always cry when i drink

[spuddleduck]

these days i always cry when i drink, i can start out happy, i can start out over the moon but i always end up crying. i think alcohol opens up the closed cells. to explain how i feel i would say that i put things in a jam jar. a glass jar with a lid. im very good at keeping the lid on as i know the contents of the jar are best kept inside. now, my wrists are weak and im not very good at breaking the seal on a jar (its good to run it under a hot tap ) so there i go keeping everything tight inside the glass jar. perhaps i want it out but of course i cant because it is sealed very tightly in this glass jar. the jar has a lid. a very tight lid.still cant get it off. along comes alcohol..... my friend/my enemy/my god/my devil/ the something that can twist the cap off the jar....just a little bit..... let it out...... let it all out..... so along comes al, good old al, yep when its all getting too much good old al will let me let it out. oh yes i am so very grateful to al for this.
PERHAPS I NOW WILL QUESTION AL. QUESTION WHY AL IS PRETENDING TO BE MY FRIEND WHEN ALL THAT AL CAUSES IS MISERY. PERHAPS NOW I WILL QUESTION AL. PERHAPS I NOW WANT MY TEARS TO BE GENUINE TEARS BROUGHT ON FOR LOVE, HAPPINESS, SADNESS,JOY........ BUT NOT THE TEARS OF A SAD DRUNK .... THE TEARS OF A HAPPY LOVING HUMAN FEELING ALL THE EMOTIONS THAT I WAS BORN TO FEEL. GOOD AND BAD:h

[YouKayBee]

always cry when i drink

spuddleduck;1602282 wrote:
PERHAPS I NOW WILL QUESTION AL. QUESTION WHY AL IS PRETENDING TO BE MY FRIEND WHEN ALL THAT AL CAUSES IS MISERY. PERHAPS NOW I WILL QUESTION AL. PERHAPS I NOW WANT MY TEARS TO BE GENUINE TEARS BROUGHT ON FOR LOVE, HAPPINESS, SADNESS,JOY........ BUT NOT THE TEARS OF A SAD DRUNK .... THE TEARS OF A HAPPY LOVING HUMAN FEELING ALL THE EMOTIONS THAT I WAS BORN TO FEEL. GOOD AND BAD:h

This is beautiful and sad at the same time. I am pleased you've written it for all to see.

[available]

always cry when i drink

Spud this was a post by Ringing Cedars and it was one of the first posts i saved over two years ago and rang true for me and I hope for you. It took me another two years to hate AL with a vengeance and realise al is not my best friend, not my buddy, but someone I loathe to what he/she has done to me. Be strong you can do it.



Ringing Cedars;1037903 wrote: The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.

As a small boy, I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.

I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar to admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.

Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.

Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. 'Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back.'

Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly. 'These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me.'


We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. 'When we get home , we'll start filling the jar again.' He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other..

'You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters,' he said. 'But you'll get there; I'll see to that.'

No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill,and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.

To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me 'When you finish college, Son,' he told me, his eyes glistening, 'You'll never have to eat beans again - unless you want to.'

The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed.



A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood.. My dad was a man of few words: he never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virt ues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.



The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her fro m Dad's arms. 'She probably needs to be changed,' she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.

She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. 'Look,' she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser.

To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt.

Neither one of us could speak.

This truly touched my heart. Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings. Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.

God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for GOOD in others..

The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller

- Happy moments, praise God.

- Difficult moments, seek God.

- Quiet moments, worship God.

- Painful moments, trust God.

- Every moment, thank God.

[spuddleduck]

always cry when i drink

thanks available for your thoughts. appreciateitso much. at the moment im not in a place to pass all of my hope or my happy sad difficult or whatever moments over to god . i am still working in whatever belief i may have. not sure yet if it is a christian god or any god other than me. so thanks . keep praying for me . i need it x

[available]

always cry when i drink

I'm not a religious person Spud and i think it is pure determination on our part that keeps us going in this war. I just so liked that post and for me it had some sort of meaning.

[bkyogagurl]

always cry when i drink

:l spud I'm here for you- it's ok to cry. I am so glad you are opening up.

[little beagle]

always cry when i drink

That pickle jar has me crying.

[mama bear]

always cry when i drink

that was lovely
Spud, I have a girlfriend that always cries when she drinks. She calls it her "cryinteenth" glass of wine. Perhaps it's remorse that you are drinking again??
Is there a counselor in your area?? Therapy may be a really good option for you to dig into this.
Many, many hugs
Mama

[K9Lover]

always cry when i drink

I always ended up bawling, nose running, eyes red and puffy, just a mess...every time. Not sure exactly why, all I can say is that drinking stopped being fun for me a LONG time ago. A long time before I actually quit. Isthereanyhope summed it up well: quit drinking! :l