An evenin' off from grievin'

If you follow me on Facebook, you may have already read about my misadventures in the refrigerator last night.

If not, here's the condensed version: I've been largely avoiding alcohol since Doug died (alcohol is a depressant, and I think we have enough depression around here - plus, I don't want to risk developing a drinking problem to go with my grief). But last night, I decided to indulge; grief counseling yesterday was grueling, and it was St Patrick's Day, so why not? Got a shot of Honey Jack, got my frosty glass... and discovered that Doug died and left me with no beer except for three Coronas. 🤦‍♀️ Was this Doug getting in one last joke from the afterlife? Anything's possible.

Moving on... there seems to be widespread agreement that grieving is very hard work (and it IS; it's exhausting and draining on every possible level). And, like with any hard work, breaks are necessary.

So I made myself take a break last night, because I REALLY needed one. I drank (a whopping two beers and two shots), I ate pizza (Boboli crust with pizza sauce, fresh mozzarella, shaved parmesan and basil), I watched comedies, I engaged in some fun banter with friends on Facebook. I took an evenin' off from grievin', people. And you know what?

IT WAS GLORIOUS!

Now, did it restore my faith in humanity and my will to live? Ummm, no. I distracted myself from my misery for a few hours, and it was necessary to take a breath so I could get back to grieving without losing my mind, but it doesn't change anything.

Will I do it again? Absolutely, but with a caution: I can see how self-medicating like this can become a slippery slope. It feels good to shove aside the pain for a little while. Most nights, self-care means watching a little Netflix and trying to ignore my problems for an hour or two. Last night, self-care meant getting drunk and forgetting my problems for several hours. But I won't make a habit out of this, because I know it won't fix anything and could cause more problems. At most, I'll indulge in a little booze once every week or two.

But having a couple of hours to feel completely normal was really, really nice.

Yes, I still woke up this morning, crying because I'm alive and Doug isn't. Like I said: last night didn't fix anything; it was just a break from my 20(ish)-hour-a-day grieving process. 

We now return you to your regularly-scheduled emotional breakdown.