This was almost me. Please pay close attention to the word almost. Even with my crippling low self esteem – I look better than that bitch, and I always leave my clothes on. All night. In bed. While passed out on top of my covers. Shoes sometimes off… sometimes.
So, as you can probably gander from my posts, I LOVE DRINKING. I love Alchohol! It tastes so good when it his my lips:
Just call me Francine the Tank. Again, I’ve never gone streaking. It’s just that I lack the “off” switch which allows me to be responsible with alcohol. Kind of like Dori in Nemo I’m like “just keep drinking” instead of “just keep swimming”.
My husband has literally had enough of Francine du la Tanque. He knows me well enough to know that I don’t have an alcohol addiction, I just have to FIX what is eating me with something more productive than alcohol. It’s the self-hatred, not the alcohol that is straining our marriage and my ability to lead the best life I could. I came across this quote the other day, and it made sense to me. As someone who is consumed by self-hate, I don’t really notice or register how my actions / inaction affect those around me.
I remember when my self-hatred began. I was 6 years old, we were at the court house, naturally, as my parents were in the middle of a nasty ass custody battle. (As they were from the time they divorced, until I was about 13). We had just testified against Dad. I don’t remember what I said, or was told to say – more likely the latter – but we got out and dad crouched down for a tackle. We always tackled him. My sister ran (she was 4) and tackled Dad, but Mom held me back. The look of pain on my Dad’s face, is burned into my mind. I hurt him. I didn’t need to. WHY? I was obviously a bad person.
***Objectively, I can identify 100,000,000 reasons why I’m not a bad person, what the true situations were, etc etc – but whatever they were, let’s just stick to why I’m f-d up for now.***
Continuing on in life – my villainous biological mother (she had ALOT of issues, which likely were not entirely her own fault, but still, for this story, she’s the villain) – told me that I was fat when I was 12 years old and that no one would be friends with me because of my fatness. She probably said something like “You’re fat, no one likes to be friends with a fat girl” – but I’m interpreting whatever she said how I registered it. She immediately put me on a diet, and so was the beginning of my eating disorder, that was off and on, hot and cold from ages 12 until I met my Husband in 2010.
My eating disorder, now that I am reflecting, was an excellent tool to control my self-hate. Like, don’t get me wrong, I still hated myself, but I had an effective outlet to deal with that self-hatred so that life could go on.
In 2010, after I met my Husband, I realized that it hurt him when I engaged in ED behaviors, so I stopped, went back to counselling, and tried to deal with life without some sort of crutch. The anxiety was overwhelming. One year before our wedding date, I had a melt down, I just felt like I couldn’t go on, my life was objectively awesome, but I hated everything and had no desire to get out of bed. I just felt like I was a big faker playing a role for everyone around me in my life. I’d had enough. I went and saw my doctor and got on some antidepressants.
The antidepressants saved my life (I mean it, I was really low) and for a short time, everything improved. The crushing anxiety was lifted, I could sleep without the help of Valerian root. Things were looking up.
Life was really weird without anxiety. I was used to it. It was really hard to be vulnerable without the shield of self-destructive behavior to defect me from dealing with my life issues that have been hanging around since I was 6 years old.
I was still in counselling, but the year leading up to my wedding, I was super sabotagey to myself. I didn’t deserve my husband, he was going to leave me anyway – I turned to booze. I started boozing HEAVILY. Sometimes I’d scale back – but for the most part, I was escaping the work that I needed to do by “having a good time”.
My Husband is a poster – boy for patience. However, his patience has finally run out. Faced with losing him and likely, my job, my friends and everything else that goes with alcoholism – we realized that I need to get a grip. I want to be someone’s mother in the next year or so – I don’t want to become the villain of their lives.
So, I’ve taken a hiatus from drinking. It’s going to be so hard, but maybe not as hard as I think it will be. I’ve got so much love and support from most of my friends (I love you gals!) and obviously from my Husband. With this new ‘fancy’ cocktail phase I’m sure that those adorable bartenders with their suspenders can whip me up something reeel good without booze in it.
Once I overcome that hump, I’m going to start dealing with the little asshole of self-hatred that I carry with me. So that I don’t fall into another avoidance trap of – I don’t know – closet binge eating or something. Although, I have already done the ED thing.
Self-Hatred is a real thing. I know I’m not the only one that carries it around with me. If you have some and you need someone to talk to about it, talk to me 🙂 We can pump each others tires and go through the paces together.
I’m currently trying to get through Un-Loved. It’s a super great book on getting over the hump of self-hatred. If my wicked counselor Anu gives me any reading material I’ll post it here.
Thanks for listening. Love y’all.