Brilliant … But Bouncy

Epilogue

Today marks 33 years since I took my last drink – and three years since I started blogging about it. A lot has happened in those 33 years.

I left Pittsburgh. I couldn’t find a teaching job in Pittsburgh schools, so I started a television career at ABC/Kane in Washington, D.C. With 14 months sober, I moved in with my parents who eventually, gently, forced me to find my own place before I turned 30.

As I tried to maneuver in the corporate world while my entire psyche just wanted to be barefoot in the woods, I started dating a man who made me laugh, sometimes in a deep way that also made me think. Bill was whip-smart and unbearably kind and already a wonderful father to little Chris.

After I convinced Bill to marry me, we had our ceremony under a tree, with a picnic. We rode off into the sunset on his beautiful (“Jap-shit“) motorcycle, which momentarily transformed me into a fairytale princess.

In marriage, I discovered no bluebirds making our dinner. I had geriatric pregnancies resulting in two beautiful boys, now beautiful men. The joys of sober parenting are indescribable. Bill balances my extremes and our family is imperfectly perfect.

For decades, my parents have been my best friends. I play softball with the dad I tried to fist-fight in a parking lot. I have book club with the mom whose high school reunion I ruined. We talk constantly. I love them infinitely.

I have deep, lasting friendships with people who enhance my life even after Empty Nest Syndrome hit hard.

I made a life for myself in Maryland, though I spend hours planning trips to anywhere-but-here. I don’t always take the trips but I enjoy the planning. I spend a lot of time preparing, trying to control uncontrollable outcomes, being reminded that I have zero authority.

I worry and whine unnecessarily about small things; I step up for big problems.

I have Complex PTSD which generally means that when I am reminded of certain experiences – many of which were detailed in this blog – I dissociate. I shut down; I feel nothing. It is a learned behavior that I’ve used to ward off pain, but it also temporarily blocks my capacity for joy.

Dissociation does what alcohol used to do, but without the notoriously obscene consequences. I dissociated during my promiscuity; now I know that every unwanted sexual encounter was a separate trauma.

I’ve recently started C-PTSD therapy, mostly because living in a constant state of catastrophic fear isn’t as peaceful as I’d like it to be. I am seeking healthy ways to cope; I’m never too old for continued personal growth.

In fact, it’s my life’s goal to keep improving myself.

I have an autoimmune disease that destroyed my thyroid, likely due to the excess of beer, cereal, pasta and peanut butter sandwiches I consumed while others were learning to cook. As a result, my internal organs become ridiculously inflamed whenever I eat wheat. If I want to live, I can’t eat gluten. So I don’t.

I immediately quit smoking cigarettes when I learned I was pregnant with my first child. I don’t take pills, even aspirin. I gave up caffeine after one adrenaline-induced heart palpitation. I drink a ton of bottled water and green smoothies.

I’m curious. I recycle obsessively.

I am probably neurodivergent.

Since getting sober, my life is sometimes predictable, sometimes boring, often wildly serene. Life is always an adventure when looking through an adventurer’s lens.

Sobriety saved my life, gifted truth, and nurtures my soul. I brazenly no longer seek more than that.