Dear Santa,
Please make my husband UN-allergic to cats this Christmas because I want this.
"Are you ladies sure you're 21 ?"
"Yes sir"
" Alright then"
"1 adult sized root beer float extra shot vodka!"
Please make my husband UN-allergic to cats this Christmas because I want this.
This is an apology to myself for not writing about my issues to myself on this blog. I also am sad that it has been so long. I feel that I never get the chance to be open with myself. The past couple days have been chaos. When has my life ever not been chaotic though, right? Exactly. So here are a few highlights I want to document as to prove I am actually working towards this giant goal of managing my insanity.
#1 I did not promise to quit drinking to my therapist. My therapist recommended it wasn't healthy for my emotional state and constant bottling of issues. That makes sense to me but so does Vodka after a 40+ hour work week in which all of my limits were tested.
#2 I'm working on crying. I drove home the other day and thought maybe I could try to cry because this really sad song came on the radio about Christmas shoes for a dying mother. It didn't work. Today however, I thought maybe I was about to cry and I tried to cultivate it into something bigger and just made myself laugh because really my problems aren't that small. My trauma brain is all about not being helpful and realistic because my therapist says yeah my problems are &^*$ing a big deal. She wants me to pretty much be at the point of no return and cry wherever I damn well please. We know that happened once before but I haven't told her about it yet.
#3 I cried one tear today driving home. Nothing on the radio. Not a whole lot going on in my brain until BLAM! This little trauma brain of mine (this little trauma brain of mine I'm gonna let it shine) decides to start thinking up all the shit I did before I was saved by Jesus and I cried a tear for that little me in there that had been raped, walked over, raped again, left, abandoned, left in love, and forgotten like dust.
#4 Which leads me to present time I tried finding comedy, tried to seek comfort in the Lord, texted my husby, jokingly stated oh yeah I'm gonna go have a cry fest at home (because I got off work while it was still light out) to see if I could actually cry. Turns out that doesn't work too well for me because my phone somehow, through possible divine intervention tried to reach out to someone I had not texted in a while, not called recently, not received a call from recently and not even seen in person recently. The telephone pocket dialed someone. Yup. Victimized once again by an overly ambitions electrical device. Crap. "Hello??? Did I call you on mistake?" The other line " I think you pocket dialed me want to come to a tree lighting ceremony today!?"....The hippie in me said, "YIPPIE SKIPPY be over in 5 min". The alcoholic in me just said, "Hey cry baby, Vodka root beer float cry fest".
#5 ...I'm a sinner.
#6 4 shots deep into my vootbeer float and watching funny videos. Yay repression.
#1 I did not promise to quit drinking to my therapist. My therapist recommended it wasn't healthy for my emotional state and constant bottling of issues. That makes sense to me but so does Vodka after a 40+ hour work week in which all of my limits were tested.
#2 I'm working on crying. I drove home the other day and thought maybe I could try to cry because this really sad song came on the radio about Christmas shoes for a dying mother. It didn't work. Today however, I thought maybe I was about to cry and I tried to cultivate it into something bigger and just made myself laugh because really my problems aren't that small. My trauma brain is all about not being helpful and realistic because my therapist says yeah my problems are &^*$ing a big deal. She wants me to pretty much be at the point of no return and cry wherever I damn well please. We know that happened once before but I haven't told her about it yet.
#3 I cried one tear today driving home. Nothing on the radio. Not a whole lot going on in my brain until BLAM! This little trauma brain of mine (this little trauma brain of mine I'm gonna let it shine) decides to start thinking up all the shit I did before I was saved by Jesus and I cried a tear for that little me in there that had been raped, walked over, raped again, left, abandoned, left in love, and forgotten like dust.
#4 Which leads me to present time I tried finding comedy, tried to seek comfort in the Lord, texted my husby, jokingly stated oh yeah I'm gonna go have a cry fest at home (because I got off work while it was still light out) to see if I could actually cry. Turns out that doesn't work too well for me because my phone somehow, through possible divine intervention tried to reach out to someone I had not texted in a while, not called recently, not received a call from recently and not even seen in person recently. The telephone pocket dialed someone. Yup. Victimized once again by an overly ambitions electrical device. Crap. "Hello??? Did I call you on mistake?" The other line " I think you pocket dialed me want to come to a tree lighting ceremony today!?"....The hippie in me said, "YIPPIE SKIPPY be over in 5 min". The alcoholic in me just said, "Hey cry baby, Vodka root beer float cry fest".
#5 ...I'm a sinner.
#6 4 shots deep into my vootbeer float and watching funny videos. Yay repression.
"Are you ladies sure you're 21 ?"
"Yes sir"
" Alright then"
"1 adult sized root beer float extra shot vodka!"
::PROOF DENIED::
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