Uncorked
Wednesday, January 25, 2012 at 10:48PM | Mr Lady Last week in New York, I walked along crowded sidewalks beside and old friend and we talked about our lives. Our real lives. The lives we don't talk about.
It's funny, how so much of me is laid bare in these pages, yet really, you don't know me any more than you know any other transgender pseudonym on the internet. Everything I tell you could be some elaborate fable. I could be the 389 pound phone sex operator you are *convinced* is 18-and-three-weeks old and totally into you. You and I have no tangible relationship relative to reality and yet, everything I haven't told you, every lie of omission in the story you read about me has effectively stopped me from writing all together.
***
She and I walked through Central Park under the cold, damp, creamsicle streetlamps, eating pretzels with too much Gulden's, talking about how difficult it is to hide some of our story and share the rest of it. We naturally want to keep the most tender parts of ourselves held back from the harsh LED lights of the internet, but those are the ones that push the hardest to come out and in order to stop them, we have to shove a cork so far down our throats that not another word can pass by.
***
Last month, I had to go through my archives for last year to pick my three favorite posts from 2011. It took me 8 minutes to read *all* of my archives. Three years ago, exactly on my 33rd birthday, I signed with a literary agent. One who approached me. One who signed me without so much as a proposal for a book. And three years later, I still haven't written one tangible sentence.
***
It gets to the point where, until you say the one thing you can't, you won't be able to utter any other words.
My husband is an alcoholic.
He was missing for seven hours tonight.
I am more afraid of what will happen next if I don't say that than I am afraid of what's going to happen once I do.
Mostly, I am just afraid.
Reader Comments (101)
Love you.
I think it's the big bad part of our souls that bring most of us to blogging. It's almost as much about what you don't say as it is what you do say.
I started blogging because I caught my husband cheating on me.
Everything seems (if only a tiny bit) less scary after you say it out loud.
Oh Shan. You're not alone here. I live very far away but care very much about what this is for you.
Fear can stifle you, and it can fuel you. And a friend will do whatever it takes to pull you through it.
your friend,
Jim
My dad was an alcoholic. My brother is an alcoholic who hasn't figured it out yet. I am familiar with the fear. I've been afraid too.
I also know of being silent, of corking my truth. You're very brave to do what I, and so many others, cannot or have not. So very brave.
Thank you.
That is tough and I'm so sorry. Alcoholism is so fucking brutal.
Love, love, and more love to you.
I seem to recall a story that said Monsters are less scary if you say their name. Not sure if that is true or not, but I hope so in this case. No idea what else to say, but I hope things get better.
As someone who came clean about her own alcoholism a year-and-a-half ago, I know the weight of these words, and I started to cry as soon as I read them. My chest is aching.
I have you and your family in my heart and have for some time already.
I'm here if you ever need to dump your thoughts or feelings somewhere.
Love you.
You may not see it yet but it's there. Close your eyes. Feel it. It's the light. It's hope. It's love.
Xo
Wow. I am at a loss for words, but had to leave a few letters, at least, to send you a virtual bighardhug.
tell it, baby...the truth. it's all good, the telling of it. don't you dare go feeling like you don't need to...because if it comes out, you needed to. nothing but love for you.
Glad I saw the Twitter comments and was sure to come over and see this. Sending love and hugs from home.
I know I love you because I know I don't really know shit and I don't care. I am always, always here for you, in the realest sense of that term -- whatever, whenever. Will always be.
This is good. I don't want you to be afraid anymore.
Delurking to say that you are so brave, and I admire you. The path ahead may be difficult, but it will definitely be worthy. I look forward to your success.
The pain caused by alcoholism makes me sick, even eighteen years into my own sobriety. We don't know each other, but I am hugging you. Hard.
Ah, yes, those pesky truth that wrestle around like rabid squirrels in a bag until they bust out...I'm sorry you have to deal with this, and glad you shared it out here in the bright light of the internet. Which I'm hoping is also the bright light of love for you.
Mixed metaphors FTW.
Sending you love and strength!
Alcoholism is like freckles in my family, it runs through each generation like a genetic marker of our family. And it is difficult. There are legions of my relatives who have yet to stand up and say what you said tonight about their spouses, about their siblings, about themselves. Alcoholism is a silent assassin if you let it stay that way.
You took away the silence. That's the first step. I am proud of you.
I feel your fear... I have started a blog, but after a few posts - can't write any more because it is too hard to write just the happy or funny things, and not everything. It seems what I want to write most about would not be well received by all people - my husband is an alcoholic, suffers from depression, and our kids are 6 and 8. We are not alone.
I remember sitting on your couch as you told me your story. And his story.
Big love to you, friend. I'm so glad you got it out.
(And I hope you both are/will be OK.)
xoxo
I don't know you. We have followers in common. But I get it.
My father was an alcoholic. That's all I ever knew him as. He died when I was six, after years of treatment roulette, because he blew out his liver. I never understood any of it back then; parts of me still don't. My Mama was an alcoholic before I was born, and perpetually instilled fear in me. I spent most of my life, consequently, terrified. Mostly of the demon that runs in my family.
When my Mama passed in 2004, I started blogging publicly about the whole shebang. Laid my whole life out there for scrutiny, and it was hard. I got a lot of love--some cruelty too. I paid attention to the cruelty too much because that's what I had come to expect. I went through a time of protecting myself. From boogeymen. Some real, mostly just imagined. It took so much effort to protect myself. And then, I realized I was protecting myself from my own shame and my own judgment. I don't blog write now, mostly because I'm trying to find the words again--and I don't know that I need all that public anymore--but I will again soon--somehow--because that's who I am.
Like I said--I don't know you. Or your husband. But I do know what it's like for someone you love to disappear. And to be terrified they'll never come back. And I do know--no matter what--things change, and people heal. I wish that for you and him.
I've been listening to the same song on repeat, I've been doing that for the last two hours for the exact same reason.
I'm afraid to change the song.
I'm afraid to say it.
I've been married for almost 20 yrs.
"This, writing, just "this" will be a first for me.
Mind if I walk along side? Or backwards or forwards.....
You changed the end to my day.
Thank you so much for sharing....
I knew this was coming, I knew this was coming, I knew this was coming, I just didn't know when.
Oh, my lovely. Only upwards from here. It may be a shaky, rocky upwards, but it will be upwards nonetheless.
Love you SO MUCH.
I am so sorry for your pain. But you are taking a big step and have the right to feel proud of that. My therapist (another story and not pertinent here) told me that the things we think we cannot say are the things that hold power over us. Saying those things moves the power back to us. You are a brave woman. I applaud you.
This is what courage looks like.
I wish I could come & drape your shoulders with a blanket.
This, what you have done right here, the naming of the thing, this is the hardest part. You don't need the words right away, but they will come. So will the steps, honestly taken, toward a new dawn.
This is what courage looks like.
I wish I could come & drape your shoulders with a blanket.
This, what you have done right here, the naming of the thing, this is the hardest part. You don't need the words right away, but they will come. So will the steps, honestly taken, toward a new dawn.
This is what courage looks like.
I wish I could come & drape your shoulders with a blanket.
This, what you have done right here, the naming of the thing, this is the hardest part. You don't need the words right away, but they will come. So will the steps, honestly taken, toward a new dawn.
Shannon- Love you and am here if you ever need a real or virtual hand to hold. You don't have to share all of your truth with the world unless and until you are ready, if ever. It doesn't make you less real or courageous.
But if you need a friend to talk it through or just be with you... I am here. Many of us who love you are. Reach out. You might not be able to help your husband. He needs to do that himself. But you need to surround yourself with support. Take care if you. xox
Love you.
I think you will be surprised to find that almost every single person you could ask has had alcoholism, or drug addition, or some other addiction, touch their lives. Speaking the truth, unbinding your secrets and exposing them to the light will only help you. It is not going to be easy. But you have dealt with hard before. I just read what mommycosm wrote, and she is totally right. Your husband is the one with a choice to make about his life. You can only take care of you and the kids. It's ok to be afraid, but know you are so not alone. We are all here, holding you up.
Ah. I remember that post, when you left Canada. You were oh so elusive about what was wrong and I guessed wrong. I had guessed cheating. I think I've read through your archives at least three times trying to find anything I've missed about your crazy childhood or life in general. Oh dear, that makes me a cyber stalker. As you or Tanis would say, bygones.
You can be afraid, yes. But I also know you will do what you have to do to prevent your kids from being hurt. From what I have seen elsewhere, usually the spouse can be so caught up in the alcoholic/druggie/abuser that they can't see past the hope that their marriage is going to be all right to see how the kids are being dearly affected and thus....cycles continue. But I have faith you'll take your fear and use it to keep your kids out of the cycle of crazy from which you pulled yourself out of. Yeah, I'm not too worried about you...but I do hope you stop being so elusive in your posts and let us cheer you on as you keep on surviving.
My heart goes out to you and your kids. You're a strong, amazing woman and I admire your courage for sharing slices of your life, especially this, with us.
I love you. Anything you need. Anything at all. I am here.
You are surrounded by love. That was a hard sentence to get out, and there will be hard times ahead, but you will get through all of those times. You are surrounded by love.
I'm sorry that you have to go through this, but I know that you will get through it because you're a badass, even if you don't feel like it all the time.
You don't know me, though I feel like I know you. I get it. I have been with an alcoholic for 14 years, only 3 have been sober and I know that fear. Will this be the night?
It's weird, but I love you sister.
Just know that you can do this and that no matter how many people it takes to hold you up, we will all be here. Even the ones you don't know are there will be here holding you up and crying along with you and loving you without knowing you.
You are some kind of awesome.
I completely understand your fear, frustration, and pain. My blogging actually ceased, for months, because I was terrified to address serious issues. I realized that I blog, not only for the sense of community, but because writing through the pain is therapeutic, healing.
I finally addressed my husband's alcoholism two days ago in a blog post. He's been sober for two weeks now, and I didn't reveal *all* the nasty details that led to the intervention, but I can say that I feel as though I've found my voice again. It's liberating.
Oh, my heart breaks for your family. This is so hard. My father is an alcoholic, but has been sober for about 10 years. I didn't have a relationship with him when I was in high school because it was just too hard to see. My oldest brother is an alcoholic and almost killed himself from acute alcohol hepatitis when he was 36 years old. My other brother is a drug addict and has been struggling for 10 years and I don't know if there will ever be a day in our lives that we aren't dealing with his addiction. It is so hard, as a family member, to watch someone you love fight with this. I know you are in the Houston area, and so am I. My brothers both did rehab at the Memorial Hermann PARC, and I know good things about the rehab at West Oaks Hospital. I wish only the best for you and your family as you go through this struggle. I'm so sorry.
There have been - and there continue to be - parts of your life that are fucked up beyond all reason. And those things make me sad and angry in ways that I'm not equipped to express. Mostly they must make me want to punch things. Or people.
And yet: there have been - and with each passing month there continue to be more - parts of your life that are more than a little wonderful. And these things make me happy and joyful in ways that don't find voice as much as they fill me quietly with surprise and gratitude.
You are building something good. And this - here, these words on the screen - are a step forward. This is your story. You write it. You tell it. And you determine how and where it goes.
I believe in you.
Hugs. Also, higs, which are internet hugs. Thinking good thoughts for you all.
Heavy sigh. I'm sorry. That sounds lame and really not of much help to you but I am sorry to hear this is the more to the story. But like you wrote, everyone has something we're not talking about and whatever you want to talk about, I want to hear it and to send you lame comments that might just help a teeny bit. You are one talented AND tough cookie Mr. Lady. Don't forget.
Just sending love and hopes for life to be smooth for you, soon.
You are brave and beautiful and the truth is a good thing to let go, to not hide. I'm so proud of you and glad to call you my friend. If there's anything I can ever do to help, I'm here. No matter what. xo
You.Are.Brave. Your bravery will filter through many and become most.
Ugh. I don't even know what to say. But I think you're awesome and amazing and I'm sending you big internet hugs and all that jazz.
xoxoxo
I've admired your strength, ingenuity, and full-throated love for your kids. I've envied your courage and your writing skills. Alcoholism runs in my family and I've been afraid sometimes that my very strong "like" of wine might lead to something deeper and destructive. I'm delurking to let you know that your honesty felt like a blow but is leading to an in-depth analysis of my life and whether the track I am on is right. I'm so sorry. Thank you.
I love you and admire your strength so much. I know you are strong and have been through so much on your own and don't "need" anyone to lean on. But please know that I am here for you in what ever way you want me to be here. If you want to talk, I'll listen. If you don't, I'll distract you. Just please know that I love and cherish every last thing about you, even the fucked up things. (Okay, probably ESPECIALLY the fucked up things.) You are my sister more than any of my myriad sisters truly are. I fucking love you, man. xoxoxo
You've shared so much; I bet there's nothing you could say that would stop me from reading and cheering alongside you.
***Hugs*** I am not in your situation, but I have been in scary situations before, and I hope that being able to talk about your fear, to name it outloud to a supportive group will help. (It helped me.) Whether that group is us, or somewhere/someone else, I hope you can find something to help.
More hugs.
xox