Martha’s Makeup will double as Martha’s Madness for a few. This is a celebration.
Came home for Christmas. Had to drive in the fog on old country roads. It was a drag, but when I made it I stumbled in and said “ho ho ho y’all!”
Then it hit me. Three opened bottles of wine on the table in the kitchen. 115 days of sobriety behind me, and I was a shark smelling blood. I try to be a vegetarian shark, but you let me at a school of fish when no one’s looking, and man. No promises to that school.
My mind was running and I tried, I really did, to stop it. When will mom and sister go to midnight mass, when will dad fall asleep? When can I just have a swallow? Will they hear the moment after the mistake? The bottle coming back down to the table? Will it wake them?
I texted my best supporters. I tried not to cry. I tried to “be strong.” I went upstairs to call my significant other.
“You did the right thing by going upstairs and calling me to talk”
sob sob sob “It is just so hard I can’t explain how I feel the presence of a fucking liquid all around me and in my nose and it wasn’t nice of them to forget to put the wine away before their fuckup alcoholic daughter comes back and it’s just so HARDDDD” and the sobs intensify and he tells me to breathe and I do, in and out, my chest rising and falling in quivers and shakes and then rolling like the hills of my hometown.
And all of a sudden it is not so hard. I am through it. The worst, most intense craving of my life. I want to go tell my family how happy I am, how I made it, but they would see my wreck of a face. My “holiday makeup trends” melted into a catastrophe of glitter and tears all over my red cheeks. There is snot all over my nose. I have made myself ugly with passion and it is truly stunning.
I look at the clock — past midnight. I tell a friend that I’ve made it through and I add,
“I’m a fucking Christmas miracle.”
Happy holidays and as always, xoxo,