Denial

So, you know how people are always talking about how some folk use things like sex, drugs, and alcohol to deal with or cover up their feelings? I always thought that was a bit dramatic or exaggeratory, especially because no one ever said it about me. Over the past few days, though, I'm wondering if I should say it to myself. I've been drink-sober for a week now, and while I've done that before, it was always with the thought that "I'll have a drink next week, or when I go to NYC in two weeks." Now I'm planning to keep this sobriety thing going for a few months.

So, you know, there's more presence of mind and more emotional awareness (pssht, what is the point of these things?). For example, I got kinda sad when I saw an ex on FaceBook. We had a tumultuous relationship for a couple months while I was in Oxford, but when we broke up, I immediately slept with other people. (Very immediately.) And I've been drinking since then, too. And the entire time I was with him (as well as before and after) I was regularly coked up.

Also, to-day I was talking to one of my closest friends about her boyfriend and remembered that they lost their virginity to each other last year. It made my heart hurt, it made me wish I had had something special that first time, instead of the horror I had when I was 14.

So I'm not drinking and I'm not having sex (I've gained so much weight in the last year and can't really handle the idea of being naked around anyone, let alone comprehend that someone will want to be naked with me). So I'm, you know, feeling these things. And realizing that I used booze and sex and coke to not feel things.

And I want to go back to that easy, breezy, happy time, however oblivious I may have been.

Visitors

Oh, hey, Nostalgia, how're you doing? Gawd, I haven't seen you in ages, at least a week. It's so strange I used to hang out with you all the time. Well, cool, thanks for dropping by, I'm sure I'll see you soon.

What?

Oh, you're staying? Oh.

In That Case

My dad turned 74 to-day. I clean up after him as if he was seven years old. I resent him for that (and for the fact that to-morrow he will shout at me for throwing away last week's papers to-day).

I do feel a bit guilty that it took me till this afternoon to remember that to-day is his birthday. Then again, I don't remember him recalling mine for at least a few years. When I spend a moment thinking about it, I don't feel bad. What point is there to it? To feeling bad, to his birthday, to my notice of either.

Since I've changed the title of this blog it has become one about him, or about our relationship. I don't like that. I guess, however, that is the most striking part of my life right now.

In that case, happy birthday, daddy.

Potential

Struggling with life in general. Fighting cutturgeousity. Last time, the exposure of FT made it almost not worth it -- looking for BD to-night. Unhappy.

I feel like such a child, being all angsty in a blog, but what have I otherwise?

Maybe in a few hours this will morph into some creative writing. That's a best-case-scenario.

I Can Smell the Anger

It turns out I have special powers.

At Mother's Day/brother's birthday brunch this morning, I picked up on a sentence from my dad and immediately stiffened and got quiet. My brother said I was projecting or over-reacting and even called me passive aggressive, but within a moment, my dad was beginning the exact tired I had expected.

I can sense when he's about to be an ass moments before anyone else. I know before it happens when to disappear and/or have a glass of wine.

Not exactly a marketable skill, but great for self-protection.

Daddy's Girl

It's hard living with my dad again. In the 48 hours since his return to Los Angeles, he has angrily accused me of eating 2 cups of cottage cheese and drinking half a bottle of Chablis. Worse part: I did those things.

Worst, though? I keep crying. Like, all the time. About him, I mean. Just thinking about living with him again makes me short of breath. When I was in Israel and had to go on a bus with him in one of his manic moods, I had a certifiable panic attack. I wish I was exaggerating. Crying, anxiety, shortness of breath, sweating, shaking, etc.

So to-day, to live my own life and breathe my own breath, I went to the post office, had a job interview, did my weights, cleaned the kitchen some. Breathed my own air. (And some of Lucky Strikes' air). But even though I didn't see him most of that time, when he came home and I tried to deliver a phone message, I ended up breaking down:

Rina: "Hi, Daddy? Lily called, she said ..."
Him: "Who are you talking to?" (My mum was in the same room.)
Rina: "I'm telling you, Daddy, that Lily called ..."
And he walked away. Mid-sentence. When I was giving a message about his cousin who called because her sister had an emergency appendectomy. OHMIGAWD.

So then I returned to my room, cried, and had some more hydrocodone with chili liqueur chasers. WOOOO! (I become a "Woo! Girl" when Y Chilli is involved.)

PS Fingers crossed for that job interview, yeh?

Worst E-mail Evarr

And the award goes to my dad;

"hi m on my way hm. bering a gft"

It's funny how I am more irritated by him for this e-mail than if he hadn't sent one at all. In fact, I would have been pleased not to receive one. This one actually makes me angry. Like, great, the thought of you coming home will be looming like a piano on a weak rope over my head. And you think I want a GIFT from you? Like that will make me look forward to seeing you? What am I, four years old? And the last two gifts you gave me I regifted within days, if not hours. I don't like you. I don't want you to like me or try to get me to like you. Just go away.

I've started drinking again, and he's going to keep on pointing it out.

I've started drinking again.