Being Me…

Dance Floor

Dance Floor (Photo credit: enric archivell)

Okay, so I’m an alcoholic.  I was probably born one, but didn’t catch on until my late twenties.  Further, I didn’t do anything about it until my early thirties. I tripped, stumbled, blacked out… did all the crazy things that alcoholics do and then some.

The one thing that got me tripped up all my life was… me.  I am so damn hard on myself!  I can go down my list of “nots” and really spiral into a dark, lifeless hole.

I am not pretty enough; smart enough; talented enough; GOOD enough. It seeps in like a cool November breeze and before I know it I am sitting there shivering with rage.  I cry, curse at myself. Hell, when I was a teenager, I even used to hit myself if you can imagine that one.  I just hated myself so much.  I hated me, I hated my mother for giving birth to me and I hated God for allowing my birth.  Surely, it was a mistake.  Why on Earth would He put someone as pathetic and ugly as me on the planet?

Yeah, ugly.  I suffered with my self-image for a long time and still do… sometimes.  I was picked on all through school as a child and then a pre-teen and a teenager.  I was even made fun of as an adult. I resorted to violence to fend off the teasing when I was younger.  When I was older, I just drank more.  Surely the alcohol would numb my self-loathing.

I guess I felt, “hey, if I can’t be pretty, I’ll be a brute.”  Even though I weighed maybe seventy pounds soaking wet when I was thirteen.  At five feet seven, that right there my friends is a ‘bean pole,’ as I was called.

There were much worse names.

I was picked on in junior high school because I didn’t “fill out” like all the other girls.  I was so flat chested, I didn’t even wear a bra.  One time, some boys were walking down the hallway behind my friend and me and they grabbed at our backs to snap our bra straps.  I found out later they did that to prove I didn’t have a bra on because I didn’t have breasts. They laughed their asses off that day.  I ran in the bathroom and cried.

I felt worthless.  I felt ashamed.  I felt soooo ugly.

So yeah, I became violent. I started getting in fights with other girls and I started beating up boys.  Beating up boys!  Not so much beating them into a bloody pulp, but I got the best of them for sure.

Now, you would think that after all these years, and all my years sober and all the step work I have done and all the resentments I have talked about with my sponsor and all the shit I have let go, that this would be the big one I wanted to let go, because, after all, who the hell wants to hold onto a big pile of shit?

I just don’t know how to let it the hell go!  I am so mad still (sometimes.) I am not mad all the time, but sometimes I just get mad.  Sometimes, I look in the mirror and still see that skinny, flat-chested girl who used to get picked on. The girl who boys didn’t like.  The girl who boys didn’t ask to go to dances and when she was at dances, they certainly didn’t want to dance with. The girl who never got put on the “list of girls.”

A lot of people say, “Darlene, get the hell over it.  That was a long time ago.  You’re beautiful!”

Yes, there are times that I feel beautiful. But there are other times, usually when I am watching television or I am on the beach or at a big concert or something, that I just get way lost in the hoopla of what is defined as beauty today.

For the record, I don’t watch much television and I rarely go to the beach. I listen to a lot of music, do a lot of writing and I do my readings everyday because a small part of me knows it is all in my head.  A small part of me sometimes sees something beautiful in me.

I never think of drinking over this.  Hell, I can’t remember the last time a drink entered my mind.  Thankfully, I have a lot of women in my life and a pretty good support system.  Thankfully, I have the rooms and the literature I read.

Thankfully, most times I recognize it is all in my head.

The Stalker Within Us

Image: epdeatonville.org

Image: epdeatonville.org

Not all of us have been a stalker or a stalkee, but for those of us who have been on either end of this creepy spectrum, this post should prove either interesting or appalling.

To the stalkers:  Your behavior does not make us want to be with you.  Sending us text messages, calling us frequently and threatening us with “you’ll never meet anyone like me ever again” does not work.  Like… really?  We are freaking hoping we never meet anyone like you… ever. 

You see, we left your sorry ass because of your suffocating, over-bearing, jealous behavior.  Nope, doesn’t matter how hot you are/were or how great in the sack you were or all the times you brought us lunch… we do not want you.

It is over.  Time for you to move on.

To the stalkees: Protect yourself!  Document all the irrational behavior on your stalker’s part.  If you can change your email or cell number, do it.  If not, keep text messages, emails, and all other correspondence.  This will come in handy should you require a protection order.

Do everything in your power to keep the stalker at bay: block them on Facebook, ignore their rants via text message, email and voicemail.  Most importantly, if they are harassing you in person, go to the police and get a protection order.

These situations are volatile and can turn dangerous.  Protect yourself! 

Life: A Memoir of Embarrassing Moments

So….. I have been told by many people that my life has been interesting.  Well, mostly my children have told me this.  And I also noticed, that for every story someone has I have a counter story that is much, much better.

I bought a book six or so months ago about “How To Write Your Life Story” or some crap like that.  I read through most of it (I get through most of anything).  In the book they said “everyone’s life can be turned into a memoir.” I don’t think I necessarily agree with that.  There are certain people I wouldn’t really dig reading about, just as I am sure there are many people who wouldn’t dig reading about my life events.

And there there is the fame factor.

Like, if I wrote, “Today I had tuna on toast but decided to leave the crusts on because my horoscope said live on the edge” people would be like, “Wow. Lame.”

Buuut.. if say, Nikki Sixx of Motley Crue fame or Beyonce ate the same thing that day and blogged or tweeted about it or even threw it in an exclusive tell all book.. “This Is What I EAT!” people would be buying out the tuna and bread on the grocery aisle shelves.

I’m not sure why things go the way they do.  I just know that they go.

When I sit down to really think about it… I have had quite an interesting ride so far.  I have many stories that not only would be entertaining to people… but I really think people could get something out of them.  Kind of like, “wow I need to remember to never do that.  Ever.”

A couple of examples:

  • Never throw a cigarette butt in a trash can under a tree .. especially if the can is filled with paper.
  • When you’re seven, don’t put toothpaste on your eyelids. In fact, never do that at any age.
  • Listen to your grandmother when she tells you to never leave your drink unattended.  You could almost wind up dead somewhere.
  • If you really have to pee, just go to the bathroom.  Don’t stand in the classroom doing the wiggle jiggle dance while the teacher talks and ignores you.  The end result is embarrassing.

These are just a few instances that are fond memories of my past.  Ok, not 100% fond, but I lived through them and came out a stronger person for it.

Got any great stories? 😀

%d bloggers like this: