So it’s 5:45am and we are planning at being Union Station by 1pm. Our train to Seattle departs at 2:15 and then we have two relaxing, cozy days in our little roomette. Sad thing is, I’m not terribly excited. I haven’t even packed yet. J came to me last night asking if there’s something going on in our relationship. I told him no; I’m just in kind of a funk. I don’t feel depressed, but I certainly don’t feel happy. I guess I feel…flat? My doc put me on Lamictal around 6-7 weeks ago. It’s a mood stabilizer and well, I guess it’s working. Unfortunately, I feel stable in a “meh” mood. Which is certainly much better than constantly sobbing and wanting to throw myself in front of a truck, but I’d appreciate a little happiness or the feeling of excitement now and again. Oh well. I’m seeing her again in a few weeks.
Aaaanyway. Today is day 12. I’ve now made it through two dry weekends. And I barely thought of booze for the majority of the weekend. As I laid in bed last night I was reflecting on the day and was like, “Hey. At this point at night I’m usually counting the hours that I have to sober up and make it to work tomorrow morning.” And let me tell you, as gross as it is, most Monday mornings I’d end up hungover and full of anxiety to the point where I’d grit my teeth and swallow the nausea on the el ride to work, then hit a 7-Eleven right at 7am, (the time they can legally sell booze) and grab a can of Monaco and a half-pint of Smirnoff. When the ladies were working behind the counter they were always very nice, but every now and again there would be this one guy working and he’d look me up and down and grunt “Huh. Already, eh?” Which totally pissed me off and made me feel mega-shame. Like, I *KNOW* it’s fucked up. I don’t need some rando stranger to tell me that.
Good lord, just thinking of that makes me so happy to have had two sober Mondays, and gives me a bit more determination.
Aaanyway, time to curl up with my electric blanket, drink my coffee and watch some news.
Happy Monday, folks! Hope it’s a good one! ❤