Shruken heads
So today was my first mandatory session with Skoda, per McCoy’s demand. I don’t know how I survived the weekend to be honest. The last thing I remember was a long-winded conversation with Larry Friday afternoon about something I can’t recall, then everything was a blur. A wine drenched, vodka filled blue. Oh with a bottle of Advil of course. Maybe I do need this time off and to meet with Skoda…
I’m surprised I made it into his office this morning. I guess I still have some motivation deep inside, enough to not want to loose my job. I drug myself off the couch, into a sweatshirt and jeans and put sunglasses on (partially for the light and partially so no one would recognize me). Come to think of it, I’m still wearing those. It’s still too bright in my apartment.
I’ll spare the details of our ‘session’ (that sounds so clinical… it bothers me). He’s given me an assignment though. A writing assignment…What am I, a high school having to do a paper on who I am? Is it college applications? No. Whatever. Anyway, if you haven’t guessed, this is what this is.
I’m supposed to write about my feelings now, my feelings then and how I feel about those feelings. I think if I use the word feelings one more time, I might just vomit. Oh wait, that’s just the hangover… Still. Here’s my first response. How I feel now. We’ll start simple.
I feel like shit. My head kills, my stomach is somersaulting and the setting sun coming through my window may be blinding me, even with aviators on. I’ll deal all that later. Beside the self-inflicted effects of a drinking binge, I feel embarrassed and childish.
Let me explain. I grew up, the youngest of five kids. I was fiercely independent but was never able to do anything without my siblings hovering over me. That’s why I left Colorado and came to New York, so I could do things on my own. I thought I had succeeded. But here I am again, at thirty-two years old, a senior assistant district attorney, unable to deal with my problems, needing McCoy, Ross and Skoda to look after me.
That leads me to my next point. I feel embarrassed. Embarrassed that people think I have a problem. It goes hand in hand with the independence issue. I want people to think I’m in control. No matter how I feel, I guess it’s clear they do not. And obviously I guess it’s been an embarrassing past eight months, passing out in inappropriate places, being known as the woman who will take any guy home, having co-workers and friends have to carry me home and being drunk around my superiors to the point I let a criminal out on the streets.
Mostly though? I feel guilty. Guilty that I left Charlie like I did. I deserve what I’m dealing with. It’s what I get for being so self-absorbed that I turned my back on the one person I truly loved. I was one of the only people who could help him and I didn’t, so he died alone in a pile of garbage under the Queensboro.
That’s all I feel like writing for now. I… need a glass of wine. My first AA meeting (another condition of this whole situation) is on Thursday. We’ll deal with that then.
I’m surprised I made it into his office this morning. I guess I still have some motivation deep inside, enough to not want to loose my job. I drug myself off the couch, into a sweatshirt and jeans and put sunglasses on (partially for the light and partially so no one would recognize me). Come to think of it, I’m still wearing those. It’s still too bright in my apartment.
I’ll spare the details of our ‘session’ (that sounds so clinical… it bothers me). He’s given me an assignment though. A writing assignment…What am I, a high school having to do a paper on who I am? Is it college applications? No. Whatever. Anyway, if you haven’t guessed, this is what this is.
I’m supposed to write about my feelings now, my feelings then and how I feel about those feelings. I think if I use the word feelings one more time, I might just vomit. Oh wait, that’s just the hangover… Still. Here’s my first response. How I feel now. We’ll start simple.
I feel like shit. My head kills, my stomach is somersaulting and the setting sun coming through my window may be blinding me, even with aviators on. I’ll deal all that later. Beside the self-inflicted effects of a drinking binge, I feel embarrassed and childish.
Let me explain. I grew up, the youngest of five kids. I was fiercely independent but was never able to do anything without my siblings hovering over me. That’s why I left Colorado and came to New York, so I could do things on my own. I thought I had succeeded. But here I am again, at thirty-two years old, a senior assistant district attorney, unable to deal with my problems, needing McCoy, Ross and Skoda to look after me.
That leads me to my next point. I feel embarrassed. Embarrassed that people think I have a problem. It goes hand in hand with the independence issue. I want people to think I’m in control. No matter how I feel, I guess it’s clear they do not. And obviously I guess it’s been an embarrassing past eight months, passing out in inappropriate places, being known as the woman who will take any guy home, having co-workers and friends have to carry me home and being drunk around my superiors to the point I let a criminal out on the streets.
Mostly though? I feel guilty. Guilty that I left Charlie like I did. I deserve what I’m dealing with. It’s what I get for being so self-absorbed that I turned my back on the one person I truly loved. I was one of the only people who could help him and I didn’t, so he died alone in a pile of garbage under the Queensboro.
That’s all I feel like writing for now. I… need a glass of wine. My first AA meeting (another condition of this whole situation) is on Thursday. We’ll deal with that then.