#cheers to the fact that all I do is drink but hey I got new ink and I’m posting pretty pictures of them tomorrow #girl #selfie #mikeshard #inkedgirls #freshink #alcoholism
when you realize the reason you can’t stand to hear about people drinking or be around people when they’re drinking is probably because of how your dad acted whenever he’d get drunk but it doesn’t matter because people are gonna think you’re uptight and annoying regardless….. ✌️
Thiamine supplementation and other nutritional vitamin support measures are prescribed for clients who have been using alcohol to prevent or decrease the risk of which complication?
a) Cirrhosis
b) Delirium tremens
c) Esophageal varices
d) Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome
Answer: d
Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome is the only item in the options that is directly and significantly associated with severe nutritional deficits, particularly of B vitamins. Delirium tremens may be partially attributed to nutritional deficits but will not occur unless alcohol withdrawal ensues. Each of the other options are sequelae of chronic alcohol abuse but are owing to other effects on the gastrointestinal and cardiovascular system.
Today is my last day of drinking lemonade to sustain my being. I am very excited. I just got back from a quick shift at work and have the rest of the day to whatever I want (accept for eat or drink booze, my main hobbies unfortunately). I have resolved myself to clean out my car followed by an epic mad men session at my friend’s house. Everyone at work was telling me to keep going forward with the juice fast, and even though it is tempting because I have come this far and I’m feeling more like myself than I was the first three days, I just can’t bring myself to commit to another day of this.
Overall, I’d say it was an interesting experience. I might not ever do it again, but I’m glad that I tried it and I hope that I’ve learned something about my own determination and personal capacity for giving up things that I enjoy. I’m still planning on not drinking until my lead-out is pretty much complete, but honestly, I haven’t been thinking about the alcohol as much as I’ve been fantasizing about food. That gives me an idea of how it’s going to feel when I’m pregnant (in the future), but at least then, I’ll be able to eat (but hopefully not too much).
Tomorrow is orange juice and broth day and I can’t… freaking…. wait.
Sobriety. Why is it such a struggle for me? I know people who are sober and say that they don’t even think about it anymore. Why is it that I think about it daily? I fight it everyday. Most days I win but there are days that I don’t. Regardless, I will never give up. Every day I pick up my sword and fight.
I know Oda consistently draws post-timeskip Zoro as malnourished and dehydrated to show all those muscles, but I legitimately think soft strongman beefcake is peak Zoro design. You know Mihawk was telling Zoro about macros and micros, proteins, rest days, recovery meals, and through sheer force of will alone forced Zoro to stop substituting alcohol for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
I will never be convinced post-ts Zoro is anything but this
honestly i think he’d look amazing with a body like Sasaki, but conservatively.. he should be a barrel
Alcoholism doesn’t just affect the alcoholic. It affects his or her family as well. I know because I have alcoholism on both sides of my family.
According to Talbott Recovery, more than 15 Million people in the U.S struggle with alcoholism. 1 in 2 (child-bearing aged) women drink, 18% of them binge. 60% of adult men reported drinking last month, 23% of them binge.
If you or a loved one drinks excessively, and/or their drinking habits cause friction in the family, recognize it as alcoholism and get help. It doesn’t HAVE to be an intimidating rehab facility. You can go to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings— they are everywhere.
And if your mom or dad is the alcoholic, I HIGHLY suggest Al-Anon Meetings. They have teen meetings as well—Super helpful, super welcoming, and it’s oddly comforting to sit with people who are dealing with similar struggles.
I’ll be doing ‘This is Me for You’ lives on Instagram every Saturday at 5pm EST (unless posted otherwise), so be sure to tune in to hear some poetry and talk about thangs that people don’t wanna talk aboooooooout.
TV Review: Seven Swordsmen aka “Seven Swords Descend from Mount Heaven”
In 17th Century China, the Qing Dynasty now rules where once the Ming Dynasty did. Many Han resent their new Manchu overlords and pockets of rebellion are everywhere. To help quell the resistance, the Qing have banned the practice of martial arts by ordinary citizens. The Red Spear Society strongly objects to this…
It’s been officially 3 weeks since I’ve had any alcohol! From downing a bottle or 12 pack a night to not having any! Hopefully I won’t need to stop completely for the rest of my life but if I have to then I have to ♀️
Five years ago, an angel took my mother away from me.
I saw him wrap his great feathered wings tight around her and bring her demons out of the box she had locked them in. The way I remember it, it was her and him at the kitchen table, and between them was a gift that he had brought; a bottle of white wine, complete with a slick black bow around the neck.
It was a gift that never should have been unwrapped.
The angel was cloaked in black rags that seemed to crawl upon his body, as if they were not rags at all, but a putrid infestation of roaches and millipedes, swarming together and wrapping around his frail form to conceal loose hanging flesh. His wings were black too, like the darkest night on a sunless planet; soft like you would imagine the wings of an angel should be, but patchy and greasy, as if they had been slicked with oil.
The kitchen that I had so fondly associated with the scent of brewing coffee now smelled of rum, and sulphur. It was the scent of someone who did not belong; someone who was not welcome. An intruder.
I stood there like one who was lost in a dream. My mother beckoned me forward, excitement written all over her haggard face. “This is my little girl,” she said to the creature. “Doesn’t she look just like me? Everyone says so.”
But the angel did not look up; he only had eyes for her.
His face was not beautiful, but old and sickly. His skin did not glisten or glow with the light of God, and I could tell that no such light had ever touched him. Where his eyes should have been, there was nothing; two soulless black holes on his withered face. You could look into them and become truly lost, but not in the romantic sense. You could lose yourself.
“Come closer, sweetheart! Don’t be afraid. He says he’s going to make the bad thoughts go away; so many terrible things, and you want mama to be happy, don’t you? He’s going to help me forget.”
He took her then, and as he did, I saw the light leave her eyes; but it was not like the stories describe it. He kept her alive, but she didn’t breathe the same. He ripped out her lungs and replaced them with two empty wine bladders. Now she seeks respiration at the bottom of a bottle.
My mom’s eyes used to be warmer; lit up by the love she had for her friends and her family and for life itself. They made her the kindest mother that a child could never appreciate enough and the brightest beacon in a room full of people plagued with sadness.
Now I look in her eyes and see the same vacant blackness as those of the creature that claimed her.
She broke promises she had made with herself and cut ties with every moral she had held so close to her heart. She forgot the language of love and optimism until the only thing that fell from her lips were lies and deceit. And in this way the angel stayed with us for five years, wearing the skin of someone I loved.
I suppose I will always love her, though not in the way a daughter must love her mother. I’ll love her like a old memory; something that left a long time ago. Something good and pure and untouched by sin.
She overdosed on the floor of a cheap motel room, and the angel was the only one there to hold her hand. Four days went by before she was found, and in that time, he sucked the remaining humanity from her hollow lifeless form. At her visitation there were many people. they spoke of her as if the last five years had never happened; turning a blind eye to her sickness after her death just as they did while she was alive. “She was a good soul whose love knew no bounds,” they said. “and if I shut my eyes tight enough, there’s no conceivable way for me to be persuaded otherwise.”
I remember staring down at her open casket, and the angel stood beside me. “Is this the end?” I asked him. “Will you leave me in peace?”
“For a while” he replied, speaking for the first time. “But I cannot stay away for long. One day perhaps ten years in the future, when the days run into one another, and the universe has weighed heavy on your back; when the light of the world has lost its lustre, you will call out to me just as your mother did, and I will come to help you too.”
I felt my eyes well up with tears as I saw my future with horrifying clarity, and for all the things I wanted to say, I could only manage the simplest response:
“Why?”
The angel placed his withered hand on my shoulder and spoke with vodka on his breath:
“Because you are so like your mother. Everyone says so.”
“Just fucking nothing, Petey, that shit’s magic,” Mark gushes. “I felt–calm, you know? Like all of me just… relaxed. I get so, you know–” he hunches up his shoulders in a mockery of his own usual anxious posture. “It just went away. Even my hands weren’t shaking.” He holds up his right hand. There’s no tremor there, not this early in the day, but by 4pm Mark will be gripping his mouse with white knuckles to hide it.
From the fic, “On Waffle Parties” by EightMinutestoSunrise. What if the Waffle Parties are tailored to the desires of each refiner’s outie? Mark S. gets a Waffle Party and everything hurts. Broke my freaking heart, and I had to draw it as I had pictured it.
I had to call the cops on my mom tonight so they can take her to the mental hospital and not one of my friends or my boyfriend came to help me. Nobody fucking cares even my dad wouldn’t come help take care of his own wife. It’s so quiet and lonely in this house now all by myself I wish the cops never left so I had someone to talk to.
30 days clean from alcohol today and 6 months 10 days from drugs. Not easy, but finally clean and sober from both substances. Finally getting through my thick skull that alcohol is also a drug.
This ecard sums up my family quite well with an emphasis on the “drink”.
Mary Kate DeCraene author of “No One Said Life Was Fair” a poignant and humorous memoir about growing up in an alcoholic family. Purchase your copy today on www.amazon.com.
It was Christmas Eve, 1965—my parent’s first Christmas together as newlyweds. Mom’s brother Pete and his wife, Lucy, purchased a new home in Oak Lawn, Illinois, a southwestern suburb of Chicago. Their home was beautifully decorated for the holiday, and was immaculate—not a thing was out of place. They invited the entire Sheedy clan over to celebrate including all nine of their nieces and nephews, who were under the age of twelve. Mom’s sister Lois invited her boyfriend, Bob, aka the Polish Cowboy, to meet the family for the first time.
At the height of the party, the children ran amok through the house. During their mayhem, they accidentally broke Pete and Lucy’s new laundry chute. Exactly how the laundry chute broke and who was responsible, remains a mystery to this day. The men, including Grandpa Sheedy, congregated in the basement and were happily getting drunk. Nana Sheedy and the other women sought refuge from all the commotion in the kitchen. My parents were both drunk and having one of their world-renowned screaming matches in the recreation room. Mom wanted to stay at the party with her family, and Dad wanted to leave. Ah, the joy of the holidays. Dad demanded Mom get her coat and shoes on, and, as he exited the room, shouted, “I’ll pick you up in the alley.”
What Dad failed to realize during his drunken tirade was they were in the suburbs, and there were no alleys. Stubborn as he was, however, Dad did not let that stop him. He got into his car, revved his engine loudly, and gunned it. He created his own alley by tearing down whatever obstacles stood in his way—including fences, manicured lawns, and sod. The pristine white snow turned to mud as his spinning wheels flung dirt clods of grass high up into the air.
Dad’s car came to a grinding halt as it got stuck in the mud behind the neighbor’s house. My parent’s private fight suddenly became very public as Dad kicked opened the car door, stumbled out, and exchanged a plethora of un-pleasantries with the neighbors. Right in the middle of Dad’s rant, his foot got sucked into the mud like quicksand and knocked him off his feet.
Realizing he was unable to extricate his car out of the mud alone, Dad got up and marched toward Pete and Lucy’s house for help. Unfortunately, all the cookie cutter houses in their neighborhood looked exactly the same. The only way Dad could tell them apart was by the address. Covered in mud from head to toe, he stomped up Pete and Lucy’s front steps, flung open the door, and traipsed across the brand-new living room carpet leaving a trail of muddy footprints behind him.
“My car is stuck in the alley. Can someone help me push it out?” Dad asked then meandered back to his car.
Stunned party goers, in awe over the spectacle they witnessed, asked in unison, “What alley?”
Everyone at the party went running to the back window to see what happened. Lois’s boyfriend, Bob, tried to distract the children by doing magic tricks and telling jokes. Mom, sensing Dad was about to explode, was determined to go outside and defuse him. She fought her way through the crowd and headed toward the back door. Her sister Peggy stopped her before she went outside.
“You can’t go out there like that, Pat. It’s winter. You’ll catch a death of cold. Here, wear my shoes.” Peggy took off her flats and offered them to Mom. As Mom fumbled to put on her sister’s shoes, the argument outside came to a boil.
Uncle John is one of the few people who can reason with Dad when he is drunk. He and Dad are very close. They have known each other ever since they were kids and played baseball together. Curious to find out what Dad was ranting about, John followed him outside. “Are you crazy, Ronnie?” John screamed as he witnessed firsthand the carnage that was once the neighbor’s backyard.
Dad turned to confront John and fell face first into the mud.
Much to Dad’s chagrin, the police arrived on the scene right on cue. Peggy sent her husband, Frank, out to stop Dad before he did something he regretted. Mom attempted to slip out the back door with Frank, but her family urged her to stay inside and let the police handle matters.
As Dad tells it, “There I was, crawling through the mud, when I happened upon a pair of well-polished, patent leather shoes. I looked up and saw an angry Oak Lawn police officer glaring down at me.”
Dad crawled between the police officer’s legs and made a break for it. The officer turned around, grabbed Dad by the scruff of the neck, and pulled him back up to his feet. Dad steadied his footing and took a rounding swing at the officer. Not the soundest judgment, for it landed him and Frank in a heap of trouble.
“Ronnie, don’t!” Frank pleaded, as he stepped in between Dad and the police officer.
Dad missed the police officer and hit Frank instead, right in the kisser then swirled to the ground. John pleaded with the officer to let his brothers-in-laws go, but he soon realized it was futile. Dad and Frank were arrested, charged with disturbing the peace, and spent the night in jail.
My parents had no money for bail. Luckily, Pete and Lucy came to the rescue and bailed Dad out of jail the next morning, so he could spend the rest of the holiday with his blushing, hung-over bride.
Two weeks later, Dad and Frank were scheduled to appear in court. Still bruised from the experience, Frank explained to the judge he was merely trying to prevent his brother-in-law from hitting the police officer. The police officer corroborated his story. The judge dismissed the charges against Frank and let him go. Dad, however, never showed up for court. The charges against him were dropped, and he got off scot-free.
To whoever purchased 4 copies of my book on Saturday, I thank you! It warms my heart knowing that someone will read these crazy stories and help keep my parents’ memories alive. I sincerely hope that you enjoy them and that the funny ones make you laugh! Hugs!
