Life through Rose Colored Glasses

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My beautiful, wonderfully all-knowing sister is always telling me that I self-medicate with alcohol.  She simply insists that I use it as a coping mechanism. (She has her PhD in Counselors Education, which translates to her educating me about needing counseling.) But that's OK, I love her dearly.

And she's right.

I really do.  When life gets a little too mucky, or the walls feel as thought they are pressing in just a little too hard, I fix myself a drink.

Ok, ok, OK!  I fix myself LOTS of drinks.  You see, I don't just have one drink to help ease the tension or stress, I wash it fully away.  It's like a tidal wave of alcohol, just swooshing down to to drown out what ails me.

(Please keep in mind that my child is at his Dad's no less than three nights a week. That's plenty of time to "self-medicate" without drinking when my son is around. So please do not assume that I am neglecting, or endangering anyone but myself.)

Yet, recently I believe that I now know WHY I did that.  IT'S BECAUSE IT WORKED! 

So, what's the problem?

Well, for inquiring minds that want to know; I quit smoking at the first of the year. 

I just gave them up.  After 20 years of at least a pack-a-day habit, I just put them down and I really haven't missed them at all.

Unless I'm having a drink.

Yes, it's like cigarettes where just MADE to go with alcohol.  They just taste so dang good together. 

Ahhhh! I can feel the sensation.

I really wanted to quit smoking though, so I have not even been socially drinking.  That means no beer at the pig roast. No hanging out at B'dubs with my friends.  I only had a couple of drinks at RudyFest last Friday night.

I just can't fight the urge not to smoke, especially after more than a couple of drinks. 

......blah......blah.....blah.....skip ahead to this morning......

OK, so I've been taking the little Rx the doc gave me. Its been almost a week. (It took me a week to get my nerve up enough to take it.) 

I can't tell its helping at all. 

It might be. I might be an even bigger mess if I hadn't started taking it, but I don't think so. I still am fighting tooth and nail to keep from assuming the fetal position in my bed every evening.  (I'm winning approximately 2 out of 3 nights.)

Ok, OK!

You're right. Again.  The scrip calls for 2 a day and I've only been taking one.

I can't help it. I'm a big fat chicken.

I don't know what these pills will do to me. How they will make me feel. (Other than sleepy. That one, I've figured out.)

I do KNOW how a big ol' margarita will make me feel!  Just dandy!  Like I've got my shit together, and ready to take on the world!

AND I know it will make me want a cigarette.  And I don't know what the side effects of mixing alcohol with my new pills will do. (Probably make me sleepier, faster.)

I haven't even looked up the side-effects to this new med, because I was afraid my over-eager imagination would anxietize me into having some (or all).  I had my sis research it, and told her to keep an eye and ear open for anything that I might do or say.  Then she could tell me if I need to seek medical assistance. :)

Yes, I know I am a mess. My nerves are shot and I just can't deal. 

With anything.

I know this and I keep telling anyone who will listen to me.  But mostly no one believes me.  People seem to think that if you can see what a mess you are, then you SHOULD be able to straighten up.  I think that mind set comes from, well from ignorance for one, but from those 12-step programs where admitting you have a problem is the first step.

Well, it might be the FIRST step, but it ain't the only one. 

I guess, I should try taking the meds as prescribed. Not doing so only makes ME look ignorant.

(**sigh**)




Although, I REALLY would like to have a Big, Salty, Tangy, Tequila loaded Margarita!

(**bigger sigh**)


Credit: Free images from acobox.com