When the baby comes to therapy

Therapy was mostly ok last night. My husband wanted to come, so he and the baby ended up coming for the second hour.

The first hour we worked on our weekly goal…which ended up just being a combination of the previous 2 weeks goals. To (accurately) write everything down…even if I think it doesn’t count…and to keep what I’m drinking at a steady amount and not increase it.

She read me something from a book about addiction and brain chemistry and all that, and it was cool and interesting and complicated. I wish I could go to one of those fancy places that only exist for the elite to get my brain custom diagnosed with what chemicals it needs and set up for success. I doubt I’ll ever know what chemicals my brain is lacking that alcohol is desperately trying to compensate for, but it feels less lonely and I guess less shameful to know that it isn’t exactly my fault. I might feel like a fucked up loser, but maybe there’s more to it than that.

After that, my husband (and baby) showed up. He’s so cute and I’m glad he was there for me. My husband, too.

We mostly talked about our oldest son and sort of how to deal with him. It’s complicated, he’s complicated, I’m complicated…but we’re working on it.

We talked a very little bit about my alcohol use but my husband kind of brushed it off. Which kind of hurt and kind of made me feel like he doesn’t care, or like he’s just accepting of it? I don’t know. He made a comment that he knows my life is hard, and maybe when the kids are in school, my life will be less hard and therefore I’ll drink less. He didn’t say anything wrong, but sometimes I wish he payed a little bit more attention to what was really going on without someone having to spell it out for him.

When we left, I assumed that he already went to the store to buy alcohol because I ran out last night, and he usually goes to buy it. But then he told me that he didn’t, and he just came straight home. Sooo I got pretty upset after therapy, and my anxiety spiked because I thought I wouldn’t have any alcohol for that night and ugh. So, yeah. We talked about it in the parking lot after therapy while changing a diaper in my front seat. Cool.

He went to the store after therapy while I took the baby home and put him to bed. So it worked out. But not before I freaked out a little bit.

But no, my drinking isn’t a problem.

Right now, a 1.75 liter bottle of 47% alcohol lasts about 7 days. 6 on a bad week. And I’m not a big person. So that obviously isn’t ideal. Or good. But, again, I’m working on it.

The goal for therapy this week should be easy enough, since I’ve more or less done it the past 2 weeks. I guess I’ve been less than honest about what I’m drinking during the day, but I’ve accurately logged all the night time stuff. So that’s something.

It felt like therapy went too fast, but that’s probably because it was broken up between working on my things and what I needed to talk about, and my husband coming and talking about other things. So it felt short, but it was still good and we still got some things done.

I wish I was better. I wish I was less fucked up and less of a disaster.

But last night went well, so that’s always a good feeling. I came home from therapy, put the baby to sleep (and he stayed asleep until 4:30am 🙌) and made a STRONG ass drink, and then went to bed earlyish, at like 10. So I didn’t have another drink (or 2 or 3) and stayed under my limit. I’m finding that I usually do drink less on therapy days.

Anyway, I’m just grateful for another week where people seem to (or are successfully pretending to) give a shit. Not everyone has a support system. I’m glad I have a small one.

And of course, you guys. You’ve been a huge support for me as well, I’m so grateful for this blog and the friends I’ve made along the way because of it. Thanks for hanging in there with me. 💙