Day 6 – 30 July 2017

05:25
I wake up before my alarm, before our young dog. Holy sleep hygiene, Batman! I officially am one of those crazy people “who doesn’t need an alarm”. After one week. I take the young dog out and return to bed with the family – The Hub and the dogs. Despite seven hours of sleep, I am still tired. I read in bed until my fitness class.

07:47
You know that moment when you’re working really hard in a fitness class and you feel your muscles burning from effort but you really just want to punch the instructor in the face? Yes, that.

09:05
I love B, my mediation instructor. She is the most amazing person. At 20 years younger than me, I am jealous of her wisdom, her patience, her deep knowing. She is such a gift. B asks me to look for “synchronicity” this week. Aware that she likely is not referring to the album by The Police, I have to Google the term.

09:12
I find my family still in bed, and I am anxious. I made The Hub go to bed with me at 10:30 the previous evening, and he as not happy. Not one bit. I wonder if I have a mess to clean up or if he appreciates my intentions. Typical of our shared stubbornness, he reluctantly admits that he benefitted from the sleep with a qualifier. Always a qualifier. Being married to someone trained in math is a learned skill. Proceed cautiously.

10:32
We arrive home from walking the dogs and survey the contents of our kitchen cupboards scattered about from yesterday’s “flood”. If we want to eat, we have to deal with this mess, and the previous day has left us gun-shy of restaurants. I set to work, draining years-old expired food goods and washing pots and pans that were used to catch water. I know deeply that this moment would not be occurring if I a) stayed up very late and b) consumed ETOH. I am proud of myself.

13:19
I just cleaned the bathroom sink and toilet. What the fuck is happening? One week into this whole structure thing, and I have time to actually take care of and manage my life. I am both not-so-secretly pleased and secretly annoyed with myself. I work hard to not think about the hours that I have wasted in my life.

Late afternoon
I walk to the Salvation Army with a bag of donations and to the Market for meat and produce. Listening to a book on tape, The Case Against Sugar, has the opposite effect. My brain is just hearing “sugar” and then “sugar” and “sugar” again. I then think of every form of sugar that I love. I am also annoyed with the book for a variety of reasons. I cannot wait for it to end and to eat – you guessed it – sugar. My oppositionality can be such a pain in the ass sometimes. It’s like someone spent an hour telling me what to do, and I automatically think, “Oh, yeah! Try that again!”

19:12
The Hub and I have walked the dogs to the corner tavern and sit outside in the patio. I tell one of our favorite servers that I am just having a soda water. She asks the inevitable question, “Why?” I stated that I have to work later and she asks again, “Are you sure?” I think of all that I accomplished that day and say, “Yep.” It is hard in the moment, but the moment passes. The dogs soak up the sun and attention from other patrons.

20:19
I cue the Netflix to continue a series that we started the previous week and notice that I could give a shit. I am not involved and am on my smart phone. I stop myself, pause the show and stated, “I’m sorry. I can’t watch this now. The TV is yours.” I cannot watch TV sometimes; it just doesn’t garner my attention. I think that’s why I drank ETOH while watching television sometimes – to slow down my brain. The younger dog joins me in bed as I read The Ministry of Utmost Happiness. My body is weary, and I am ready for sleep to come.

 

 

Day 4 – 28 July 2017

05:31
My alarm went off. I lie in bed, feeling the weight of the week and my age. The dogs stir and look at me; I wonder if they are getting up. I consider my Treatment Plan, this blog and my accountability, and I choose to listen to my body. I reset the alarm to 06:00, wondering if this week has taught me something: I need more than seven hours of sleep a night.

07:59
After arriving at a fitness class, the instructor asked, “How are you?”

“Great! I have had a really good week,” I replied

Stop. The. Bus. This week almost has been a carbon copy of last week in terms of external stressors. Perhaps more so. Damnit. Damnit. Damnit. I feel better due to this flipping Treatment Plan. It just struck me. Fuck. I have been viewing this Treatment Plan and blog as a one-year thing and then “back to normal”. Like a diet of sorts. I really did not think doing these small things would make that big of a difference. I mean, yes, I know what clinical studies show and how I see my patients respond to these changes. However, to be “sitting in it” is much different. I feel so much better – like, really really good. Does this mean … that I … won’t ever … [insert behavior here]

[Imagines self doing Home Alone scream throughout apartment]

Nope. Nope. Nope. Not going there. Today is day four, and that’s all that I am thinking about. I have to focus on getting through the weekend: keeping my sleep schedule and not having a Pilsner are going to take some fortitude and tenacity.

“Are you with me?”, I ask my dog. Who am I kidding? She likes the patios of our City more than me. [eyeroll]

11:03
As I ripped stems off spinach leaves, I knew what I had been avoiding all week: I need a plan for tonight. It’s Friday. Historically in the summer, Friday night has meant meeting my partner and our dogs at one of the neighborhood taverns with a patio, popping open a Pilsner (or three) and sitting in the loveliness of it all. A city that I love. Sarcastic servers. Neighborhood changes. Dogs’ chilling and squinting into the sun. The name on the tavern has changed during the past seven years, but one of our dogs has been coming here on Fridays in the summer for all seven. She commands the patio by lying in the middle, eyeing servers’ trays of food. I feel as if I belong there. Like many urban dwellers, these places are extensions of my 950 s.f. home.

I could go there and order a soda water with a lime, but I know my brain: it’s an asshole. Here’s how it would go: “You’ve worked really hard this week.” “The CDC states that one serving of ETOH a day is not harmful.” “You have the calories left for the day.” And on and on. I know in my heart that I would not make a good choice today. So, I need a plan.

11:09
I call my partner at work, one of the two calls that I typically make every morning. We make plans to see “Atomic Blonde” that evening after work.

Early evening
My last patient was super anxious. Empathy has my cage rattled as well – I feel their anxiety and agitation in the room and in my body. As I turn off light switches and white noise machines, I think ahead to the evening ride to the heart of my City.

Swinging my leg over the top bar, I knew what was inevitable: a long, exhausting ride through Friday evening traffic. My saddle is too low on my bicycle. Whilst I am in the bicycle lane, ride-share drivers, double parkers and taxi cabs cause me to weave in and out of moving and standing traffic. I try to stay in the moment, enjoying music from my speaker and feeling the air move across my face. However, it’s there: the hyper-vigilance of ringing my bell, saying “heads up” and constantly looking over my shoulder and to the right for car doors. I lock up my bike, and my shoulders refuse to release the stress of the ride.

My partner and I planned to meet for a cheeseburger before the film. I arrive first, and the line is at least 30-people deep. I wonder how this could be since it is not lunchtime. “Shouldn’t this area of the City be dead by now?”, I wonder. My partner arrives and reminds me that tourists and suburban teenagers stay long after weary workers head home to their neighborhoods. Getting hangry, I watch every, single person order individually. It has now been 30 minutes, and I want to yell, “How have you not read the menu after 30 minutes in line?! Speed it up!” I am that asshole. Instead, I roll my eyes. As the line shortens, so does my patience and will. I order a chocolate shake. Not. Part. Of. The. Plan. A case of the “fuck its” has set in. I am done. I am toast. I want a g’d-damned shake and about 5,000 people inside this restaurant, outside on the sidewalk and parked in rush hour on the streets to go the fuck away so I can enjoy my evening.

Our food arrives, and we rush to eat it so that we can make it to the movie on time. We step outside onto the sidewalk, bobbing and weaving to get through crowds of tourists and suburban teenagers – some stopping dead in their tracks as they convene to decide what to do next. My legs feel leaden from the previous day’s riding and this morning’s strength training. I am exhausted, and now my stomach feels bloated and gross from the shake. My body hates dairy, and I always crash hard after eating sugar. “Every fucking thing has a consequence. I hate being an adult,” I think.

19:56
The theater lobby is quiet and cool. Everything is hidden now: people-less kiosks at which to buy tickets and paper-less smart phones that hold tickets. My partner buys his beer, and I am jealous and not jealous. I don’t want to drink ETOH, and I want my anxiety and irritability to shut down. We find our seats and settle in.

22:13
The soundtrack to the film was amazing, and I find it on my smart phone for us to listen to on the bicycle ride home. My partner and I manage to avoid right hooks, car doors and drunken pedestrians until we hit a quiet neighborhood street. They pull up beside me, and we smile. This is the best part of every late night ride. It is interrupted by my partner’s annoyance – likely exacerbated by their flight-or-fight response – at a driver’s almost right hook of me. A few blocks later, they comment on the driver again. The peace is broken. “Can we just leave the driver back there – two blocks ago?”, I ask. In the moment, I know that I am a hypocrite, that I did the same thing at the restaurant earlier: let the intrusions of the City poke at me until I was lashing out, dividing people into us/them. They know it too but say nothing.

22:23
We carry our bicycles up six steps in the lobby, and I have seven minutes to get into bed. My partner mentions something about partially reading an email, and I make a passive aggressive comment about their attention-deficit disordered thinking. It was not intended as a low blow, but it landed as such.

22:31
I crawl into bed and try to talk to my partner. They are not having it. We are both depleted. I fall asleep sad and feeling awful.

 

 

Day 3 – 27 July 2017

05:42
Partner: “So do you want me to fix that pork tenderloin tonight?”
Me: “That would be awesome. I’m done early. We could also – ” I don’t finish my sentence: grab a beer? walk for ice cream? They hesitate at the door, waiting for me to finish my sentence.
Me: “Who the fuck gives up alcohol and sugar at the same time?”
Partner: “Only you.”

09:55
I legit woke up at 05:30 – and then promptly moved to the sofa and watched a trashy show that I had recorded the previous evening. Baby steps. My work day does not start until 12:00, and I really don’t know what to do with this time. Fitness classes in which I participate are on different days at different hours. I want to meditate first thing in the morning, but the dogs have to be walked – do I meditate before or after? When do I eat breakfast if my fitness classes are at different times day to day?

Clearly I have not made a daily schedule. I am not procrastinating though. After a birthday a few years ago, I stated, “I am half-dead – if I’m lucky.” I likely am now 52 percent dead. Some might think that it is a morbid way to view one’s life. I don’t. It reminds me to be intentional with my time. Some of the questions that I have been asking of late: “When I am struggling to move or no longer have beloved people around me, how will I view my time spent:

  • watching woman fight on television?”
  • reading mindless drivel on the Internet?”
  • under the influence of substances with (i.e., essentially absent from) people whom I love?”
  • frustrated with transitions that kept me from traveling?”
  • worrying about something about which I have no control?”
  • shopping on the Internet?”
  • yelling at a driver who intrudes upon my space in a bike lane and then feeling guilty for hours?”
  • fuming over a fitness instructor who does not start a class on time?”

I still watch women fight on television, but when I do it, I am very intentional. I.e., “I am going to put my brain into a mild coma and watch crap for one 42 minutes.” When I view it in this manner, I do not get caught in the endless cycle of looking for more to watch (or more time to waste). The Holstee Manifesto hangs in my office. One line reads, “If you don’t have enough time, stop watching TV.” I remind myself of that “mantra” every time that I complain about how little time I have or sit down to watch television.

This whole line of thinking is very new to me. Impulsively I went to a meditation class one day in April. I went back the next week, and my experience was pretty life-changing. I began to view my mind differently. While I am still herding cats in my brain, the cats have changed.

12:45
Someone dear to me says, “Things are shifting. I can tell. You are way less anxious.” I smile, they’re onto me. I’m growing.

13:35
It is hot out, and the air is juicy. Earlier today, I debated “ride share or bicycle” nine miles across the city. “It’s too hot and humid out,” my brain declares. But my brain is an asshole. I live in a City in which the weather graciously – and sometimes not too graciously – provides a reason not to move. I only need to open Accuweather 338 days of the year to say, “Yep, I should take a cab or public transportation.” Ninety minutes ago, I told my brain to bite it and hopped on my bicycle. One mile in traffic, and I am drenched in sweat. It feels awful and good at the same time.

19:02
I lay on the bed, having bicycled somewhere around 20 miles on a sticky, icky day. I wanted to succumb to the allure of sleep, but I knew that doing so would mean waking up at 20:30 and then staying up until midnight knee deep in Netflix. I read the New York Times about the Affordable Care Act, and it’s a good distraction. I tried very hard not to think about how this could impact both my patients and my own healthcare.

22:00
I reluctantly set down my smartphone and pick up a book. I have 30 minutes until bedtime.

 

 

Day 2 – 26 July 2017

07:10
Despite a rough start on day one, I did it! I went to bed at 10:30. My alarm went off at 05:30, and I didn’t want to cut someone. #smallfavors

However, I have work to do this morning. I need to create some type of schedule to accomplish all that I want in a day. Not a list of work appointments or plans – an actual effing schedule with things like – oh, I don’t know – when do I eat? I am excited about this, because I do believe that: 1) it will make following my “Treatment Plan” easier (and I’m all about easier); and 2) it will bring more intention to my days. I’m all about intention these days; more to come …

Oh, and hey, good morning! 🙂

09:22

I was in therapy and mentioned my “Treatment Plan”. Instead of the “Go you!” that I expected, my therapist gave me the internal eye-roll. (I learned from pros.)

“Whatever happened to the ‘good-enough mother’?”, she asked, referring to the work of Douglas Winnicott. I rolled my eyes back at her – not internally.

What she essentially was saying was that I don’t need to be a perfect therapist to help others heal. In practice, failing a patient can produce anger and be as therapeutic as being “perfect”. Is this Plan another ill-fated pursuit of perfectionism for me? I don’t think so … I’m going to have to think about this.

p.s. If she figured this out before me, I am seriously going to be pissed.

12:08
A noon fitness class that I am choosing to leave five minutes early to see a patient in crisis hasn’t started. I immediately feel annoyed and deprived. I HATE RUSHING.  Thank g’d for meditation classes and Headspace. I am able to loosen my grip on my annoyance and anxiety and use the extra time to stretch my hip flexors that are always tight from biking. At least the work of the class burns off most of the emotions. This afternoon feels like one in which I am eking every minute out of it. Ugh.

17:51
I’m going to hang out with a dear friend. We normally split a bottle of Pinot Noir when dining out. O could care less if I drink ETOH or not. However, I am feeling pulled. ETOH – or as I call it, “liquid Xanax” – puts the brakes on my anxiety and work stress. The minute I take a sip, I feel the liquid Xanax muzzle the anxiety, tape its wrists and stow it in the closet. For now. Not tomorrow, when my neurotransmitters ask, “Hey, where’s that ETOH?” as they busy about. FYI: your body AND your brain are both assholes. They love, love homeostasis and work very hard to undo all that we do. Nothing, nothing is without consequence. G’d, I hate being an adult some days.

I recall Brené Brown’s Ted Talk: when one chooses to use a substance, one does not get to choose what to numb. If I numb my anxiety, I numb my joy, empathy and other emotions. In addition, anxiety might be a really good thing at the end of the night when choosing to hop on the subway, walk home or take a cab. Anxiety can be life-preserving. So, do I really want to wipe all of that away? I love O. They are one of those people who make me feel so good about myself, because they truly love me. Really, really love me. And they show it. That’s friendship gold. Do I really want to numb that?!

Kind of. I know, right?! That’s the pull of ETOH for me. I am fortunate to be very smart (i.e., common sense) and bright (i.e., intelligent), but I also have great difficulties shutting off my brain. I also spend the great majority of time around equally or greater bright people, asking tough questions, pondering important matters and challenging me to be better. When do I stop? The first sip.

I prepared O and told them that I wasn’t drinking ETOH for 365 days. Of course, they responded in their typically non-plussed way. Damn, I love them.

21:00
I almost fall asleep on O’s sofa. W.T.F. Who is this person? I make a strangely adult decision, state that I need to go home and get to bed. I have a bedtime now.

21:07
I am on my way home in a cab when a message comes through from my partner. It’s a picture of one of our dogs in his lap. My heart and face smile. I love my family. I love O. I am very fortunate.