Saturday, July 4th, 2009

I realized today that calling my stepbrother gullible was like the pot calling the kettle black.  Taking a look into the past, examining my actions and my responses to the actions of others, I was the gullible one. 

Being told I was an alcoholic.  I believed, and I’ve proven that I am not nor was I ever.  Yes, I fully admit to getting drunk and becoming enraged on a number of occasions, one of which included me shattering my keyboard.  I admit to enjoying being drunk, as well as the taste of beer.  Here’s why I know I wasn’t nor am I an alcoholic.  I gave it up, cold turkey without a single pang of regret.  I had 3-5 beers for dinner or watching a game a couple of times a week.  At the time, with my alcohol tolerance up, barely enough to get a buzz going.  Those angered outbursts while I was drunk?  I beg you to take a closer look.  I was in love with a bipolar person who walked all over me using their disorder as a get out of jail free card.  On top of that, I was the only outlet for this person.  This meant that while every other person on the planet got to see the façade that was this person, I got the full assault when she was too tired to keep her guard up.  This wore on me and actually caused my own deep bout with depression.  But I digress…  in a drunken state, no person is capable of handling such a person when she chooses to unleash her full blown crazy.  Is it then my fault for choosing to become intoxicated, a state that I would notify her that I was going to be in BEFORE hand, and her choosing to let loose the gates of hell upon me?  I can and could barely hold myself together during those times when it would happen while I was sober.  Does this mean that I should never have gotten intoxicated because I had an OBLIGATION to her?  I refuse to believe that the right thing for me to do was to forsake the pleasures I had separate from her simply because she was incapable of controlling it and unwilling to seek out help or an outlet from other areas.  Bottom line:  I was not an alcoholic.

“I want to be friends.”  I believed this, and it ruined my recovery TWICE.  Most recently, a recovery that took me over a year to cultivate is almost entirely shattered.  There is no friendship.  There is only the care-giver relationship that I left in the first place.  What happens in my life is inconsequential, barely a blip on the radar, even if I should choose to attempt to bring it into the forefront.  It’s about her.  And what she needs.  And what’s wrong with her life.  I’m not her caregiver.  Especially when I’m not getting anything AT ALL in return. 

I am fat.  I am worthless.  I am no good.  I am a liar.  I am an asshole.   I believed all of those things.  While I may have been one or more of those things on specific occasions, I am not defined by anyone of those things.  Whether it be a school bully, a step-parent, a mother, a sister, a girlfriend, a friend’s gf, even my best friend, I’ve been told each of these things more times than I can count.  I am not going to believe these things anymore.  I’m not fat, I’m heavier than I want to be but certainly not fat.  I am a liar to those I do not care about and who do not deserve the truth, this does not in my opinion make me a bad person.  I am not an asshole.  I infact go out of my way to make everyone else around me feel better.  I’m overly considerate.  The exact opposite of asshole. This also flys in the face of the whole worthless and no good comments.  Jealousy, ignorance, fear.  Those are the things that have instigated people whom I gave too much value in my life to force those opinions on me.  Thinking so little of myself, I believed them and it ruined most of my life.  No more. 

You are not my friend.  You are not my family.  I NEVER walked all over anyone.  I let myself get walked all over in an effort to make those around me feel better.  If anyone believes any different, they can go fuck themselves.

On a happier note, today is the 4th of July. A holiday that has a lot of old memories for me. I can still name damn near every firework by sound alone. There is something special about fireworks that creates that fixation. A 30 minutes firework display can seem like 5 minutes. The colors, the sounds, the FEEL of the BOOM and the FATHOOM. The fathoom is almost better because it creates that sense of eager anticipation. The firework show I went to tonight did not disappoint. It certainly cheered up my day. Thanks be to Gibby, Sabrina, and Sabrina's friend's 2 yr old son Isaac. He's cute, and I defy anyone to frown when looking at him. You can't. That's why I continue to push on. I want one of those. No amount of money is going to get me one. It's all about the love. And that, I have a great deal of.