Addiction might be called a curse, but that’s only one way to look at it. Alcohol addiction used to be a way of tapping into a power I didn’t have, a release of pain I had trapped inside me.
We undermine our children’s powers of consent because we know better the repercussions of their desires. Which mother might not consider a threat or worse, to prevent something which we could conceivably justify as ‘for their own good’? Where is the line?
Abusive? Oh no, I said confidently, and still believed it even then. But I stayed in my apartment, fearing to go outside because I saw you waiting for me across the street.
Because luck is being in the right place, at the right time, which means that you have to be present in all the places, at all the times as far as you are able.
We’re back in a familiar land. In the company of my old friend anxiety. Ah those demons. You think you’ve beaten them. But they’re crafty. Ready to seize on the slightest insecurity.
They say if you can’t imagine going to a party on a Friday night without alcohol to socially lubricate your interactions then you have a dependency on alcohol. But if I am to give myself any label at all nowadays, I would say I am a mild alcoholic. But ‘mild alcoholism’ is still alcoholism.
I have a son and a daughter (with a man who is as far removed from being an asshole as it is possible to be). If either of them were ever caught up in a situation where they were the perpetrator or the victim of such a situation, I don’t know how I would contain my vitriol …or my guilt. Because in both positions, my children would be operating out of a place of low self-esteem. One who needed to feed their ego by taking power to control and manipulate. One who felt they were worth very little and that this was the only relationship they deserved.
It’s not like I haven’t embraced uncertainty in so many areas of my life. But this experience shows me that no matter how much I think I’ve cracked one particular nut, the learning is never over.
Strangers who met as if on a brief encounter.
But this test, the colonoscopy, was the last in line and the most feared. It followed 24 hours of fasting and laxative enhanced groaning on the toilet. A camera inserted into my rectum without the mercy of general anaesthetic oblivion.
It’s not what I know I’ve done. But what I don’t know I’ve done. Yawning black holes of nothingness taunt me with their awful possibilities.
We all have this gift, but we often forget. It is the gift of knowing, truly understanding, that we are mortal.
Even when I was not working, I was wasting time that could have been spent working and I felt enormous guilt. Luckily when I got home from work, there was still more work to do.
I can’t really sit you down now to talk to you about life lessons because at 4 and 2 years old, you are too young. Besides, who wants to talk about life when there is so much living to do?
I feel ~ in the words of Maya Angelou ~ that the need for change once more is bulldozing a road down the center of my mind.