Here I sit on a rainy Sunday, comfortable with myself. It's an odd feeling, to be content in one's own skin. I don't feel like climbing the walls, nor do I feel like climbing into bed to sleep the day away. I realized, as I was singing to music (sorry, neighbors), sipping coffee, and staring out the window at the clouds, that it's okay to do nothing once in a while. Originally, I wanted to take a bike ride to another town and maybe break out my camera, but Mother Nature said otherwise. It wasn't part of her plan.
And I'm a guy who needs a plan. Everything has to be in perfect order and those elements must be prompt. As such, my plans never work as I envision. Never ever. When they don't, which is always, I assume a mental fetal position and whine to myself that life isn't fair. I very often feel like the world has collaborated to 'move my cheese'. But, with the help of my professional entourage, efforts are being made to change my obsessive need for planning. When my therapist wants to go hiking, she goes hiking rain or shine. When she wants to zipline, she does. When she feels like sitting on the couch, watching movies for a good cry while eating popcorn, she allows it. She has no definitive plans because life changes in the blink of an eye.
My plans changed for the better on Friday morning. I received a text message at 7:14am from my sister inviting me to breakfast and, rather than decline because I was groggy and it was unexpected, I said Yes. It's been a pleasure hanging out with her lately because we haven't gotten along in roughly thirty years. Around the time our step-father came into our lives, we began picking on each other mercilessly. Granted, most of the picking was initiated by me and I think a lot of it stemmed from misdirected anger. Since we couldn't fight back when our step-father was screaming at us or slapping us, we did what most people would do - take it out on someone our own size (or close). Unfortunately, this continued throughout the years. Nothing my sister said or did was right in my eyes and I would jump down her throat every chance I got. I was right and she was wrong. Most of the time, I didn't realize that I was even doing it, very similarly to how our dad acted when we were younger. And this all culminated two months ago when she finally told me that she loved me, but that she's never liked me. Hurtful, yet deserved.
So why the change? We've worked to throw a cookout, hung out for hours on a Friday night, and now we're having breakfast with each other. What gives?? I brought up that I felt like people have been treating me differently since I returned from the hospital. It feels like the diagnosis has spawned empathy. But my sister corrected me. She explained that I'm being treated differently because *I* am treating others differently. She said that she can breathe around me, finally... as if she had to hold her breath because she never knew when I was going to snap.
When a person changes, they are often the last to recognize it. I'm happy to hear that I seem more relaxed and at ease because I don't necessarily see it. I do feel more 'even'. It feels like I can breathe more freely, too. Hopefully, this is the start of many mended relationships. For years, I've wanted a sibling that I could be close to and it stings a little to know that, although I wanted to be close to my sister, I pushed her away. So, here's to many more breakfast invitations.
Enough of that. Entering my man cave again...
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Excuses, Excuses
"You don't know what you don't know." I generally hate this statement. I think it's equal to "It is what it is", if not more despicable, but they're both perfectly true. The latter statement doesn't tell you if "It" is good or if "It" completely, abhorrently sucks. "It" just is. And you can't argue with "It".
The first statement has been on my mind since I wrote my last entry. "You don't know what you don't know." To me, the quote says, in some circumstances, that ignorance truly is an excuse. Being valid, it should relieve some of the guilt that I've felt for things deeply ensconced in my past. I still have problems forgiving myself for things that happened years ago and some of those things weren't even my fault. For example, I didn't know that my ex-wife was going to have a near total fucking mental breakdown and make a decision to leave me before our first anniversary, yet I blame myself for not being more aware (maybe?) and trying to make it work. I suppose my abandonment issues fired up and I held on far too long. Not knowing this would be the result, I shouldn't place so much blame on my shoulders. I guess I didn't know how to cope.
This is especially true when I think of my drinking. Every time I raised a bottle, I created problems for myself and others, whether they be family, friends or coworkers. As much as it's been told to me that drinking is a choice, it hasn't been mine. I never chose to drink so hard that I missed work or appointments. I never drank on Monday to wake up Wednesday thinking, "Hey, where did Tuesday go?" And I would never drink to put those closest to me in danger, emotionally or physically. I didn't know these would be the outcomes. However, the fact remains that I did drink to that extent and those things happened (and more).
I had a conversation with family a few nights ago regarding some of my feelings on being diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I'm having a hard time accepting it for a number of reasons, not the least is that accepting it would feel like I'm excusing my actions over the past decade and more. "Oh, remember that time I took a swing at dad? Well, I'm bipolar, so it's not my fault. And all those times I'd disappear for weeks, bouncing from motel to motel, not answering my phone? Sorry, bipolar!" I've already hurt people enough and I don't want to hurt them more by making it seem like I'm brushing away my actions with a diagnosis.
Because I was being open about this, my family raised an interesting point - this diagnosis is a reason, not an excuse. Webster defines each as:
Reason: 1c - a sufficient ground of explanation or of logical defense;
Excuse: 2a - something offered as justification or as ground for being; OR 2b - an expression of regret for failure to do something.
They're pretty close in meaning and the two can be interchanged. However, Reason is concrete and grounded in fact. Excuse, the way it is often used, is an explanation having a connection to apology or forgiveness. That's not what I want people to think. While I am sorry for the things that have happened, I am not apologizing and waiving them. Excuse would allow this, but Reason says, "It happened and this is why it happened. Now take the consequences like a man."
That said, people seem to be accepting of bipolar as a reason versus alcoholism on its own. All of those "get your head out of your ass" comments seem to sting a little bit more because of it. I've been saying for a very long time that alcohol was just a symptom, but I didn't know what exactly was wrong. Still, I'm welcome to this newfound reason. It's as if someone finally gave me the roadmap that I started looking for twenty years ago.
The first statement has been on my mind since I wrote my last entry. "You don't know what you don't know." To me, the quote says, in some circumstances, that ignorance truly is an excuse. Being valid, it should relieve some of the guilt that I've felt for things deeply ensconced in my past. I still have problems forgiving myself for things that happened years ago and some of those things weren't even my fault. For example, I didn't know that my ex-wife was going to have a near total fucking mental breakdown and make a decision to leave me before our first anniversary, yet I blame myself for not being more aware (maybe?) and trying to make it work. I suppose my abandonment issues fired up and I held on far too long. Not knowing this would be the result, I shouldn't place so much blame on my shoulders. I guess I didn't know how to cope.
This is especially true when I think of my drinking. Every time I raised a bottle, I created problems for myself and others, whether they be family, friends or coworkers. As much as it's been told to me that drinking is a choice, it hasn't been mine. I never chose to drink so hard that I missed work or appointments. I never drank on Monday to wake up Wednesday thinking, "Hey, where did Tuesday go?" And I would never drink to put those closest to me in danger, emotionally or physically. I didn't know these would be the outcomes. However, the fact remains that I did drink to that extent and those things happened (and more).
I had a conversation with family a few nights ago regarding some of my feelings on being diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I'm having a hard time accepting it for a number of reasons, not the least is that accepting it would feel like I'm excusing my actions over the past decade and more. "Oh, remember that time I took a swing at dad? Well, I'm bipolar, so it's not my fault. And all those times I'd disappear for weeks, bouncing from motel to motel, not answering my phone? Sorry, bipolar!" I've already hurt people enough and I don't want to hurt them more by making it seem like I'm brushing away my actions with a diagnosis.
Because I was being open about this, my family raised an interesting point - this diagnosis is a reason, not an excuse. Webster defines each as:
Reason: 1c - a sufficient ground of explanation or of logical defense;
Excuse: 2a - something offered as justification or as ground for being; OR 2b - an expression of regret for failure to do something.
They're pretty close in meaning and the two can be interchanged. However, Reason is concrete and grounded in fact. Excuse, the way it is often used, is an explanation having a connection to apology or forgiveness. That's not what I want people to think. While I am sorry for the things that have happened, I am not apologizing and waiving them. Excuse would allow this, but Reason says, "It happened and this is why it happened. Now take the consequences like a man."
That said, people seem to be accepting of bipolar as a reason versus alcoholism on its own. All of those "get your head out of your ass" comments seem to sting a little bit more because of it. I've been saying for a very long time that alcohol was just a symptom, but I didn't know what exactly was wrong. Still, I'm welcome to this newfound reason. It's as if someone finally gave me the roadmap that I started looking for twenty years ago.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Changing Seasons
Since I returned home, I've been doing a lot of analyzing, mostly of the last three years. It's difficult because I don't want to relive it, but it's also helpful in identifying patterns of behavior and learning how to break these patterns when they start occurring again. It's been ten years since I started drinking excessively, but the last three years that life has been extremely miserable. I guess you could say I had seven bad years and three acutely bad years (i.e. three really, really, really, @#^! bad years).
What makes this process so difficult, and sad, are the nagging thoughts now stuck in my head. I wish, more than anything in the world, that those years never happened. I don't mean to imply that I want my friendships taken away or the special moments with my son to be forgotten. For the sake of those who were caught within my funnel cloud, I wish I could take away the hurt feelings, anger and frustration. It's not about relieving my own hurt or taking away my consequences for the things that happened. I'd gladly keep those if it meant others would lose the memories of my actions.
I'm trying to reconcile the irritating idea that none of it had to take place. It's like one of those annoying, under the skin itches that you just can't scratch and won't go away. I've been seeing therapists and psychiatrists for years. If ONE of these professionals had asked the right questions and treated me appropriately (rather than throw the latest drug du jour down my throat), then <poof>... a decade's worth of misery may have been saved. Instead, I was putting something into me that made matters far worse. I'm not trying to blame anyone, but it's also hard not to. When a psychiatrist diagnoses you and the cardinal rule is to not prescribe an anti-depressant, but then prescribes one anyway... I don't know. And I didn't know what questions to ask to prevent this, either. I can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that one small change could've had an incredible impact. I voiced my above wish to my therapist - "I wish the last three years never happened." She replied, "I do too," and we both sat silently for a minute. It looked like we were both going to cry. She's the only person who really listened to me, but her hands were tied. She isn't a prescriber and couldn't do much except voice her concerns to my psychs. She's blaming herself for not catching this sooner. She doesn't realize that I wouldn't have made it out of this screwed up, bi-polar cave without her help.
Sure, there were some good times over the years, but they always seemed to be followed by a bout of drinking. I said in the last post that drinking was related to the depression, yet this isn't true. My drinking usually occurred after the best days - incredible days with my son, wonderful vacations, time with special friends. They coincide with my 'up' cycles, when I have annoyingly high energy and an over-eagerness to get out and do. This is how I felt last weekend. By Sunday afternoon, I was so emotionally sensitive to the positive things that happened during the two days, I was willing to scream from my porch, "LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL!!" While this might be true, it was not characteristic of me, by far. I had to rein my energy because of the danger that comes with it. And that plain sucks.
Eh, I'm whining. I know that I need to use my past as a tool to build a better future, but it's painful to think how easily the past could have been changed. I don't want others to hurt because of me. So, I'll try to work my ass off and the future will be brighter for it, hopefully. These lyrics suddenly have a much deeper meaning...
"With all the changing seasons of my life, maybe I'll get it right next time."
What makes this process so difficult, and sad, are the nagging thoughts now stuck in my head. I wish, more than anything in the world, that those years never happened. I don't mean to imply that I want my friendships taken away or the special moments with my son to be forgotten. For the sake of those who were caught within my funnel cloud, I wish I could take away the hurt feelings, anger and frustration. It's not about relieving my own hurt or taking away my consequences for the things that happened. I'd gladly keep those if it meant others would lose the memories of my actions.
I'm trying to reconcile the irritating idea that none of it had to take place. It's like one of those annoying, under the skin itches that you just can't scratch and won't go away. I've been seeing therapists and psychiatrists for years. If ONE of these professionals had asked the right questions and treated me appropriately (rather than throw the latest drug du jour down my throat), then <poof>... a decade's worth of misery may have been saved. Instead, I was putting something into me that made matters far worse. I'm not trying to blame anyone, but it's also hard not to. When a psychiatrist diagnoses you and the cardinal rule is to not prescribe an anti-depressant, but then prescribes one anyway... I don't know. And I didn't know what questions to ask to prevent this, either. I can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that one small change could've had an incredible impact. I voiced my above wish to my therapist - "I wish the last three years never happened." She replied, "I do too," and we both sat silently for a minute. It looked like we were both going to cry. She's the only person who really listened to me, but her hands were tied. She isn't a prescriber and couldn't do much except voice her concerns to my psychs. She's blaming herself for not catching this sooner. She doesn't realize that I wouldn't have made it out of this screwed up, bi-polar cave without her help.
Sure, there were some good times over the years, but they always seemed to be followed by a bout of drinking. I said in the last post that drinking was related to the depression, yet this isn't true. My drinking usually occurred after the best days - incredible days with my son, wonderful vacations, time with special friends. They coincide with my 'up' cycles, when I have annoyingly high energy and an over-eagerness to get out and do. This is how I felt last weekend. By Sunday afternoon, I was so emotionally sensitive to the positive things that happened during the two days, I was willing to scream from my porch, "LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL!!" While this might be true, it was not characteristic of me, by far. I had to rein my energy because of the danger that comes with it. And that plain sucks.
Eh, I'm whining. I know that I need to use my past as a tool to build a better future, but it's painful to think how easily the past could have been changed. I don't want others to hurt because of me. So, I'll try to work my ass off and the future will be brighter for it, hopefully. These lyrics suddenly have a much deeper meaning...
"With all the changing seasons of my life, maybe I'll get it right next time."
Saturday, June 30, 2012
The Roller Coaster Continues
It's been a long time. Several people were asking what was going on, so I'll explain a bit of it. Heeding the advice of my therapist, I stopped writing. It helped to get everything in the open, but there were other things that I needed to focus on. And with that, I'll shift focus...
I think that this is harder to write about than drinking. For well over a year or two, my therapist has been mentioning that she thought I was hypomanic. It was mentioned by my psychiatrist, as well. My energy level tends to soar for a few weeks, but it's an energy level that's unsustainable. I'm irritable, agitated, and I don't sleep well. I set goals that are so high, I can't accomplish them. I snap at people and I'm cynical. It goes on and on. And then... I crash. Hard. I get so depressed that I barely move. I don't eat. And, of course, I drink myself oblivious. Worse, I don't think twice about any of it. This has been happening for years - rinse, repeat. I don't even have the "good" kind of mania! I have the pissy, irritating, I'm-going-to-flip-out-for-no-reason kind of mania. Has anyone noticed this?
Ahem... not all at once, please.
What I didn't realize is that this behavior is indicative of Type 2 Bi-polar. I know this now because, after a few weeks of binge drinking off and on again (more on than off), I finally checked myself back into the hospital. All I thought was, "Something is totally NOT right." It didn't occur to me to stop drinking or call someone or do anything real helpful. In turn, the hospital checked me into a psych rehab for dual diagnosis patients - patients who are experiencing mental health problems along with substance abuse issues. I requested this specifically because I've freakin' been everywhere else at this point! I'm so sick and tired of talking about drinking, even though it's such a large part of what's been going on for several years. It's a symptom. Something deeper hasn't been right for a very long time. I just thought I was depressed!
Unfortunately, that's exactly what I was being treated for - depression. For three and a half years, I've been seeing various psychiatrists and they've all prescribed me anti-depressants. And for three and a half years, I've felt like I've been going nowhere. It's been the hardest and most miserable period of my life, hands down. Relationships get destroyed, I relapse over and over, I can't hold a job for any more than six f'ing months. And since it's my mission to be as honest as possible within my blog (wait... I DO try to be honest everywhere... I try), I'll also admit that some of the meds I've been on have almost, *almost*, made me suicidal. The thoughts were certainly there. I finally told this to the hospital psychiatrist who interviewed me a few weeks ago and it was a load off my shoulders. Turns out, if you give someone with bi-polar an anti-depressant (without something additional to stabilize his or her moods), then you make the situation even worse. My psychiatrist should have know that. Sadly, people with Type 2 BP do have the highest rate of suicide. Fun facts.
Checking myself into the hospital and rehab must have been luck. I don't think I had moved in the two days prior to it. Maybe it was an impending sense of doom that made me pick up the phone this time... I don't know. The rehab was wonderful and I felt like someone was finally listening to me. My medication was completely readjusted and time will tell whether or not this is going to do the trick. It's not a cure, by any stretch, but hopefully it will help. Similar to addiction, bi-polar doesn't go away. You can make it better, for sure, but you're never going to fully arrest it. You can only hope to make the ups and downs less..... well, up and down.
Also, between the hospital, rehab, and therapist, I'm learning to identify my behavioral patterns. I never realized I was acting like, um, such an asshole all the time... happy one minute, snapping the next. It seems to happen over a period of two months or so. Then I start drinking like an idiot, come to, and repeat the cycle. My therapist went through my file and my relapse pattern is clockwork. I blamed it on the 60 day "hump" that some AAers talk about (I wrote about it last December), but it has nothing to do with that. My cycle is dictating my sobriety, not the other way around. But I can see it now.
I guess I didn't have to write about this. It's difficult to put this to virtual paper because it's entirely new to me. Now that I know why I've felt and acted the way that I have, I'm more aware of my current state and can adjust it as needed - or ask for help if I can't. I suppose it's important for me to write because this shit simply isn't talked about enough. And I don't mean just bi-polar. I mean bi-polar, OCD, depression, psychosis, etc. There are some people I could tell and they'd be fine with it. There are others who will look at me like I have three heads and a tail. And I know there are family members and friends who have a "we'll see" kind of attitude about all this. It probably won't comfort them much when I say, "Me too."
I think that this is harder to write about than drinking. For well over a year or two, my therapist has been mentioning that she thought I was hypomanic. It was mentioned by my psychiatrist, as well. My energy level tends to soar for a few weeks, but it's an energy level that's unsustainable. I'm irritable, agitated, and I don't sleep well. I set goals that are so high, I can't accomplish them. I snap at people and I'm cynical. It goes on and on. And then... I crash. Hard. I get so depressed that I barely move. I don't eat. And, of course, I drink myself oblivious. Worse, I don't think twice about any of it. This has been happening for years - rinse, repeat. I don't even have the "good" kind of mania! I have the pissy, irritating, I'm-going-to-flip-out-for-no-reason kind of mania. Has anyone noticed this?
Ahem... not all at once, please.
What I didn't realize is that this behavior is indicative of Type 2 Bi-polar. I know this now because, after a few weeks of binge drinking off and on again (more on than off), I finally checked myself back into the hospital. All I thought was, "Something is totally NOT right." It didn't occur to me to stop drinking or call someone or do anything real helpful. In turn, the hospital checked me into a psych rehab for dual diagnosis patients - patients who are experiencing mental health problems along with substance abuse issues. I requested this specifically because I've freakin' been everywhere else at this point! I'm so sick and tired of talking about drinking, even though it's such a large part of what's been going on for several years. It's a symptom. Something deeper hasn't been right for a very long time. I just thought I was depressed!
Unfortunately, that's exactly what I was being treated for - depression. For three and a half years, I've been seeing various psychiatrists and they've all prescribed me anti-depressants. And for three and a half years, I've felt like I've been going nowhere. It's been the hardest and most miserable period of my life, hands down. Relationships get destroyed, I relapse over and over, I can't hold a job for any more than six f'ing months. And since it's my mission to be as honest as possible within my blog (wait... I DO try to be honest everywhere... I try), I'll also admit that some of the meds I've been on have almost, *almost*, made me suicidal. The thoughts were certainly there. I finally told this to the hospital psychiatrist who interviewed me a few weeks ago and it was a load off my shoulders. Turns out, if you give someone with bi-polar an anti-depressant (without something additional to stabilize his or her moods), then you make the situation even worse. My psychiatrist should have know that. Sadly, people with Type 2 BP do have the highest rate of suicide. Fun facts.
Checking myself into the hospital and rehab must have been luck. I don't think I had moved in the two days prior to it. Maybe it was an impending sense of doom that made me pick up the phone this time... I don't know. The rehab was wonderful and I felt like someone was finally listening to me. My medication was completely readjusted and time will tell whether or not this is going to do the trick. It's not a cure, by any stretch, but hopefully it will help. Similar to addiction, bi-polar doesn't go away. You can make it better, for sure, but you're never going to fully arrest it. You can only hope to make the ups and downs less..... well, up and down.
Also, between the hospital, rehab, and therapist, I'm learning to identify my behavioral patterns. I never realized I was acting like, um, such an asshole all the time... happy one minute, snapping the next. It seems to happen over a period of two months or so. Then I start drinking like an idiot, come to, and repeat the cycle. My therapist went through my file and my relapse pattern is clockwork. I blamed it on the 60 day "hump" that some AAers talk about (I wrote about it last December), but it has nothing to do with that. My cycle is dictating my sobriety, not the other way around. But I can see it now.
I guess I didn't have to write about this. It's difficult to put this to virtual paper because it's entirely new to me. Now that I know why I've felt and acted the way that I have, I'm more aware of my current state and can adjust it as needed - or ask for help if I can't. I suppose it's important for me to write because this shit simply isn't talked about enough. And I don't mean just bi-polar. I mean bi-polar, OCD, depression, psychosis, etc. There are some people I could tell and they'd be fine with it. There are others who will look at me like I have three heads and a tail. And I know there are family members and friends who have a "we'll see" kind of attitude about all this. It probably won't comfort them much when I say, "Me too."
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Lip Service
I feel like it would've been remiss not to write this evening. I'd really like to get reading (I'm reading "Excuses Begone"), but something had to be mentioned.
I received an extraordinary e-mail from a friend today, someone who cares deeply about what I'm going through and only wants to see me better. It said this, basically - "Get busy living or get busy dying." It's my choice. And, while the latter may not be approved, it would be respected. But let people know so they can either a) help or b) get out of the way.
I got the e-mail while I was at work and it was a tough read. It was tough because 100% was true, it was emotional, and it nearly made me cry. When it's 2pm and you're trying to get work done, that's not easy. There was also talk about grilled cheese and, God, I love grilled cheese. So it was emotional.
(Btw, I'm watching Star Trek - JJ Abrams - and I always, always get teary at the beginning. It was SO well done.)
Look, I can't promise that things are going to work out, but I can promise that I'm trying (even when it doesn't look like it). I think what's really hung me up (wow, grammar) is that I do have a lot of residual feelings regarding how I grew up, my shitty marriage, my crappy jobs... and I hang onto all of that. And I hang onto all of it because... they seem like good excuses to fail.
Right? If I have excuses to be a failure, then I can't truly disappoint anyone.
The problem is this - I actually haven't disappointed anyone, except for myself. I've always thought of myself as such (a disappointment). Yet, would I ever think of my own son as a disappointment, no matter what happened to him or what he decided to do with his life?
The answer... is a resounding... NO.
My past is the wake of a boat. It's there, but it cannot shift my course. Therefore, I need to steer. I can deal with that wake as I see fit, but it can't steer me.
I entitled this "Lip Service" because I almost feel like that's what I've been doing lately... paying my sobriety lip service. I don't mean to. My emotions have been up and down and I simply can't grip them. But I don't have to... not all at once. I have help if I just ask for it.
And for those wondering, the last piece of the puzzle has been placed. I told the president of my company what I've been fighting. I never thought I'd do that... I've admitted what's going on to my family and to you, my friends. I never thought I'd finally tell my job. You should've seen how caring he was and how much he wanted to help. I left his office thinking, "Why didn't I do this sooner?"
Kirk just got the crap beaten out of him, but he's looking at a model ship and realizing his potential. Time I do the same.
I received an extraordinary e-mail from a friend today, someone who cares deeply about what I'm going through and only wants to see me better. It said this, basically - "Get busy living or get busy dying." It's my choice. And, while the latter may not be approved, it would be respected. But let people know so they can either a) help or b) get out of the way.
I got the e-mail while I was at work and it was a tough read. It was tough because 100% was true, it was emotional, and it nearly made me cry. When it's 2pm and you're trying to get work done, that's not easy. There was also talk about grilled cheese and, God, I love grilled cheese. So it was emotional.
(Btw, I'm watching Star Trek - JJ Abrams - and I always, always get teary at the beginning. It was SO well done.)
Look, I can't promise that things are going to work out, but I can promise that I'm trying (even when it doesn't look like it). I think what's really hung me up (wow, grammar) is that I do have a lot of residual feelings regarding how I grew up, my shitty marriage, my crappy jobs... and I hang onto all of that. And I hang onto all of it because... they seem like good excuses to fail.
Right? If I have excuses to be a failure, then I can't truly disappoint anyone.
The problem is this - I actually haven't disappointed anyone, except for myself. I've always thought of myself as such (a disappointment). Yet, would I ever think of my own son as a disappointment, no matter what happened to him or what he decided to do with his life?
The answer... is a resounding... NO.
My past is the wake of a boat. It's there, but it cannot shift my course. Therefore, I need to steer. I can deal with that wake as I see fit, but it can't steer me.
I entitled this "Lip Service" because I almost feel like that's what I've been doing lately... paying my sobriety lip service. I don't mean to. My emotions have been up and down and I simply can't grip them. But I don't have to... not all at once. I have help if I just ask for it.
And for those wondering, the last piece of the puzzle has been placed. I told the president of my company what I've been fighting. I never thought I'd do that... I've admitted what's going on to my family and to you, my friends. I never thought I'd finally tell my job. You should've seen how caring he was and how much he wanted to help. I left his office thinking, "Why didn't I do this sooner?"
Kirk just got the crap beaten out of him, but he's looking at a model ship and realizing his potential. Time I do the same.
Monday, February 13, 2012
So Little Time For Such a Long Entry
I will preface this by saying, "If I were you I'd manage to avoid the invitation... of promised love that can't keep up with your adoration..."
I have so many topics to write about, I don't know where to start. (Let's just say they're all dramatic... slight shot at the person who told me these were too dramatic...) I've got weeks' of fodder.
First - I will NOT write, yet, about who or what I let take me down. That's not fair - because that's me, not them, and this will not be the end people who I let into my life. There's an entire line of context that needs to be understood, nearly a year long, and I can't do the emotion justice. Not yet. It will take writing and rewriting, edit upon edit, and still I don't think I could do it justice. I need to, in some way, verbalize how integral this person has been without trying to badmouth. Because there is NO badmouthing here. It was a criss-cross of emotion and heart and... Christ, I can't arrange it all. I don't think it's at an end. It can't be. Although, I did need to let it settle by doing something childish - ignoring it all. And, when it comes down to it, it makes me realize that I've sooooo neglected others in the process. All of those questions about who has truly supported me and how... they've been answered. In spades. They're people who have supported me all of my life, or tried to and didn't quite know how, but they tried! They tried their fucking hearts' out. We were on different pages, but they still tried so, so very hard. It was in plain view, yet I think we were all a little blind. And... that's okay. God, dammit. I realize, that's okay.
Second, happy mothers' day. Again, I'm trying to condense a whole lot. Happy Mother's Day to the mother of my son - the mother who, on day ONE of my recuperation, said Yes to meeting for breakfast so I could see my little one. We only saw each other for an hour, but that wasn't a restriction. It just happened that way. My son was tired at 9am, needed a nap, still had a full day planned, etc. There was no "you have one hour and I'm outta here." That's not the way it went. In fact, in my opinion... it was perfect and brings tears to my eyes. I even saw them again this morning before our commutes. To anyone reading, especially her family, I'm not writing a ton because I don't think she reads this. She will always, always touch my heart.
Just so you know how special you are to me (although you probably won't read this) - I listened to "You Look So Fine" about forty times today. That's been her ringtone to me for four years.
Second, happy mothers' day (no, that's not a mistake). Again, I'm trying to condense a whole lot. Mom, I love you and I could write pages about this, too - and I will. I heard magic words. Words that made me realize, even though I've heard them before, that life does not come with instructions. I KNOW THAT. But I was told that I was, at my own son's age, my mom's best friend. And I finally, finally get that. Because that's how I feel about my son. He is, without any doubt, the best friend I've ever had. When he's 35 and - married, divorced, rich, penniless, struggling, strong, willing to write or wanting to shut-in - he's my son and my best friend. He will never, ever be a disappointment to me and I will always hold in my mind taking him to see Cars 2 or him wanting to watch ABC Trains a hundred, thousand times. It won't change... not in my mind.
To add some context to the image that will stick in my own mind of my son... him sixteen inches long, snuggled on my chest as we both nap, with his mom behind the camera. My favorite picture over any Norman Rockwell.
Third, a thanks to karma. I have NO idea what's going to happen tomorrow morning, but I do know that the worst I expected today was not the worst that happened. The funniest thing is this - two of my most ... I don't know ... most spiritually balanced friends wrote to me when I needed them most. One of them I've reconnected with already and I love her with all of my heart. The second was one who I haven't heard from in months (and months) and I love her with all of my heart. I feel channeled with both and somehow, when I just needed a cosmic kitchen of hope, they wrote to me. The universe amazes me. I used to say "sometimes". No way. It amazes me ALL the time.
That second person, by the way, does more than amaze me... she baffles me. We've barely touched (metaphorically), but she is the reason I'll grab the headphones tight to my ears when something truly profound hits me. She's the reason I toss my head in-time. And, although this sounds awful to those who are reading and don't understand, she's my "Prostitute". There's just so much raw power and stripped emotion behind the song and it's about damage - damage that she made me see in myself. Damage that I've been desperately working on. I used to walk to work and listen to it over and over... thumping in my head, bobbing in tune. "Look for a new beginning on you..."
Fourth, the Phantom Menace sucked the first time. Things don't change when you refilm them in 3D.
I'm going to keep writing tonight and then I'm going to bed... soon. It's not because I'm isolating or doing harm or anything. I've already written several other entries today and I'm wiped - literally. My eyes burn.
I have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow morning... or tomorrow night... or next week or year. It simply doesn't matter. What matters is now. I went to work this morning and was turned around because I wasn't medically cleared to be there. I nearly threw-up because of the anxiety. But do you know what made it better? I mean, 100%, unequivocally better?
Listening to a little Gnarls Barkley while remembering my son wiping his nose on my shirt at about 6:17am this morning.
To anyone wondering, I found my true support. I may fall a hundred times over again, but I found my reasons to get right the fuck back up.
I have so many topics to write about, I don't know where to start. (Let's just say they're all dramatic... slight shot at the person who told me these were too dramatic...) I've got weeks' of fodder.
First - I will NOT write, yet, about who or what I let take me down. That's not fair - because that's me, not them, and this will not be the end people who I let into my life. There's an entire line of context that needs to be understood, nearly a year long, and I can't do the emotion justice. Not yet. It will take writing and rewriting, edit upon edit, and still I don't think I could do it justice. I need to, in some way, verbalize how integral this person has been without trying to badmouth. Because there is NO badmouthing here. It was a criss-cross of emotion and heart and... Christ, I can't arrange it all. I don't think it's at an end. It can't be. Although, I did need to let it settle by doing something childish - ignoring it all. And, when it comes down to it, it makes me realize that I've sooooo neglected others in the process. All of those questions about who has truly supported me and how... they've been answered. In spades. They're people who have supported me all of my life, or tried to and didn't quite know how, but they tried! They tried their fucking hearts' out. We were on different pages, but they still tried so, so very hard. It was in plain view, yet I think we were all a little blind. And... that's okay. God, dammit. I realize, that's okay.
Second, happy mothers' day. Again, I'm trying to condense a whole lot. Happy Mother's Day to the mother of my son - the mother who, on day ONE of my recuperation, said Yes to meeting for breakfast so I could see my little one. We only saw each other for an hour, but that wasn't a restriction. It just happened that way. My son was tired at 9am, needed a nap, still had a full day planned, etc. There was no "you have one hour and I'm outta here." That's not the way it went. In fact, in my opinion... it was perfect and brings tears to my eyes. I even saw them again this morning before our commutes. To anyone reading, especially her family, I'm not writing a ton because I don't think she reads this. She will always, always touch my heart.
Just so you know how special you are to me (although you probably won't read this) - I listened to "You Look So Fine" about forty times today. That's been her ringtone to me for four years.
Second, happy mothers' day (no, that's not a mistake). Again, I'm trying to condense a whole lot. Mom, I love you and I could write pages about this, too - and I will. I heard magic words. Words that made me realize, even though I've heard them before, that life does not come with instructions. I KNOW THAT. But I was told that I was, at my own son's age, my mom's best friend. And I finally, finally get that. Because that's how I feel about my son. He is, without any doubt, the best friend I've ever had. When he's 35 and - married, divorced, rich, penniless, struggling, strong, willing to write or wanting to shut-in - he's my son and my best friend. He will never, ever be a disappointment to me and I will always hold in my mind taking him to see Cars 2 or him wanting to watch ABC Trains a hundred, thousand times. It won't change... not in my mind.
To add some context to the image that will stick in my own mind of my son... him sixteen inches long, snuggled on my chest as we both nap, with his mom behind the camera. My favorite picture over any Norman Rockwell.
Third, a thanks to karma. I have NO idea what's going to happen tomorrow morning, but I do know that the worst I expected today was not the worst that happened. The funniest thing is this - two of my most ... I don't know ... most spiritually balanced friends wrote to me when I needed them most. One of them I've reconnected with already and I love her with all of my heart. The second was one who I haven't heard from in months (and months) and I love her with all of my heart. I feel channeled with both and somehow, when I just needed a cosmic kitchen of hope, they wrote to me. The universe amazes me. I used to say "sometimes". No way. It amazes me ALL the time.
That second person, by the way, does more than amaze me... she baffles me. We've barely touched (metaphorically), but she is the reason I'll grab the headphones tight to my ears when something truly profound hits me. She's the reason I toss my head in-time. And, although this sounds awful to those who are reading and don't understand, she's my "Prostitute". There's just so much raw power and stripped emotion behind the song and it's about damage - damage that she made me see in myself. Damage that I've been desperately working on. I used to walk to work and listen to it over and over... thumping in my head, bobbing in tune. "Look for a new beginning on you..."
Fourth, the Phantom Menace sucked the first time. Things don't change when you refilm them in 3D.
I'm going to keep writing tonight and then I'm going to bed... soon. It's not because I'm isolating or doing harm or anything. I've already written several other entries today and I'm wiped - literally. My eyes burn.
I have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow morning... or tomorrow night... or next week or year. It simply doesn't matter. What matters is now. I went to work this morning and was turned around because I wasn't medically cleared to be there. I nearly threw-up because of the anxiety. But do you know what made it better? I mean, 100%, unequivocally better?
Listening to a little Gnarls Barkley while remembering my son wiping his nose on my shirt at about 6:17am this morning.
To anyone wondering, I found my true support. I may fall a hundred times over again, but I found my reasons to get right the fuck back up.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Dream Lovin'
Once upon a time, I met a girl.
I met a girl on a day that was beautifully ordinary. The sun was shining and the sky was blue. The air was neither hot nor cold and I gave it no notice on this day. Everything was tame, so as not to distract me from what was truly important.
I don't remember the color of her eyes, though I know they were dark. If I had to guess, I would say they were hazel, because I like hazel eyes. They were a perfect compliment - to her and to me. They accentuated an already lovely face and, at the same time, told me how special I was to them. They saw into me, not through me, and made me feel welcome.
Her expressions were soft. They were comfortable. I could stare at them for hours and not get lost. They put me at ease and let me know exactly where I was, safe and loved. When I'm lost, I get anxious. Anxiety vanished around this girl. I could never be lost with her.
The smile she gave told me what I had wanted to hear my entire life. I was with someone of the utmost sincerity and honesty. Never again would I have to worry about hidden emotion or hurtful words. Everything was in plain view. I saw it all exposed without a hint of embarrassment, shyness or worry. She was giving me all of her and I was happy to give her all of me.
We laughed together that day, but it wasn't the laughter itself that was special. It was the way we laughed. It was in our mannerisms, our breathing and the tilting of our heads in sync with each other. It all seemed to pick up her hair and flirt with it, tossing it. Long, straight, dark brown hair - it was ordinary and incredibly striking at once.
This girl was perfect in every way, but only for me. Her dress was non-descript, yet captured her as it flowed. Her hands were warm in mine and every time we took a step, it felt right. No one else could hold her hands and feel the same way. The reverse was true, as well. Our hands were home in each other.
What I knew instantly was that she loved me for me. I didn't have to worry about trying to be better or trying to be something that I simply couldn't be. She only asked that I be myself while I was with her, incredible flaws and all.
I had this dream almost twenty years ago, yet I have never forgotten that day or that girl. I've tried to force that fantasy on others, envisioning them as something that they could never be. I wanted the whole package, the fairy tale. In my search, I missed the pieces of the fantasy that were being given to me - the smile from one girl, the eyes from another, the laughter and sincerity from a third. She may be in my life already, waiting for the right timing.
She's waiting for me in the same dress and her hair is perfect. Her hands are folded in front of her, ready for mine. One day, our eyes will lock and we'll know immediately that the search is over.
I met a girl on a day that was beautifully ordinary. The sun was shining and the sky was blue. The air was neither hot nor cold and I gave it no notice on this day. Everything was tame, so as not to distract me from what was truly important.
I don't remember the color of her eyes, though I know they were dark. If I had to guess, I would say they were hazel, because I like hazel eyes. They were a perfect compliment - to her and to me. They accentuated an already lovely face and, at the same time, told me how special I was to them. They saw into me, not through me, and made me feel welcome.
Her expressions were soft. They were comfortable. I could stare at them for hours and not get lost. They put me at ease and let me know exactly where I was, safe and loved. When I'm lost, I get anxious. Anxiety vanished around this girl. I could never be lost with her.
The smile she gave told me what I had wanted to hear my entire life. I was with someone of the utmost sincerity and honesty. Never again would I have to worry about hidden emotion or hurtful words. Everything was in plain view. I saw it all exposed without a hint of embarrassment, shyness or worry. She was giving me all of her and I was happy to give her all of me.
We laughed together that day, but it wasn't the laughter itself that was special. It was the way we laughed. It was in our mannerisms, our breathing and the tilting of our heads in sync with each other. It all seemed to pick up her hair and flirt with it, tossing it. Long, straight, dark brown hair - it was ordinary and incredibly striking at once.
This girl was perfect in every way, but only for me. Her dress was non-descript, yet captured her as it flowed. Her hands were warm in mine and every time we took a step, it felt right. No one else could hold her hands and feel the same way. The reverse was true, as well. Our hands were home in each other.
What I knew instantly was that she loved me for me. I didn't have to worry about trying to be better or trying to be something that I simply couldn't be. She only asked that I be myself while I was with her, incredible flaws and all.
I had this dream almost twenty years ago, yet I have never forgotten that day or that girl. I've tried to force that fantasy on others, envisioning them as something that they could never be. I wanted the whole package, the fairy tale. In my search, I missed the pieces of the fantasy that were being given to me - the smile from one girl, the eyes from another, the laughter and sincerity from a third. She may be in my life already, waiting for the right timing.
She's waiting for me in the same dress and her hair is perfect. Her hands are folded in front of her, ready for mine. One day, our eyes will lock and we'll know immediately that the search is over.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Going Up?
I've been thinking a lot lately about how to bring more positivity into my life. As I've written, I know it's all about perspective and, usually, you can make it if you fake it. I don't always believe in that, but it seems true when it comes to smiles. "Smiling is my favorite." If you put a smile on your face, then you're more likely to forget about what's twisting in your head.
This morning (Monday), I started my day and my week on a good note, thanks to the kindness of a stranger. A cute stranger, I might add. I pulled into the parking lot at the same time as another woman, though she was much closer to the building's door than I was. She saw me get out of my car and grab my bag as she approached the entrance. I started for the building and did a quick calculation... she was a mile away, already at the door and heading for the elevator, I presumed. So I took my time walking, figuring I'd miss the ride up. But as I opened the door, I noticed that the elevator was waiting. I quickened my pace and, sure enough, she was holding the elevator door open for me. Immediately, I thanked her and she chuckled, probably noticing the grin on my face. As we approached my floor, I thanked her again, saying, "It's Monday morning and someone held the door for me. THANK YOU for starting my week off right."
We all do those quick measurements... if you're ten feet from the elevator, then I'll hold the door for you. If you're twenty feet, then I'm debating, though I'll probably hold it. If you're thirty feet, piss off. Grab the next one. (As you're mashing the Close button...)
This stranger (this wonderfully, cute, blonde stranger) really outdid herself. I was easily six or seven basketball hoops away from her, yet she held the door and greeted me with a smile. And if I had to bet on it, I would've put fifty bucks that she would've let the door close instead. I don't think I'm alone. Our instincts tend to go negative. It's a survival technique, I've read. A person's reflexes are highly attuned for negative acts because those are the ones that are dangerous and we, therefore, need to react quickly to them. But, man, what a downer those can be.
Last week, I was walking through the parking lot on my way back from lunch and traffic was fairly heavy as I crossed the road. A car was rounding the curve near me and I started rolling my eyes instantly. I thought, without a blink, "You son of a bitch... you're pulling out just to cut ahead." I felt like a complete ass when he blocked the rest of traffic, halting those who were NOT going to stop, just to let me cross. And he did it with a smile and a wave of his hand. I was surprised, both at his act of kindness and my immediate condemnation of something that hadn't happened yet. I jumped the gun. I let myself believe that this asshole, who was possibly the nicest person I met that day, was going to run me down to get a better parking spot.
So it got me contemplating how much time I waste fabricating negative stories... stories about how my boss is going to bitch at me for not finishing a project, how a customer is only calling because they're too stupid to listen to my instructions, how someone in a meeting is going to drone on for an hour and say noooothing of interest, or even how my son is going to be bored with dad because dad doesn't know how to play right. OR how that blonde woman is going to mash that Close button because she doesn't want to wait for a stranger on a Monday morning.
I guess by thinking the worst of people, I'm setting myself up for some nice surprises! But it seems like I'm missing out. Is it worth the quick surprises when I could have a constant level of pleasantry in my life by trying, simply trying, to believe that people are decent in this world?
This morning (Monday), I started my day and my week on a good note, thanks to the kindness of a stranger. A cute stranger, I might add. I pulled into the parking lot at the same time as another woman, though she was much closer to the building's door than I was. She saw me get out of my car and grab my bag as she approached the entrance. I started for the building and did a quick calculation... she was a mile away, already at the door and heading for the elevator, I presumed. So I took my time walking, figuring I'd miss the ride up. But as I opened the door, I noticed that the elevator was waiting. I quickened my pace and, sure enough, she was holding the elevator door open for me. Immediately, I thanked her and she chuckled, probably noticing the grin on my face. As we approached my floor, I thanked her again, saying, "It's Monday morning and someone held the door for me. THANK YOU for starting my week off right."
We all do those quick measurements... if you're ten feet from the elevator, then I'll hold the door for you. If you're twenty feet, then I'm debating, though I'll probably hold it. If you're thirty feet, piss off. Grab the next one. (As you're mashing the Close button...)
This stranger (this wonderfully, cute, blonde stranger) really outdid herself. I was easily six or seven basketball hoops away from her, yet she held the door and greeted me with a smile. And if I had to bet on it, I would've put fifty bucks that she would've let the door close instead. I don't think I'm alone. Our instincts tend to go negative. It's a survival technique, I've read. A person's reflexes are highly attuned for negative acts because those are the ones that are dangerous and we, therefore, need to react quickly to them. But, man, what a downer those can be.
Last week, I was walking through the parking lot on my way back from lunch and traffic was fairly heavy as I crossed the road. A car was rounding the curve near me and I started rolling my eyes instantly. I thought, without a blink, "You son of a bitch... you're pulling out just to cut ahead." I felt like a complete ass when he blocked the rest of traffic, halting those who were NOT going to stop, just to let me cross. And he did it with a smile and a wave of his hand. I was surprised, both at his act of kindness and my immediate condemnation of something that hadn't happened yet. I jumped the gun. I let myself believe that this asshole, who was possibly the nicest person I met that day, was going to run me down to get a better parking spot.
So it got me contemplating how much time I waste fabricating negative stories... stories about how my boss is going to bitch at me for not finishing a project, how a customer is only calling because they're too stupid to listen to my instructions, how someone in a meeting is going to drone on for an hour and say noooothing of interest, or even how my son is going to be bored with dad because dad doesn't know how to play right. OR how that blonde woman is going to mash that Close button because she doesn't want to wait for a stranger on a Monday morning.
I guess by thinking the worst of people, I'm setting myself up for some nice surprises! But it seems like I'm missing out. Is it worth the quick surprises when I could have a constant level of pleasantry in my life by trying, simply trying, to believe that people are decent in this world?
Friday, January 20, 2012
Planned Chaos
I'm discovering that it's difficult to write in the evening if I've gone to the gym. By the time I sit in front of the computer, my body is on the other side of the runner's high and it's hitting a 'tired contentedness'. I'm mentally exhausted, my eyes are drooping, the light of the flat screen is irritating, and I'm ready for bed - and it feels wonderful. I'm gaining plenty of reward by going to the gym, but it's forcing me to balance my time even more than I was previously.
It's another victory to be balancing my time. Me, addictive personality, slight OCD, all-or-nothing... I MUST go to the gym every day! But wait - I MUST hit a meeting every day! Hold on - I MUST get to work early and stay late every day! Yikes. As far as I can see it, that's nearly impossible when you factor in commuting and nuisances like, say, eating. Hungry, angry, lonely, tired. It's not long before 3 of those 4 hit me when I try to cram all of that into my days. So, lately, I've been doing what I feel like doing. Gym tonight? Sure. Meeting tomorrow? Okay. Watch some Family Guy instead? That works, too (in moderation, of course).
And that keeps it in the day. By not planning everything into a completely unmanageable schedule or routine, it lets me enjoy the things I CHOOSE to do in the moments they strike me. There's no tomorrow when I'm living in the moment. With no tomorrow, I'm not planning my life too far down the line.
That certainly doesn't mean that life shouldn't include planning essentials - retirement, college funds, budgeting, blah blah blah. I've just been going about those things all wrong. Those are "set it and forget it" type items. You should revisit them for fine tuning, but there's no need to dwell on them everyday, hoping that you've planned appropriately. When I focus on them too much, I get discouraged and end up in debt, which is where I am now. I say, "Screw it," and do dumb things, like buy new TV's. Do I really need a 32" flat screen to write my blog? No, but that's what I'm using.
I guess what I'm realizing is this: I'm a terrible planner! It's simply not one of my strengths. My OCD makes my body break out in hives when I don't create 50 checklists to control my day, yet those 50 checklists completely overwhelm me because I can't keep them freakin' organized! I need a checklist for my checklists!! You might think I'm joking, but I really did make a checklist when I was planning my whiteboard project checklist at work! And then I sit there, perplexed, because I can't decide if one checklist is more comprehensive and, therefore, better than the other. So I make another checklist!
Really, I suck when it comes to anything long term and I'm particularly happy that I'm admitting this, finally. It goes further than the mundane, worldly matters. I can't think of my sobriety long term, either. To me, a year is forever. Forever and a day. My mind drifts to thoughts like, "I MUST make a year of sobriety," and my life shatters. I cannot imagine being sober for a year... that leads me to start imagining being happy for a year. I cannot imagine that, either.
It's a whole other set of issues, of which I am just scratching the surface. Therapy has been causing my perspective to shift, especially lately - is it really that I can't drop my anger and depression or is it that I can't imagine myself being happy for any length of time, which is causing the depression? It was brought up recently that it's as if I feel I don't deserve to be happy... that I expect to be punished and happiness is out of my reach.
That's another post, after more reflection. "I need main-te-nance!"
Oh well. I have my strengths and I have my weaknesses. Acknowledge them both, use one over the other, and I'll be fine.
It's another victory to be balancing my time. Me, addictive personality, slight OCD, all-or-nothing... I MUST go to the gym every day! But wait - I MUST hit a meeting every day! Hold on - I MUST get to work early and stay late every day! Yikes. As far as I can see it, that's nearly impossible when you factor in commuting and nuisances like, say, eating. Hungry, angry, lonely, tired. It's not long before 3 of those 4 hit me when I try to cram all of that into my days. So, lately, I've been doing what I feel like doing. Gym tonight? Sure. Meeting tomorrow? Okay. Watch some Family Guy instead? That works, too (in moderation, of course).
And that keeps it in the day. By not planning everything into a completely unmanageable schedule or routine, it lets me enjoy the things I CHOOSE to do in the moments they strike me. There's no tomorrow when I'm living in the moment. With no tomorrow, I'm not planning my life too far down the line.
That certainly doesn't mean that life shouldn't include planning essentials - retirement, college funds, budgeting, blah blah blah. I've just been going about those things all wrong. Those are "set it and forget it" type items. You should revisit them for fine tuning, but there's no need to dwell on them everyday, hoping that you've planned appropriately. When I focus on them too much, I get discouraged and end up in debt, which is where I am now. I say, "Screw it," and do dumb things, like buy new TV's. Do I really need a 32" flat screen to write my blog? No, but that's what I'm using.
I guess what I'm realizing is this: I'm a terrible planner! It's simply not one of my strengths. My OCD makes my body break out in hives when I don't create 50 checklists to control my day, yet those 50 checklists completely overwhelm me because I can't keep them freakin' organized! I need a checklist for my checklists!! You might think I'm joking, but I really did make a checklist when I was planning my whiteboard project checklist at work! And then I sit there, perplexed, because I can't decide if one checklist is more comprehensive and, therefore, better than the other. So I make another checklist!
Really, I suck when it comes to anything long term and I'm particularly happy that I'm admitting this, finally. It goes further than the mundane, worldly matters. I can't think of my sobriety long term, either. To me, a year is forever. Forever and a day. My mind drifts to thoughts like, "I MUST make a year of sobriety," and my life shatters. I cannot imagine being sober for a year... that leads me to start imagining being happy for a year. I cannot imagine that, either.
It's a whole other set of issues, of which I am just scratching the surface. Therapy has been causing my perspective to shift, especially lately - is it really that I can't drop my anger and depression or is it that I can't imagine myself being happy for any length of time, which is causing the depression? It was brought up recently that it's as if I feel I don't deserve to be happy... that I expect to be punished and happiness is out of my reach.
That's another post, after more reflection. "I need main-te-nance!"
Oh well. I have my strengths and I have my weaknesses. Acknowledge them both, use one over the other, and I'll be fine.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
You Can Dooooo It
I'm finally ordering the Internetz (soon)!! I should've taken it into my own hands right from the start. This is one of those "courage to change the things I can" moments. Each time I've called the phone company, the respective representatives have given me different answers regarding what I need to do to get my line active. And my landlord didn't know what in holy blue hell to do, even though he was the person to say, "Oh yeah, I'll get that wired for ya." Boosheet!! I'm glad I did the wiring. After prying open the frozen Network Interface on the side of the house, I saw that it was wired wrong. Way to go. I mean, you can't really wire one incorrectly (each line is just two wires), but you can make it frustrating for people by reversing some of those wires! Whoever wired this house was drunk. Drunk, I say!!
But hey, we're not all bad. Occasionally, we drunks can throw a damn positive meeting! Before I get to that, though, a little negativity - I hate the word 'drunks'. I don't like it when people are trying to be funny by saying 'drunks' because it has such a stigma to it. So... wait... then I should edit my previous statement. We 'heavily problematic drinkers' can throw a damn positive meeting!
Tonight (last night, by the time this is posted), everything seemed to fall into place with its timing. It was a slow day at work, so I got out on time... hit the gym, ran a few miles... commuted home in 40 minutes and walked right into a meeting. Perfect. And the meeting was a great lift. We had, what we call, a 'gratitude meeting'. It's where we express, um, gratitude. Now, as a newcomer three years ago, I found these to be incredibly offensive. I really didn't give a shit how happy your life was. I was miserable. Being miserable, it was very difficult to identify with those who were... happy. I needed to hear dreadful stories to keep me coming. By hearing how low others were - not at that moment, but when they hit 'bottom' - I felt less alone. That's why it's important to hear the horrible drunk stories now and then. I generally stay away from them when I'm sharing, but they're crucial for the newcomers.
Nowadays, though, I need positivity, even when I'm not feeling positive myself. Sure, overly positive people still make me want to put hot pokers in my eyes on occasion, but I can respect how they're feeling and it's something that I do strive for in my life. Peace, joy and harmony, even when those three make me want to vomit.
My friends reading Covey are going to have a few things to say about this entry, I'm sure. And, yes, I've read the book, but my retention isn't what it used to be. Anyway...
What I shared this evening was my gratitude for a little self-worth. Although I've been in therapy for a few years, I wouldn't have gained a pseudo-positive attitude toward myself if therapy wasn't combined with a 12-step program (and SMART... RBT/CBT are wonderful for reversing negative behavior!). I don't give myself a lot of credit for the work that I've done in the past few years, let alone my life. I tend to focus on the negative and what I could have done better, rather than the things I've really shined at. It's why I burn out at work. Nothing is ever good enough and I'm always striving to make things better. I rarely take a breather and say, "Damn, nice job!" That kind of attitude may have prevented a few relapses, too. If I had the ability to say in my recovery, "Damn, nice job," then I doubt those negative emotions would have gotten the better of me. It's hard to dwell on anger and regret when you're smiling.
This especially applies to my relationship with my son. It's really easy for me to sink into the 'woe is me' doldrums and regret not being with him as much as I'd like to. I think about what would have been if I hadn't been following the darker road. I need to remember that I wouldn't have him in my life AT ALL if I wasn't trying to put 'daddy's' health first. It's been hard work - physically and mentally! And to see him light up when I walk through the door... my God. If that doesn't make me proud of the work I've done, then I don't know what ever would. My little monkeybean!! <insert hundreds of smiley emoticons shaped like monkeybeans>
And I'm not suggesting that I should be proud at the expense of humility. I do acknowledge the support around me, but I also think it's important for every one of us to give credit where credit is due - even when it means patting ourselves on the back. At the end of our coin presentations, we often say, "...and if you're sober today, give yourself a hand." If you're struggling with substance abuse, then acknowledge it's a freakin' job and a half to stay clean for 24 hours. If you've maintained that sobriety, then acknowledge you're a success. And if you've stumbled, then acknowledge that you've tried your damnedest in the past and you CAN do it again. Give it everything you've got because you ARE a success, just by virtue of trying. I'm not naive enough to think this applies to everything, but - dang it! - we CAN do it! (Thank you, SC... sometimes it takes one incredibly special person saying it to make it finally sink in. I'm very glad I've got you in my corner.)
Hey, screw alcoholism. If you're reading this, just had a bad day, but made it to the other side... then pat yourself on the back. YOU DID IT.
But hey, we're not all bad. Occasionally, we drunks can throw a damn positive meeting! Before I get to that, though, a little negativity - I hate the word 'drunks'. I don't like it when people are trying to be funny by saying 'drunks' because it has such a stigma to it. So... wait... then I should edit my previous statement. We 'heavily problematic drinkers' can throw a damn positive meeting!
Tonight (last night, by the time this is posted), everything seemed to fall into place with its timing. It was a slow day at work, so I got out on time... hit the gym, ran a few miles... commuted home in 40 minutes and walked right into a meeting. Perfect. And the meeting was a great lift. We had, what we call, a 'gratitude meeting'. It's where we express, um, gratitude. Now, as a newcomer three years ago, I found these to be incredibly offensive. I really didn't give a shit how happy your life was. I was miserable. Being miserable, it was very difficult to identify with those who were... happy. I needed to hear dreadful stories to keep me coming. By hearing how low others were - not at that moment, but when they hit 'bottom' - I felt less alone. That's why it's important to hear the horrible drunk stories now and then. I generally stay away from them when I'm sharing, but they're crucial for the newcomers.
Nowadays, though, I need positivity, even when I'm not feeling positive myself. Sure, overly positive people still make me want to put hot pokers in my eyes on occasion, but I can respect how they're feeling and it's something that I do strive for in my life. Peace, joy and harmony, even when those three make me want to vomit.
My friends reading Covey are going to have a few things to say about this entry, I'm sure. And, yes, I've read the book, but my retention isn't what it used to be. Anyway...
What I shared this evening was my gratitude for a little self-worth. Although I've been in therapy for a few years, I wouldn't have gained a pseudo-positive attitude toward myself if therapy wasn't combined with a 12-step program (and SMART... RBT/CBT are wonderful for reversing negative behavior!). I don't give myself a lot of credit for the work that I've done in the past few years, let alone my life. I tend to focus on the negative and what I could have done better, rather than the things I've really shined at. It's why I burn out at work. Nothing is ever good enough and I'm always striving to make things better. I rarely take a breather and say, "Damn, nice job!" That kind of attitude may have prevented a few relapses, too. If I had the ability to say in my recovery, "Damn, nice job," then I doubt those negative emotions would have gotten the better of me. It's hard to dwell on anger and regret when you're smiling.
This especially applies to my relationship with my son. It's really easy for me to sink into the 'woe is me' doldrums and regret not being with him as much as I'd like to. I think about what would have been if I hadn't been following the darker road. I need to remember that I wouldn't have him in my life AT ALL if I wasn't trying to put 'daddy's' health first. It's been hard work - physically and mentally! And to see him light up when I walk through the door... my God. If that doesn't make me proud of the work I've done, then I don't know what ever would. My little monkeybean!! <insert hundreds of smiley emoticons shaped like monkeybeans>
And I'm not suggesting that I should be proud at the expense of humility. I do acknowledge the support around me, but I also think it's important for every one of us to give credit where credit is due - even when it means patting ourselves on the back. At the end of our coin presentations, we often say, "...and if you're sober today, give yourself a hand." If you're struggling with substance abuse, then acknowledge it's a freakin' job and a half to stay clean for 24 hours. If you've maintained that sobriety, then acknowledge you're a success. And if you've stumbled, then acknowledge that you've tried your damnedest in the past and you CAN do it again. Give it everything you've got because you ARE a success, just by virtue of trying. I'm not naive enough to think this applies to everything, but - dang it! - we CAN do it! (Thank you, SC... sometimes it takes one incredibly special person saying it to make it finally sink in. I'm very glad I've got you in my corner.)
Hey, screw alcoholism. If you're reading this, just had a bad day, but made it to the other side... then pat yourself on the back. YOU DID IT.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Exposing My Crackers
Been a while! I wanted to write about therapy this week because it was one of those rare nights when I left more confused than when I walked in...
I think I understand why I'm enjoying writing this blog and it goes back to an entry in December. I wrote about the paradox of looking for support or love and then not knowing what to do with it once you got it. I want to express myself to others, yet I don't want to talk about it. By writing rather than talking, I can lay my feelings bare and walk away. Many people have left comments and I truly appreciate it. Please continue because you make me analyze all of this from different perspectives. I do NOT want to talk openly about it, though.
There are only a few people that I'll allow myself to talk to and I can count them on one hand. If you're not in that exclusive group, you shouldn't take it personally. I'm just not comfortable. Often, I don't know how to express myself anyway. I'll sit down, try to talk and all you'll hear is, "Um, ur, well, I feel... um... grrr.." And only a couple of friends have been able to say, "Don't worry. I know EXACTLY what you're saying."
This is rehashing old news - it's not that the rest of my family and friends aren't supportive. I know that you are, in your own ways. You've tried extremely hard to understand what you can't. In those cases, I wish you'd acknowledge that I'm a guy and I have my man-cave and all I want from you is a grunt and for you to turn the TV up. I'm simply not very good at all this emotional crap.
I think this might sum up how I was feeling when I left:
"It's a joy to be hidden, but a disaster not to be found." - D.W. Winnicott
I want to isolate and lick my wounds, yet the longer I'm isolated the worse the wound gets. Part of this is due to the fact that I've asked for help or understanding before and the results have been awful - from friends and family alike. There are specific incidents of baring myself, only to find that my confidence was handed to the very people I would NEVER want it exposed to. Or, just as bad in my opinion, I've found that the people I've opened up to were after this to use me. Misery loves company, especially the company of those more miserable. Support groups can be dangerous if you're not careful. Learned that the hard way...
If not for these realizations, though, I would not be connecting with those 'new' people in my life. The funny thing is, they've been around for years. It's only recently that communication has increased and bonds are being reforged. I never imagined that writing would kindle these relationships the way that it has. I sometimes feel that I should have the balls to talk openly about it and that I'm avoiding confrontation by writing instead. The reactions that I've received from other people have been the opposite. It seems like people enjoy the fact that I've had the balls to write! Yet, to me, making a public blog and exposing myself to hundreds of people is more cowardice than courage. Funny how that works. But there's no denying that it's doing me a world of good.
A question was posed to me a few weeks ago regarding my support group and how people would react if I relapsed right now... right at this very moment. It was uncomfortable at the time. I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to ask the question because I didn't want OTHERS to be uncomfortable. But I guess this is me asking just that question - what would your reaction be if I relapsed NOW. I'm not looking for an answer. I've written for almost a month and a half, so you've got some idea of where I stand. Most people that I know would have to resist the urge to slap the shit out of me. Do you turn around and tell others about what's happening ("Omg, guess what he did?")? Do you write to the world, "I wish he'd get his head out of his ass" (because that's happened)? Do you say, "Well, he's a relapser... I expected it and everyone should keep their distance" (that one, too)? Or do you just tell me that it'll be okay?
Just curious and I was told to put it on paper, so to speak. This is me trying to do what everyone has been asking me to do for years - open up. I feel like Harrison Ford in 'Regarding Henry' sometimes. You ask me to express myself and I wind up painting a picture of friggin' Ritz crackers. WTF...
But things really are good lately. I've been doing a lot of work and, while exhausting, I know it's paying off. It's been years since I've been able to sit down at night, turn on a little music or maybe read a little, and be comfortable *with myself*.
I think I understand why I'm enjoying writing this blog and it goes back to an entry in December. I wrote about the paradox of looking for support or love and then not knowing what to do with it once you got it. I want to express myself to others, yet I don't want to talk about it. By writing rather than talking, I can lay my feelings bare and walk away. Many people have left comments and I truly appreciate it. Please continue because you make me analyze all of this from different perspectives. I do NOT want to talk openly about it, though.
There are only a few people that I'll allow myself to talk to and I can count them on one hand. If you're not in that exclusive group, you shouldn't take it personally. I'm just not comfortable. Often, I don't know how to express myself anyway. I'll sit down, try to talk and all you'll hear is, "Um, ur, well, I feel... um... grrr.." And only a couple of friends have been able to say, "Don't worry. I know EXACTLY what you're saying."
This is rehashing old news - it's not that the rest of my family and friends aren't supportive. I know that you are, in your own ways. You've tried extremely hard to understand what you can't. In those cases, I wish you'd acknowledge that I'm a guy and I have my man-cave and all I want from you is a grunt and for you to turn the TV up. I'm simply not very good at all this emotional crap.
I think this might sum up how I was feeling when I left:
"It's a joy to be hidden, but a disaster not to be found." - D.W. Winnicott
I want to isolate and lick my wounds, yet the longer I'm isolated the worse the wound gets. Part of this is due to the fact that I've asked for help or understanding before and the results have been awful - from friends and family alike. There are specific incidents of baring myself, only to find that my confidence was handed to the very people I would NEVER want it exposed to. Or, just as bad in my opinion, I've found that the people I've opened up to were after this to use me. Misery loves company, especially the company of those more miserable. Support groups can be dangerous if you're not careful. Learned that the hard way...
If not for these realizations, though, I would not be connecting with those 'new' people in my life. The funny thing is, they've been around for years. It's only recently that communication has increased and bonds are being reforged. I never imagined that writing would kindle these relationships the way that it has. I sometimes feel that I should have the balls to talk openly about it and that I'm avoiding confrontation by writing instead. The reactions that I've received from other people have been the opposite. It seems like people enjoy the fact that I've had the balls to write! Yet, to me, making a public blog and exposing myself to hundreds of people is more cowardice than courage. Funny how that works. But there's no denying that it's doing me a world of good.
A question was posed to me a few weeks ago regarding my support group and how people would react if I relapsed right now... right at this very moment. It was uncomfortable at the time. I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to ask the question because I didn't want OTHERS to be uncomfortable. But I guess this is me asking just that question - what would your reaction be if I relapsed NOW. I'm not looking for an answer. I've written for almost a month and a half, so you've got some idea of where I stand. Most people that I know would have to resist the urge to slap the shit out of me. Do you turn around and tell others about what's happening ("Omg, guess what he did?")? Do you write to the world, "I wish he'd get his head out of his ass" (because that's happened)? Do you say, "Well, he's a relapser... I expected it and everyone should keep their distance" (that one, too)? Or do you just tell me that it'll be okay?
Just curious and I was told to put it on paper, so to speak. This is me trying to do what everyone has been asking me to do for years - open up. I feel like Harrison Ford in 'Regarding Henry' sometimes. You ask me to express myself and I wind up painting a picture of friggin' Ritz crackers. WTF...
But things really are good lately. I've been doing a lot of work and, while exhausting, I know it's paying off. It's been years since I've been able to sit down at night, turn on a little music or maybe read a little, and be comfortable *with myself*.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Waving Goodbye to a Suicide
I had a blog written and ready to go, so as not to disappoint those still reading it. But it looks like I have to get something else off my chest. This will be, I am sure, an unpopular opinion.
Being an alcoholic and attending support groups, and also having to deal with depression, I have seen my share of death. It's incredibly unfortunate, but it goes with the territory. There are some of us that will gather the strength and support to work through our issues, and others that will go the other way. The grief and remorse may be too much to bear or they won't find the support that they need before it's too late. They will find comfort in other, potentially deadlier, ways.
We simply deal with life differently. Not knowing how to cope in a healthy manner, we do things that many people find insane. Our symptoms manifest themselves through drinking and drugging, eating (or not eating), cutting, shopping or gambling or with sex (not deadly, of course, but harmful). The list goes on and on. Depending on which method is chosen, the situation may be worsened because of the stigma that's placed upon you for acting in these manners. Alcoholics and addicts don't get a lot of sympathy because people see their actions as a conscious decision to use, no matter how much pain they might be in or if they simply cannot stop on their own. Yet someone with an eating disorder will garner more sympathy because of how it manifests itself, clearly psychologically. Cutting is far worse than an eating disorder, however, because... well... because cutting is just plain crazy! Right??
Wrong.
It's amazing how far society has slipped into the "blame the victim" collective mentality. I'm not here to say that you should excuse inexcusable actions on account of, say, alcohol or drugs. But when you look deeper at what prompted these actions, depression is usually there. And this is no more apparent than when you're talking about suicide.
I feel (*I* feel... remember that... just my opinion) that it's a huge slap in the face to the victim(s) of suicide to call it a selfish act. Rather than judge the lifetime virtue of the person, we judge the person by the virtue of their final act. Actions do speak louder than words, but I feel strongly that one action should not be an epitaph. No one, NO ONE, considers suicide without being the victim of much deeper issues. Whether the brain isn't working right because of a misfire, medication, depression... the choice to commit suicide is not a logical one. It goes against our base survival instincts.
I know this may be difficult for many to understand, just like alcoholism or drug addiction or eating compulsions. I've seen some really dark places and I assure you that I didn't journey down those roads willingly. Disagree if you'd like. And I'll accept that this next statement may incense and infuriate some. I can understand a person considering suicide and thinking that it is the most SELFLESS act they could perform.
Remember, it's not logical thinking. If someone has gone far enough down that dark road, then I can imagine the thought that suicide would save their family and friends a lot of heartache and pain. "They'd be better off without me." There's no seeing that the very opposite is true when you're sitting in the dark.
Religion has taught us that suicide is a one-way ticket to hell. Society has us believing that suicide is the ultimate act of cowardice. I'm certainly not saying that families and friends don't have the right to be angry in these unfortunate circumstances. I won't invalidate their feelings by even considering that. If the person truly was special to them, then they'll work through that pain and hopefully remember what made them special in the first place.
Just consider it. That's all I'm asking.
~And I wish that I could help you
With what you hope to find
But I'm still out here waiting
Watching reruns of my life
When you reach the point of breaking
Know it's gonna take some time
To heal those broken memories
That another man would need
Just to survive~
Being an alcoholic and attending support groups, and also having to deal with depression, I have seen my share of death. It's incredibly unfortunate, but it goes with the territory. There are some of us that will gather the strength and support to work through our issues, and others that will go the other way. The grief and remorse may be too much to bear or they won't find the support that they need before it's too late. They will find comfort in other, potentially deadlier, ways.
We simply deal with life differently. Not knowing how to cope in a healthy manner, we do things that many people find insane. Our symptoms manifest themselves through drinking and drugging, eating (or not eating), cutting, shopping or gambling or with sex (not deadly, of course, but harmful). The list goes on and on. Depending on which method is chosen, the situation may be worsened because of the stigma that's placed upon you for acting in these manners. Alcoholics and addicts don't get a lot of sympathy because people see their actions as a conscious decision to use, no matter how much pain they might be in or if they simply cannot stop on their own. Yet someone with an eating disorder will garner more sympathy because of how it manifests itself, clearly psychologically. Cutting is far worse than an eating disorder, however, because... well... because cutting is just plain crazy! Right??
Wrong.
It's amazing how far society has slipped into the "blame the victim" collective mentality. I'm not here to say that you should excuse inexcusable actions on account of, say, alcohol or drugs. But when you look deeper at what prompted these actions, depression is usually there. And this is no more apparent than when you're talking about suicide.
I feel (*I* feel... remember that... just my opinion) that it's a huge slap in the face to the victim(s) of suicide to call it a selfish act. Rather than judge the lifetime virtue of the person, we judge the person by the virtue of their final act. Actions do speak louder than words, but I feel strongly that one action should not be an epitaph. No one, NO ONE, considers suicide without being the victim of much deeper issues. Whether the brain isn't working right because of a misfire, medication, depression... the choice to commit suicide is not a logical one. It goes against our base survival instincts.
I know this may be difficult for many to understand, just like alcoholism or drug addiction or eating compulsions. I've seen some really dark places and I assure you that I didn't journey down those roads willingly. Disagree if you'd like. And I'll accept that this next statement may incense and infuriate some. I can understand a person considering suicide and thinking that it is the most SELFLESS act they could perform.
Remember, it's not logical thinking. If someone has gone far enough down that dark road, then I can imagine the thought that suicide would save their family and friends a lot of heartache and pain. "They'd be better off without me." There's no seeing that the very opposite is true when you're sitting in the dark.
Religion has taught us that suicide is a one-way ticket to hell. Society has us believing that suicide is the ultimate act of cowardice. I'm certainly not saying that families and friends don't have the right to be angry in these unfortunate circumstances. I won't invalidate their feelings by even considering that. If the person truly was special to them, then they'll work through that pain and hopefully remember what made them special in the first place.
Just consider it. That's all I'm asking.
~And I wish that I could help you
With what you hope to find
But I'm still out here waiting
Watching reruns of my life
When you reach the point of breaking
Know it's gonna take some time
To heal those broken memories
That another man would need
Just to survive~
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Hindsight
It's been such a long week and I haven't felt much like writing. Don't worry - I'm not slacking off. I've felt displaced due to the apartment and lack of access. By the time I get to sit back and write, it's 9:30 and time for this guy to get to bed. Not only that, the therapy appointment really wore me out. I haven't felt this tired throughout my day in a while. It's persisted since Tuesday evening.
What I find interesting is that I haven't been less angry since the appointment, which was mostly about dropping anger... I've been angrier, if anything! Though, perhaps anger isn't the right word. I've been impatient and frustrated, but those may be in large part due to the mental exhaustion that the appointment caused. I have, however, been made more aware of these emotions. By making me confront anger with this new therapy, I catch myself losing my cool, causing me to say, "Woah, this isn't right. Deep breaths." Perhaps that was the whole point. It's a real shot to the Ego to be told that you're - aggressive, brooding, volcanic, resentful. These aren't endearing qualities. And I think that most people who know me well can attest to these things. I'm a pretty nice guy... until I blow my top. I stuff, stuff, stuff, stuff, holding things in and then the volcano blows. My elephant's ass catches fire and there's no stopping it until it's had enough. If I vented appropriately when things were happening, then I'd save my blood pressure from rising into the two hundreds.
So I've been analyzing my behavior patterns the past few days - what triggers me the most and how I deal with these triggers. I thought about my relapse pattern (which is no longer a pattern, right? I WAS a relapser) and it made me go back to some journal entries just prior to November. Here's a snippet from October 31st:
I’ve been stuck again. Nothing new. It happens a lot and then I relapse. And I have been thinking about drinking an awful lot lately.
You'd think I would have done something about it or talked to someone...
I’m worried if I give in to the feeling of “just one”, then it won’t stop. It’ll perpetuate again and I’ll ruin everything that I’ve earned.
Yep. Almost did lose everything.
The past two weeks have been a mess because of ---...
I identified exactly what was bothering me, but I still didn't want to talk about it.
I’ll write more about it… I may have to.
But, unfortunately, that was the last journal entry.
It reminds me of a horror movie. The kind of movie where someone finds a lost journal and it recounts the final days before the author disappears mysteriously. It's not close to the truth. It IS the truth. This author disappeared, swept away by a sinister force that resides in his own head.
There was more to the days leading up to the relapse, but I'm not ready to expose that to the public yet. I've shared it with those that needed to know. While it may seem I'm baring my soul to the world by writing these entries, there are certain events that I like to keep a little closer to my chest. I was grieving a bit, I suppose. Also, GOOD things were happening in my life, as well. Whether good things or bad things are happening in life, they still each produce stress and I haven't done a great job coping with it.
October through November is a tough period for me. A lot of people have a hard time with Christmas and New Years and I'm lucky that these two holidays typically lift my spirits rather than bring me down. Some pretty big things happened to me at the beginning of November... a long, long time ago. One of these days, I'll have to let them go. I'm not very good at that, either.
Next Halloween, do me a favor... tie me to a fence or something. Don't untie me until Black Friday. I'd really like to have a sober Thanksgiving for a change.
"The moment an individual can accept and forgive himself, even a little, is the moment in which he becomes to some degree lovable." - Eugene Kennedy
What I find interesting is that I haven't been less angry since the appointment, which was mostly about dropping anger... I've been angrier, if anything! Though, perhaps anger isn't the right word. I've been impatient and frustrated, but those may be in large part due to the mental exhaustion that the appointment caused. I have, however, been made more aware of these emotions. By making me confront anger with this new therapy, I catch myself losing my cool, causing me to say, "Woah, this isn't right. Deep breaths." Perhaps that was the whole point. It's a real shot to the Ego to be told that you're - aggressive, brooding, volcanic, resentful. These aren't endearing qualities. And I think that most people who know me well can attest to these things. I'm a pretty nice guy... until I blow my top. I stuff, stuff, stuff, stuff, holding things in and then the volcano blows. My elephant's ass catches fire and there's no stopping it until it's had enough. If I vented appropriately when things were happening, then I'd save my blood pressure from rising into the two hundreds.
So I've been analyzing my behavior patterns the past few days - what triggers me the most and how I deal with these triggers. I thought about my relapse pattern (which is no longer a pattern, right? I WAS a relapser) and it made me go back to some journal entries just prior to November. Here's a snippet from October 31st:
I’ve been stuck again. Nothing new. It happens a lot and then I relapse. And I have been thinking about drinking an awful lot lately.
You'd think I would have done something about it or talked to someone...
I’m worried if I give in to the feeling of “just one”, then it won’t stop. It’ll perpetuate again and I’ll ruin everything that I’ve earned.
Yep. Almost did lose everything.
The past two weeks have been a mess because of ---...
I identified exactly what was bothering me, but I still didn't want to talk about it.
I’ll write more about it… I may have to.
But, unfortunately, that was the last journal entry.
It reminds me of a horror movie. The kind of movie where someone finds a lost journal and it recounts the final days before the author disappears mysteriously. It's not close to the truth. It IS the truth. This author disappeared, swept away by a sinister force that resides in his own head.
There was more to the days leading up to the relapse, but I'm not ready to expose that to the public yet. I've shared it with those that needed to know. While it may seem I'm baring my soul to the world by writing these entries, there are certain events that I like to keep a little closer to my chest. I was grieving a bit, I suppose. Also, GOOD things were happening in my life, as well. Whether good things or bad things are happening in life, they still each produce stress and I haven't done a great job coping with it.
October through November is a tough period for me. A lot of people have a hard time with Christmas and New Years and I'm lucky that these two holidays typically lift my spirits rather than bring me down. Some pretty big things happened to me at the beginning of November... a long, long time ago. One of these days, I'll have to let them go. I'm not very good at that, either.
Next Halloween, do me a favor... tie me to a fence or something. Don't untie me until Black Friday. I'd really like to have a sober Thanksgiving for a change.
"The moment an individual can accept and forgive himself, even a little, is the moment in which he becomes to some degree lovable." - Eugene Kennedy
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
How Happy Are You... Really?
My first off-line entry (I wrote this Tuesday night). It didn't occur to me that I could write an entry off-line and post it later. I tend to think that I have more than one vice... and internet access is a biggie. It's nice to live in a society where 100% of us are addicted to the same thing and, therefore, it's no longer considered an addiction. It's a perfectly acceptable staple. Not having internet access here is like being on a hunger strike, but for no good reason. I have a feeling I will survive.
Now that I've been here a couple of nights, I can picture myself being comfortable in this place. It's small, cozy and private. My neighbors are nice, the landlord is accommodating (although oddly procrastinating) and I have a nice TV that I can't use, but looks good. The apartment doesn't smell like 'man'... yet. Also, I'm becoming a fan of WSRS and Delilah's nightly radio show. It's paranormally soothing.
Mentally, I'm exhausted. This is one of those nights I could have used a meeting. However, I had a rather lengthy therapy session instead. We're trying something new and I don't like it. It's a technique aimed at changing a person's affective state. I guess you can think of it as your baseline mood. Are you generally happy or sad? An optimist or a pessimist? Tranquil or angry? There are studies showing that affective state is determined primarily by your genes. If you're typically unhappy or pessimistic, then you've lost the Darwinian Lottery (hmm... just made that up. I like it). If you're happy or optimistic, then you've hit the jackpot! It's not that nature and nurture have little to do with it. It's just that a good chunk of your happiness has to do with how your brain is initially wired. It's a good indicator of how you'll deal with stress events in your life, too. I'm big on 'avoidance'. Although THIS part of my affective state was probably molded by how I grew up.
Side note - I find it interesting that my therapist decided to start this now, as I'm reading a book on exactly this subject. I do believe she's psychic.
The good news is that you can change your baseline affective state, but it takes daily practice. Part of this exercise, and it's a lengthy one that will take weeks to get through, is to identify the blockages in your life and then work to remove them. Surprisingly, fear isn't one of mine, although anxiety is. NOT surprisingly, anger is the largest block.
Have you ever sought to identify what's holding you back in life? Before tonight, had you asked me that question, I'd answer with any of the following - money, career misdirection, alcohol, relationship choices, etc. Those don't get at the root of the problem, though. What's really got me stuck are my emotions and anger tops the list. I could say, "From now on, I vow not to be as angry!" But define anger. There are so many different types and components! Are you aggressive, defiant, rebellious? Furious, brooding, vengeful? My ego took a big hit tonight when I read the word explosive and thought, "Damn... that's me." Until I hit the word volcanic. Then I said, "Oh shit. That's even closer."
There's so much to work through and it seems a bit overwhelming. I was drained when I left the office. Unless I drop the anger elements, I can't work on the affective state pieces that I really want in my life - like peace. Peace and tranquility mean more to me than any external factors ever could. Balance, fluidity... these are things I've only imagined to this point. I want to be fluid. I want the feeling of flow and adaptivity, the feeling that I can roll with any punch. I want to close my eyes at any point in the day and breathe so deeply that it fills the bottom of my lungs and the weight on my shoulders disappears. And, almost more importantly to me - if I can achieve this, then I want to part this upon my son.
Because if it's true that most of your affective state is a genetic lottery, he's already got a few strikes against him. That I cannot allow. And I know the best way to set an example for my son is to practice it in my own life. He's awfully observant. I don't think any father wants to say, "I hope my son is never like me."
I've got a long road ahead of me, but it'll be worth the effort. If you want to test yourself, then pull out a thesaurus and think about what's blocking you. Anger, insecurity, fear? Look up each one and meditate on which parts these elements play in your life. Then look up what you strive for in your life and how you can practice them to become a better 'You'. It's a lot to take in.
Now that I've been here a couple of nights, I can picture myself being comfortable in this place. It's small, cozy and private. My neighbors are nice, the landlord is accommodating (although oddly procrastinating) and I have a nice TV that I can't use, but looks good. The apartment doesn't smell like 'man'... yet. Also, I'm becoming a fan of WSRS and Delilah's nightly radio show. It's paranormally soothing.
Mentally, I'm exhausted. This is one of those nights I could have used a meeting. However, I had a rather lengthy therapy session instead. We're trying something new and I don't like it. It's a technique aimed at changing a person's affective state. I guess you can think of it as your baseline mood. Are you generally happy or sad? An optimist or a pessimist? Tranquil or angry? There are studies showing that affective state is determined primarily by your genes. If you're typically unhappy or pessimistic, then you've lost the Darwinian Lottery (hmm... just made that up. I like it). If you're happy or optimistic, then you've hit the jackpot! It's not that nature and nurture have little to do with it. It's just that a good chunk of your happiness has to do with how your brain is initially wired. It's a good indicator of how you'll deal with stress events in your life, too. I'm big on 'avoidance'. Although THIS part of my affective state was probably molded by how I grew up.
Side note - I find it interesting that my therapist decided to start this now, as I'm reading a book on exactly this subject. I do believe she's psychic.
The good news is that you can change your baseline affective state, but it takes daily practice. Part of this exercise, and it's a lengthy one that will take weeks to get through, is to identify the blockages in your life and then work to remove them. Surprisingly, fear isn't one of mine, although anxiety is. NOT surprisingly, anger is the largest block.
Have you ever sought to identify what's holding you back in life? Before tonight, had you asked me that question, I'd answer with any of the following - money, career misdirection, alcohol, relationship choices, etc. Those don't get at the root of the problem, though. What's really got me stuck are my emotions and anger tops the list. I could say, "From now on, I vow not to be as angry!" But define anger. There are so many different types and components! Are you aggressive, defiant, rebellious? Furious, brooding, vengeful? My ego took a big hit tonight when I read the word explosive and thought, "Damn... that's me." Until I hit the word volcanic. Then I said, "Oh shit. That's even closer."
There's so much to work through and it seems a bit overwhelming. I was drained when I left the office. Unless I drop the anger elements, I can't work on the affective state pieces that I really want in my life - like peace. Peace and tranquility mean more to me than any external factors ever could. Balance, fluidity... these are things I've only imagined to this point. I want to be fluid. I want the feeling of flow and adaptivity, the feeling that I can roll with any punch. I want to close my eyes at any point in the day and breathe so deeply that it fills the bottom of my lungs and the weight on my shoulders disappears. And, almost more importantly to me - if I can achieve this, then I want to part this upon my son.
Because if it's true that most of your affective state is a genetic lottery, he's already got a few strikes against him. That I cannot allow. And I know the best way to set an example for my son is to practice it in my own life. He's awfully observant. I don't think any father wants to say, "I hope my son is never like me."
I've got a long road ahead of me, but it'll be worth the effort. If you want to test yourself, then pull out a thesaurus and think about what's blocking you. Anger, insecurity, fear? Look up each one and meditate on which parts these elements play in your life. Then look up what you strive for in your life and how you can practice them to become a better 'You'. It's a lot to take in.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
2011, You Were Something Else
Happy New Year!!
I posted yesterday on Facebook that I hope it's a happy, healthy and uneventful 2012. Of course, I want plenty of fun and positive events to occur in my life and each day lately has been full of them. But if I have to settle for uneventful, then I'll be okay with that, too. May 2012 see a healthy, sober, joyous, new ME. No hospital rooms. No detoxes. No broken relationships. No unemployment. Ironically, status quo would be an enjoyable change!
All of that worry about moving into a new apartment? Completely gone! I woke up early this morning and thought, "New Year's morning and I don't have a pounding headache. I'll get a headstart on moving!" I walked into the new apartment and...
Nothing is complete.
Not only is nothing complete, it looks like the landlord was busy having a few beers while working... which might be why nothing is complete. Hey, no judgment from me. I'm sure he was working yesterday on New Years Eve. Still, all he needed to do was give me a call to let me know it wouldn't be ready. I very easily could have arranged my plans and given him additional time. Instead, I have no kitchen, I may have no bathroom, and there's an open 18-pack sitting in my fridge. I moved a few things in, not many, and found myself cleaning beer cans off my window sills.
It bothers me to an extent. I don't mind the 18-pack or the fact that he was drinking. What bothers me is the behavior, which I can identify and I know I exhibited. Cleaning beer cans from my windows? That's a little irritating. Bring them to the sink, clean them out, put them in the recycling... not hard. The fact that he was drinking and didn't call me to alert me to the delay? That's far more irritating. I can't tell you how many phone calls I avoided and how irresponsible I was, even when I only had a couple of drinks in my system. That's usually all it takes for people to say, "Baaaaaah, f it! I'll give the guy a call tomorrow!" And then tomorrow comes and there's still no phone call.
But I'm very grateful to have options. See - it WAS nice that the apartment is close to my parents' home! I have plenty of people who have offered me their assistance, either with moving or with a place to stay while this is getting sorted. It also made me rethink exactly what I needed to move versus what I wanted to move. You mean I can live without TV for a few days?? My God! It was nice to move some furniture today and listen to the game on my clock radio. There was something peaceful about it.
I knew I was going to need a boost with the changes occurring, so I got my tail back into the SMART Recovery forums, too. SMART Recovery evolved from rational emotive behavioral training and is an entirely different way of looking at substance abuse when compared to 12-step programs. They feel that we have the power to control our addictions by modifying our behavior alone, which flies in the face of many AA tenets. It's simply a matter of reshaping and retraining our thinking, which I've mentioned many times. I agree with the principles of SMART and use its tools every day to identify and stop irrational behavior (iB). It's another support forum and I need all the help I can get.
But its lack of spiritual focus keeps me attending AA meetings. I was immensely thankful to start my New Years Day with a meeting this morning. There's nothing like walking into a room, a non bar room, and have everyone know your name. The hugs and handshakes have no equal. It's an extended family that I can call upon at any time.
You know... I started this entry by listing a lot of the 'bads' that happened in 2011, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. I learned an awful lot from those experiences and I've made deeper friendships than I've ever had in my life. 2011 is the reason I'm blogging. 2011 taught me to open up a little more than I have in the past. The year brought a lot of pain, yet also the pleasure of so many things. 2011 played an important part in my life, whether I liked it all or not. My heart's bigger for it.
"A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love." - Stendhal
I posted yesterday on Facebook that I hope it's a happy, healthy and uneventful 2012. Of course, I want plenty of fun and positive events to occur in my life and each day lately has been full of them. But if I have to settle for uneventful, then I'll be okay with that, too. May 2012 see a healthy, sober, joyous, new ME. No hospital rooms. No detoxes. No broken relationships. No unemployment. Ironically, status quo would be an enjoyable change!
All of that worry about moving into a new apartment? Completely gone! I woke up early this morning and thought, "New Year's morning and I don't have a pounding headache. I'll get a headstart on moving!" I walked into the new apartment and...
Nothing is complete.
Not only is nothing complete, it looks like the landlord was busy having a few beers while working... which might be why nothing is complete. Hey, no judgment from me. I'm sure he was working yesterday on New Years Eve. Still, all he needed to do was give me a call to let me know it wouldn't be ready. I very easily could have arranged my plans and given him additional time. Instead, I have no kitchen, I may have no bathroom, and there's an open 18-pack sitting in my fridge. I moved a few things in, not many, and found myself cleaning beer cans off my window sills.
It bothers me to an extent. I don't mind the 18-pack or the fact that he was drinking. What bothers me is the behavior, which I can identify and I know I exhibited. Cleaning beer cans from my windows? That's a little irritating. Bring them to the sink, clean them out, put them in the recycling... not hard. The fact that he was drinking and didn't call me to alert me to the delay? That's far more irritating. I can't tell you how many phone calls I avoided and how irresponsible I was, even when I only had a couple of drinks in my system. That's usually all it takes for people to say, "Baaaaaah, f it! I'll give the guy a call tomorrow!" And then tomorrow comes and there's still no phone call.
But I'm very grateful to have options. See - it WAS nice that the apartment is close to my parents' home! I have plenty of people who have offered me their assistance, either with moving or with a place to stay while this is getting sorted. It also made me rethink exactly what I needed to move versus what I wanted to move. You mean I can live without TV for a few days?? My God! It was nice to move some furniture today and listen to the game on my clock radio. There was something peaceful about it.
I knew I was going to need a boost with the changes occurring, so I got my tail back into the SMART Recovery forums, too. SMART Recovery evolved from rational emotive behavioral training and is an entirely different way of looking at substance abuse when compared to 12-step programs. They feel that we have the power to control our addictions by modifying our behavior alone, which flies in the face of many AA tenets. It's simply a matter of reshaping and retraining our thinking, which I've mentioned many times. I agree with the principles of SMART and use its tools every day to identify and stop irrational behavior (iB). It's another support forum and I need all the help I can get.
But its lack of spiritual focus keeps me attending AA meetings. I was immensely thankful to start my New Years Day with a meeting this morning. There's nothing like walking into a room, a non bar room, and have everyone know your name. The hugs and handshakes have no equal. It's an extended family that I can call upon at any time.
You know... I started this entry by listing a lot of the 'bads' that happened in 2011, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. I learned an awful lot from those experiences and I've made deeper friendships than I've ever had in my life. 2011 is the reason I'm blogging. 2011 taught me to open up a little more than I have in the past. The year brought a lot of pain, yet also the pleasure of so many things. 2011 played an important part in my life, whether I liked it all or not. My heart's bigger for it.
"A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love." - Stendhal
Friday, December 30, 2011
Numbers... Utterly, Meaningless Numbers
Damn you, Tom Cruise!! Why must you make movies that don't suck?! I want to hate you, I really do. But MI4 was actually GOOD. I can't think of too many movies that have made my ass clench in the past couple of years. The stunts were awesome. I walked out thinking, "Hmph... now I hope they make an MI5." NO!!! Anyway...
As I sat in the cafe today, I came to a realization about yesterday and the shitty mood that captured me. I asked myself, "What's different about today, a relatively good day, that wasn't there yesterday?" I boiled everything down and took a look at what was left at the bottom of the pot. It had very little to do with moving.
In the back of my mind yesterday, I was reminding myself of something - it was my 30 day mark. Today is my actual anniversary date and I got my chip at the meeting tonight, but yesterday was the 30 day hit. I honestly thought it was moving and money that had me all wound up. Yet today, with no relative change in the moving or money situation, I felt more at ease again. I woke up thinking, Day 31... over the first hurdle. I saw things a little clearer today. I remembered simple things. I get paid today. I move Sunday and have Monday off, giving me plenty of time to take it easy and organize the way I'd like. I've got friends who are willing to help me out and a ton of meetings this weekend to preoccupy my mind. I'll see friends, family, my son, and I even left work early today to see a movie. I also saw someone tonight who I'd been worried about for some time. She went AWOL like I did and I hate to see other people stumble. I genuinely appreciated those bonds today.
It happens each time and I forget each time. This is a damn good reason to stay clean and make it a year - so I don't have to relive these speed bumps in early sobriety. 30 days, 60 days, 90 days... they all seem to have their own associated emotions. But they can't really, can they? Every day has its ups and downs, some more downs than ups and vice versa. But relatively speaking, they should be the same if I'm following that "24 hour" guideline, right?
Somewhere along the line, probably when I first entered AA, an association was made. I heard from others that each mark was a "hump". Not feeling well? Eh, it's just the 30 day hump. Anxious? 60 day hump. Ready to give up? 90 day hump. And if you're having a hard time on day 48? Oh, well you're nearing your 60 day mark, so that must be it!
I find it stupid the things we'll confabulate (I love that word) to justify our irrational behavior. Yesterday was a down day, period. I should view it as such and as nothing more. By associating the day with my length of sobriety, I'm setting myself up for more bad days and bad weeks, especially if you start adding in ranges. Where do you stop? So from days 50 through 70, I can rationalize my crappy mood by saying I've got the 60 Day Blues? I think that's a cop-out, blaming my emotions on a make-believe number or mark. It's a way of telling myself that whatever I have bringing me down doesn't need to be worked on because, eventually, it'll pass. True, it'll pass, but I won't be better for it unless I DO something about it! Face it head-on! Letting time take care of it is just a way to disassociate and repress what I'm feeling. "Don't bother thinking it out. It'll be over within a few days!"
Again, I have to disagree with a few AAers about something. To the guy who told me, almost every other day, that the good times will pass, along with the bad - I couldn't disagree with you more. Look, I'm sorry, but that's wrong! I know why it's said, but it's just plain wrong! It's like I said about Christmas Eve - every day has the potential to be great and it's usually my mindset that makes it take a turn for the worse. I wish I could push all of this 30 day, 60 day, 90 day stuff out of my head and simply enjoy my days as a lifestyle. Every single minute should be worth living to its fullest. WE can make them all great!
30 days, 60 days, 90 days... I relapsed and now it's like setting the clock back. I have to remind myself that I am NOT starting over. I did some number crunching - I spent 11% of this past year drinking, which means 89% I was working things well. Why am I so damned focused on that 11%? Shouldn't I be proud of the 89% instead? For an alcoholic, 89% is a freakin' miracle. Still, I would like to increase that. I've always been a fan of the A+...
But there I go, putting importance in numbers again. =/
As I sat in the cafe today, I came to a realization about yesterday and the shitty mood that captured me. I asked myself, "What's different about today, a relatively good day, that wasn't there yesterday?" I boiled everything down and took a look at what was left at the bottom of the pot. It had very little to do with moving.
In the back of my mind yesterday, I was reminding myself of something - it was my 30 day mark. Today is my actual anniversary date and I got my chip at the meeting tonight, but yesterday was the 30 day hit. I honestly thought it was moving and money that had me all wound up. Yet today, with no relative change in the moving or money situation, I felt more at ease again. I woke up thinking, Day 31... over the first hurdle. I saw things a little clearer today. I remembered simple things. I get paid today. I move Sunday and have Monday off, giving me plenty of time to take it easy and organize the way I'd like. I've got friends who are willing to help me out and a ton of meetings this weekend to preoccupy my mind. I'll see friends, family, my son, and I even left work early today to see a movie. I also saw someone tonight who I'd been worried about for some time. She went AWOL like I did and I hate to see other people stumble. I genuinely appreciated those bonds today.
It happens each time and I forget each time. This is a damn good reason to stay clean and make it a year - so I don't have to relive these speed bumps in early sobriety. 30 days, 60 days, 90 days... they all seem to have their own associated emotions. But they can't really, can they? Every day has its ups and downs, some more downs than ups and vice versa. But relatively speaking, they should be the same if I'm following that "24 hour" guideline, right?
Somewhere along the line, probably when I first entered AA, an association was made. I heard from others that each mark was a "hump". Not feeling well? Eh, it's just the 30 day hump. Anxious? 60 day hump. Ready to give up? 90 day hump. And if you're having a hard time on day 48? Oh, well you're nearing your 60 day mark, so that must be it!
I find it stupid the things we'll confabulate (I love that word) to justify our irrational behavior. Yesterday was a down day, period. I should view it as such and as nothing more. By associating the day with my length of sobriety, I'm setting myself up for more bad days and bad weeks, especially if you start adding in ranges. Where do you stop? So from days 50 through 70, I can rationalize my crappy mood by saying I've got the 60 Day Blues? I think that's a cop-out, blaming my emotions on a make-believe number or mark. It's a way of telling myself that whatever I have bringing me down doesn't need to be worked on because, eventually, it'll pass. True, it'll pass, but I won't be better for it unless I DO something about it! Face it head-on! Letting time take care of it is just a way to disassociate and repress what I'm feeling. "Don't bother thinking it out. It'll be over within a few days!"
Again, I have to disagree with a few AAers about something. To the guy who told me, almost every other day, that the good times will pass, along with the bad - I couldn't disagree with you more. Look, I'm sorry, but that's wrong! I know why it's said, but it's just plain wrong! It's like I said about Christmas Eve - every day has the potential to be great and it's usually my mindset that makes it take a turn for the worse. I wish I could push all of this 30 day, 60 day, 90 day stuff out of my head and simply enjoy my days as a lifestyle. Every single minute should be worth living to its fullest. WE can make them all great!
30 days, 60 days, 90 days... I relapsed and now it's like setting the clock back. I have to remind myself that I am NOT starting over. I did some number crunching - I spent 11% of this past year drinking, which means 89% I was working things well. Why am I so damned focused on that 11%? Shouldn't I be proud of the 89% instead? For an alcoholic, 89% is a freakin' miracle. Still, I would like to increase that. I've always been a fan of the A+...
But there I go, putting importance in numbers again. =/
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Stop Stressin', Ya Silly Monkey!
AHEM!! And I quote from yesterday's entry:
I'm at ease with myself lately...
What the hell happened overnight?? Who sent the Crabby Fairy over and turned me into Mr. 'I'm Gonna Stab Your Eyeballs'? ACK! Every little thing was setting me off today. I noticed it within five minutes of hitting the road this morning - I was swearing at the guy who baaaarely cut me off getting onto the highway. I immediately stopped, re-tuned myself and bit my tongue, but the day continued to be a bear for no apparent reason. I guess the ups and downs are still happening more sharply than I anticipated they would be.
Speaking of biting my tongue, this is from a friend of mine on Facebook: "I speak my mind because it hurts to bite my tongue." I kinda like that.
Unfortunately, biting my tongue was the theme today. Part of it was due to sheer boredom, which... isn't really boredom, right?! Work is incredibly slow lately due to the holidays and I found myself with that bored feeling in the pit of my stomach. Of course, after writing about boredom last night, I spun my mind around and said, "Woah, woah, woah... what's this all about?" And it was anxiety again. As I sat at my desk, eyes getting heavy, my mind started to wander and I began thinking about the weekend. Money, moving, furniture, storage, etc.
It came to a head when I was with a coworker who was having her own anxiety issues. She gets frustrated very easily and is sometimes hard to talk to. You have to coddle her a little... "Hey, hey... you're doing a great job. It's not your fault that their entire system crashed, even though you weren't reading the documentation and shouldn't have installed PokerStars on their database server. Really, it's okay." Anyway, I was getting incredibly terse with her today. I found myself with a hand in my pocket (no jokes please) holding the charm my friend gave me that says, "Take a deep breath." I was just about to give it to my coworker to calm her down when it hit me...
*I* need to take a deep breath!
Unbelievable. I was ready to point out the speck in her eye, ignoring the log in my own (that's how the saying goes, right?). So, I did. I took a really deep breath, probably spooking her, and we took care of the client. In the end, all parties were appreciative and my blood pressure dropped a few points.
It's this black hole in my head that makes me fear relapse. All it takes is one lousy day to drop back into the rut. The elephant is so hard to retrain and there are days when my rider just says, "F it!" and let's the elephant run. But, hey - try, try again. When I was having coffee last week, a friend of mine brought up the topic of tattoos. While I've never gotten one, we talked about getting something meaningful, something to remind us of our true focus during tough times. On a day like today, I could look at it and say, "Oops, I need to relax a little bit." I thought about the movie 'Memento', one of my favorite Christopher Nolan flicks. If you haven't seen it, you're missing out. Guy Pearce is hunting for the person who's killed his wife, but he suffers from short-term memory loss. To remind himself of the path he's on, he tattoos notes and clues to himself each day. When he awakes in the morning, each time with no memory of the previous day, he has these tattoos to show him the right direction.
Interesting. I guess his elephant was on the run, too. Thankfully, I had a reminder tonight to slow way down and it was far less painful than needling myself. I was passing a Christmas light show and thought, "Ya know... my inner child would probably like this." I pulled over and smiled for a while. It was exactly what I needed.
Hmm... maybe I will get a tattoo. Something on my wrist that reminds me - "Treat your inner child." It made all the difference. In the end, my day wasn't that bad. It wasn't that good, but it wasn't that bad, either. And tomorrow's a new day, a fresh start.
"Your present circumstances don't determine where you can go; they merely determine where you start."
I'm at ease with myself lately...
What the hell happened overnight?? Who sent the Crabby Fairy over and turned me into Mr. 'I'm Gonna Stab Your Eyeballs'? ACK! Every little thing was setting me off today. I noticed it within five minutes of hitting the road this morning - I was swearing at the guy who baaaarely cut me off getting onto the highway. I immediately stopped, re-tuned myself and bit my tongue, but the day continued to be a bear for no apparent reason. I guess the ups and downs are still happening more sharply than I anticipated they would be.
Speaking of biting my tongue, this is from a friend of mine on Facebook: "I speak my mind because it hurts to bite my tongue." I kinda like that.
Unfortunately, biting my tongue was the theme today. Part of it was due to sheer boredom, which... isn't really boredom, right?! Work is incredibly slow lately due to the holidays and I found myself with that bored feeling in the pit of my stomach. Of course, after writing about boredom last night, I spun my mind around and said, "Woah, woah, woah... what's this all about?" And it was anxiety again. As I sat at my desk, eyes getting heavy, my mind started to wander and I began thinking about the weekend. Money, moving, furniture, storage, etc.
It came to a head when I was with a coworker who was having her own anxiety issues. She gets frustrated very easily and is sometimes hard to talk to. You have to coddle her a little... "Hey, hey... you're doing a great job. It's not your fault that their entire system crashed, even though you weren't reading the documentation and shouldn't have installed PokerStars on their database server. Really, it's okay." Anyway, I was getting incredibly terse with her today. I found myself with a hand in my pocket (no jokes please) holding the charm my friend gave me that says, "Take a deep breath." I was just about to give it to my coworker to calm her down when it hit me...
*I* need to take a deep breath!
Unbelievable. I was ready to point out the speck in her eye, ignoring the log in my own (that's how the saying goes, right?). So, I did. I took a really deep breath, probably spooking her, and we took care of the client. In the end, all parties were appreciative and my blood pressure dropped a few points.
It's this black hole in my head that makes me fear relapse. All it takes is one lousy day to drop back into the rut. The elephant is so hard to retrain and there are days when my rider just says, "F it!" and let's the elephant run. But, hey - try, try again. When I was having coffee last week, a friend of mine brought up the topic of tattoos. While I've never gotten one, we talked about getting something meaningful, something to remind us of our true focus during tough times. On a day like today, I could look at it and say, "Oops, I need to relax a little bit." I thought about the movie 'Memento', one of my favorite Christopher Nolan flicks. If you haven't seen it, you're missing out. Guy Pearce is hunting for the person who's killed his wife, but he suffers from short-term memory loss. To remind himself of the path he's on, he tattoos notes and clues to himself each day. When he awakes in the morning, each time with no memory of the previous day, he has these tattoos to show him the right direction.
Interesting. I guess his elephant was on the run, too. Thankfully, I had a reminder tonight to slow way down and it was far less painful than needling myself. I was passing a Christmas light show and thought, "Ya know... my inner child would probably like this." I pulled over and smiled for a while. It was exactly what I needed.
Hmm... maybe I will get a tattoo. Something on my wrist that reminds me - "Treat your inner child." It made all the difference. In the end, my day wasn't that bad. It wasn't that good, but it wasn't that bad, either. And tomorrow's a new day, a fresh start.
"Your present circumstances don't determine where you can go; they merely determine where you start."
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
You'll Never Catch Me, Anxiety! (Okay, maybe occasionally)
Ahhhh, happy times with happy beer. I knew that picture would come in handy someday! You can take it so many different ways. Maybe it shows the dichotomy of the depressive soul - a smile on the outside, yet dark on the inside. Or perhaps it's more sinister! Alcohol shows you that smile on the surface and hides what is truly to come. Mwuhahahaha! Either way, I remember it being a fun day with my friends. I wish my drinking had stayed that way. I wish, I wish, I wish "I hadn't squished that fish." (...for you Simpson fans.)
So, fyi to all, I'm not going to relapse this weekend. Or for quite some time, if ever (24 hours, dammit!!). You know, I have absolutely the best therapist on the planet and I challenge anyone to counter that. I'm not sure if she says these things to boost my confidence or if she says them as a matter of fact. She's brutally honest and reads me like a book, so I'll stick with the latter. We're working on some things and I have a double session next week, one that will probably be intense. I was told on my way out, "Don't relapse this weekend... but I know you won't. I know you." It must've been the look on her face, because I bought it. I said, "I have a month or two, at least... my buffer." She's thinking I have a lot longer than that. It's funny the things that I find soothing.
Again, I am nervous, anxious, about the apartment, and we discussed it for some time. My fear is the boredom that tends to set in, especially at night, and makes me think, "What do I do with my time? I'm all alone... hmmmm." Ugh, what awful thinking and so easily countered. What do I do with my time?? There's a ton of things to do with my time! BLOG, for one! Let's see, what else - run, gym, meeting, coffee, volunteering, getting together with friends (don't call, though, unless you've been given the go-ahead... I hate the phone), guitar, piano (I started teaching myself), video games! God, I love video games! I'm such a little kid. The list is so damned long, I'd have to write all night to cover them. Ahhh, but boredom takes hold and I forget about them all.
As it was explained to me, though, boredom is an emotional 'stopper'. Boredom isn't really boredom. It's either something negative or it's a lack of emotion, which is apathy, caused by destructive interference - emotions cancelling each other out. The next time you're bored, ask yourself, "What am I REALLY? What's underlying that's causing this feeling?" If you're like me, then it might be anxiety. I'm not really bored - I'm itchy! I feel lonely and secluded and I don't like it. It makes me stop in my tracks and I sit around thinking, "I have so much I could be doing... yet I don't feel like doing any of it." Bored! Sometimes it's a matter of picking the wrong activity, too. For some reason, blogging is okay, but journaling isn't. Don't ask me why. So I sit in front of a journal or my computer, writing, yet I don't care for it. Though, I keep doing it. Why?? It only makes me more itchy!
It's tough to live in this head o' mine.
Just like two months ago, I need to get off my ass and do something when I start feeling this way. I've said it before, there's nothing quite like a runner's high. Soooo... go running! Mix up my meetings so I go to an early morning meeting before work, leaving me plenty of time for the gym at night. Is that so difficult, honestly? And, sure, I hate using the phone, but I have some very close friends who I know care about me like crazy. I don't think anybody would have a problem with me reaching out and saying, "Come over, now! I need to stare at the wall for a while and I don't want to do it alone!!" Chances are good, they'll come over AND find an activity that's better than staring at the wall. Win/win.
Aside from the anxiety, I'm feeling pretty good today. What a change... I'm at ease with myself lately and I'm lucky that feeling came back so quickly. I'm serene and a little detached, in a good way. What will come, will come, and I'm okay with it right now. I don't feel 'clingy' with my relationships, friends and family alike, which means I must be getting comfortable in my own skin. The hole inside is being filled from within and it only took some minor adjustments, perspective shifts. I stopped yanking the reins like a mad man.
If you saw me in the car yesterday, you would dispute all of this. Trust me, I'm feeling okay today. My anxiety is shifting to sharp, quick stabs, rather than the all day torture. Sharp, quick stabs... those I can take. I can defuse those easily enough. All I have to do is (say it with me) take things a day at a time. Seriously, what are my worries? Finances? Okay, I'm not the only one on the planet with that problem. Hell, I think I feel more anxiety for others than I do for myself when it comes to money (I HATE talking money... it's such a downer). What else? The new apartment? At least I can afford a small place, although I'm broke, which is MY doing. Hotels and motels aren't cheap and neither is booze. I've blown a lot of money on binges. If I stop (woah! what an idea!), then I'll be saving myself an awful lot.
So my worries are no different than anyone else's worries. I'm not unique, though I like to think so. Let's push all of those little nuisances aside. At the end of the day, this is what I Hope to say:
"I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see." - John Burroughs
So, fyi to all, I'm not going to relapse this weekend. Or for quite some time, if ever (24 hours, dammit!!). You know, I have absolutely the best therapist on the planet and I challenge anyone to counter that. I'm not sure if she says these things to boost my confidence or if she says them as a matter of fact. She's brutally honest and reads me like a book, so I'll stick with the latter. We're working on some things and I have a double session next week, one that will probably be intense. I was told on my way out, "Don't relapse this weekend... but I know you won't. I know you." It must've been the look on her face, because I bought it. I said, "I have a month or two, at least... my buffer." She's thinking I have a lot longer than that. It's funny the things that I find soothing.
Again, I am nervous, anxious, about the apartment, and we discussed it for some time. My fear is the boredom that tends to set in, especially at night, and makes me think, "What do I do with my time? I'm all alone... hmmmm." Ugh, what awful thinking and so easily countered. What do I do with my time?? There's a ton of things to do with my time! BLOG, for one! Let's see, what else - run, gym, meeting, coffee, volunteering, getting together with friends (don't call, though, unless you've been given the go-ahead... I hate the phone), guitar, piano (I started teaching myself), video games! God, I love video games! I'm such a little kid. The list is so damned long, I'd have to write all night to cover them. Ahhh, but boredom takes hold and I forget about them all.
As it was explained to me, though, boredom is an emotional 'stopper'. Boredom isn't really boredom. It's either something negative or it's a lack of emotion, which is apathy, caused by destructive interference - emotions cancelling each other out. The next time you're bored, ask yourself, "What am I REALLY? What's underlying that's causing this feeling?" If you're like me, then it might be anxiety. I'm not really bored - I'm itchy! I feel lonely and secluded and I don't like it. It makes me stop in my tracks and I sit around thinking, "I have so much I could be doing... yet I don't feel like doing any of it." Bored! Sometimes it's a matter of picking the wrong activity, too. For some reason, blogging is okay, but journaling isn't. Don't ask me why. So I sit in front of a journal or my computer, writing, yet I don't care for it. Though, I keep doing it. Why?? It only makes me more itchy!
It's tough to live in this head o' mine.
Just like two months ago, I need to get off my ass and do something when I start feeling this way. I've said it before, there's nothing quite like a runner's high. Soooo... go running! Mix up my meetings so I go to an early morning meeting before work, leaving me plenty of time for the gym at night. Is that so difficult, honestly? And, sure, I hate using the phone, but I have some very close friends who I know care about me like crazy. I don't think anybody would have a problem with me reaching out and saying, "Come over, now! I need to stare at the wall for a while and I don't want to do it alone!!" Chances are good, they'll come over AND find an activity that's better than staring at the wall. Win/win.
Aside from the anxiety, I'm feeling pretty good today. What a change... I'm at ease with myself lately and I'm lucky that feeling came back so quickly. I'm serene and a little detached, in a good way. What will come, will come, and I'm okay with it right now. I don't feel 'clingy' with my relationships, friends and family alike, which means I must be getting comfortable in my own skin. The hole inside is being filled from within and it only took some minor adjustments, perspective shifts. I stopped yanking the reins like a mad man.
If you saw me in the car yesterday, you would dispute all of this. Trust me, I'm feeling okay today. My anxiety is shifting to sharp, quick stabs, rather than the all day torture. Sharp, quick stabs... those I can take. I can defuse those easily enough. All I have to do is (say it with me) take things a day at a time. Seriously, what are my worries? Finances? Okay, I'm not the only one on the planet with that problem. Hell, I think I feel more anxiety for others than I do for myself when it comes to money (I HATE talking money... it's such a downer). What else? The new apartment? At least I can afford a small place, although I'm broke, which is MY doing. Hotels and motels aren't cheap and neither is booze. I've blown a lot of money on binges. If I stop (woah! what an idea!), then I'll be saving myself an awful lot.
So my worries are no different than anyone else's worries. I'm not unique, though I like to think so. Let's push all of those little nuisances aside. At the end of the day, this is what I Hope to say:
"I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see." - John Burroughs
Monday, December 26, 2011
A Geographical Cure?
For those of you who had the day off, I truly hope that you enjoyed it and relaxed as much as you could. For those of you who worked, sorry.
I am nervous... anxious. And it feels good to admit. Due to the personal issues I've grappled, I haven't been 'on my own' in roughly five or six years. As of New Year's Day, 2012, I will be moving into a new apartment and I must say that I am entirely uncomfortable with the idea! The truth is, I simply don't trust myself yet. All it will take is one bad day or one boring night and I could (*could*) start repeating old patterns. Luckily, I've repeated them to the point where I recognize them happening. The trick is doing something about them.
There are pros and cons to every living scenario and I've weighed them all, ultimately coming to the decision to live alone. I could have opted for roommates, though I feel I'm at the end of my run... my patience is worn. By the time I get home from work and a meeting, I really don't feel like dealing with other people's bullshit. While this goes counter to my 'avoid isolation' practice, everyone needs time alone. Whether it's to eat in peace, read a book, or just take a deep breath, we need down-time. It's especially needed for those who work in customer service oriented fields. The mind can only process so much interaction. That's not ME talking, but things I've picked up from others along my therapy travels.
And speaking of bullshit, I'd like to take a shit without having to wipe down the toilet seat every time I sit down. Too much information? Sorry. Let's simply say that, after my last round of roommates, I can appreciate why women get so angry at men for not lifting the seat. Friggin' gross. Gross, gross, gross. And would it kill a guy to clean the shower once in a while? When the resentments set in, I tried the "If you're not going to clean, then neither am I" tactic, which backfired miserably. What grew in the bathtub could have been studied by science for years to come.
Anyway, I see the obvious advantages of having a roommate in my situation - to keep me accountable or responsible for my drinking consequences, should I choose to drink again - but, sweet baby Jesus, I'm old enough to take care of myself. Eventually, you've got to grow up and cut the strings.
What makes me nervous is the black hole that is my central learning unit. I read recently, "Epiphanies are short lived." It is possible for each of us to have profound moments of enlightenment and learning, literally life-altering events, only to forget them weeks later. Each relapse has taught me enormous lessons, and this last relapse was no exception. I have learned immense lessons about myself - how I react to others' anger and attacks, how I deal with personal relationships, how and how long I let my own anger fester, my internalizing of problems, the cycles of my thinking, etc. While I'm begging for help on the inside, I still have a very difficult time verbalizing these cries. By facing my struggles head-on lately, I'm honing new coping skills and attitudes that will help me keep my serenity and live life on the right track.
Unfortunately, it's not enough just to have these moments, as enlightening as they may be. Without their application in daily life, I will never retrain my thinking. I need to apply these lessons over and over again for weeks and months hereafter. Based on my relapse 'schedule', I can see what's happened clearly. For a couple of months, I retrain... I get back to the mental gym and start to develop a healthy attitude adjustment. Somehow, I justify a reason to stop going to the gym for a couple of days. Maybe I'm tired, I want to get to bed early, and so I don't do what I'm doing now... I decide not to journal, blog, or meditate. I find a reason not to do my mental exercises. Just like a physical workout, it's easy slide if you don't stick to a routine. I begin a two month backslide (it's almost always one and a half to two months) and then <WHAM!!> something sends me over the edge and the drinking begins.
While I feel good now (maybe not good, but better), I know that the relapse was recent and I'm in 'retraining' mode. During this time, I may struggle, but the thought of physically drinking is disgusting. My stomach turns and my nose scrunches. Seeing scotch drinkers at our office party was emotionally difficult. Actually taking a drink was out of the question. For a few more weeks, I have a buffer. It's what happens when the buffer runs out that makes me anxious.
Ah well, I'm projecting. I won't beat myself up for it. After all, moving is a big deal, no matter who you are. It comes with a lot of stress, mostly financial. But I just wrote last night that things are pretty simple, as long as I'm living in the moment. 24-hours, pal... that's all I'm after. I think the fear I'm feeling is healthy (I respect it, certainly), but I can't let it overtake me. I'll wind up complicating things and we know that's never good, not for me. You don't want me to start over-analyzing this.
"Take a deep breath." "Easy does it." "One day at a time." I need all of the slogans right now!
I am nervous... anxious. And it feels good to admit. Due to the personal issues I've grappled, I haven't been 'on my own' in roughly five or six years. As of New Year's Day, 2012, I will be moving into a new apartment and I must say that I am entirely uncomfortable with the idea! The truth is, I simply don't trust myself yet. All it will take is one bad day or one boring night and I could (*could*) start repeating old patterns. Luckily, I've repeated them to the point where I recognize them happening. The trick is doing something about them.
There are pros and cons to every living scenario and I've weighed them all, ultimately coming to the decision to live alone. I could have opted for roommates, though I feel I'm at the end of my run... my patience is worn. By the time I get home from work and a meeting, I really don't feel like dealing with other people's bullshit. While this goes counter to my 'avoid isolation' practice, everyone needs time alone. Whether it's to eat in peace, read a book, or just take a deep breath, we need down-time. It's especially needed for those who work in customer service oriented fields. The mind can only process so much interaction. That's not ME talking, but things I've picked up from others along my therapy travels.
And speaking of bullshit, I'd like to take a shit without having to wipe down the toilet seat every time I sit down. Too much information? Sorry. Let's simply say that, after my last round of roommates, I can appreciate why women get so angry at men for not lifting the seat. Friggin' gross. Gross, gross, gross. And would it kill a guy to clean the shower once in a while? When the resentments set in, I tried the "If you're not going to clean, then neither am I" tactic, which backfired miserably. What grew in the bathtub could have been studied by science for years to come.
Anyway, I see the obvious advantages of having a roommate in my situation - to keep me accountable or responsible for my drinking consequences, should I choose to drink again - but, sweet baby Jesus, I'm old enough to take care of myself. Eventually, you've got to grow up and cut the strings.
What makes me nervous is the black hole that is my central learning unit. I read recently, "Epiphanies are short lived." It is possible for each of us to have profound moments of enlightenment and learning, literally life-altering events, only to forget them weeks later. Each relapse has taught me enormous lessons, and this last relapse was no exception. I have learned immense lessons about myself - how I react to others' anger and attacks, how I deal with personal relationships, how and how long I let my own anger fester, my internalizing of problems, the cycles of my thinking, etc. While I'm begging for help on the inside, I still have a very difficult time verbalizing these cries. By facing my struggles head-on lately, I'm honing new coping skills and attitudes that will help me keep my serenity and live life on the right track.
Unfortunately, it's not enough just to have these moments, as enlightening as they may be. Without their application in daily life, I will never retrain my thinking. I need to apply these lessons over and over again for weeks and months hereafter. Based on my relapse 'schedule', I can see what's happened clearly. For a couple of months, I retrain... I get back to the mental gym and start to develop a healthy attitude adjustment. Somehow, I justify a reason to stop going to the gym for a couple of days. Maybe I'm tired, I want to get to bed early, and so I don't do what I'm doing now... I decide not to journal, blog, or meditate. I find a reason not to do my mental exercises. Just like a physical workout, it's easy slide if you don't stick to a routine. I begin a two month backslide (it's almost always one and a half to two months) and then <WHAM!!> something sends me over the edge and the drinking begins.
While I feel good now (maybe not good, but better), I know that the relapse was recent and I'm in 'retraining' mode. During this time, I may struggle, but the thought of physically drinking is disgusting. My stomach turns and my nose scrunches. Seeing scotch drinkers at our office party was emotionally difficult. Actually taking a drink was out of the question. For a few more weeks, I have a buffer. It's what happens when the buffer runs out that makes me anxious.
Ah well, I'm projecting. I won't beat myself up for it. After all, moving is a big deal, no matter who you are. It comes with a lot of stress, mostly financial. But I just wrote last night that things are pretty simple, as long as I'm living in the moment. 24-hours, pal... that's all I'm after. I think the fear I'm feeling is healthy (I respect it, certainly), but I can't let it overtake me. I'll wind up complicating things and we know that's never good, not for me. You don't want me to start over-analyzing this.
"Take a deep breath." "Easy does it." "One day at a time." I need all of the slogans right now!
Sunday, December 25, 2011
A Generous Gift
Availability.
We made it, didn't we? Another Christmas has come to pass. It's amazing how much we can pack into two short days. The insanity of December boils down to Christmas and Christmas Eve (and Hanukkah!) and finally everyone can put their feet up and breathe a little easier. Relatively speaking, of course.
I'm glad I made the choices that I did this weekend. I'm glad I made the choices that I did starting at the beginning of the week... and month, actually. With the help of others, I made it through an interesting Friday, had a nice breakfast yesterday, spent Christmas Eve with wonderful family and a squealing three-year old (what a kick!), and spent Christmas day with some new friends who were incredibly gracious hosts. To think, as of last Saturday, my only plan was to be at the AA marathon, all night and all day. At THAT time, I guess I needed some distance, but it was due to the nasty cyclical thinking I still had spinning in my noggin'. In order to do the things I did this weekend, I had to step out of my comfort zone (isolation really does get cozy... and lonely). It was for the best.
Seeing my son was a huge boost to my spirit. It's the first Christmas he really 'got it'. He's been content to rip open presents and help you with yours. He didn't quite care about the contents as much as he did opening the gifts. Last year, he kind of got it, but this year he definitely made the Santa connection, being a good boy, leaving cookies out for the big man, etc. It was good to see. While I said I have to move down Recovery Road for me, it lifted my spirits to get a glimpse of what's ahead if I keep on this journey (try, try again... don't give up). Not only that, it reminds me to treat my own little boy, my inner kid, with the same kind of fun and enthusiasm - not once in a while, but every day. There's no reason each of us can't be as excited as my son was, just to get up, get out and live.
My only regret this weekend was forgetting my camera on Christmas Eve. If that's my only regret over three tough days, then I'm doing a-okay. I even tucked a few meetings under my belt. I wanted to be at the 24-hour meeting to show my support, but it was more important for me to be around for family this holiday. It was only a balancing act when I started to over think it. As long as I stayed in the moment, it was pretty simple.
I still say that one of the best gifts of recovery is availability. It bites me to look over the days I've been AWOL and think of what I've missed and the people I've pushed away. There's a lot of guilt and remorse there. If I look at it too long, then I pick up the bat and the self-pity starts rolling in. It actually benefits me to throw up a few walls, disconnect myself from those thoughts and promise the elephant that we'll deal with it later - like in therapy where it's appropriate and I have someone to help me. These are the emotions I try to deal with alone, typically, which lead to more trouble.
Every day has the potential to be as good as Christmas Eve with my son. They won't all be amazing, but I'd like to think that they all have the potential. If perception is nine-tenths of our reality, then that actually leaves us with more control over our lives than we might think. It takes practice reversing pessimism and negative thinking, but wouldn't it be SO worth it?
Happy Holidays to all. I'm content. Thank you.
We made it, didn't we? Another Christmas has come to pass. It's amazing how much we can pack into two short days. The insanity of December boils down to Christmas and Christmas Eve (and Hanukkah!) and finally everyone can put their feet up and breathe a little easier. Relatively speaking, of course.
I'm glad I made the choices that I did this weekend. I'm glad I made the choices that I did starting at the beginning of the week... and month, actually. With the help of others, I made it through an interesting Friday, had a nice breakfast yesterday, spent Christmas Eve with wonderful family and a squealing three-year old (what a kick!), and spent Christmas day with some new friends who were incredibly gracious hosts. To think, as of last Saturday, my only plan was to be at the AA marathon, all night and all day. At THAT time, I guess I needed some distance, but it was due to the nasty cyclical thinking I still had spinning in my noggin'. In order to do the things I did this weekend, I had to step out of my comfort zone (isolation really does get cozy... and lonely). It was for the best.
Seeing my son was a huge boost to my spirit. It's the first Christmas he really 'got it'. He's been content to rip open presents and help you with yours. He didn't quite care about the contents as much as he did opening the gifts. Last year, he kind of got it, but this year he definitely made the Santa connection, being a good boy, leaving cookies out for the big man, etc. It was good to see. While I said I have to move down Recovery Road for me, it lifted my spirits to get a glimpse of what's ahead if I keep on this journey (try, try again... don't give up). Not only that, it reminds me to treat my own little boy, my inner kid, with the same kind of fun and enthusiasm - not once in a while, but every day. There's no reason each of us can't be as excited as my son was, just to get up, get out and live.
My only regret this weekend was forgetting my camera on Christmas Eve. If that's my only regret over three tough days, then I'm doing a-okay. I even tucked a few meetings under my belt. I wanted to be at the 24-hour meeting to show my support, but it was more important for me to be around for family this holiday. It was only a balancing act when I started to over think it. As long as I stayed in the moment, it was pretty simple.
I still say that one of the best gifts of recovery is availability. It bites me to look over the days I've been AWOL and think of what I've missed and the people I've pushed away. There's a lot of guilt and remorse there. If I look at it too long, then I pick up the bat and the self-pity starts rolling in. It actually benefits me to throw up a few walls, disconnect myself from those thoughts and promise the elephant that we'll deal with it later - like in therapy where it's appropriate and I have someone to help me. These are the emotions I try to deal with alone, typically, which lead to more trouble.
Every day has the potential to be as good as Christmas Eve with my son. They won't all be amazing, but I'd like to think that they all have the potential. If perception is nine-tenths of our reality, then that actually leaves us with more control over our lives than we might think. It takes practice reversing pessimism and negative thinking, but wouldn't it be SO worth it?
Happy Holidays to all. I'm content. Thank you.
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