I have an older brother. As I’ve mentioned his existence on here before, this shouldn’t be an actual surprise to many of you. However, in my real, everyday life this is news to many folks. I usually follow it with a dismissive- We aren’t close-to shut down the follow up questions. It’s not a lie, we aren’t close. He doesn’t have my phone number, or if he does, he knows not to use it. We aren't Facebook friends and don't know each other's address. We only communicate via Instagram chat, and that is a development over the last year.
Why do I bring him up now? On my flight last week, I watched Bohemian Rhapsody (I love Queen so much) and A Star Is Born. Addiction is portrayed in a lot of ways by the media- usually with more sex appeal than the reality. And these were no different. Coupled with the onslaught in the news about the opioid crisis in America, and I figured it was past time to tell my story and give my reality to addiction.
Troy is a year and a half older than me. People thought we were twins growing up, and that I was the dumb one because I was the grade behind. He was my savior and tormentor- as any big brother should be. He started experimenting with drugs at 14, OD’ed for the first time at 16, his first arrest was at 24, there were a string of failed rehabs from 17-26, and finally prison at 32. His addiction ruled my life starting at 13 years old, and for all intents and purposes, I lost most of my childhood to Oxy. After 20 years, my family is just starting to repair from the breaks that it created.
Bless my parents, they tried desperately to keep me out of the battle, but in a three-bedroom house fights were hard to ignore; as were finding the needles stashed in the bathroom, or having him come home blitzed out of his mind. It’s hard to watch your idol fall from grace, harder still to watch him methodically kill himself and realize there is nothing that can stop it. But that is what happened. At first it was just a slip. He was in 8th grade trying to be cool and smoked a little weed. Kids do that. My big brother would be back. But as the years whirled on, I saw less and less of the big brother I had known and more and more of the angry, dazed guy who had moved into the room down the hall.
As I got older, I got better at recognizing the signs that the clean days were coming to an end and it was time to pull back, but it wasn’t until I was 26 that I hit my breaking point. We were both living in NYC at the time, he came up for a last chance rehab, which he of course left early. He’d been living independently for a couple months, the signs were there. I ignored them. It was easy to lie to myself, I finally had that big brother I imagined and vaguely remembered. He had a girlfriend, an apartment, and a job - albeit a shady, off the books one. He’d come over for dinner, hang with my friends, and if he borrowed money I didn’t have - it was a small price to keep the lie alive. It was a great summer, but by Thanksgiving the truth came spilling out. He moved home to Florida and I was left with the pieces, a girlfriend (who had no idea he was an addict), a bounced check for more money than I had, and friends that saw the dirtiest, most raw part of my life. That was it for me. It hurt, but that was the last time I would let him truly in my life. My parent's respected (as much as they could) my decision and we would see each other at the holidays for the obligatory picture, but the relationship was over.
Florida has a three-strike policy, and he hit his last strike four years ago. The sentence had a three year minimum, and he was released a year and a half ago. He has been clean for about two and a half years. It is the longest he has been clean since he was in high school. He has a job, he has the beginnings of a relationship with my parents, and a baby on the way. This is not a movie. The chances of him relapsing are still quite high (pun intended), and when he does the chances of him OD'ing are even higher. That is the reality here. I wrote him one letter in prison - at the urging of my therapist - I will never forget all the things he did to me and our family, but I have forgiven him because that was necessary for me to move on and to accept those years and how they shaped me. That is as generous as I am willing to be and I am okay with that.
There is no magical happy ending here nor is there a tragedy. There is just the reality of living with addiction. It doesn't go away, it carries on and weighs on those that will always be held in its sticky grasp - waiting for the other shoe to drop, for that phone call, and even if those never come, we can't help but prepare for them.
Sunday, March 17, 2019
Sunday, March 3, 2019
Buying Happiness
Money can't buy happiness, but it can certainly buy pedicures, massages, blueberry oatmeal cream pies, and fresh flowers - all of which bring me much happiness.
As noted in the last blog - January was rough and so I spent February taking it easier on myself. I shifted my focus at work from all the things that "should" get done to those that "needed" to get done and considered any "shoulds" that got crossed off the list as pure bonus points. I stuck hard to those boundaries and even set a few for myself: no comparing my life or feelings to others; enjoy and focus on the now; and treat myself without guilt (limit to be determined). And by golly did I end the month feeling 100% better than I started it.
Since I already talked about boundaries, lets have a moment to talk about the idea of Treat Yo Self. Not only is it a story line in one of my favorite episodes of Parks and Recreation and the basis for a ton of millennial memes - it is a self-care staple. I ended up taking this idea and combining it my new favorite mantra, stolen from one of the book swap ladies: If you have a problem and the money to fix it, you don't have a problem - you have an expense. (Seriously, I want to get this in needlepoint for my apartment. But back to money and happiness.)
As I started giving myself a break in February I looked at my life and wondered where can I be easier on myself? And realized that I hadn't had a massage in months - boom, treat yo self! I got out of work at 7 and realized if I ubered instead of metroed I could get a workout in, make dinner, and get to bed at a decent time - boom, expense! After getting my hair done, I walked next door and got myself a pedicure before date night with That Guy - boom, treat yo self! As I was grocery shopping I picked up a couple bouquets of Trader Joe's fresh flowers and made a couple great arrangements in the apartment while cleaning up - boom treat yo self! Instead of stressing over a work trip in California - I got myself the hotel for an extra night and am doing a day in Disneyland - boom expense and treat yo self!
Life was not suddenly magical and perfect, but it did feel less daunting and a helluva a lot brighter. With the pressures I had been putting on myself lifted I was able to enjoy these perks even more, as well as the other good things that I had been overlooking: Ollie snuggles after a long day, wine and movies with Neighbor S., dinner and gossip with L. and J., watching Mad Men and ordering pizza with That Guy. So while money can't buy happiness, it certainly lifted a load that helped me start appreciating all the happy things I have in my life again. It also bought me those blueberry oatmeal cream pies from the Bakeshop in Arlington, which are officially now an expense as I may have a slight problem....
I should probably close with a warning that you should Treat Yo Self within your means...but Fat Tuesday is this week, so now is the time to go for it!
As noted in the last blog - January was rough and so I spent February taking it easier on myself. I shifted my focus at work from all the things that "should" get done to those that "needed" to get done and considered any "shoulds" that got crossed off the list as pure bonus points. I stuck hard to those boundaries and even set a few for myself: no comparing my life or feelings to others; enjoy and focus on the now; and treat myself without guilt (limit to be determined). And by golly did I end the month feeling 100% better than I started it.
Since I already talked about boundaries, lets have a moment to talk about the idea of Treat Yo Self. Not only is it a story line in one of my favorite episodes of Parks and Recreation and the basis for a ton of millennial memes - it is a self-care staple. I ended up taking this idea and combining it my new favorite mantra, stolen from one of the book swap ladies: If you have a problem and the money to fix it, you don't have a problem - you have an expense. (Seriously, I want to get this in needlepoint for my apartment. But back to money and happiness.)
As I started giving myself a break in February I looked at my life and wondered where can I be easier on myself? And realized that I hadn't had a massage in months - boom, treat yo self! I got out of work at 7 and realized if I ubered instead of metroed I could get a workout in, make dinner, and get to bed at a decent time - boom, expense! After getting my hair done, I walked next door and got myself a pedicure before date night with That Guy - boom, treat yo self! As I was grocery shopping I picked up a couple bouquets of Trader Joe's fresh flowers and made a couple great arrangements in the apartment while cleaning up - boom treat yo self! Instead of stressing over a work trip in California - I got myself the hotel for an extra night and am doing a day in Disneyland - boom expense and treat yo self!
Life was not suddenly magical and perfect, but it did feel less daunting and a helluva a lot brighter. With the pressures I had been putting on myself lifted I was able to enjoy these perks even more, as well as the other good things that I had been overlooking: Ollie snuggles after a long day, wine and movies with Neighbor S., dinner and gossip with L. and J., watching Mad Men and ordering pizza with That Guy. So while money can't buy happiness, it certainly lifted a load that helped me start appreciating all the happy things I have in my life again. It also bought me those blueberry oatmeal cream pies from the Bakeshop in Arlington, which are officially now an expense as I may have a slight problem....
I should probably close with a warning that you should Treat Yo Self within your means...but Fat Tuesday is this week, so now is the time to go for it!
Monday, February 18, 2019
February Fresh
January was rough. It was slog. I wish I could pinpoint what exactly was so draining on my soul, but all I can say is that it took a toll. I normally bounce back after the holidays, reinvigorated with the prospect of a clean slate and rejuvenated from the break. I feel fired up to set new intentions to be a better person. But this year, it felt like I was dragging in the weight of the old year and overwhelmed by the prospect of having to do it again. It was tough.
As I felt this weight, I tried to counter it. I repeated my sankalpas. I tried self care. I talked to friends. I focused on all the positives. And at the end of the day I was exhausted. Work was not ideal, those new boundaries were blurry. Christmas was not the break I had anticipated. And I couldn't bring myself to find the fresh start I was so looking for in 2019.
As the month started to wind down, I stopped denying what I was feeling or trying to talk myself out of the funk and instead acknowledged that January sucked. In accepting the sucktacticness I started to feel a bit of the weight lift off and I decided to start looking to February as the real start of the year. I couldn't go back to the beginning of January to get that fresh perspective, but I could begin again with the next month. But what was I going to do with that clean slate? Because what I was doing at this point was clearly not working.
I started with work. Complaining and rehashing all the crap was not helping. Neither was trying to black out those negatives with the positives. I needed to start changing my perspective - yes there were things that sucked, but these were proving to be opportunities for me to grow as a leader and as an employee. I love learning new things, and this was certainly an opportunity for me to learn about myself and how to be a better boss. Bingo. As the last week of the year ticked away I finally started to feel the negative energy slip away. Miraculously, those boundaries I had been trying to put in place for months also started to fall in place. I didn't feel bad coming in at 9 instead of 8 when I could, nor did I feel resentful if I had to stay past 7 - because I knew I could sneak out early the next day.
February first arrived with a blanket of snow. During my morning chat with my parents, we talked about my brother's impending fatherhood - a major stress point over the holidays and another piece of the January slog - I looked around at the layer of clean white and focused on that fresh start. I remembered this meme about checking to see if someone has the mental capacity before you unload on them; and I realized I didn't have the emotional bandwidth for this. I had been so focused on setting work boundaries, I hadn't even thought about my emotional capacity in my personal life. I am lucky enough to have amazing parents, who immediately understood that while I support them, this was not something I could wade into with them. Presto. Boundaries fell into place with ease.
From there, the rest of the pieces began to fall into place. It wasn't as if all the problems I had been dealing with were solved, but they did feel manageable again. As the month has worn on, my self-care tactics have once again started working. I Marie Kondo'ed my bathroom after a particularly long week. I've got a new Sunday routine - starting my week with positive vibes in lieu of a dreaded countdown. I restarted my regular workouts. And I set-up dates with people I love and haven't seen in awhile. The world finally feels like it has tilted back on its axis.
2019 may have had a rocky start, but it was a good reminder that from time to time we have to reassess what works and find a new rhythm. And all in all, I think I have a good feeling about the dance we have begun.
As I felt this weight, I tried to counter it. I repeated my sankalpas. I tried self care. I talked to friends. I focused on all the positives. And at the end of the day I was exhausted. Work was not ideal, those new boundaries were blurry. Christmas was not the break I had anticipated. And I couldn't bring myself to find the fresh start I was so looking for in 2019.
As the month started to wind down, I stopped denying what I was feeling or trying to talk myself out of the funk and instead acknowledged that January sucked. In accepting the sucktacticness I started to feel a bit of the weight lift off and I decided to start looking to February as the real start of the year. I couldn't go back to the beginning of January to get that fresh perspective, but I could begin again with the next month. But what was I going to do with that clean slate? Because what I was doing at this point was clearly not working.
I started with work. Complaining and rehashing all the crap was not helping. Neither was trying to black out those negatives with the positives. I needed to start changing my perspective - yes there were things that sucked, but these were proving to be opportunities for me to grow as a leader and as an employee. I love learning new things, and this was certainly an opportunity for me to learn about myself and how to be a better boss. Bingo. As the last week of the year ticked away I finally started to feel the negative energy slip away. Miraculously, those boundaries I had been trying to put in place for months also started to fall in place. I didn't feel bad coming in at 9 instead of 8 when I could, nor did I feel resentful if I had to stay past 7 - because I knew I could sneak out early the next day.
February first arrived with a blanket of snow. During my morning chat with my parents, we talked about my brother's impending fatherhood - a major stress point over the holidays and another piece of the January slog - I looked around at the layer of clean white and focused on that fresh start. I remembered this meme about checking to see if someone has the mental capacity before you unload on them; and I realized I didn't have the emotional bandwidth for this. I had been so focused on setting work boundaries, I hadn't even thought about my emotional capacity in my personal life. I am lucky enough to have amazing parents, who immediately understood that while I support them, this was not something I could wade into with them. Presto. Boundaries fell into place with ease.
From there, the rest of the pieces began to fall into place. It wasn't as if all the problems I had been dealing with were solved, but they did feel manageable again. As the month has worn on, my self-care tactics have once again started working. I Marie Kondo'ed my bathroom after a particularly long week. I've got a new Sunday routine - starting my week with positive vibes in lieu of a dreaded countdown. I restarted my regular workouts. And I set-up dates with people I love and haven't seen in awhile. The world finally feels like it has tilted back on its axis.
2019 may have had a rocky start, but it was a good reminder that from time to time we have to reassess what works and find a new rhythm. And all in all, I think I have a good feeling about the dance we have begun.
Saturday, February 2, 2019
My Mom, Some Beers, & a Date
Let's take a poll, how many of you have been set-up by your parents? Okay, I'm going with about half of you having raised your hands. Now, let's narrow that down - how many have been set-up by your parents with someone they just met at a bar? What, just me?! Why don't you lean back and let me tell you about my second weirdest set-up (the first can be found here, if you need a refresher).
It all started on our annual mother-daughter B&B weekend. We got back from our magical two-days at the Inn in Boonsboro, and weren't ready for the weekend vibes to end so I decided to take her to Port City, my favorite brewery. It was late on Sunday afternoon and the crowd had started to thin, which meant we managed to find some seats to enjoy our flights, when a flurry starts by the door. A burly, slightly drunk dude was slapping magazines down on the tables and toasting to the article published about his brew-master skills. By the time he made it to our table, we had already finished our flight and were starting on a round two of our favorites, courtesy of the couple who handed the rest of our table (us + a couple in their 30s) their extra tickets before departing - we may have been feeling it a little bit.
My mother, not one to be a wallflower when slightly inebriated, complimented him on his art (i.e. tattoos) and invited him to join our little squad. He obliged, somehow managed to convince the other employees to let us all hang around, and even took us on a backstage tour. The other half of our foursome happened to work in the brewing industry. They were infinitely more suited for this tour than we were - especially since they were infinitely more sober than us. We didn't resort to stumbling down the steps, but we didn't appreciate the soliloquy on the importance of where you source your hops...I barely resisted screaming "boring" while slamming back my free beer. We made up for our lack of expertise and glazed expressions with timely head nods, "oohhs," and a couple "how interesting!" As the tour wound down, my mom kept nudging me and drunk-whispering "He's adorable!" Since drunk-whispers are heard best by drunk-ears, our new tour guide gave me the nod and a wink. With that kind of enthusiasm and my mother's seal of approval (plus a hip nudge that did send me stumbling into him), I had no choice but to hand him my card before we headed out and tell him to give me a call. I had planned to start dating again that fall, what was the worst that could happen?
I hate to disappoint you, but it wasn't the worst. It wasn't very great either, but definitely not the worst (those can be found here). Beer guy, as he shall be known, reached out within a few days. The life of a brew-master was not exactly compatible with that of corporate America, so it took some time to schedule the date. This gave me time to contemplate that I was potentially screwing up ever being welcome at my favorite brewery again, but I decided somethings in life are worth the risk - especially the potential of a good story.
After three weeks we managed to set-up a date in the District at a pub I loved and thought would fit Brew guy's vibe. What I didn't realize was that they shut down for the month of August to go build houses in South America (the nerve!). We ended up at a plan B bar down the street. I was late, he was later. And when he does arrive, I realize immediately that he is uncomfortable. Apparently he doesn't get out in the District very often, the after-work, corporate crowd made him itchy, and I intimidated the hell out of him. I asked if he wanted to go somewhere else, and he was so relieved to be able to pick something that he was more familiar with that when he reached for his wallet to pay only to realize that he had left it in his car I got to watch his confidence soar than plummet in the course of seconds. I assured him it was fine and broke the don't ride with strangers rules to head to a bar in VA that at least was closer to home.
On the way there I discovered that the reason I intimidated him was that he hadn't gone to college and my constant use of big words "falsetto," "ghastly," and "diametric" made him not understand what I was talking about - plus I was so pretty and older than him. I still thought we might find some common ground when I learned he had a cat, only to find out it was named ShitCat. This came out as a flood as he chain vaped to Iron Maiden. I now knew this was not going to be a love story, but I hadn't eaten and he seemed like a nice enough guy so I continued on to bar two hoping to forge a friendship or connection at the brewery.
Upon arrival, he was greeted by name and I learned that this is where the brewery crew goes after they close up. I tried to make conversation using my favorite game "guess what the other tables are talking about" and he was a good sport but grew bored and started running outside to vape. By the time it hit 11 and I had spent more time by myself at the bar than with him, I decided it was time to call it a night. I thought we were on the same page as to the success of the evening, but he asked if I wanted to come hang out after hours at the brewery next week at his shift - damn my inordinate charm and good looks! I told him that it was clear to me that I wasn't ready to start dating quite yet, but appreciated the offer.
And it was true, I would take another two months before I jumped back into the dating pool. And it would take me almost a year before I ventured into the brewery again - and of course he was there, and of course he recognized me, and yes, it was awkward. But he was cordial and I was polite, and we all lived happily ever after. And I have yet to let my mother set me up again.
It all started on our annual mother-daughter B&B weekend. We got back from our magical two-days at the Inn in Boonsboro, and weren't ready for the weekend vibes to end so I decided to take her to Port City, my favorite brewery. It was late on Sunday afternoon and the crowd had started to thin, which meant we managed to find some seats to enjoy our flights, when a flurry starts by the door. A burly, slightly drunk dude was slapping magazines down on the tables and toasting to the article published about his brew-master skills. By the time he made it to our table, we had already finished our flight and were starting on a round two of our favorites, courtesy of the couple who handed the rest of our table (us + a couple in their 30s) their extra tickets before departing - we may have been feeling it a little bit.
My mother, not one to be a wallflower when slightly inebriated, complimented him on his art (i.e. tattoos) and invited him to join our little squad. He obliged, somehow managed to convince the other employees to let us all hang around, and even took us on a backstage tour. The other half of our foursome happened to work in the brewing industry. They were infinitely more suited for this tour than we were - especially since they were infinitely more sober than us. We didn't resort to stumbling down the steps, but we didn't appreciate the soliloquy on the importance of where you source your hops...I barely resisted screaming "boring" while slamming back my free beer. We made up for our lack of expertise and glazed expressions with timely head nods, "oohhs," and a couple "how interesting!" As the tour wound down, my mom kept nudging me and drunk-whispering "He's adorable!" Since drunk-whispers are heard best by drunk-ears, our new tour guide gave me the nod and a wink. With that kind of enthusiasm and my mother's seal of approval (plus a hip nudge that did send me stumbling into him), I had no choice but to hand him my card before we headed out and tell him to give me a call. I had planned to start dating again that fall, what was the worst that could happen?
I hate to disappoint you, but it wasn't the worst. It wasn't very great either, but definitely not the worst (those can be found here). Beer guy, as he shall be known, reached out within a few days. The life of a brew-master was not exactly compatible with that of corporate America, so it took some time to schedule the date. This gave me time to contemplate that I was potentially screwing up ever being welcome at my favorite brewery again, but I decided somethings in life are worth the risk - especially the potential of a good story.
After three weeks we managed to set-up a date in the District at a pub I loved and thought would fit Brew guy's vibe. What I didn't realize was that they shut down for the month of August to go build houses in South America (the nerve!). We ended up at a plan B bar down the street. I was late, he was later. And when he does arrive, I realize immediately that he is uncomfortable. Apparently he doesn't get out in the District very often, the after-work, corporate crowd made him itchy, and I intimidated the hell out of him. I asked if he wanted to go somewhere else, and he was so relieved to be able to pick something that he was more familiar with that when he reached for his wallet to pay only to realize that he had left it in his car I got to watch his confidence soar than plummet in the course of seconds. I assured him it was fine and broke the don't ride with strangers rules to head to a bar in VA that at least was closer to home.
On the way there I discovered that the reason I intimidated him was that he hadn't gone to college and my constant use of big words "falsetto," "ghastly," and "diametric" made him not understand what I was talking about - plus I was so pretty and older than him. I still thought we might find some common ground when I learned he had a cat, only to find out it was named ShitCat. This came out as a flood as he chain vaped to Iron Maiden. I now knew this was not going to be a love story, but I hadn't eaten and he seemed like a nice enough guy so I continued on to bar two hoping to forge a friendship or connection at the brewery.
Upon arrival, he was greeted by name and I learned that this is where the brewery crew goes after they close up. I tried to make conversation using my favorite game "guess what the other tables are talking about" and he was a good sport but grew bored and started running outside to vape. By the time it hit 11 and I had spent more time by myself at the bar than with him, I decided it was time to call it a night. I thought we were on the same page as to the success of the evening, but he asked if I wanted to come hang out after hours at the brewery next week at his shift - damn my inordinate charm and good looks! I told him that it was clear to me that I wasn't ready to start dating quite yet, but appreciated the offer.
And it was true, I would take another two months before I jumped back into the dating pool. And it would take me almost a year before I ventured into the brewery again - and of course he was there, and of course he recognized me, and yes, it was awkward. But he was cordial and I was polite, and we all lived happily ever after. And I have yet to let my mother set me up again.
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