WK 3&4: 90 Day Sobriety!!!!!

I'm pretty cool, but I cry a lot.

That's what is lovingly cross stitched into a piece of art on my wall given to me by a friend who is well aware of this fact.

There's nothing inherently wrong with crying. It's just embarrassing when it happens where other people can see me, like when I'm driving or at church or at a local Wendy's establishment. Emotions can flank you at any time, I've found out. Being a Cancer sun, Pisces moon, ginger woman makes for a very sensitive soul. (I will never apologize for bringing astrology into this so do not ask me to.)

Over the years, I found various coping mechanisms for my intense emotions. Video games, television, music, food, chocolate, the Jonas Brothers, all to varying degrees but nothing super unhealthy. Even when my depression hit in high school, I never started partying or doing anything that my peers did for similar issues. I just slept a lot and never had the energy to make social appearances much less be offered a drink at those raging high school parties I see in the movies.

I remember at one point my dad telling me to never have a drink, because alcoholism runs in our family and I might like it too much. As a teenager I'm sure I rolled my eyes and laughed it off. But thinking back on it, it was a pretty scary foreshadowing of what was to come.

Fast forward to sophomore year of college. I'm away from home for the first time, and my freshman year was pretty breezy. But as mental illness reared its ugly head and I continued to ignore it, I had my first drink. It wasn't anything special. I only had the one, and I wasn't necessarily blown away. It was given to me by the guy I liked, who was a pretty heavy drinker, and I wanted to impress him. It made sense in my 19 year old head at the time. Looking back, I think I was just curious about trying new things that everyone else seemed to be hyped about. Much like Kimmy Schmidt when she was released from the bunker and prancing around NYC.

Mmm... I love nail polish remover.

My first time being drunk was at a bar. I met up with the same guy and his friend, and brought my best friend for support... and to be my designated driver. I was mixing drinks and trying ones I had never tried before, which was most of them. I realized I had too much when I could no longer walk straight to the point of almost falling down several times. My BFF, who I still respect to this day for this decision, refused to help me. She was letting me experience the consequences of my actions, which in this case was being able to use my legs correctly. It was just a sad, not cute situation.

I'm making really good decisions rn.

I was hungover the next day which sucked, but I continued to drink occasionally when the guy I liked turned into my boyfriend. He knew I didn't like it as much as he did, and he never pressured me to drink. But in our on-again-off-again 6 year relationship, I went through periods of binge drinking on my own. I could go months, even a year without picking up a drink. But every time I started drinking again it got more intense. Once when I was at a party, I called my ex to pick me up when a guy I didn't feel comfortable around began hitting on me, and I was too drunk to fend him off if something happened. Soon after I decided to try weed for the first time after I'd already been drinking, and got so cross-faded I started blacking out and losing time, which scared the shit out of me. A thousand more sketchy circumstances later should have ended my drinking for good, but when a person with mental illness finds a coping mechanism that feels good it's reeeeally hard to shake it. Suddenly even the smallest non-issues become a reason to drink. It's raining outside? Drink. Money is tight? Drink. No text back from random Tinder boy? Drink. I've been eating healthy and exercising and deserve a treat? Drink.

Me @ general life.

Last year was the worst of it. I was drinking almost every day, getting drunk multiple times a week, all within the confines of my own home. Not going out helped me rationalize it. And I stopped telling anyone close to me what was going on because I knew they'd be worried. The only one who really knew the extent of it was my ex, who I was living with at the time. To be honest, I thought it was what most people were doing. And yes, a lot of people have a glass with wine with dinner but most people don't have the bottle. I'd look forward to that bottle. It became my only source of comfort. I had pushed away friends and anything good that might have helped me. It was just me, alcohol, and my cat.

Lily being ashamed of my self-destructive behaviors.

Which brings us to today. I am sitting here typing, at 3+ months sober, and I couldn't be happier. I am very lucky to have a wonderfully supportive family that is letting me heal, and a therapist that fell from heaven and into my life. The past 90ish days have been difficult. The first few weeks were just me sleeping and crying. I liken it to a dam breaking and experiencing all the feelings I had been numbing for the last year. It was so cleansing and so overwhelming at the same time. And because of that dam breaking, I was able to unclog all the junk and have the mental clarity I was lacking a few months ago. Moving home and getting the help I needed was THE hardest and THE best thing I've ever done for my life. Highly recommend, would do again, 10/10.

I was hesitant to blog about this for a lot of obvious reasons. The potential judgment, the disappointment from friends & fam, the anxiety of putting my dirty laundry on the internet. But at the end of the day, I'm posting this because I'm proud of how far I've come. I'm posting for that person who is silently struggling but would rather die than anyone know about their addiction. Saying it out loud is scary. The fear of trying to get better and still failing is scary. But there is HOPE. I am living proof that you can climb out of the darkest pit and come out stronger than ever. Whether that's talking to your family, friends, a therapist, a stranger on the internet (hi!), or all of the above, you need to talk about it. Because addiction LOVES secrecy. It thrives in shame and embarrassment. So talking about it makes it smaller. It makes it conquerable. It exposes it as the leech on your life that it is, instead of your entire life.

So no matter what you're struggling with whether it's addiction, mental illness, your loved one's addiction/mental illness, or you feel like you keep messing up in one way or the other. It gets better, and you will get better. You are a bada$$ hunky dude and you've got this.

WK 1&2: I'm Mary Poppins, ya'll.

When I was making goals for the new year, looking for a part-time gig was one of those goals. I work from home on my own business, but I thought it'd be good for me to get out of the house from time to time. I heard that's a thing people do. My parents fought me on this a little bit (I KNOW, parents not wanting you to get a job, like opposite land) because they knew that some of my jobs had stressed me out in the past.

They're not wrong.

Over the past decade and a half of working I have had a myriad of job titles, some were fulfilling and some we'll just classify as "experiences." My current job count is at 18 and I'm pretty sure I'm still missing some. On my complete job history I look disoriented and confused about what career I want, which is why I have separate resumés depending on what kind of job I'm applying for (life hackz 101). But for my current job, I didn't even need a resumé. I sat down with my potential employer as they made sure I wasn't a psychopath and it was kind of a done deal. And so for the past 2 weeks yours truly has been working part-time as a nanny.

Even Julie Andrews is confused about this one.

My whole lifetime I have been in charge of babysitting my 5 younger siblings, which I made very clear to my parents and to everyone around me I was never willing to do again. My sister had several nannying jobs to which I told her, out loud, I could never do what she did. And maybe at the time that was correct. But in this new year and new place of life I feel much more confident. And the kids are pretty stinking adorable. They are giggly and fun and smart and they make me laugh. But already in the first few weeks there have been several injuries, things not done when their mom gets home, and many, many tears. Some from me.

JK, if the mom of my kids is reading this ;)

I know I am preaching to the mom choir but kids are a LOT. OF. WORK. I once pictured my life as a stay at home mom, working from home peacefully in my clean and quiet office while the kids are off learning Latin or something. The older I get the more I realize this will not be the case. I would still love to work from home, but throw kids in the picture and it gets complicated. And messy. And sticky. Seriously, what do they keep touching that's so sticky?? I digress.

My point is although I am single and nowhere near starting a family, watching my kiddos is helping satisfy that nurturing part of me while giving me a little preview of what my life may one day look like. And unlike Mary Poppins, I am practically imperfect in every way. But that's okay. At the end of the day, I have tiny humans that count on me for a few hours every day and it's sooooo so worth it.

The Year of Kenz

Today is New Year's Eve of 2018. I was telling a friend that it was a hard year that could kiss my butt when they lovingly replied, "you say that every year."

I can't help it if my life is one eternal round of agony.

Nevertheless, this year wasn't what I would call a home run for me. My mental health rapidly declined and I made some really stupid decisions. Think of the stupidest thing you've ever done and multiply that by a thousand and that will equate the dumbness I caused myself and others this year. Is it already time to make an apology to Arie Jr.?

#NeverForget

I get it, everyone goes through hard times blah blah blah but this isn't a competition about whose life sucks more. 2018 was one of the top 3 worst years for Makenzie. It will not be in the highlight reel on my death bed, and I've already tried to forget most of it. But I am a BIG sucker for New Years resolutions. I freaking love making them, because creating my ideal life on paper is so easy. It's just the execution that is lacking. But after moving back in with my parents and some intense therapy sessions, I have come to several conclusions.

1. I have a built-in self destruct button I love to push when even the slightest inconvenience happens.
2. My happiness levels revolve around how well my romantic life is going at the time.
3. I absolutely suck at taking care of myself.

None of these were exactly news to me, but realizing that every one of my problems stems from one of these things was an eye opener. If I am only happy based upon how much attention another person is giving me, of course I am going to be sad most of the time. If my outer shell is made of marshmallow filling, of course I am going to be toppled over at the slightest push. And if I don't care about ME how am I supposed to care about anything else???

You guys know me as the boy-obsessed Tinderer girl. So I'm sure it's of no surprise to anyone that the same girl who blogged about all the boys that made her sad is blogging about her inevitable breakdown partially because of said boys. I haven't cumulated all of the hours, but I'm pretty sure I've spent approximately a gazillion hours stressing about the opposite sex. And I'm not blaming an entire gender for my problems. I just want to get to a healthy place with myself before I can even begin to think about anyone else. Therefore and verily, I have been challenged by my wonderful therapist to go without dating for a whole year.

wut

I can hear hoards of you saying "I haven't dated for years and I'm fine" and I'm going to ask you to shush. For me, this is a big deal. To commit to zero dates, zero canoodlings, zero anything semi-romantic for 365 days seems laughable. I am 27 years old and I feel like Jess in that episode of New Girl where she realizes her eggs are probably dying.

I am aware I still have plenty of time to have a family, but I can't help it if my baby box and the hardwired LDS culture ingrained in me is telling me otherwise. Not only am I dealing with those emotions but I had to leave my sweet kitty Lily with a friend in Utah temporarily because my family is deathly allergic. So now I feel like that one girl crying about cats in her dating profile video.

BUT on the positive side, with no cat or baby needing my attention, I have no excuses not to focus on myself. And thus why this year is going to be The Year of Kenz. I'm trying to petition the government to make a holiday out of it, still pending, I'll let you know. But this blog is going to be about my journey of self-improvement, light bulb dings, and of course how I deal with being truly alone and not worrying about what boy is going to come around the corner for once.

This doesn't mean I'm going to be anti-social, or bitter, or holding my breath until the year is over. This next year we gon' WORK. And by we I mean me and my 17 other personalities.

I will be posting weekly about my plights and I am reeeeeeally excited about it!!!!! Please send good vibes my way and if you don't hear from me it's because I got a whiff of cologne and have passed out in a nearby Macy's.

Cheers to the year of ME.