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Dear Alcoholic in my life,
I’m really angry at you. I’ve been angry at you for a long time. I get a little bit less angry sometimes because every time we have an episode like this, a little part of my love for you dies. Pretty soon that part of my heart that is reserved for you will just be dead and black and sloughing off into ashes on top of my other organs. Someone will call me up and say you have finally passed on and I’ll just look out the window and think about the weather or something.
When bad things happen I almost wish that the part of my heart was already dead. Stop the pain already or something. I just get so angry and I think horrible thoughts and write horrible letters like this and I know it’s toxic. I know it is not helping me and it’s not helping you and and it is probably not helping anyone who is reading it.
I’m scared that all this anger and hate I have towards you, someone I love, is very very very bad. I’m scared that my little baby daughter is going to be hurt in some way by it. Even worse, I’m scared that she is going to grow up and have this problem too. It’s in her genes. I just want to rent my garments and die if she becomes an alcoholic too. I could not bear the pain. I can barely handle the pain of telling her that you are “sick” when she asks for you.
She does not deserve to be hurt the way you’ve been hurting everyone in your life for years. I didn’t deserve it. Toby didn’t deserve it. Can’t we just stop this cycle of hurt? How many generations have to pay for the sins of their fathers?
You don’t deserve her love. But she does love you and sometimes you are such a sweet old woman. I do love you. I don’t know what part of you is the alcoholic/drunk/liar and what part of you is the real you.
Which reminds me of why I am so angry in the first place. I’m sick and tired of getting played by you. I’m not that stupid!!! Don’t tell me your lies and think you’re so clever. You’re only fooling yourself. I know you’ve been drinking. I can hear it in your voice. I can see it in your apartment that is trashed from top to bottom. I don’t want to hear about some bug you’ve caught that you had to be hospitalized for. I know why you went to hospital. You’ve been doing this for years.
Sometimes I just want to yell at you and tell you that it’s ALL YOUR FAULT and you should stop being so selfish. But I realize that I am just making it worse. I am just making your mental illness and your anxiety and your guilt and your depression worse. And then I feel like crap. It’s just not fair and I wish you would stop it.
Why can’t you be like all those other alcoholics and stay sober for ten, fifteen, twenty years? Even a year would be nice. I know you are too old to learn new tricks but can’t you just try?
I’m sorry I’m so angry at you. I wish I could do something to make a difference but right now I think I just want to walk away and not look back. I won’t cut you off. But I want to.
I’m sorry I wouldn’t talk to you today. I just couldn’t. I wanted to say all this and I couldn’t because I knew you wouldn’t listen.
Sincerely,
B.
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making muffins… on the floor!
Did you know you can make muffins on the floor? Me neither. It never even crossed my mind before until we had a play date at my good friend Jbomb’s yesterday. She let’s her kid cook on the floor all the time! How does she do it? She mops every single day. Her floor is spotless! Her whole house is spotless for that matter.
A lot of you commented that you’d love to do crafts or make cookies with your toddlers but you just couldn’t handle the mess. I totally understand. I think it all comes down to what your comfort level with dirt/clutter/chaos is.
It may be a blessing in disguise that I grew up in a pretty messy household. (think: Clean House) I don’t love dirt and grime and shooing the cat off the table right before dinner but it doesn’t make me wither and lose my appetite either. Sometimes I wish I was one of those people who washed their hands a thousand times a day. I’d probably get sick less often. But then again I don’t think I’d like having to put stinky lotion on my dry chapped hands because I washed every last molecule of natural moisture off my skin either.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that there is a happy medium somewhere and my happy medium might be way over yonder from where your happy medium is. Different strokes for different folks and all that… It won’t hurt my feelings if you toss the plate of cookies I brought over into the trash five minutes after I leave your house because you spied a cat hair on them. I understand.
Sigh.
However! I didn’t mean to take up this whole post getting on my soap box about dirt. It’s really about having a fun time with my friend Jbomb and her little boy Max. Where there is a will, there is a way! And making muffins on the floor is pretty fun if you’re two and handle a mixing spoon like Mix-master Max!
I thought my friend’s way of handling toddler messiness was pretty creative. The kids loved it and mixed to their hearts content. Baby Bug even did rather well spooning the batter into the little paper cups. There was actually very little mess to clean up and it kept them occupied long enough for Jbomb and I to get into several deep discussions about mopping. She still hasn’t won me over though.
I’d much rather blog than mop the floors.
