I used to get Angry.

Angry used to get me.

Even a month ago, I was a different person. The wine bottle incident from Christmas Eve(last blog post), for example, would’ve gone like this:

-come home to a bunch of half-full wine bottles open on the table, their odors driving into my weak alcoholic brain like nails

-read the post. I got through the craving.

-Christmas would’ve been ruined. I would have taken at least 6 months to forgive my parents for what was simply a shitty oversight on their part. Not malicious. Just an unfortunate accident. I would have been thinking “It is your fault for bringing me into this world with all of my demons and now you want to feed them, too?”

-But it didn’t go like that. I got through the craving, asked my sister to get rid of the wine, and I didn’t become “bitter, alcoholic Martha” in sobriety. God bless my sister.

I’m not a saint, but I forgave my parents on the spot. I was able to do this because I know that they love me. I did not know this (but thought I did) when I came home for Thanksgiving.

I told my friend, “I want to come out of my bedroom.”

And he said, “They wish you would.”

And they did, so I did, and everything was, well, splendid.

I have come so far, and I’m patting myself so hard on the back I might bruise.

But I don’t care. Realizing distance from [bad times] to [present times] on roads of love and family and substance abuse are miles to be celebrated.

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Something Different — trigger warning (alcohol)

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,

Martha