When I first got clean and sober back in 2002, I went to see a therapist that was paid for my the EMS department where I worked. I had gone to my supervisors and admitted I had a problem so it was in their best interests as well to make sure I got all the help I needed. At first things went well with her. We developed a rapport and I was able to discuss things with her and finally stop relapsing. It took a bit. After I'd been seeing her for a while, I began having memories surface of shit that happened to me as a child. The memories led to total body flashbacks that were, quite frankly, horrible.
Every time I'd have a flashback I'd write about it. I'd write down the whole experience, every single detail, and send it to her in an email. She knew this was very disruptive to my life but there never seemed to be any type of treatment to help me deal with the flashbacks or all the shit that came with them. She'd tell me, "This too shall pass," and other platitudes that didn't really help.
Now I'll be the first to admit that my feelings for her became VERY unhealthy. I've since learned that this is quite common in the therapy setting and it's up to the therapist to explain that it may happen. Especially to someone who had never really been to therapy before but she never did. I started Googling her and finding out everything I could about her which turned out to be a surprising amount of information. I started going to the same gym she went to at the same time she went. I found out her mother had written poetry so I got a copy of the book. Yes, I went way overboard and was highly inappropriate. I have no excuse except to say that I was extremely vulnerable and I felt completely out of control over what was happening to me. I had stopped doing drugs and was trying to learn new coping mechanisms. I was having these horrible flashbacks and didn't know how to handle that. I was finding out things about my childhood that I had buried for decades. There was a lot going on. I continued to have the flashbacks for months. It was a truly awful experience and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Reliving every single thing that was done to me mentally, emotionally, physically as if it was happening right now was excruciating. But again nothing really changed in our therapy sessions. We would just talk about what had happened.
Eventually I began to feel guilty for knowing all this stuff about her that I was sure she'd be upset about. I mentioned that I had become a bit obsessed with her during a session and she asked how I meant that. I then told her all this info I had found out. She, of course, was horrified. She had no idea this much info was available in the first place and that I had then sought it out was hard for her to hear. She ended our therapy relationship that day. I walked out of her office with out any clue how to help myself and only the name of a male therapist as a referral.
I went to see the male therapist just once because I was desperate only to discover that he wasn't for me. I ended up not going back to therapy for a few years and just muddling through on my own. Eventually I needed to find someone else and I did. I found a fantastic therapist named Cari Foote in Marble Falls. She explained to me that I should never have been allowed to just sit in all that emotional shit my mind was pouring out. She was a proponent of EMDR and used that on me to help process my traumatic memories. It made all the difference! I felt better after just one session than I had in a very long time. This then led me to carry some resentments towards the previous therapist. Why would she have let me go through all that?
I hadn't seen or heard from that first therapist in probably 15 years until today when a friend on FB posted a link to her FB page. I gotta admit that the feelings that came up towards her were not kind. I guess there's still a bit of anger there that it's time to let go. I made it out the other side so it all worked out in the end I guess. I hope she has managed to grow as a professional and doesn't do to anyone else what she did to me. I certainly learned about boundaries and I've not gotten that obsessed about someone I wasn't dating ever again. It's just weird how all that old shit can just appear out of nowhere sometimes.
Tuesday, August 27, 2019
Monday, August 26, 2019
Step Nine: Making amends
During my years of active addiction, I was not honest. I wasn't cash register honest. I wasn't property honest. I wasn't any kind of honest. I lied, cheated, stole, whatever I needed to do to feed my habit. The first time I got clean and sober back in 2002, I didn't do any stepwork. There were some people I apologized to for past behaviors but I'm not sure that could be considered amends so this is the first time I've been faced with actually having to make amends for my actions. And it is fucking me up!
I spent some time with my sponsor yesterday going over my list of people to whom I owe an amends. The one thing I can say is that since I didn't act out sexually, I at least don't have to make amends for being unfaithful to my wife which is apparently a pretty common thing people need to make amends for. What I do have to do is tell people I love and respect that I stole from them. It's making me want to vomit just thinking about it.
When I was using, that little voice in the back of my head that might be called a conscience was virtually non-existent. I mean, it was there but it was weak and feeble. I could drown it out until I got high then it was silenced for a while. It always resurfaced, niggling at the back of my brain, until I got high again. It was one of the things that kept me using. The guilt, shame, regret would become too loud if I didn't shut it up.
Now, I can no longer do that. That voice in my head is large and in charge. The list of people I need to make amends to is, I suppose, relatively short. I don't really know, though, since I don't know what anyone else's list looks like. I'm just assuming. While I was making my list, it seemed like my world had become quite small. Over the last several years the number of people I interacted with became less and less because I was falling more and more into isolation. There are, however, quite a few people I'll need to talk to.
After discussing each person on my list, my sponsor and I looked at the best way for me to approach them. Because I'm a great avoider, my first inclination was to send a letter or an email to almost all of them. We talked about it and decided that the best way for me to really make amends and become a better person was to do most of them face to face. The amends aren't for the other person. The amends is for myself so I can stop beating myself up about past behavior and move into the future with a relatively clean slate. For my own wellbeing, I need to look them in the eye and tell them that I came into their personal space and violated their trust.
It's not so much telling them that I stole from them. I mean, that's not a comfortable conversation for sure but it's not the main thing giving me pause. Mostly, it's the act of opening myself up to them that I find so daunting. For the vast majority of my life, I've kept core parts of myself hidden from others. I've created versions of myself that I show to others, sometimes different versions for different people. When I was in high school, I concocted elaborate stories, lies actually, about things going on in my life. I did it for attention mostly but I also think part of it was to make myself more interesting to others. I didn't think I was worthy of their attention on my own perhaps? I certainly felt less than. In the past, when anyone found out that I was lying I ran away as fast as possible. I'd drop their friendship like it was gonna bite me.
I've certainly been honest about things with others before. I guess, though, telling a room full of addicts or my sponsor or my wife that I've done all this stupid shit is one thing but telling THAT good friend that I've known for ages that I went into her personal space and stole drugs from her is way more exposure than I've done before. I've told people that I stole but I've never told people that I stole from them specifically. Seems like I've continued to hide without even realizing it on a conscious level. What is it in me that feels this desperate need to hide? I know that right now I might not have the highest self-esteem but I certainly don't feel like I'm the scum of the Earth either.
It logically has roots in my childhood because this need to be better, more, different started back then. I remember telling my first lies as a small child at like five and six years old. Some stuff happened to me at that age that changed the trajectory of my life. That's the first time I can recall hiding something. I was led to believe that if I told I would be abandoned. As an adult now I know that wasn't the truth but as a six year old, having already had a father that left me, I had no reason to not believe him. So I began to hide. I lied and said everything was fine when it was anything but. After that is when things began to change. I knew I couldn't tell anyone but I was still desperately reaching out. When I was in junior high there was a writing competition. I wrote a fiction piece about a teenage girl who is raped by the son of a family friend. I was completely invested in that story winning the contest and when it didn't I was devastated. Not only did I not win, there was no acknowledgement about the story either. I guess I expected someone to read it and say, "This kid obviously needs some help." That didn't happen.
When I entered high school, I told my favorite teachers that I was struggling. I don't remember exactly what I told them but I know I was asking for help. Not only did they not offer any help, one of them wrote in my year back something along the lines of "Life is hard but you can tough it out." I remember going to college campuses for Speech competitions and being told to be careful walking on campus at night so we weren't attacked. I would wait until dark then walk the whole campus by myself willing something to happen. I guess I thought if something happened then I could get help? I don't know. I don't remember my reasoning. I just remember that horrible feeling of emptiness, loneliness, hopelessness. It's also during high school that I cut on myself for the first time. That wasn't to become a consistent thing until years later though. My pain was invisible because it was inside so I wanted to make it visible but still no one offered help and I had no idea how to ask for it.
After a few humiliating experiences being caught out in lies or hurting myself, I learned to hide it. I learned to manipulate people to get them to feel whatever way I wanted them to feel about me. I was 19 years old when I met the woman who made me realize I was a lesbian. She was just as damaged as I was and this led me to discover that if I could rescue someone else, I felt better about myself. After that I sought out damaged people. I may not have been able to save myself but I could save them. Yet another fallacy it took me years to work out.
My 20s are a blur of drunken nights filled with women who ran from my desperate need to be loved. I was so nervous and uncomfortable when it came to sexual attraction that I had to drink to pursue. And drink I did! The only thing that controlled my drinking was my lack of money. Given more money, there'd have been much more booze. When I finally did meet someone who wanted to be in a relationship with me, she wanted to change me. She didn't love me the way I was. She told me she didn't find me attractive because I was too fat. She said I wasn't sexually adventurous enough for her. She used my desperate need to not be alone as leverage to open up our relationship. I have a crystal clear memory of sitting in the house in Baltimore waiting for her to come home after spending the night with another woman. I drank directly out of a bottle of gin, my body feeling like it was actually being torn in half, until I passed out. Sometimes drinking actually saved my life. I seriously contemplated killing myself not especially because I wanted to die but because I didn't want to hurt anymore. Usually I got too drunk to be able to do anything.
Once I discovered opiates, I left alcohol alone. Opiates were way better at distancing myself from others. With alcohol, nerve endings become duller but so did everything else. I wasn't able to think clearly and, more importantly, I found it hard to hide that I was drunk. With opiates, it was like a lacy veil dropped between me and everything else. Nothing hurt, nothing was too bothersome, I had energy, I could get stuff done, and best yet no one knew I was high. I found myself able to keep everyone outside while I was tucked safely inside. Only it eventually stopped working. I can't remember exactly when but at some point it became less about getting high and more about not being sick. When there was a day I couldn't get drugs then I drank. I rarely did both. I didn't want to kill myself! *eye roll*
The way I've been living no longer works for me. I can't be the kind of person who lies to my wife and steals anything from people. That's not who I am. This behavior is incongruous with my true self. My sponsor tells me that if I make my amends, if I get through the steps and do the work, then my behavior will naturally line up with who I am. One of the things about AA and NA too is that everyone in the rooms earned their seat. We've all been to the same hell even if we took different roads to get there. When my sponsor says I know you can do it because I did, I trust her. That's what her sponsor told her and that's what her sponsor told her. It's worked for millions of people and I see the living proof every time I go to a meeting. So I know it's true. I can do this because Lo says I can, because Sharon says I can, because they were sitting right where I am once and they made it through to the other side. I really don't want to make these amends but I need to because I'm no longer the person who will steal your money or your drugs or anything else for that matter. The final nail in that coffin is to face those actions, tell those I hurt I'm sorry, and then never do it again. That's what the amends are really all about. Making sure this person I am now remembers the person I once was. The big book says we will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it but it's certainly a room I don't want to visit anymore.
I spent some time with my sponsor yesterday going over my list of people to whom I owe an amends. The one thing I can say is that since I didn't act out sexually, I at least don't have to make amends for being unfaithful to my wife which is apparently a pretty common thing people need to make amends for. What I do have to do is tell people I love and respect that I stole from them. It's making me want to vomit just thinking about it.
When I was using, that little voice in the back of my head that might be called a conscience was virtually non-existent. I mean, it was there but it was weak and feeble. I could drown it out until I got high then it was silenced for a while. It always resurfaced, niggling at the back of my brain, until I got high again. It was one of the things that kept me using. The guilt, shame, regret would become too loud if I didn't shut it up.
Now, I can no longer do that. That voice in my head is large and in charge. The list of people I need to make amends to is, I suppose, relatively short. I don't really know, though, since I don't know what anyone else's list looks like. I'm just assuming. While I was making my list, it seemed like my world had become quite small. Over the last several years the number of people I interacted with became less and less because I was falling more and more into isolation. There are, however, quite a few people I'll need to talk to.
After discussing each person on my list, my sponsor and I looked at the best way for me to approach them. Because I'm a great avoider, my first inclination was to send a letter or an email to almost all of them. We talked about it and decided that the best way for me to really make amends and become a better person was to do most of them face to face. The amends aren't for the other person. The amends is for myself so I can stop beating myself up about past behavior and move into the future with a relatively clean slate. For my own wellbeing, I need to look them in the eye and tell them that I came into their personal space and violated their trust.
It's not so much telling them that I stole from them. I mean, that's not a comfortable conversation for sure but it's not the main thing giving me pause. Mostly, it's the act of opening myself up to them that I find so daunting. For the vast majority of my life, I've kept core parts of myself hidden from others. I've created versions of myself that I show to others, sometimes different versions for different people. When I was in high school, I concocted elaborate stories, lies actually, about things going on in my life. I did it for attention mostly but I also think part of it was to make myself more interesting to others. I didn't think I was worthy of their attention on my own perhaps? I certainly felt less than. In the past, when anyone found out that I was lying I ran away as fast as possible. I'd drop their friendship like it was gonna bite me.
I've certainly been honest about things with others before. I guess, though, telling a room full of addicts or my sponsor or my wife that I've done all this stupid shit is one thing but telling THAT good friend that I've known for ages that I went into her personal space and stole drugs from her is way more exposure than I've done before. I've told people that I stole but I've never told people that I stole from them specifically. Seems like I've continued to hide without even realizing it on a conscious level. What is it in me that feels this desperate need to hide? I know that right now I might not have the highest self-esteem but I certainly don't feel like I'm the scum of the Earth either.
It logically has roots in my childhood because this need to be better, more, different started back then. I remember telling my first lies as a small child at like five and six years old. Some stuff happened to me at that age that changed the trajectory of my life. That's the first time I can recall hiding something. I was led to believe that if I told I would be abandoned. As an adult now I know that wasn't the truth but as a six year old, having already had a father that left me, I had no reason to not believe him. So I began to hide. I lied and said everything was fine when it was anything but. After that is when things began to change. I knew I couldn't tell anyone but I was still desperately reaching out. When I was in junior high there was a writing competition. I wrote a fiction piece about a teenage girl who is raped by the son of a family friend. I was completely invested in that story winning the contest and when it didn't I was devastated. Not only did I not win, there was no acknowledgement about the story either. I guess I expected someone to read it and say, "This kid obviously needs some help." That didn't happen.
When I entered high school, I told my favorite teachers that I was struggling. I don't remember exactly what I told them but I know I was asking for help. Not only did they not offer any help, one of them wrote in my year back something along the lines of "Life is hard but you can tough it out." I remember going to college campuses for Speech competitions and being told to be careful walking on campus at night so we weren't attacked. I would wait until dark then walk the whole campus by myself willing something to happen. I guess I thought if something happened then I could get help? I don't know. I don't remember my reasoning. I just remember that horrible feeling of emptiness, loneliness, hopelessness. It's also during high school that I cut on myself for the first time. That wasn't to become a consistent thing until years later though. My pain was invisible because it was inside so I wanted to make it visible but still no one offered help and I had no idea how to ask for it.
After a few humiliating experiences being caught out in lies or hurting myself, I learned to hide it. I learned to manipulate people to get them to feel whatever way I wanted them to feel about me. I was 19 years old when I met the woman who made me realize I was a lesbian. She was just as damaged as I was and this led me to discover that if I could rescue someone else, I felt better about myself. After that I sought out damaged people. I may not have been able to save myself but I could save them. Yet another fallacy it took me years to work out.
My 20s are a blur of drunken nights filled with women who ran from my desperate need to be loved. I was so nervous and uncomfortable when it came to sexual attraction that I had to drink to pursue. And drink I did! The only thing that controlled my drinking was my lack of money. Given more money, there'd have been much more booze. When I finally did meet someone who wanted to be in a relationship with me, she wanted to change me. She didn't love me the way I was. She told me she didn't find me attractive because I was too fat. She said I wasn't sexually adventurous enough for her. She used my desperate need to not be alone as leverage to open up our relationship. I have a crystal clear memory of sitting in the house in Baltimore waiting for her to come home after spending the night with another woman. I drank directly out of a bottle of gin, my body feeling like it was actually being torn in half, until I passed out. Sometimes drinking actually saved my life. I seriously contemplated killing myself not especially because I wanted to die but because I didn't want to hurt anymore. Usually I got too drunk to be able to do anything.
Once I discovered opiates, I left alcohol alone. Opiates were way better at distancing myself from others. With alcohol, nerve endings become duller but so did everything else. I wasn't able to think clearly and, more importantly, I found it hard to hide that I was drunk. With opiates, it was like a lacy veil dropped between me and everything else. Nothing hurt, nothing was too bothersome, I had energy, I could get stuff done, and best yet no one knew I was high. I found myself able to keep everyone outside while I was tucked safely inside. Only it eventually stopped working. I can't remember exactly when but at some point it became less about getting high and more about not being sick. When there was a day I couldn't get drugs then I drank. I rarely did both. I didn't want to kill myself! *eye roll*
The way I've been living no longer works for me. I can't be the kind of person who lies to my wife and steals anything from people. That's not who I am. This behavior is incongruous with my true self. My sponsor tells me that if I make my amends, if I get through the steps and do the work, then my behavior will naturally line up with who I am. One of the things about AA and NA too is that everyone in the rooms earned their seat. We've all been to the same hell even if we took different roads to get there. When my sponsor says I know you can do it because I did, I trust her. That's what her sponsor told her and that's what her sponsor told her. It's worked for millions of people and I see the living proof every time I go to a meeting. So I know it's true. I can do this because Lo says I can, because Sharon says I can, because they were sitting right where I am once and they made it through to the other side. I really don't want to make these amends but I need to because I'm no longer the person who will steal your money or your drugs or anything else for that matter. The final nail in that coffin is to face those actions, tell those I hurt I'm sorry, and then never do it again. That's what the amends are really all about. Making sure this person I am now remembers the person I once was. The big book says we will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it but it's certainly a room I don't want to visit anymore.
Wednesday, August 21, 2019
Faith?
Tonight at my women's meeting we talked about faith. Now one of the things I love about AA is that I'm not expected to have any particular faith. No one expects me to be a Christian or practice/believe in any specific way. What is expected of me is that I find a power greater than myself. I just love that nowhere in the literature does it describe what my higher power should look like. It just says I need to get one.
When I was a child I was raised in the Church of Christ. This particular denomination believes that services should not include musical instruments of any kind, that dancing is of the devil, and that they are the only ones going to heaven. It was a very boring, monotone, staid service every Sunday and Wednesday night. I went quite a bit when I was a child because I rode with my Uncle Fred and Aunt Kathleen. My mom usually had to work on Sunday mornings.
I rocked along doing just fine with CoC until around my junior year of high school when I decided I wanted a more engaging religion so I joined an evangelical church. I can't now remember the name but I do remember that they believed in speaking in tongues, musical instruments, and dancing (as long as it was during a service and divinely inspired.) I desperately wanted to believe and to fit in. I had been feeling increasingly isolated over the years. I had gone through a phase where I told great big lies to get sympathy. I reached out to particular teachers desperately wanting, needing them to do something to help me but none of them did. I'm not sure now what they could have helped me with. I was being rushed headlong into experiences I didn't know how to handle and having feelings I didn't understand. I look back now in dismay that I was so messed up and yet still managed to graduate high school. Although I think the graduating part was just barely.
I thought belonging to this church would help. The kids that belonged were kids I liked, that I admired, that I wanted to like me so I figured this was the best way to get into their group. What I didn't learn until much later in life is that if you're running after people, chasing them down, begging them to love you, accept you, help you belong, they tend to run away from you as fast as possible. Once again in my life my desperate need was repugnant to the ones I needed. It's such a fucked up Catch 22. The more you need people, the faster they run away. The less you need them, the faster they show up by your side.
The church wasn't a bad place. I don't remember any of the clergy or really any of the services. I remember going skiing with the youth group to Crested Butte, CO. I thought, finally! I'll be one of them. I'll go on this ski holiday and we'll all become great friends! Well the trip was fun but because I felt Other, I remained Other. No one was anything but kind to me. I just wasn't in a place where I could accept myself much less them.
Once I graduated high school, I moved to Austin and it was there that I met Tammy. I got a job selling encyclopedias door to door (yes I am that old!) and there she was that first day in the parking lot. I'll save all that for another time. Suffice it to say I finally figured out one of the reasons I felt so different. Tammy and I had a whirlwind, intense, INTENSE, three month relationship until I decided there was no way I could be gay. Nope, no way, can't do it, this isn't who I am! So I did the only thing I knew to do: I ran away back to Austin and found myself an evangelical church.
Again, I can't remember the name of this church. I just remember that it was in one of those big, cold, emotionless buildings these churches are so fond of. There was a youth pastor there who was interested in saving lost souls and he said he could help me not be gay anymore. There was another person, a guy who's name I don't remember, who also didn't want to be gay so the pastor started working with us. He had us detail our past experiences with same sex friends as well as opposite sex ones. I told him all about my life, my feelings, my emotional entanglement with my girl friends that was so much more intense than theirs' for me. I told him about the guy I had sex with and I told him all about Tammy. I told him a lot of secrets some embarrassing and shameful to me. I wanted to get "better" and I thought I could trust a holy man.
After a couple of months of working with this man, he asked the other guy and myself to sit in the front row during the Sunday service. He said he wanted to do a special blessing for us. We naively did as we were asked and sat in the front. In the middle of the service in front of about 300 people, many of which I had come to know during my time in the church, he called us up to stand in the front. We stood there while he told the congregation every single thing we had been discussing with him. He shared our intimate, personal, shameful secrets with everyone. Even to my life at this point, at 51 years of age, I've not felt so exposed, so violated, so humiliated in front of a bunch of people. I left the church that day and never returned. I vowed that if this was what God was all about then he could go fuck himself. I wanted no part of such a horrible thing.
For years, I carried around that chip like a badge of honor. I was bitter and hateful about anything smacking of Christianity. I'll admit that I'm still not comfortable with bible thumpers. I don't trust them or their motives and that's not likely to change anytime soon. What it did do for me though was open up my mind to other spiritual possibilities. While I was still thinking that Christianity was the only true path, my mind wouldn't allow any other belief systems to be valid. After this experience, I was free to choose my path. For a long time, I was agnostic. I believed there was probably something but I didn't know what it was. Then I began to explore Paganism. For a while this became my spiritual path. Once I relapsed, though, I lost all ideas about spirituality. I was back to not believing in anything. I guess you could say my higher power was whatever got me high and then even that failed me. What had once felt good now just kept me from being sick.
Getting back into recovery, the first three steps require that we admit we're alcoholics, drug addicts, whatever, and that our lives are unmanageable. We come to believe that a power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity. We then turn our will and our lives over to the care of that higher power. Having arrived at AA this time, I was fully ready to admit that I was an alcoholic and a drug addict. My sponsor had me list five ways that illustrated the unmanageability of my life. I was able to list them in about five minutes. It was pretty apparent. The coming to believe part wasn't particularly hard either. I've had plenty of evidence over my lifetime that there's a greater intelligence at work. I've seen things that shouldn't have happened, genuine miracles, and I've felt the presence of something. The hard part for me this time was believing that this higher power could restore me to sanity. Believing there's a higher power is one thing but believing that it is personal to me is something else entirely. The turning my will and life over part seemed daunting as well. I wasn't really sure how to do that. My sponsor told me that it didn't matter that I couldn't define it. She said that if we could define the higher power we wouldn't really need it, which I thing is very true. She suggested that I just pray every morning that whatever is out there would help me do the next right thing, would help me stay clean and sober, would help me make it through the day, just this day. Then she said at night I should thank whatever that power is for my day, for staying clean and sober, for helping me do the next right thing. She said just to put it out there and to realize that I'm not the center of the universe.
And that's what I've been doing for the last 24 days and it seems to be working. For the last 22 days I've not wanted to drink and I've not wanted to take any drugs. It's like that all consuming compulsion was just lifted away and I felt free and easy for the first time in a long time. So, as to the question of faith: I have no idea. I just know that if I ever start thinking I'm the center of the universe again, I'm in trouble. I need to remember that my best effort, my best thinking, got me nothing but fucked up and broken. Left to my own devices I would soon kill myself, maybe not intentionally but dead just the same. If I operate under my own steam, I will run this car into a ditch and off a cliff. So I remain humble in my belief that there's something greater out there and if I give up control of everything around me I'll be fine. I just have to trust right? Isn't that what faith really is after all?
When I was a child I was raised in the Church of Christ. This particular denomination believes that services should not include musical instruments of any kind, that dancing is of the devil, and that they are the only ones going to heaven. It was a very boring, monotone, staid service every Sunday and Wednesday night. I went quite a bit when I was a child because I rode with my Uncle Fred and Aunt Kathleen. My mom usually had to work on Sunday mornings.
I rocked along doing just fine with CoC until around my junior year of high school when I decided I wanted a more engaging religion so I joined an evangelical church. I can't now remember the name but I do remember that they believed in speaking in tongues, musical instruments, and dancing (as long as it was during a service and divinely inspired.) I desperately wanted to believe and to fit in. I had been feeling increasingly isolated over the years. I had gone through a phase where I told great big lies to get sympathy. I reached out to particular teachers desperately wanting, needing them to do something to help me but none of them did. I'm not sure now what they could have helped me with. I was being rushed headlong into experiences I didn't know how to handle and having feelings I didn't understand. I look back now in dismay that I was so messed up and yet still managed to graduate high school. Although I think the graduating part was just barely.
I thought belonging to this church would help. The kids that belonged were kids I liked, that I admired, that I wanted to like me so I figured this was the best way to get into their group. What I didn't learn until much later in life is that if you're running after people, chasing them down, begging them to love you, accept you, help you belong, they tend to run away from you as fast as possible. Once again in my life my desperate need was repugnant to the ones I needed. It's such a fucked up Catch 22. The more you need people, the faster they run away. The less you need them, the faster they show up by your side.
The church wasn't a bad place. I don't remember any of the clergy or really any of the services. I remember going skiing with the youth group to Crested Butte, CO. I thought, finally! I'll be one of them. I'll go on this ski holiday and we'll all become great friends! Well the trip was fun but because I felt Other, I remained Other. No one was anything but kind to me. I just wasn't in a place where I could accept myself much less them.
Once I graduated high school, I moved to Austin and it was there that I met Tammy. I got a job selling encyclopedias door to door (yes I am that old!) and there she was that first day in the parking lot. I'll save all that for another time. Suffice it to say I finally figured out one of the reasons I felt so different. Tammy and I had a whirlwind, intense, INTENSE, three month relationship until I decided there was no way I could be gay. Nope, no way, can't do it, this isn't who I am! So I did the only thing I knew to do: I ran away back to Austin and found myself an evangelical church.
Again, I can't remember the name of this church. I just remember that it was in one of those big, cold, emotionless buildings these churches are so fond of. There was a youth pastor there who was interested in saving lost souls and he said he could help me not be gay anymore. There was another person, a guy who's name I don't remember, who also didn't want to be gay so the pastor started working with us. He had us detail our past experiences with same sex friends as well as opposite sex ones. I told him all about my life, my feelings, my emotional entanglement with my girl friends that was so much more intense than theirs' for me. I told him about the guy I had sex with and I told him all about Tammy. I told him a lot of secrets some embarrassing and shameful to me. I wanted to get "better" and I thought I could trust a holy man.
After a couple of months of working with this man, he asked the other guy and myself to sit in the front row during the Sunday service. He said he wanted to do a special blessing for us. We naively did as we were asked and sat in the front. In the middle of the service in front of about 300 people, many of which I had come to know during my time in the church, he called us up to stand in the front. We stood there while he told the congregation every single thing we had been discussing with him. He shared our intimate, personal, shameful secrets with everyone. Even to my life at this point, at 51 years of age, I've not felt so exposed, so violated, so humiliated in front of a bunch of people. I left the church that day and never returned. I vowed that if this was what God was all about then he could go fuck himself. I wanted no part of such a horrible thing.
For years, I carried around that chip like a badge of honor. I was bitter and hateful about anything smacking of Christianity. I'll admit that I'm still not comfortable with bible thumpers. I don't trust them or their motives and that's not likely to change anytime soon. What it did do for me though was open up my mind to other spiritual possibilities. While I was still thinking that Christianity was the only true path, my mind wouldn't allow any other belief systems to be valid. After this experience, I was free to choose my path. For a long time, I was agnostic. I believed there was probably something but I didn't know what it was. Then I began to explore Paganism. For a while this became my spiritual path. Once I relapsed, though, I lost all ideas about spirituality. I was back to not believing in anything. I guess you could say my higher power was whatever got me high and then even that failed me. What had once felt good now just kept me from being sick.
Getting back into recovery, the first three steps require that we admit we're alcoholics, drug addicts, whatever, and that our lives are unmanageable. We come to believe that a power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity. We then turn our will and our lives over to the care of that higher power. Having arrived at AA this time, I was fully ready to admit that I was an alcoholic and a drug addict. My sponsor had me list five ways that illustrated the unmanageability of my life. I was able to list them in about five minutes. It was pretty apparent. The coming to believe part wasn't particularly hard either. I've had plenty of evidence over my lifetime that there's a greater intelligence at work. I've seen things that shouldn't have happened, genuine miracles, and I've felt the presence of something. The hard part for me this time was believing that this higher power could restore me to sanity. Believing there's a higher power is one thing but believing that it is personal to me is something else entirely. The turning my will and life over part seemed daunting as well. I wasn't really sure how to do that. My sponsor told me that it didn't matter that I couldn't define it. She said that if we could define the higher power we wouldn't really need it, which I thing is very true. She suggested that I just pray every morning that whatever is out there would help me do the next right thing, would help me stay clean and sober, would help me make it through the day, just this day. Then she said at night I should thank whatever that power is for my day, for staying clean and sober, for helping me do the next right thing. She said just to put it out there and to realize that I'm not the center of the universe.
And that's what I've been doing for the last 24 days and it seems to be working. For the last 22 days I've not wanted to drink and I've not wanted to take any drugs. It's like that all consuming compulsion was just lifted away and I felt free and easy for the first time in a long time. So, as to the question of faith: I have no idea. I just know that if I ever start thinking I'm the center of the universe again, I'm in trouble. I need to remember that my best effort, my best thinking, got me nothing but fucked up and broken. Left to my own devices I would soon kill myself, maybe not intentionally but dead just the same. If I operate under my own steam, I will run this car into a ditch and off a cliff. So I remain humble in my belief that there's something greater out there and if I give up control of everything around me I'll be fine. I just have to trust right? Isn't that what faith really is after all?
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
That dreaded fifth step
It's interesting to me that so many people dread doing the fifth step. If you're not familiar allow me to enlighten you. The fourth step says: "We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves" and the fifth step is: "Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs." Basically, we make a list of resentments and other shit we've done that we carry around with us then we tell someone all those deep, dark secrets that kept us sick. The point is to unburden yourself of all the stuff you've hauled around that you then used or drank over. Now, obviously, I'm not going to get into specifics here about my shit but I can speak to all this in a general way.
I've been really anxious about doing this step for a while now. I wrote down all my stuff during the fourth step. I looked at my behaviour past and present and wrote down all those things about which I'm embarrassed, ashamed, guilty, resentful, whatever. Anything that I used over for whatever reason. I tried to be as thorough as possible. I mean, I really want to get clean and sober this time. I'm tired of living the way I was and I don't want to do it anymore. My sponsor was amazing, truly! There's a reason she and I were paired up together. She understood a lot of where I'm coming from. It's kind of weird talking about deeply personal stuff with someone you don't know that well but then again I know that she's been in the same hell I've been in so what else really do I need to know? Like the big book says, we're like shipmates that have survived a shipwreck. We feel that overwhelming happiness to just still be alive and we know that the person in the life boat with us experienced the same terror we just did.
My sponsor and I went through steps 5, 6, and 7 so now I'm up to 8 which is the one where you make a list of all people you've harmed and becoming willing to makes amends to them all. So, back to the notebook for more writing.
I've been really anxious about doing this step for a while now. I wrote down all my stuff during the fourth step. I looked at my behaviour past and present and wrote down all those things about which I'm embarrassed, ashamed, guilty, resentful, whatever. Anything that I used over for whatever reason. I tried to be as thorough as possible. I mean, I really want to get clean and sober this time. I'm tired of living the way I was and I don't want to do it anymore. My sponsor was amazing, truly! There's a reason she and I were paired up together. She understood a lot of where I'm coming from. It's kind of weird talking about deeply personal stuff with someone you don't know that well but then again I know that she's been in the same hell I've been in so what else really do I need to know? Like the big book says, we're like shipmates that have survived a shipwreck. We feel that overwhelming happiness to just still be alive and we know that the person in the life boat with us experienced the same terror we just did.
My sponsor and I went through steps 5, 6, and 7 so now I'm up to 8 which is the one where you make a list of all people you've harmed and becoming willing to makes amends to them all. So, back to the notebook for more writing.
Friday, August 16, 2019
Having my bad behaviours modeled for me
I work with a married couple cleaning houses. They're really amazing and fun to work with most of the time but here lately the man has been getting on my nerves.
Supposedly he can hear just fine, according to his wife who said he's had his hearing tested, but I swear you can be looking right at him and he won't hear what you're saying. His wife will be speaking to him from the backseat of the car and he doesn't hear a peep. I'm constantly having to tell him what she just said because I get stressed out when she gets angry at him for not hearing her.
He's so impatient to get where he's going that he drives too fast and too recklessly. He even got a speeding the other day. He barrels through towns with 35mph limits going 50mph and I don't even think he notices. He rages over the fact that the speed limit is stupid and should be changed. Surely he should be allowed to drive whatever speed he's comfortable with because he's a safe driver. He also thinks he's the only one who can successfully do something on his phone while driving.
He seems oblivious to anything that's not right in front of his face and he's unable to multi-task. He can't work and talk at the same time. When we go into a house to clean, he'll spend 30 minutes talking to the homeowner while the wife and I get started. At the end, he'll be rushing around all flustered because he's behind. Then he gets irritated at us for not helping him finish his work even though we're still working on ours.
The other day he got upset that the back of the car wasn't organized to his satisfaction so he threw everything out onto our customer's lawn before putting it back complaining the whole time about how we didn't put it all back in there correctly.
So, I'm talking on the phone to my wife and I'm bitching about his behaviour. "He's so hard to be around sometimes! I get so anxious and upset when he behaves like that," I tell her. She just goes, "Hmm," and it dawns on me that these are the same behaviours she has said bother her about me. Time and time again she's asked me not to throw things when I'm upset. She's asked me not to drive like a crazy person when I get impatient. She's asked me to do what I said I'd do instead of fiddle farting around on inconsequential things.
Shit! I'm getting to experience first hand how maddening, upsetting, irritating, crazy-making these behaviours really are and I don't like it! It's giving me new insight into myself, though, to watch what triggers the various behaviours. Except for the "that law is stupid and I shouldn't have to follow it" thing. There's no trigger for that one, at least not for me. I used to genuinely think I should be given special dispensation to not obey certain laws or rules. How many times have I gotten in trouble for not following a rule I thought was stupid? I've lost jobs, gotten tickets, lost friends, etc, etc. That one I definitely need to work on.
Supposedly he can hear just fine, according to his wife who said he's had his hearing tested, but I swear you can be looking right at him and he won't hear what you're saying. His wife will be speaking to him from the backseat of the car and he doesn't hear a peep. I'm constantly having to tell him what she just said because I get stressed out when she gets angry at him for not hearing her.
He's so impatient to get where he's going that he drives too fast and too recklessly. He even got a speeding the other day. He barrels through towns with 35mph limits going 50mph and I don't even think he notices. He rages over the fact that the speed limit is stupid and should be changed. Surely he should be allowed to drive whatever speed he's comfortable with because he's a safe driver. He also thinks he's the only one who can successfully do something on his phone while driving.
He seems oblivious to anything that's not right in front of his face and he's unable to multi-task. He can't work and talk at the same time. When we go into a house to clean, he'll spend 30 minutes talking to the homeowner while the wife and I get started. At the end, he'll be rushing around all flustered because he's behind. Then he gets irritated at us for not helping him finish his work even though we're still working on ours.
The other day he got upset that the back of the car wasn't organized to his satisfaction so he threw everything out onto our customer's lawn before putting it back complaining the whole time about how we didn't put it all back in there correctly.
So, I'm talking on the phone to my wife and I'm bitching about his behaviour. "He's so hard to be around sometimes! I get so anxious and upset when he behaves like that," I tell her. She just goes, "Hmm," and it dawns on me that these are the same behaviours she has said bother her about me. Time and time again she's asked me not to throw things when I'm upset. She's asked me not to drive like a crazy person when I get impatient. She's asked me to do what I said I'd do instead of fiddle farting around on inconsequential things.
Shit! I'm getting to experience first hand how maddening, upsetting, irritating, crazy-making these behaviours really are and I don't like it! It's giving me new insight into myself, though, to watch what triggers the various behaviours. Except for the "that law is stupid and I shouldn't have to follow it" thing. There's no trigger for that one, at least not for me. I used to genuinely think I should be given special dispensation to not obey certain laws or rules. How many times have I gotten in trouble for not following a rule I thought was stupid? I've lost jobs, gotten tickets, lost friends, etc, etc. That one I definitely need to work on.
Thursday, August 15, 2019
Two dogs
This morning, after I drove into Meadowlakes headed to work, I came across two little dogs that were running loose in the street. One was a small curly haired dog and the other a chihuahua. I stopped to see if I could help them as did a few other people. Neither dog was wearing any kind of tag and no one around seemed to know who they belonged to so I called R to ask if Meadowlakes had some kind of authority I could report the dogs to. She said there wasn't but I should bring the dogs to her place and she'd keep them safe until their owners could be found. Okay, excellent! I can do that. :)
I opened up the car door and the curly haired dog jumped right in like he'd been born to ride there. The chihuahua was a lot more hesitant. He would come up just out of reach of my hand. When I tried to reach for him, he'd dance away. He would get tantalizingly close to me but wouldn't let me touch him, wouldn't come close enough even, and kept turning and running down the road. Eventually, he ran off down the street in the opposite direction.
Later in the day it struck me that these two dogs represented myself in my recovery journey. The first time I got into recovery, it was because I was afraid of losing my job, my home, my stuff. I knew I was an addict. I knew I belonged in recovery but at that point in my life I wasn't desperate. Well, I was some kind of desperate I suppose. I knew that something had to change or I'd end up in jail and that was the one place I NEVER wanted to go again. But I was like the chihuahua. I got close to recovery. I danced around it. I got tantalizingly close to it but I wasn't ready for it to touch me and I sure as hell wasn't getting in the car with it! Inevitably, I relapsed.
This time, I'm desperate. I'm "Oh shit, the edge of the cliff is right there and this boulder won't stop pushing me over" desperate. This time I've already lost my job. I've come very close to losing my marriage, my home, my security, my life. This time I WANT this. This time I'm the curly haired dog. Someone opened up the car door and I leaped inside. "I'm ready! Let's get this show on the road!"
Finally.
I opened up the car door and the curly haired dog jumped right in like he'd been born to ride there. The chihuahua was a lot more hesitant. He would come up just out of reach of my hand. When I tried to reach for him, he'd dance away. He would get tantalizingly close to me but wouldn't let me touch him, wouldn't come close enough even, and kept turning and running down the road. Eventually, he ran off down the street in the opposite direction.
Later in the day it struck me that these two dogs represented myself in my recovery journey. The first time I got into recovery, it was because I was afraid of losing my job, my home, my stuff. I knew I was an addict. I knew I belonged in recovery but at that point in my life I wasn't desperate. Well, I was some kind of desperate I suppose. I knew that something had to change or I'd end up in jail and that was the one place I NEVER wanted to go again. But I was like the chihuahua. I got close to recovery. I danced around it. I got tantalizingly close to it but I wasn't ready for it to touch me and I sure as hell wasn't getting in the car with it! Inevitably, I relapsed.
This time, I'm desperate. I'm "Oh shit, the edge of the cliff is right there and this boulder won't stop pushing me over" desperate. This time I've already lost my job. I've come very close to losing my marriage, my home, my security, my life. This time I WANT this. This time I'm the curly haired dog. Someone opened up the car door and I leaped inside. "I'm ready! Let's get this show on the road!"
Finally.
Wednesday, August 14, 2019
Growth opportunities
I've had a full day of growth opportunities. It actually started the other day when I was busy telling S what she needed to do. I was telling her all about my ideas for what would make her better. We even got a little snippy with each other about it. I mentioned to a recovery friend that S wasn't really wanting to listen to me when I told her what she should do to fix her problems. My friend listened to me bitch and then asked if I was S. Well, no, obviously I'm not. Well then, she says, why in the world would you think you know what she should do? Have you figured out your shit yet? Have you got this living thing so perfected that you're the expert that can now advise others? Well, no, I say. I just want her to be happy. My friend says well then, leave her be to work on her own issues. Don't you think one of S's problems is that you fucked everything up and she's had to clean up after you for so long? Don't you think something that will help is if you concentrate on you?
Damn! This recovery shit is making me think. It's making me look at myself, at my behavior, at my decision-making skills (or lack thereof). After the conversation with my friend, I text S and tell her I'm sorry for trying to work a program for her, that I realize I can't do that, and I'll try to keep myself on my side of the street. Today, I'm busy telling S that I think she should go to Al Anon. My main reason for encouraging this is because I thought Al Anon was for mostly normal people who have an alcoholic/addict loved one and want to know how to deal with them. I want her to learn how to deal with me. The thing is, though, she needs to figure out for herself what will work for her. She's a very intelligent adult who's perfectly capable of finding her own path. I have my hands full with myself. I'm the one who couldn't figure out how to live day to day without drugs or drinking so perhaps I should just stay in my lane. So, yeah, I'm working on that.
I belong to an American Expats in NZ group on Facebook and today someone posted about how they are worried about being double taxed for their US social security and pension. The poster was being very negative all while people were posting links and info trying to help her out. She finally said she was fed up and was moving back to the US because this all sucked or something like that. Well, it touched a nerve in me so I posted "If you really think you’ll get a better deal in the US then head on out. Seems like you’ve already made that decision no matter what these helpful people are telling you." A few hours later someone posts on my comment: "She's just had some major news that she wasn't expecting. She's worried about her financial stability and is processing while researching. Let's give her a minute." I instantly realize that I've responded to the OP from my own shitty attitude that really had nothing to do with her. Fuck. Now that I realize this I can't let it just sit out there. Fuck. I have to make it right so I post: "You are totally right. I'm in the US right now and I'm up to here with everyone telling me how much better the US is so I'm projecting my own shit and for that I apologize, OP. I hope you get the info you need here to make a sound decision for yourself."
So now I feel pretty good about myself. I've seen where I went wrong and I've made amends. And then someone notices how awesome I am: "That was some good self-reflection there. 🙂 You were maybe a little harsh on yourself, but it’s refreshing to see someone take feedback and reconsider." I'm feeling chuffed because I've done some good shit today. And then I realize that if I hadn't been an ass in the first place there would have been no need for this entire conversation so I guess I'm not as enlightened as I wanted to be today. I have, however, made progress. A few weeks ago I would have been unable to see my part in this and stewed in my righteous indignation. So yay for less stewing!
Yet another thing that happened today was my sister-in-law posted something on Facebook that involved Jesus and I instantly blocked it out. She posted a meme about a dad who wants to get his kid off his back for a bit so he takes a picture of a world map out of a magazine and rips it into small pieces. He then gives it to the kid and tells him to go put the puzzle back together. The father relaxes on the couch thinking he's now got at least an hour of free time when the kid comes right back in with the map all taped back together. The father is flabbergasted! "How did you do that so fast?" The kid says, "There was a picture of Jesus on the back. I put Him back in and the world just fell into place." Now at my current state of spiritual development, I'm not a fan of Jesus. I'm not a fan of his followers. I'm not a fan of organized religion. So, I write this little story off as more church propaganda and go about my day.
During work I either listen to music or AA speaker tapes. Today I was listening to a speaker who was quite good. He had a lot of good stuff to say, a lot of which I took the time out to make notes about. In the middle of his talk he pulls out this same story only instead of a picture of Jesus on the back, it's just a picture of a person. The kid says "I put the person back together and the whole world fell into place." Now THAT resonated with me. It was only the word Jesus that put me off in the first place. I realized that I've been possibly missing things that I might find enlightening, interesting, helpful because it seems too christian. Don't get me wrong, I have good reason to dislike the church. I've personally been persecuted by some of the most God fearing, bible thumping, hardcore evangelicals out there. I think they're toxic, hateful, damaging people who use their god to beat the rest of us down. I think if they truly had their way anyone with the slightest amount of difference would be executed or locked in cages. My wife and I would have no rights and would, indeed, be criminals. We may even have already been honor murdered by our very own loving families. So, no, I don't have really any respect for them. However, I'm coming to believe that my recovery depends on my ability to have a concept of a higher power. I mean, surely there's something out there more powerful than myself. I can't make the sun rise or fall. I can't make it rain or not. I can't make the seemingly impossible possible. And I have seen these things happen. So there must be something out there. In step two it says that we came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. In step three it says we turned our will and our life over to the care of that higher power. I was a hopeless drug addict and alcoholic. Nothing I did made any difference no matter how much I didn't want to use. It wasn't until I came to believe that there was something in the universe that could help me that I was able to stop. I still don't know what that something is but I know it's there. And I've experienced that when I say something like "Please just help me get through this day without using drugs or drinking" I make it through the day. There are a lot of things that will help me along the way and I need to keep my eyes and my heart open to recognize them when they pass my way.
Being able to reflect on these things and feel grateful for the opportunities feels so good to me right now. In the past, I was so blinded by my own crap that I wasn't grateful for anything. I was a miserable wreck who just wanted to get through each day without being sick. Today, I don't have to live that way anymore. I'm discovering things about myself. I'm seeing how my behavior affects others. I'm having the chance to tell the people I love "I'm sorry. I'll do better." Those things are utterly priceless.
Damn! This recovery shit is making me think. It's making me look at myself, at my behavior, at my decision-making skills (or lack thereof). After the conversation with my friend, I text S and tell her I'm sorry for trying to work a program for her, that I realize I can't do that, and I'll try to keep myself on my side of the street. Today, I'm busy telling S that I think she should go to Al Anon. My main reason for encouraging this is because I thought Al Anon was for mostly normal people who have an alcoholic/addict loved one and want to know how to deal with them. I want her to learn how to deal with me. The thing is, though, she needs to figure out for herself what will work for her. She's a very intelligent adult who's perfectly capable of finding her own path. I have my hands full with myself. I'm the one who couldn't figure out how to live day to day without drugs or drinking so perhaps I should just stay in my lane. So, yeah, I'm working on that.
I belong to an American Expats in NZ group on Facebook and today someone posted about how they are worried about being double taxed for their US social security and pension. The poster was being very negative all while people were posting links and info trying to help her out. She finally said she was fed up and was moving back to the US because this all sucked or something like that. Well, it touched a nerve in me so I posted "If you really think you’ll get a better deal in the US then head on out. Seems like you’ve already made that decision no matter what these helpful people are telling you." A few hours later someone posts on my comment: "She's just had some major news that she wasn't expecting. She's worried about her financial stability and is processing while researching. Let's give her a minute." I instantly realize that I've responded to the OP from my own shitty attitude that really had nothing to do with her. Fuck. Now that I realize this I can't let it just sit out there. Fuck. I have to make it right so I post: "You are totally right. I'm in the US right now and I'm up to here with everyone telling me how much better the US is so I'm projecting my own shit and for that I apologize, OP. I hope you get the info you need here to make a sound decision for yourself."
So now I feel pretty good about myself. I've seen where I went wrong and I've made amends. And then someone notices how awesome I am: "That was some good self-reflection there. 🙂 You were maybe a little harsh on yourself, but it’s refreshing to see someone take feedback and reconsider." I'm feeling chuffed because I've done some good shit today. And then I realize that if I hadn't been an ass in the first place there would have been no need for this entire conversation so I guess I'm not as enlightened as I wanted to be today. I have, however, made progress. A few weeks ago I would have been unable to see my part in this and stewed in my righteous indignation. So yay for less stewing!
Yet another thing that happened today was my sister-in-law posted something on Facebook that involved Jesus and I instantly blocked it out. She posted a meme about a dad who wants to get his kid off his back for a bit so he takes a picture of a world map out of a magazine and rips it into small pieces. He then gives it to the kid and tells him to go put the puzzle back together. The father relaxes on the couch thinking he's now got at least an hour of free time when the kid comes right back in with the map all taped back together. The father is flabbergasted! "How did you do that so fast?" The kid says, "There was a picture of Jesus on the back. I put Him back in and the world just fell into place." Now at my current state of spiritual development, I'm not a fan of Jesus. I'm not a fan of his followers. I'm not a fan of organized religion. So, I write this little story off as more church propaganda and go about my day.
During work I either listen to music or AA speaker tapes. Today I was listening to a speaker who was quite good. He had a lot of good stuff to say, a lot of which I took the time out to make notes about. In the middle of his talk he pulls out this same story only instead of a picture of Jesus on the back, it's just a picture of a person. The kid says "I put the person back together and the whole world fell into place." Now THAT resonated with me. It was only the word Jesus that put me off in the first place. I realized that I've been possibly missing things that I might find enlightening, interesting, helpful because it seems too christian. Don't get me wrong, I have good reason to dislike the church. I've personally been persecuted by some of the most God fearing, bible thumping, hardcore evangelicals out there. I think they're toxic, hateful, damaging people who use their god to beat the rest of us down. I think if they truly had their way anyone with the slightest amount of difference would be executed or locked in cages. My wife and I would have no rights and would, indeed, be criminals. We may even have already been honor murdered by our very own loving families. So, no, I don't have really any respect for them. However, I'm coming to believe that my recovery depends on my ability to have a concept of a higher power. I mean, surely there's something out there more powerful than myself. I can't make the sun rise or fall. I can't make it rain or not. I can't make the seemingly impossible possible. And I have seen these things happen. So there must be something out there. In step two it says that we came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. In step three it says we turned our will and our life over to the care of that higher power. I was a hopeless drug addict and alcoholic. Nothing I did made any difference no matter how much I didn't want to use. It wasn't until I came to believe that there was something in the universe that could help me that I was able to stop. I still don't know what that something is but I know it's there. And I've experienced that when I say something like "Please just help me get through this day without using drugs or drinking" I make it through the day. There are a lot of things that will help me along the way and I need to keep my eyes and my heart open to recognize them when they pass my way.
Being able to reflect on these things and feel grateful for the opportunities feels so good to me right now. In the past, I was so blinded by my own crap that I wasn't grateful for anything. I was a miserable wreck who just wanted to get through each day without being sick. Today, I don't have to live that way anymore. I'm discovering things about myself. I'm seeing how my behavior affects others. I'm having the chance to tell the people I love "I'm sorry. I'll do better." Those things are utterly priceless.
Sunday, August 11, 2019
Desperation and belonging
Last night, an idea came to me. I don't think it came from my own mind as it was just too perfectly formed to come from my imperfect thought process. The discussion was about how sometimes people come to us and at other times they seem to run from us. I remember when I first came out back in 1989. I had met a woman named Tammy and fallen HARD! The mental, emotional, and physical sensations were greater than anything I had ever experienced in my entire life up to that point. In just three months our intensity managed to burn me out and I ran away. I didn't know what to do with all that feeling. It was too much, too soon, too hard. Because the problem was that I was having this deep almost spiritual awakening and I didn't think I could tell anyone. As I said, it was 1989 and being a lesbian was just not something one did at the time. At least not in my experience. Up to then the only gay people I had ever heard about were the "freaks" decent people talked about in hushed whispers or Billy Crystal's character on Soap. I wanted to stand at the top of the mountain and scream my love for this woman but I was stopped by fear, self-loathing, self-doubt, SELF. It was the gossamer prison of my own making. True, society would try to punish me for being deviant but not nearly as much as I punished myself.
I made a geographic change and tried to be the good heterosexual I was supposed to be. I dated a few guys, one of them named Adolph. I carried a knife in my purse because I was afraid of the potential for violence from these men. I kept them at arm's length because I wasn't able to accept them into myself in any way. When I finally made the decision to accept myself, my life changed but it didn't become better. I began to feel comfortable in my own skin but I still didn't feel comfortable in the world. I still felt other.
I had numerous meaningless encounters with women I met in the bar, drunken grasping for something more intimate, more fulfilling. None of them made me whole. None of them made me feel better. None of them provided more than fleeting cold comfort. I was desperate for someone to love me. I was desperate for connection, for belonging, for something I was unable to identify. The only time I felt better was when I drank so I drank with a vengeance. I was working full time for the state at the time making good money but I didn't have two nickels to rub together because I had no idea how to manage my life. I spent money on cigarettes, booze, gas, rent, electricity, and food in that order. When I went to the bar, which was the only place to meet other gay people, and drank that first of many beers I felt better. I suddenly felt free to be myself, to act out, to talk to people, to flirt, to dance, to seduce. It was like armor I put on so that I could walk in the world without being wounded by others but also to contain my insides because they always felt as if they would tumble onto the floor if not held tightly in check.
What I didn't learn until years later was that intense sense of desperation was the reason people ran from me. I chased after them screaming "love me, fulfill me, make me whole" and they hurt themselves getting away from me. I sought out damaged people and tried to fill them, to fix them, but of course I couldn't. It took me a long time to realize that no material person, place, or thing outside myself can make me whole. Nothing of the world can fill that void inside me, can cover that hole, can make me whole.
Eventually I had to make another geographic move because things were changing around me and my philosphy was, "Leave them before they leave you." I moved to Witchita Falls for three months which was an unmitigated disaster and then back to Austin.That's when I met Star and graduated from chain mail of drinking to the stainless steel armor of drugs.
Which is a story for another time. It's 12:22pm on Sunday afternoon and already approaching 100F so I'm going swimming!
I made a geographic change and tried to be the good heterosexual I was supposed to be. I dated a few guys, one of them named Adolph. I carried a knife in my purse because I was afraid of the potential for violence from these men. I kept them at arm's length because I wasn't able to accept them into myself in any way. When I finally made the decision to accept myself, my life changed but it didn't become better. I began to feel comfortable in my own skin but I still didn't feel comfortable in the world. I still felt other.
I had numerous meaningless encounters with women I met in the bar, drunken grasping for something more intimate, more fulfilling. None of them made me whole. None of them made me feel better. None of them provided more than fleeting cold comfort. I was desperate for someone to love me. I was desperate for connection, for belonging, for something I was unable to identify. The only time I felt better was when I drank so I drank with a vengeance. I was working full time for the state at the time making good money but I didn't have two nickels to rub together because I had no idea how to manage my life. I spent money on cigarettes, booze, gas, rent, electricity, and food in that order. When I went to the bar, which was the only place to meet other gay people, and drank that first of many beers I felt better. I suddenly felt free to be myself, to act out, to talk to people, to flirt, to dance, to seduce. It was like armor I put on so that I could walk in the world without being wounded by others but also to contain my insides because they always felt as if they would tumble onto the floor if not held tightly in check.
What I didn't learn until years later was that intense sense of desperation was the reason people ran from me. I chased after them screaming "love me, fulfill me, make me whole" and they hurt themselves getting away from me. I sought out damaged people and tried to fill them, to fix them, but of course I couldn't. It took me a long time to realize that no material person, place, or thing outside myself can make me whole. Nothing of the world can fill that void inside me, can cover that hole, can make me whole.
Eventually I had to make another geographic move because things were changing around me and my philosphy was, "Leave them before they leave you." I moved to Witchita Falls for three months which was an unmitigated disaster and then back to Austin.That's when I met Star and graduated from chain mail of drinking to the stainless steel armor of drugs.
Which is a story for another time. It's 12:22pm on Sunday afternoon and already approaching 100F so I'm going swimming!
Saturday, August 10, 2019
Insights and observations
I hadn't really planned on going to a meeting tonight. Saturdays are usually for getting things done and hanging with the parents. However, a woman from the program texted me to see if I wanted to meet up then go to the DAA meeting. Well, how could I say no? S is in much the same situation as me. She's come back to MF and moved in with her mother to get her shit together. She's got almost two months clean and sober so she's several weeks ahead of me but she's not started writing about anything yet. I'm finding that the writing has become almost my favorite part. When I sit down at night in front of the computer and just put my fingers on the keys, stuff comes out the way it needs to. It's pretty amazing.
Tonight at the meeting someone said something about how they hated the taste of the drugs and alcohol which triggered a memory for me: the way my body would try to reject the pills as I was taking them. Sometimes it was all I could do not to throw up the pills before I'd even managed to get them down my throat. It was almost as if my body knew it was poison and was trying to expel it before it could enter my system. I also have this distinct memory of how nasty the liquid codeine cough medicine tasted. That chemically sweet flavor that's almost grape but not quite. Just thinking of it makes me nauseated.
Another memory that came to mind was from the book What Dreams May Come. In it, a woman has committed suicide after the death of her husband in a car accident. The husband has been happily living in his own version of heaven since he died. He finds out that his wife has killed herself and so goes in search of her. He meets many people along his journey but one in particular sticks out. He meets a woman bound in the fetal position by these big thick chains. At least to her they appear to be chains. To the man, her bonds are nothing more than spider webs. Thin, wispy spider webs that could easily be discarded if only the woman could see but she's so caught up in her own mind and her own ideas that she can't see anything but thick chains. That's how I see myself the last few years. I've been bound up in these thick chains that are actually spider webs and to be free all I had to do was believe that I could be free. I just had to stand up and I was free. It was that leap of faith, though, that was so hard. Once I finally realized it seemed easy but I think it's going to be a conscious decision every day to believe my bonds are nothing. Sometimes they seem so real.
Tonight at the meeting someone said something about how they hated the taste of the drugs and alcohol which triggered a memory for me: the way my body would try to reject the pills as I was taking them. Sometimes it was all I could do not to throw up the pills before I'd even managed to get them down my throat. It was almost as if my body knew it was poison and was trying to expel it before it could enter my system. I also have this distinct memory of how nasty the liquid codeine cough medicine tasted. That chemically sweet flavor that's almost grape but not quite. Just thinking of it makes me nauseated.
Another memory that came to mind was from the book What Dreams May Come. In it, a woman has committed suicide after the death of her husband in a car accident. The husband has been happily living in his own version of heaven since he died. He finds out that his wife has killed herself and so goes in search of her. He meets many people along his journey but one in particular sticks out. He meets a woman bound in the fetal position by these big thick chains. At least to her they appear to be chains. To the man, her bonds are nothing more than spider webs. Thin, wispy spider webs that could easily be discarded if only the woman could see but she's so caught up in her own mind and her own ideas that she can't see anything but thick chains. That's how I see myself the last few years. I've been bound up in these thick chains that are actually spider webs and to be free all I had to do was believe that I could be free. I just had to stand up and I was free. It was that leap of faith, though, that was so hard. Once I finally realized it seemed easy but I think it's going to be a conscious decision every day to believe my bonds are nothing. Sometimes they seem so real.
Friday, August 9, 2019
Things we carry from childhood
Today the couple I work for was arguing a lot. M came into the first house late and rather than ask what was left to be done he just jumped in and started redoing things R and I had already done. When she pointed this out to him he got all defensive and lashed out. I happened to walk into the middle of their spat and he snapped at me as well. He apologized later but couldn't just apologize. He had to qualify it with excuses, blaming his outburst on a multitude of other things. Then he was throwing things out of the back of the car so he could reorganize everything the way he wanted it. Very much like a fit I've thrown a thousand times. I stood off to the side and played with my phone while he threw his fit. He continued to be pissy for the rest of the day. Several times I found myself taking on his negativity and getting all worked up. I had to take myself into another room, take a few deep breaths, and physically push his shit away from me. I have enough of my own without taking on someone else's.
I'm not sure where my gut-level fear of people arguing came from. My mom never argued with anyone. Perhaps it was Granny and Grandpa arguing. God, they got so vicious with each other! I've never heard people say such horrible things to each other since then. He would mock her weight and appearance because he knew that was her soft spot. She would mock his unemployment and his manhood because that was his soft spot. The two of them and my other set of grandparents were my only married role models as a kid. Most everyone else in the family was divorced. Grandmother and Granddad didn't have the best marriage from an outsider's perspective either. All I ever really saw them do was drink. But now Granny and Grandpa, I saw them fight all the time. It always really upset me too. I'd get mad at Grandpa which must have made him feel bad. I mean, why would I stick up for Granny and not for him? She was always the more loving of the two. I was closer to her so I guess that's why I stuck up for her. Bruce and his second wife were always arguing too. One time, the two of them, myself, and Jim (I think) all went camping. Lee was a big-time drinker. Bruce had this old panel van he called the Blue Goose. Anyway, we were out camping somewhere and Lee got full on, totally shitfaced drunk so Bruce packed us all up and was heading home. During the drive, Lee got upset at me for some reason and tried to throw me out of the van as it tooled down the highway going 70mph. I think it was only Jim's quick thinking that saved me. When we got back to Granny and Grandpa's house, Bruce handcuffed Lee to the inside of that van and left her there all night long. That's the only memory I have of the second wife. I also remember both Jim and Bruce throwing and breaking things when they got mad. It's what I did as well. Just modeled the behavior I was shown.
After the meeting, I went out to dinner with my sponsor and another woman from the program. I'm a bit at a loss about my feelings towards my sponsor. I really like her and would like to be better friends with her but I get the feeling that I make her uncomfortable. She's been there every time I've had a recovery related question or issue but on a personal level I find her a bit standoffish. Now it could just be because she's not a terribly social person or, as was pointed out to me, she may not want to get very close to me because I'm leaving in less than two months. Whatever the issue, I wish we could be closer. Perhaps that will happen in time and perhaps it'll never happen with her. It's out of my control as I can only do what's on my side of the street. I'll continue to call her every day as she suggested and I'll continue to work my steps with her because this really is life and death for me. I cannot afford to get this wrong.
I'm not sure where my gut-level fear of people arguing came from. My mom never argued with anyone. Perhaps it was Granny and Grandpa arguing. God, they got so vicious with each other! I've never heard people say such horrible things to each other since then. He would mock her weight and appearance because he knew that was her soft spot. She would mock his unemployment and his manhood because that was his soft spot. The two of them and my other set of grandparents were my only married role models as a kid. Most everyone else in the family was divorced. Grandmother and Granddad didn't have the best marriage from an outsider's perspective either. All I ever really saw them do was drink. But now Granny and Grandpa, I saw them fight all the time. It always really upset me too. I'd get mad at Grandpa which must have made him feel bad. I mean, why would I stick up for Granny and not for him? She was always the more loving of the two. I was closer to her so I guess that's why I stuck up for her. Bruce and his second wife were always arguing too. One time, the two of them, myself, and Jim (I think) all went camping. Lee was a big-time drinker. Bruce had this old panel van he called the Blue Goose. Anyway, we were out camping somewhere and Lee got full on, totally shitfaced drunk so Bruce packed us all up and was heading home. During the drive, Lee got upset at me for some reason and tried to throw me out of the van as it tooled down the highway going 70mph. I think it was only Jim's quick thinking that saved me. When we got back to Granny and Grandpa's house, Bruce handcuffed Lee to the inside of that van and left her there all night long. That's the only memory I have of the second wife. I also remember both Jim and Bruce throwing and breaking things when they got mad. It's what I did as well. Just modeled the behavior I was shown.
After the meeting, I went out to dinner with my sponsor and another woman from the program. I'm a bit at a loss about my feelings towards my sponsor. I really like her and would like to be better friends with her but I get the feeling that I make her uncomfortable. She's been there every time I've had a recovery related question or issue but on a personal level I find her a bit standoffish. Now it could just be because she's not a terribly social person or, as was pointed out to me, she may not want to get very close to me because I'm leaving in less than two months. Whatever the issue, I wish we could be closer. Perhaps that will happen in time and perhaps it'll never happen with her. It's out of my control as I can only do what's on my side of the street. I'll continue to call her every day as she suggested and I'll continue to work my steps with her because this really is life and death for me. I cannot afford to get this wrong.
Thursday, August 8, 2019
What a difference two weeks makes
Today I revisited places I'd been just two weeks ago when I was still using drugs. Two weeks ago, I was so desperate to get high I went to lengths I'm not proud of. Links I can't really talk about in a public forum. Two weeks ago I swallowed a handful of pills just wanting to numb myself, to not feel, to not be sick, to NOT. I only wanted to be submerged in the familiar molasses where I'd been functioning for so many years. Two weeks ago, I was a hopeless drug addict with nothing in my future but sadness, despair, and eventually death.
Today that is not the case. Today I have hope. Today I have a life again. I was submerged underwater unable to see or hear, my limbs moving slowly and heavily, the weight of shame, guilt, regret pulling me deeper still and just like that, the weights were lifted and I popped to the surface. The light is blinding, the sound deafening, the sensations overwhelming but all still so delicious! I feel almost reborn! The last time I got clean and sober I remember being miserable for the first couple of weeks. This time, though, I feel so good. I FEEL! Sometimes I can't stop crying but even that is a welcome change. I have so many memories of literally swallowing my emotions, swallowing that lump in my throat, forcefully pushing the tears back into my body. Today, the emotions flow free, sometimes all at once but still so much better than before.
I discovered today that pretty much everyone who knows me now knows where I'm at right now. My mom has told her close friends and Shannon has told most of our friends as well. I feel pretty ambivalent about it to be honest. Maybe I wouldn't have broadcast it to the world if I'd had my druthers but knowing that others know isn't exactly making me uncomfortable either. The more people that know the less I can get away with. Accountability, honesty, openness are super important especially since I've spent so many years hiding, lying, and dying. It's time to live now in all its messy, scary, wonderful glory!
Today that is not the case. Today I have hope. Today I have a life again. I was submerged underwater unable to see or hear, my limbs moving slowly and heavily, the weight of shame, guilt, regret pulling me deeper still and just like that, the weights were lifted and I popped to the surface. The light is blinding, the sound deafening, the sensations overwhelming but all still so delicious! I feel almost reborn! The last time I got clean and sober I remember being miserable for the first couple of weeks. This time, though, I feel so good. I FEEL! Sometimes I can't stop crying but even that is a welcome change. I have so many memories of literally swallowing my emotions, swallowing that lump in my throat, forcefully pushing the tears back into my body. Today, the emotions flow free, sometimes all at once but still so much better than before.
I discovered today that pretty much everyone who knows me now knows where I'm at right now. My mom has told her close friends and Shannon has told most of our friends as well. I feel pretty ambivalent about it to be honest. Maybe I wouldn't have broadcast it to the world if I'd had my druthers but knowing that others know isn't exactly making me uncomfortable either. The more people that know the less I can get away with. Accountability, honesty, openness are super important especially since I've spent so many years hiding, lying, and dying. It's time to live now in all its messy, scary, wonderful glory!
Wednesday, August 7, 2019
Skinny dipping
I feel amazing today! Work was good as
always. I had some tasks to do that made a difference when done. M&R are happy for me to stay until the end of September. When I
got home, after M&B left, I had the house to myself so I went
skinny dipping in the pool. It felt wonderful!! Floating along with
my submerged half under the cool water and my exposed half tickled
with the hot breeze. I've been numb for so long, having
sensations again felt weird. But oh so nice! ;) I'm sitting in the
living room now with nothing but my robe on. It's good to be alone. I
have a 6pm meeting I'll go to so looking forward to that. I found a
couple of apps for sober people so we'll see how that turns out.
Here's what I shared on the JFT email today:
"Hi all, I'm an addict named Amy. I'm so
grateful that I have 10 days clean today. It's been so many years of
numbing myself and my feelings that today even aches and pains feel
good. I found myself really living in my body today. When I was
working I could feel my arms and legs moving, my blood pumping, by
lungs breathing. Even the headache I've had pretty much constantly
the last 10 days feels okay. It's been so long since I really FELT
any physical sensations. I've been so wrapped up in my head and "how
am I gonna get high today" that I just ignored everything. I
didn't feel emotions, physical sensations, nothing. Today after work,
I had the house to myself so I jumped in the pool buck ass naked. It
felt amazing! The water was just cold enough to make my skin break
out in goose bumps. Because I immediately pop to the surface like a
cork I just floated around feeling the cold water on my submerged
half and the ovenlike hot breeze on my exposed half. My head was
underwater so all I could hear was the gurgling of the pool filter.
It's been a long time since I've been able to be in silence. "Silence
screams the truth" (P!nk lyric) and I've been avoiding the truth
at all costs. But today I was able to enjoy the silence and the
stillness and just be in the moment.
I am truly grateful that I've been
given this chance to get my life back. I've always pictured that
emptiness inside, that void, that hole I've been trying to fill as
The Nothing from The Neverending Story. It's a black void of
nothingness that consumes everything. I've continued to pour drugs,
booze, money, time, love, jobs, relationships, everything into The
Nothing and it just..never..stops. I was allowing it to consume
everything I held dear. I suddenly had this moment of clarity that I
could continue to do what I've been doing and it would
never...be...enough. There would never be enough of anything I have
that would stop it and it would continue that way until I died. Death
was the only outcome. I would continue to be a victim and a
perpetrator for the rest of my life hurting everyone around me who
loves me until there was no one left and I died alone. I realized
that's not how my life is going to go. That's not what I'm here for.
That is NOT who I am. That seems to have been the switch that flipped
or that spiritual experience everyone's talking about. The miracle
seems to finally have happened. Today I have 10 days that have been
better than the last 5 years. I'm so grateful I've been able to make
it back."
I heard a lot of good things at the meeting I went to. There were 27 people there so a big meeting. One of the women shared her story and she could have been sharing mine. So similar! Afterward there was pizza with family and friends then my nightly call to my sponsor. I'm grateful I found a sponsor who's compassionate, helpful, and willing to be there for me. I'm also super grateful for my California friend who's always there to lend an ear, offer suggestions, be a sounding board, and love me even when I don't feel lovable. I'm going to be a better friend from here on out as well. Okay it's late. Gotta sleep.
The first post
For some reason, I find journaling just for myself really hard. I like to think that if I post stuff out there publicly it will help someone. Plus it's more like screaming into the void than into my empty room. So, in that vein, here begins my recovery journey part dos.
I am an alcoholic and a drug addict, have been for a very long time. My DOC has always been opiates but I'll take anything I can get especially alcohol. I started getting high recreationally in the early 90s. By the end of the 20th century, I was a full-blown, drug seeking, drug stealing, working high, life going down the tubes addict. I got clean and sober in 2002. I stayed that way until 2010 when I stopped putting my recovery first. It began with a few glasses of wine. It's ended with 3-4 years of daily drug use. Things came to a head at the end of May so I left my wife in NZ and came to Texas to stay with my parents and get my shit together.
When I first arrived, I just got worse. I stole opiates from anyone who had them. I also went to the emergency room to get them. I started going to AA meetings and finally a switch was flipped and now I've got 10 days clean and sober. My final epiphany was the visual of a giant
pill bottle and how the bottle would never be full enough. There
would never be enough drugs to fill that hole. How much more of my
life am I willing to pour into that hole? There isn't an end in sight
except my death, that's it. I will never stop pouring my heart, soul,
time, money, self-respect, dreams, goals, everything I am into that
hole on my own. The only way to stop is through my recovery program. So here I am. Anything goes for me in this space so if you don't like hard truths, vulgar language, embarrassing situations, or anything uncomfortable then you should probably leave now and not read any further. You've been warned. If you're willing to stick it out with me then welcome on my journey.
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