Since last I've written you, I have broken sobriety. At 375 days I bought a bottle of wine as part of a charcuterie evening and made the conscious decision to see where I stand in my addiction... the cucumber testing the waters to see if she may not entirely yet be a pickle. I know.
I am disappointed in the outcome and have since twice drank to the point of inebriation and, most distastefully, hangover. I have not missed that feeling, nor have I become any better in the absence of it... I still procrastinate to the point of disaster, even without the excuse of hangover symptoms.
I still avoid uncomfortable conversations, even when alcohol makes me looser of tongue and more prone to break the silence when I've got something on my mind.
I can't justify this as a sustainable way of living, not when it holds me hostage and strangles what little growth I've managed to make on those character defaults.
Actually... E. has been invaluable in the wealth of personal growth I've experienced in the past 4 months... I really only started very faltering when I found myself in the company of a person who I could not feel quite entirely myself with. I thought he might be good for me, helping me mature as part of the next step of my journey, but I fear I've stepped back. The dates were fun, and we have a lot of shared interests, but I can't seem to accept his help. Maybe I feel like I should be able to do these things, and I'm embarrassed that I find it so difficult? Maybe right now I'm being too hard on myself. Maybe next time I'll surprise myself by finding the Thing to Do slightly less difficult, since I managed this.
I've been more appreciative of my own strengths in the scant two days I have been without transportation. Yes, one of those strengths was walking to the grocery store and visibly toting a box of wine down the major road and into my apartment complex, before consuming of it haphazardly, but yesterday, despite the queasy hangover, I managed to get up in pretty good time, go to the stores, procure some calming purple herb, and walk for 6 miles around a gorgeous sprawling hillside trail system. Today, I Did the Thing.
In doing the Thing, I have found momentum to do a couple of other Things I similarly found difficult or impossible to start. The high anxiety from the interminable wait until I have more news about the Bad News is fueling some anxious to-do list scratching, and ... it feels good.
E. came to me in the wee hours of the morning, using the spare key which had hung on his ring for so long. He woke me up gently, showing me the cache of food he had brought me from work, and we talked while he undressed and I nibbled on still-hot and melty mozzarella sticks while lounging in bed. He came to me in the dark and I wanted him as much as I ever have, even more than before we became intimate.
The intensity with which he fucks is matched by the intensity with which he cuddles afterwards, almost aggressively grabbing and squeezing me, pressing my body into his as though the intercourse was not merely enough, and I feel natural tangled in his embrace, held fast and safe, and I hold just as fastly.
I marvel at him, lounging like a hidden God in the rumples of my bedclothes, soft pastel purples, greens, and tans offsetting his deeply tanned skin. His face becomes so soft when he sleeps, I can't bear it.
I love him so much, and that is enough. He makes me want to empower the Goddess within me required to match his energy and radiance, a complete version of myself, not a half of a whole.