things that weren't changed because he wasn't planning to stay here long, even though his family lived here every day.  (grrrrr)  So, what made me choose the old path was that I looked up where he lives now.  A beautiful new home by the ocean.  The place (ocean) I've always wanted to move to, but for several reasons, taking care of my parents being the biggest, I never did.  That little picture of his house, was the nudge I needed to take one step then another and another and here I am midway down the old road. 

Then, 23 days sober here, and yesterday she bought alcohol.  We had talked.  She said she was going to work on being sober. It almost felt that this really was going to be behind her.  It felt longer than 23 days.  I reached that point were some days, I was able to forget all of those horrible, stressful feelings--twisted stomach, headache, fatigue, hopelessness--they were fading in and out.  So, it was 5:30 this morning and I had an argument with her because I couldn't keep my mouth shut, so I asked the question, "What made you do this?"  Her response, "I get bored.  You don't understand."  I made a sigh, and she latched onto that sigh and we started yelling.  That sigh, to her, represented me not believing her.  That sigh, to me, was watching all of those feelings come running back to me, and not being happy to see them, again.  Here we go, again.

Bored is an ambiguous term.  She drank at school, with a ton of work to do. She drank at work, with different people and a lot of work to do. How can you be bored with that?  Yesterday, she was bored, she said, even though we had plans for the weekend and next week. She's considering going back to graduate school. Plans are out there.  She has also said that, sadness and anxiety have also been reasons.  She has used 'things' to motivate her to stop.  If I get this or go there I will stop. No, that's not true.  I told her this morning, if it's never enough, then the things are going to fail as the motivator.  You have to change your thinking. It has to come from within you, not outside of you.  Trying to appease her, I have put my faith in 'things' to help her.  I have even convinced myself that it's not a choice, it's a genetic disorder, she's possessed, it's a kind of hypnosis where choices are not longer possible, she has low blood sugar, and once, after reading an article about this rare disorder where some people's body processes food and somehow creates alcohol in their system, I tried to talk myself into believing she was one of those rare people.  I have used all of that as a sick rationale for this madness, when this morning I was reminded, again, that it is a choice.  A hard, possibly maddening one at times, but when all of the b.s. is wiped away, what's left is a simple, frustrating choice none the less. 

Okay, so I'm standing in the middle of the road, trying to get inspired by reading blogs and reworking my thinking and talking to friends.  Last night, when I went to sleep, I hoped I wouldn't wake up.  Admitting that is embarrassing, but I wished it.  Obviously, my wishes are ignored all around.

So, I have to make a choice, because it is all about choices, right?  Turn back and do something more positive and healthy, or keep walking down this old path until I'm so entangled in the thicket of sick thinking that all I want to do is sleep.  When I put it in writing, the choice seems so clear.  Starting over, AGAIN, right after I drink this coffee. 

(I had really intended to writing about this pamphlet that I found in some papers of my mom's.  A much lighter subject, but this came up, instead.  Maybe another time).