Back sliding. Going back ward at a slippery pace. In the religious sense of the word it often means to repeat an offense, to commit sin again. In my mind it offers more of an opportunity to contemplate the choice of possibility. The holiday season. A time of much celebration and good cheer. Too much cheer for some. After my decision, several months ago, not to drink hard alcohol I was offered a “hard” alcoholic drink. “Wrap your beautiful luscious lips around this glass, doll.” I took the glass, looked at my son and daughter who knew of my agreement with myself, and gave them a wink. “Here’s mud in your eye.” I took a sip. The sharp hot sting hit my belly hard. It felt good. Too good. The warmth spread through out my body quickly. With only one sip! I stepped aside. My thoughts raced. I choose to drink wine. I enjoy wine. I don’t get the “kick” from wine that I got from days and months ago when I knew I needed to make a choice regarding my Vodka. Notice…MY Vodka. I followed my son outside for a smoke and told him “Take this, I can’t have it.” I took a deep breathe and it felt great. Once inside, I had my wine with dinner and all was well. I have never dumped MY Vodka. I need to face my choice, when needed, if needed, face to face. I need to look at my decision and own my choice for me. Back sliding can be really painful or as I choose to believe; a wonderful opportunity for deeper knowledge of who I am, and who I want to be.
I sit this evening, dogs by my side, asking myself this question. Who am I? I am a wife, a mother, the tender of animals, a Guardian ad Litem, and tonight I ask myself “who are you, Sharon?” My life is full. It is rich with activities. And, yet, there is a heaviness that weighs upon my soul. Is it the mundane of every day living that is driving me mad? Is it the constant needs of every one pulling on me? I become frenetic with unknown energy. I need to clean the dogs ears. I need to clean the ashes from the wood stove. And then I need to pour water on them so they don’t set fire to our barn that is a historic sight. I need to do laundry EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY. I need to make my bed. I need to make sure my daughters medication is in order…..of course….who else will? The drive. The undulating push that wakes me every morning at 3:30 regardless of what ever medication I have taken. Should I get up?” Why not run on your tread mill? ” “You can make your “to do list” while you are running.” I am tired. My body is tired. My mind is tired. I want to be off this race. I want to know who I am.
I have not written for weeks. I have told myself it is ok to be “stuck” since I have been writing quite a bit. Truth is I was “stuck” because I felt defeated in my writing. This new adventure, my writing, is very exciting and also very scary. I was going about it in an uneducated and ignorant manner. I asked a friend for some help. Her advice to me was “just write and the words will come.” She was right! They did! I was so excited. I asked for more advice, and perhaps in retrospect, took advantage of her wisdom. Long story short we no longer communicate. I was so shocked, then angry, and now I feel just terribly sad. I would sit at my computer and wait for words to “just come”…..nothing. To the seasoned writer perhaps a moment such as mine would be considered having a bad day. I am not such a person and my elementary efforts toward fulfilling my dream weighed heavy on my heart. After a long, hard sprint/jog/walk on my tread mill today the endorphin release came. Instead of the euphoric high I bubbled over with tears. Huge tears mixed with sweat ran down my face as I realized I had allowed myself, as a writer to be defined by my friend and her thoughts of me and her advice for me as a writer. I felt like I had broken out of dark room and the light was so bright I had to squint! I define who I am! I have known that in all other aspects of my life but lost sight of it in this new birth. I will forever be grateful for the interest and advice I received. I am sorry it cost what I believed to be a friendship. I am defined by one. Myself.