In 2017 after a succession of “worst years of my life,” I made a spontaneous decision to take a trip to California to celebrate New Year’s Eve. I had planned to check in with a couple of friends in LA, but mostly I was throwing this trip together to get out of Dodge. I was surprised and thankful to be alive. My siblings had all passed the milestone birthday our dad fell short of. It looked very iffy whether I’d make fifty and frankly I was good with that. I didn’t have the strength or courage to continue.
I knew something was wrong for a long time. Nothing was so extreme that I couldn’t function. I assumed some of the symptoms would subside once the divorce proceedings were concluded. But I was in the fourth year of a legal battle that was not resolving but escalating and I was getting more sick.
It took everything I had to keep my head above water, to try and navigate the crisis’ all around. With three moves, two new jobs, two emerging teenagers and all, I didn’t have time to get to the underlying cause. The best I thought I could do was mask the symptoms; a remedy that was in truth, quickly hastening my decline.
It took some convincing from my three sisters, but I concluded my children would NOT be better off without me. With everything at risk my tight trio of support helped me look for the right team and finally in November of 2017, I received a diagnosis. Chronic PTSD, anxiety, depression and most urgent and lethal, alcoholism. A mingling of conditions, each exacerbating the others.
Believe it or not I was relieved. I felt safe for the first time in many years. I collapsed and finally gave up. It was a beginning.
I’ll tell you more all about that another time. There are volumes of stories to share, but I had to start somewhere. This seemed as good a place as any to begin to share my story.
Having counted out the days as one does when they stop drinking, I discovered that I would be 50 days sober on New Years Eve 2017. There was no way I was going to jinx that sign. 50 days sober going into the new year where I would be turning 50…I needed to be somewhere memorable to mark the moment.
My eagerness exposed the deeper layers of issues that had been hidden for decades. When you eliminate the elixir of what ails you, what ails you becomes clearer. It became obvious that anxiety had always been humming between my ears. It was heightened under different circumstances, like travel apparently.
I didn’t sleep a wink the night of my trip. Scrambling to make a 9:00 a.m. flight had me in a panic. We’re talking tears at the airport anxiety. But I did it. I made my flight. This was my spectacular reward for pressing through.
Arriving at LAX, I found my way to the remote rental site to pick up my adorable splurge, a black convertible VW Beetle.
It was a big deal for me to trust myself to rent this. Alcoholism is a disease of perception which combined with the decades of gas-lighting, made it difficult for me to believe in my capacity. I had learned to distrust all of my thoughts and decisions.
This cutie taught me I can. Also, I learned I can deal with challenges – like the GPS I paid extra for not working and having to figure out how to navigate my way from LAX to North Hollywood to meet a friend for lunch with a crappy burner phone. Reception can be sketchy in those hills.
Nevertheless, I made it to my lunch, albeit late and haggard. I wish I could remember the name of this Mexican place. It seemed like I should know the name. Everything in L.A. makes you feel that way. Uncool for not knowing stuff. After lunch with my friend, who I think was surprised if not disappointed by my sobriety, helped me figure out how to put the top down; a feat I dared not attempt with the GPS situation and all. I turned on the radio to hear Mick Jagger promising me that if I tried, I might get what I need and was on my way.
I have no idea how long it took me to get to Oceanside from L.A. It didn’t matter.
It was pitch black when I pulled in this weird back gravel ally that the directions led to. I had dead ended into the Pacific and turned right on a little stretch of road on The Strand.
As I turned, the VW’s headlights shown on a dozen rabbits hopping in the gravel lot.
In the middle of the night.
In December.
They scampered away before I could get my camera. I didn’t see them the rest of the time I was there. I took seeing them that night along with this full moon that watched over the lot, as a sign of the new day that had come for me.
I settled into this adorable tiny house and finally fell asleep for the first time in 30+ hours.
I awoke the next morning in the loft bedroom not pictured at the top of the spiral stairs. I looked out the window above the bed.
When I had fallen asleep, it was nothing but black night.
This is what I woke up to!
After pinching myself to make sure my view was real, I went out to explore and get something to eat. I happened upon this stained glass shop. I have an uncle who works with glass, and since I had no where I had to be, I stopped in.
I was greeted by Don the owner who I think might be the the honorary Mayor of Oceanside. He knows everyone and everything you need to know about the area. He showed me around his shop as we talked about his work and life. People came and went from the studio like it was Cheers. It was obvious Don was renown in the area for his talent and warm nature. I will add more to this slideshow of his work in the future. His work is incredible.
Oceanside is what you would expect of a nearly sleepy seaside town. The typical diner where you could get a great breakfast and an endless cup of coffee was on the strip, was right across the street from Don’s shop. The name of the place is The Start Fresh Cafe!!!
The chalk boards below were all around the diner. Little messages everywhere if you are looking.
I will be returning to Oceanside with my kiddos to share this little joint with them.
The morning I left, as is my custom, I awoke to take sunrise pictures. One of the things that I had forgotten I loved during my trauma and drinking was photography. I was recovering myself little by little.
From Oceanside, I headed North to the Pacific Palisades to visit some precious people from another time in my life.
It’s a different post entirely for me to tell you about them and to share those pictures. Seeing them however, during this New Day Trip confirmed I am fundamentally the same person I was when I knew them in the 80’s.
Much of the Chronic PTSD had taken place by the time I met them at 20 years old, with oodles to follow. I had learned and was utilizing “tools” to help me keep it all together.
I did for a really long time. Keep it together. Until I couldn’t anymore. Alcohol was not in my counter-productive toolbox until my 40’s. I knew better. Alcoholism ran in our family.
You can not convince me that alcohol is not one of THE MOST DANGEROUS DRUGS in our culture. It’s availability, acceptability and glamorization does nothing to reveal the dangers of a drug that can kill you from the withdrawal and is a major contributor to deaths resulting from drug combinations.
The day I admitted that I could NOT keep it together anymore – was the day I could begin to recover the fragmented pieces of my life and start to rebuild.
I took the midnight bunnies, the full moon, signs in diners and the sheer guts it took me to get out of Dodge for a few days, as proof that I was on my way…
I made it to 50.
Closing in on 53.
One day at a time.
Recover we 
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