When therapy goes…just right.

Here’s something I haven’t gone on record and said much over the past few months: therapy actually went really well last night.

I wish I knew the difference, I wish I knew what caused the good vs the less than good sessions…but since I don’t, I’ll just accept it as they come and be appreciative for all the good ones.

I don’t know what made last night any different or better than any other session, it just was. And it shouldn’t have been. On paper, it should have been bad. I didn’t have therapy last week since she was away, and anytime there is a break, the first session back is usually ALWAYS terrible. But this time, it wasn’t.

I went in, awkward as always, and relentlessly asked how life was, how her week was, how everything was going…very basic and broad questions about any and everything having nothing to do with me.

We talked about books and bookstores and coffee, I showed her way too many pictures of my kids from over the past few weeks, and it was just…it was a nice form of rambling, of distraction.

When we finally did get into it, into the meat of the discussion, I kind of just blurted it out.

“Well, got the results backs. Looks like he has it too. Isn’t that fucked up?” (In reference to the amnio results indicating that this baby also has the genetic disorder that my other 2 sons do.)

We talked about that for a bit, and how it fucking sucks, and then I just jumped right in to the next topic, which we spent well over an hour on.

Alcohol.

Ohhhh boy.

Alcohol.

I’m 24 weeks pregnant right now. I’m closer to the end than I am to the beginning. Each day that goes by…..well…it’s another day closer to…the freedom to drink again. And no, that’s not a healthy way to look at it, but sometimes, that’s how I look at it.

The urge to drink almost seems to be getting stronger. I thought it would get easier. Like, the more time I spent sober, the easier it would be. But instead, it’s proved to be quite the opposite.

Like a magnet pulling me in, the closer I get, the stronger the urge.

Instead of giving up on me or being frustrated with me for talking about alcohol and how much I want to drink, we actually had a really good, and MUCH needed, conversation about it.

I like to feel better right now. I like to be able to control how I feel, or, as she always puts it, chase the feeling. Alcohol provides that for me. It’s immediate, short term relief for any and all of my problems.

But it isn’t who I want to be, and it’s not what I want to go back to.

Even though I desperately do.

Does that make sense?

No?

Okay, good. We’re on the same page then.

She told me that if I want to focus on long term goals, in actually healing these wounds and maybe even hopefully finding happiness (whatever the fuck that is), then I have to stop trying to solve it with short term, temporary “solutions”. Stop numbing everything, and start feeling it.

That sounds gross, I just want to drink all my pain away.

Right…but I can’t keep doing that. Because drinking like I was….it’ll only ever keep destroying things. It won’t help. Anything. Ever.

And I know that I do not have the capability to drink….reasonably. If I drink, it will get out of hand. Very quickly. And I don’t want that.

As much as I’ve tried to convince myself that I can have a reasonable relationship with alcohol, I know that just isn’t the case.

This pregnancy has helped me break free from the physical connection I had with alcohol, but the psychological bounds are still holding me captive.

I’m as emotionally and physiologically bound to it today as I was at any point over the past few years. The wounds run deep. The chains keeping me bound to it run deeper. And as long as I am bound to it in that way…I will never be able to have a healthy relationship with it.

It’s a hard choice to make…even though it shouldn’t be.

Right now, the choice is not mine to make. I am pregnant, therefore I cannot, and will not, drink. It’s simple. Extremely difficult, don’t get me wrong, but simple.

I’m afraid I won’t be strong enough to make the…choice I know is right, to choose hard over easy, long term over short term.

But it will be anything but simple when my body is once again my own. Then, it will be a choice. Then, I will have to make a decision. And it will be anything but simple or easy.

The choice should not be hard. I should abstain.

But I don’t want to. I miss my toxic friend.

But I want to find happiness. And I want to put in the work. I don’t want to go backwards.

I want to go forwards. And I want to keep working hard in therapy, and in my life.

But it hurts. It hurts so fucking much. And I know alcohol will ease the pain. Only for a moment, sure. But sometimes, even just a moment…it’s more than I’d get otherwise.

But for now…therapy went well. And I have a lot to think about.

I know it will be hard, but hard doesn’t mean bad.

And I really….really just need some good. Whatever that looks like, however hard it may be.

I need some good.