Thursday, December 30, 2010

"Knock On The Sky"

"Knock on the sky and listen to the sound..." --Zen proverb

One part of the program that I've never been very good at is meditating. I do it from time to time, will even get a run in where I meditate every day in the morning, then it usually passes and I don't do it for a while. Usually a long while. I'm a spiritual guy, pray frequently, and am pretty good about practicing the principles in all my affairs, but this one piece always seems to fall by the wayside for me.

It might be some personal prejudices I have against the process. I've known a lot of hippie-happy-kumbaya types. And I do have a general distrust of people who scratch the shallow surface of new age-ish practices and claim to have found deep, profound meaning. Or it could be that I don't like to be alone with my busy brain.

Regardless, I'm trying it again. This morning, I felt the resistance, then heard a voice inside tell me to just listen to the sound of my own mind. I did, and what a cacophony. Thoughts bouncing all over the place, comments both real and imagined being passed back and forth. My brain is a chaotic mess. Maybe my higher power is aware of this and has been welling the urge to meditate up inside me because of it. Kind of like the Infinite All's way of saying, "Dammit, Zach, your brain's so loud--shut it already!" Ha!

Sometimes I'm very centered. One night a few weeks back, I was shooting pool and was having a great night. The balls fell into their pockets one right after the other. The chaos of the pool hall around me faded away. It felt great. But it wasn't the great night I had that brought the feeling of centeredness, it was that I was centered and that's why I had a great night.

A lot of people use meditation to center themselves. I admit, I did feel better after I took a few minutes this morning. I felt more grounded. I've heard of folks having deep insights from meditating. I have had the occasional light bulb. Something about it still seems touchy-feely to me, though.

Step Eleven talks about increasing our conscious contact through prayer and meditation. When we work the 12-steps, we're working a spiritual program. Step eleven is where that point really hits home. We've admitted our powerlessness, given our lives over. We've addressed our defects and cleaned up the wreckage of our past. Moving forward, we do so intentionally and under the guidance of something greater than ourselves. Meditation is as old a spiritual practice as praying. I don't do it all that much, so I can't say with any authority that it works. But it works for other people, so I'll keep at it.

Besides, I'd kind of like to know what the sky sounds like.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

"Depression In Recovery"

I've dealt with depression in my recovery. Or maybe I should say that I deal with it from time to time. I've known people who use medication to help them in their own struggles, people who don't, and many folks who have differing levels of depression. Everything from a persistent sadness to a full-blown, suicide watch Depression with a capital 'D'. There is plenty of debate about whether or not taking psych meds disqualifies someone from claiming they are clean and sober. There are people (like myself) who have had meds prescribed for them in the past and found that they didn't need them in Recovery. There are those, too, who have chosen to go off their meds and committed suicide (like one of my former sponsees). I have a sponsee right now who takes meds for bipolar disorder. I tell him to keep on taking them and make sure he doesn't run out.

Depression is one nasty animal. Metaphors can only describe it part way. I can write here about a black cloud that hangs over everything, a thick fog, but it just doesn't do that awful mental state justice. Someone can literally tell you they love you, and it will sound in your ears, heart, and mind like they are telling you you're the worst person in the world, a waste of skin, and that you really should just go away to someplace where no one will ever find you and lay down and die. And then you feel guilty because you don't do it.

For some, medication is the only way to have a healthy life. It can be the one piece of a daily existence that makes everything else possible. It can be a temporary help when working through trauma or difficult life circumstances. There are many of us who refuse to take meds. As people who suffer from the disease, we tend to be very stubborn, insistent that we can do it ourselves and don't need help. And yet, isn't that what got us into Recovery in the first place? Isn't that the first step on this journey? The surrender? The admission that, in all honesty, we really are miserable and can't go on like this anymore is where it begins. We finally swallow our pride, admit that we are beaten, and ask for help. And when we do, we discover something amazing: there is an end to the suffering. There is a way out, and we don't have to walk that path alone.

Whether or not someone takes meds to help them with their Depression is a decision best made by the individual and their therapist. Sponsors are not doctors (well, perhaps with one notable exception) and professional mental health decisions should be left up to the professionals. As a fellow in Recovery, I see my role as a supportive one. If someone needs an ear to listen to in hard times, I listen. If they want advice, I offer some. If they ask me whether or not they should take psych meds, I tell them that's not my decision to make, and that I will support theirs--whatever it is.

Recovery can help with depression--a lot. Working the 12 steps can be miraculously helpful for those who suffer from this spiritual disease, but they are not the be-all, end-all. If you're unhappy, 'depressed' with a little 'd', know that it will pass. Do what we are taught to do when we're feeling low: go to a meeting; work some steps; be of service to others. If your mental state is persistent, if your Depression is of the big 'D' variety, remember that you have other options, too.

We don't have to punish ourselves. It's okay to feel better, to feel good about ourselves. We. Are. Worth it.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

"Naming The Spiritual"

Last night, after getting home from a day with family, I settled in on my couch and watched James Cameron's movie, "Avatar". I saw it twice when it was in the theatre and loved it. Watching it again last night, I remembered so many of the reasons why. At first, it was just because the film is so visually stunning. Cameron crafted a world that is so beautifully detailed. Just watching it again, I found myself thinking how cool it was to see. A feast for the eyes, for sure.

My thinking brain went on to be amazed at the technical achievement of it, how almost the entire movie is a creation from out of the computer and yet seems so real. I love the story, too. An outsider from another world learns the ways of a 'primitive' culture and discovers they aren't primitive at all, just different. He sees the errors of his own culture's ways--how might makes right doesn't, and ultimately takes his place among the native people, choosing to live the spiritual life and abandoning his former culture.

There's a lot of metaphor in this movie. It speaks real strongly to my perspective and my personal & political views. A powerful military that destroys other cultures? Check. A greedy corporation that will stop at nothing in their pursuit of profit? Check. But this blog really isn't the space for me to pontificate about the United States' bullying of the rest of the world, the wrongheaded pursuit of material things, or the genocide of the native American population.

In 'Avatar', the people of the alien planet have a spiritual knowledge--every living thing is connected. Cameron throws us a science bone on this to show that it is real, not superstition. But for me, this concept isn't a matter of science, it's one of faith. Maybe that's why I love this movie so much. For me, it describes the way I see the spiritual world here and now. I don't believe in a God that's watches over us from above. I believe in a spiritual essence that is part of us--not just every living thing, but every thing, period. Me. You. The animals. The trees. The rivers, streams, and sky.

The program teaches us to build a spiritual relationship with a power greater than ourselves. Many call that power 'God' but not everyone. I know people in Recovery who prefer the native American term 'Great Spirit'. I knew one alcoholic who called hers 'Big Blue'. There's a great joke about making a doorknob or a chair your higher power and letting that be your guide because at least then you won't have your idiot self running things anymore. But you know, even that makes sense to me because I see the spiritual as a power (or a force, or an energy) that is everywhere.

Another way I don't see the spiritual is as good versus evil. There's a great short story out there by Isaac Asimov where all the angels--including Satan--are servants of God. I talk occasionally about how right and wrong, good and evil, are human inventions. They are perspectives. I'm a fan of Christian Gnosticism. One of the books that wasn't included in the Christian bible, the book of Mary, talks about how we humans are the ones who create sin. Now, not everyone subscribes to this idea of moral relativism. Some people believe very strongly that right is right and wrong is wrong, period. But I have found than any example someone might give me of a concrete 'right' or 'wrong' can be easily countered. Murder? Totally wrong. Unless you're at war, in which case it's your sacred duty to kill. Incest? Evil shit. Unless you're royalty and concerned with continuing your blood lines. Stealing? Don't ever do that... unless you're starving and need to feed your family.

I dislike using the word 'God' to describe my higher power, but I do it because it's convenient. I'm human, limited. There really isn't a word for 'all of everything there ever was, is, isn't, will and won't be'. And I also have a hard time thinking of God as something outside myself. The spiritual is in me, is a part of me, not separate from me. I'm reminded of the Sci-Fi classic 'Stranger From A Strange Land' when the main character, after much deep searching, finally realizes he understands God and then proceeds to go around telling everyone he meets, "thou art God!" Again, it's the same theme: we are all connected; the spiritual is in us. It is us, and we are it.

Maybe I'll start calling my higher power 'Infinite All'.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

“Guilt Training”

It’s Christmas season over here. The tension hangs in the air like a wet fog. Tons of people, everyone rushing around to find the perfect gift, to get this last one thing. Normally sane drivers are suddenly weaving through freeway lanes for no apparent reason. I even found myself stopping at a green light the other. Took me a few seconds to understand what all the honking behind me was about.

I suppose I’m tempted to go on a long diatribe about the material nature of my society, mark bullet points on the irony of buying stuff in order to show love, and I may yet still write that blog, but not today. I am thinking about the giving of gifts, though, and the receiving of them. Ever have someone give you a gift you didn’t want? Usually it’s a family member you haven’t seen in awhile, or maybe even your significant other. They hand you this... whatever it is... and feel so proud of themselves. You open it up and inside your heart sinks a little. Oh. Great. Swell. It’s just what I didn’t want. Still, you do your best to smile and say, “thank you.”

It’s a curious twist of culture. Someone gives you something that you didn’t ask for, don’t want, and your job is to appreciate it anyway. ‘It’s the thought that counts’ we say. Because, for some reason, the thoughts of the gift receiver about throwing whatever it is that we’ve been given in the river don’t count. Probably a good thing.

Or is it?

I’m going to ramble a bit here, because I have several thoughts going on at the moment. Is it a good thing to be so dishonest? Sure, you can say occasions like these are times where the little white lies are necessary. But I feel this situation skirts the edges of codependence. Maybe it’s just my own experience peeking through. I can think of many times where someone else has decided I needed something, I’ve told them I don’t, and then they’ve gotten it for me anyway. And then their feelings get hurt when I have the audacity to remind them of what I’ve already said.

Polite society. Ick. Such a sticky subject. Because this is the time of year where we’re all supposed to pretend that everything’s all happy and wonderful. And if someone gives us a gift, we’re supposed to be thankful that they did so, regardless of what it is. Because, you know, here in America, it’s the giving of things that shows we love each other. [Rats, it snuck in there!] Pardon my sarcasm, it just has always struck me as bizarre. We don’t know how to show love and affection for each other, so we buy shit instead.

But this whole ritual, regardless of what time of year it is, has always struck me as strange. Someone else decides for you what you need and then you have to go along with it otherwise you’re an ungrateful wretch. Well, I know it’s not like that for everyone, but it’s very familiar to me.

I like being able to decide for myself what I do and don’t like, what I do and don’t want. Other people don’t get to decide for me who I am, only I do.

Okay, that’s enough ranting. Time for some gratitude work. Not everyone receives gifts. Not everyone has family or friends to spend this time of the year with. Some of us even work extra hard to push people away so that we end up alone even though we hate that we are. Not everyone can afford to give gifts, and our culture is merciless towards those who can’t. We have this knee-jerk response that someone is a bad person if they can’t afford to buy stuff.

The path of honesty isn’t always a clear-cut one. There are certain things we are expected to not be fully honest about. Our response when someone asks how we’re doing; the receipt of an unwelcome gift. it would be nice if we lived in a world where everyone followed spiritual principles, but we don’t. We can live by those principles ourselves, do our best to follow that path, and work hard at being honest with ourselves and others. But it ain’t easy. And that’s okay. If the spiritual path were easy, everyone would do it.

Yeah, a bit of a ramble today. How ‘bout that?

Saturday, December 18, 2010

"Recovery Is Not A Weapon"

A newcomer was telling me recently about some difficulties she's having with her ex. The short of it is that he got into Recovery, started getting clean and going to 12-step meetings, and now is pointing the accusing "you're a drug addict" finger at her. When she told me this, I chuckled knowingly. We talked about the disease, how drug use is a symptom, that the real problem isn't what we're hooked on, it's that we don't know how to live, how to deal with life, with ourselves, with other people. We don't get magically better when we stop getting loaded. Recovery is a process that takes time. We don't become better people overnight. "And that," I concluded, "is why your boyfriend is still an asshole."

One of my sponsees went to a meeting once where they told him not to speak because he didn't have a year clean yet. "Zip it! You don't know nothin’. And what's worse, you don't know that you don't know nothin’! So sit down, shut up, listen and learn." I must confess, considering some of the stuff I've heard come out of the mouth of the random one-time meeting attending newbie, that almost sounds like a good way to do it.

Many of us, when we're new, suddenly find ourselves seeing the world and the people in it in terms of the disease. Everywhere we look, we see people who are drunks or addicts. We find ourselves telling other people they have a problem, that they need to sober up and start going to meetings. I remember telling my own mother she's a dry drunk. I think I even managed to phrase it politely, but that isn't the point.

Don't take others' inventory--that's the point. It takes a lot of time and a lot of personal growth through the program before we understand the best way to go about helping others into it. A little bit of knowledge can be a dangerous thing. We can fall into the trap of thinking that, because we’ve found the answer for us, we know the answer for everyone. Suddenly, we can find ourselves going around and telling everyone what they need to do, how to live their lives. We’ve learned a little bit about the program, but haven’t learned the fullness of that knowledge.

The first step isn’t about just accepting the powerlessness of our addiction, it’s about accepting our powerlessness over all the things we can’t control. That includes other people, places, things. It’s not our place to tell someone else what to do with their lives or how to live. When we do, we’re just feeding the disease all over again by trying to control something we can’t.

We are like children when we’re new. Our emotional maturity isn’t there yet. So we receive an amazing gift, a powerful gift, and we can end up turning around and using it like a loaded gun on the people in our lives. Before we’ve worked our way through the steps, we’re still living as we always have, full of character defects, and without serenity.

Recovery isn't a weapon, it's a gift. We can't give it away by beating someone over the head with it. We can talk about ourselves, our own experience, what it used to be like and what working the program has done for us. But we can't force anyone to 'get' the program. Any time we do, we’re falling into one of the disease’s oldest traps—trying to control. Recovery teaches us a different way: stop trying to control. Let go. Maybe it’s our opinion that someone in our life needs the program, needs to get sober. It might even be true. But it’s not our place to force them into it. It may sound cruel, but it is far better to let someone hit their bottom. Then they’ll be ready to change. They’ll be teachable.

We help when we’re asked to help. It’s the asking that shows someone is truly ready.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

"Can't Sleep?"

Wow. Okay, so I got the new bed, right? I've been sleeping on it these past few nights and have been having some seriously intense dreams. Even the night before I got it, when I used the new down pillows, I had a good sleep, woke up feeling rested, having had some seriously vivid dreams. It almost makes me wonder if my old bed & pillows had been cursed. Yeah, that's a joke. Sort of.

I'm a big believer in the importance of dreams. Studies have shown that dreaming is the writing of new information into the long-term memory. It's a sign that the new things you're learning are being understood. Most people who have taken a foreign language know about this. Even when I took French in high school, all the talk was about how you'll know you're getting the language in your head when you start dreaming in it.

There are a whole spate of dream interpretation books out there. Personally, I have a website in my bookmarks that I check frequently to see the meaning of my dream symbolism. It can be a bit of a Rorschach test, where you fill in the gaps with your own imagination and make meaning out of something that doesn't necessarily have any. Even so, I've found it useful and insightful to analyze my dreams--even when they're nightmares. And after those first couple nights, I did do. No major revelations.

Today, though, after the fourth night in a row of heavy dreaming, it occurs to me just how bad my old bed was. Like, I wasn't getting good sleep!! Hello? So, yeah, it's a good thing to be getting good sleep. Seriously good. It's reminded me of those early days of getting sober. One thing about us heavy pot users is that the weed suppresses dream sleep. When we stop using, we start dreaming again with a vengeance. Incredibly vivid dreams. This is once we're able to get to sleep again, of course, which for many of us takes a while.

It was a couple of months of being clean before I started sleeping through the night, but the dreams started up almost right away. I kept a dream journal and wrote out in long detail everything my unconscious had churned through. Keeping the journal fell off a while back, but I still love trying to decipher the meaning of those crazy dreams. The brain doesn't stop working when we're asleep. I enjoy figuring out what mine has been up to. It gives me insight into the progress I'm making in all aspects of my life. It helps me to be in better touch with my fears, too.

Something else I remember is the using dreams. Whoa. They can be pretty damn intense. Weed was represented in my dreams by everything from evil green monsters trying to get me, to a bubbling toxic ooze flowing through all rooms of my house. I had a lot of using dreams at first, and now only get them every once in a great while. The experience is still the same when I do, though. They seem so real and I go through the whole drama of thinking I've relapsed, realizing I need to resign my service positions, pass my sponsees on to someone else, etc. After I wake up, it can take a bit for my head to clear and me to really accept that it was just a dream. It's a relief, but I always feel like I escaped a close call.

People talk in meetings about using dreams; it's not something that just happens to us potheads. In our MA literature, it talks about them as a natural part of the detox process. The best advice I ever heard on the subject was to give it up to your higher power. Tired of the using dreams? Pray about it. Ask for it to be lifted. I tried it and it works. When I was getting sober, I knew the dreams would be coming back and I was terrified they would be nightmares. So I prayed about it and my prayers were answered--no nightmares.

Any doctor will tell you that getting a good night's sleep is vital to functioning well during the day. Any addict will tell you that you're not going to get a good night's sleep when you're first getting clean. And that's okay. This, too, shall pass.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

"New Bed"

This is one of those “what it’s like now” stories.

I’m very fortunate to have parents who are doing well, financially. They aren’t rich, not by a long shot, but they’re doing well enough to help me out as I’ve been struggling with being unemployed. They plan their finances well so that they can buy one ‘big’ Christmas gift for my sister and me each year.

This year, they offered to replace my old bed. They gave me a price range and I went to Ikea to try out mattresses. I found one that felt great that was low enough in price that I could pick up a frame and the support slats as well. I found out how much the delivery charges would be and sent my folks an email breaking down the full cost with tax. On Saturday, we went out and got everything.

Delivery was made the next day, Sunday, and I started putting it all together. For those who aren’t aware, Ikea furniture is all do-it-yourself assembly. Personally, I enjoy putting my furniture together. There’s just something about it. Call it strange, but I feel more connected. It must be a throwback to when I was a kid and was always taking everything apart. The bed frame went together, piece of cake, but something seemed strange about it that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I set to work on the slats that sat in the frame and made up the base.

Oh. My. God.

It took forever. Hundreds of pieces. Hours and hours of work. I think I was about a third of the way through when I thought to myself it was a good thing I’d done the frame first, otherwise I never would have finished and would have just given up and slept on the couch for the night. Of course, if I was still getting high, I never would have finished. It probably would have taken me days, or a week for all I know.

The slats were in two halves that, once assembled, hooked together. After I finished the first set, I noticed that they seemed a little wide. I laid the one half into the frame and saw with dismay that they covered about two thirds of the base. I’d ended up with the wrong bed frame. I stepped back into the hall to check the box the frame had come in and, sure enough, I’d ended up with a double-sized bed frame and not a queen. Shit. It looked like I was going to be sleeping on the couch after all.

The next part is really interesting to me, actually. The old ‘fuck-it’ thinking came up and I was about to say forget it to doing the rest of the slats, that I’d just sleep on the couch since there was no point to finishing since I couldn’t put it all together, but then a different kind of ‘fuck-it’ came to my mind. I said to myself, “fuck-it, I’m going to finish anyway.”

I disassembled the bed frame and stacked it out in the hall. The second half of the slats went together much quicker from my figuring out how to do the first half. I put them together and laid them down. The mattress was a queen (thank God!) and I set it down on the slats. Mattress pad, sheets, quilt and pillows all went on. I made the bed up and laid down on it. Ahhhhh… I slept well that night, proud of myself.

In the midst of all this, I got a call from Ikea that my folks had been overcharged for the order. I told them I’d be in the next day to deal with it. After all, I had to go in anyway to exchange the frame.

Yesterday, I found myself looking at the bed frame with dread. Ugh--return lines. Bleah. I took the headboard downstairs and out to my car where I discovered (wouldn’t ya know) that it didn’t fit in my car. Shit. No cause for panic, though. My folks have my old pickup truck. So I drove out to their house, switched vehicles, and went back to my apartment. I loaded up all the pieces of the bed frame, even going so far as to lay a sheet down so that they wouldn’t get damaged and would be in good condition for the return.

Inside the store, the clerk told me that normally they don’t take returns if the boxes have been opened. Shit. Then she said it looked ‘damaged’ and that she’d take it anyway, considering the circumstances. She gave me store credit, as well as store credit for the overcharge. I thanked her. She listed out the location in the stock of where the queen-size frame was.

Ikea is a pick-and-pull kind of place. All the pieces in their showroom have tags telling you where the furniture is stored. You write down these aisle and bin numbers, then pull the boxes yourself and go check out. When I got to the location where the queen frames were stored, I checked the labels carefully to make sure I was getting the correct size. They all said ‘double’. No wonder I had the wrong frame--they’d stocked the incorrect size!

I found the clerk who’d helped me with the exchange and showed her the problem. She thanked me and got on her radio to get someone out with a forklift. Then she tracked down where the queen size frames were actually stocked. I loaded up my boxes and went to the check out. With the extra store credit from the overcharge, I was able to get the queen size frame without having to pay any extra. After dropping the boxes back at my apartment, I drove back out to my folks and switched cars again.

Back home, the new frame went together as easily as the other had. I laid the slats down inside and they fit like a glove. I slid the bed on top and made it up. Victorious, I laid down and breathed a sigh of relief. Ahhh…

Now, what makes this a “what it’s like now” story isn’t what I’ve said here, it’s what I haven’t said. Nowhere in any of this did I dissolve into a hissy fit or a shouting match. I didn’t yell at Ikea for the overcharge or the mistake in the stock. I wasn’t happy about having to go through all this rigmarole, but I did it calmly and without incident. And, actually, with a minimum amount of swearing to boot. In fact, I probably laughed more than I swore. Because, ya know, life is just like this!

My old way of dealing with all of this would have been to have a tantrum, to do everything I could to berate Ikea, and to wallow in self-pity about how shit always happens and it always happens to me all the fucking time. It’s not like that for me anymore. The most amazing part is that I didn’t even counsel myself not to do those things. My natural reaction was to have a little bit of an ‘argh!’ moment, then shrug my shoulders. Then I took action and dealt with the situation. I did it--without thinking--with patience, calmly and rationally.

I’m really happy with my new bed. I’m probably even happier with it because I did have to go through an ordeal to get it. It looks nice and feels great to sleep on. But more than that, it’s become yet another symbol of the continuing improvement in me, in my life. It’s one more example of the proof that working the program has been good for me. Even a normie would have been challenged to go through all that with a calm temper. For me, it was natural. Just another miracle.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

"Stick With The Winners"

When I first started going to meetings, I was told to ‘stick with the winners’--whatever that meant. I remember something about finding people with more than two years, and finding people who the program was working for. Looking back, what I was probably told was to find people who were working a program. What does it mean to work the program? It means doing those things everyone always says to do: go to meetings, get a sponsor, work the steps, be of service, help others. What does it mean to be a ‘winner’? That's not as easy to answer.

There are some vague answers. Look for someone with that light shining in their eye--it’s the glean of having a new lease on life, the glow of having had a spiritual experience. You could say look for people who are happy, joyous, and free, but I know that wouldn't have worked for me. When I was a newcomer, I thought the people who were happy were full of shit. I didn't believe anyone could be happy. I didn't trust people who were nice to me. If they were, I thought something was seriously wrong with them.

I have a little bit of a problem with the word ‘winner’. To call some people ‘winners’ says to me that others are losers. I don’t believe that kind of thinking is helpful to the Recovery process. God knows I didn't feel like a winner when I first walked through the doors. Even now, I can’t claim to feel like a ‘winner’. The word is a total misnomer. Other people might feel differently, but for me, the closest word I would pick is ‘lucky’. Maybe ‘damn lucky’. Or maybe even ‘lucky-ass sonofabitch’. There is the temptation, too, to go overboard into Denial-Happy-Land and say that we’re all winners. Well, tra-la-la!!

When we walk into the rooms, we don’t have healthy instincts. Our impulses have been ravaged by the disease. We pick friends, lovers, and associates who aren’t good for us. We have yet to develop the skill of choosing people to have in our lives that are good for us. Heeding that advice of getting to know ‘the winners’ is a good thing, but when we're new, our ability to pick out the winners is practically zero. To make matters worse, the people who fit the description are alien to us, foreign. We’re used to misery; we don’t trust peace and serenity. We think it’s a myth or an illusion at best.

So take it back to the basics: why did we step into the rooms of Recovery? To find a way to live without being loaded. How do we do that? We learn from the people who have. We ask them what they have done, and we do as they did. The more time someone has, the more likely it is that what they do works.

We talked about ‘sticking with the winners’ at my meeting last night. I found myself thinking that I am one of the winners. Looking at it through a certain lens, I can see that it’s true. I’ve put together over two years of time. I have a sponsor, I sponsor others. I work the steps and I’m of service. The program has worked for me--because I’ve worked it. But I’m still uncomfortable with the label of being a ‘winner’. It might be lingering self-esteem issues, or it might be a humility thing.

Or maybe I just prefer to think of myself as a lucky sonofabitch.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

"Being Honest About Defects"

"I'm an easygoing guy." Translation: I'm lazy. Today's JFT is about being honest with ourselves about our defects. It's a huge point. If we aren't honest with ourselves about the objectionable aspects of our character, why would try to change them? Why would we ask our higher power to remove something if we don't think it's a problem?

Looking at our defects is tough business. Being honest with ourselves about who we really are isn't easy. We are prone to denial. Lying to ourselves about ourselves was a way of life for us, often times for many, many years. We take the first stab at piercing that veil of denial when we admit we are addicts/alcoholics. We begin practicing the spiritual principle of Honesty when we take the first step. We keep on practicing it as we continue working the other steps.

We learn to practice a particular kind of honesty--rigorous honesty. Not brutal honesty, and definitely not the kind of honesty where we hide things to 'protect' other people from pain or sorrow. We don't stop practicing rigorous honesty when we start looking at our character defects. The temptation is there of course. We may want to gloss over things, or make others out to be worse than they really are. Pretending our defects aren't that bad means we won't work to change them. Being too hard on ourselves means we won't be treating ourselves with love.

I have my defects. Laziness is one, for sure. Low self-esteem is another. Perfectionism is in there, too. But if I'm not honest with myself, I can't do anything about them because I've got myself locked into a head space where I think nothing's wrong. We say it all the time: the program isn't easy, but it is simple. It's not easy to look at myself and see my worse qualities. It's not easy to admit that I need to change--even now. I am a work in progress and always will be. And that's okay!

Last week, I gave a presentation in one my classes where I talked about my experience dealing with depression, seeing therapists, and psychiatrists over the years. One of my classmates gave me props afterwards, commending on my courage and strength for being able to stand up before the entire class and speak about something so personal. It's not that I wasn't afraid to do it. I was. I got up there and did it anyway. I tend to forget that I'm a man of strength and courage. It's part of my self-esteem defect, that I don't like thinking of myself as having good qualities.

Yesterday, I had coffee with a friend. As we were saying our goodbyes, she commented on how clear it is that I'm doing well--even though I might feel like I'm not. It was yet another reminder to me of how I focus on the bad things instead of giving myself credit for the good. I may be unemployed, but I'm keeping busy and making good use of my time. God knows I wouldn't have been able to do nearly as much work on getting my music out there if I was working.

The spiritual principles of steps six and seven, where we deal with our character defects, are willingness and humility. It's about becoming right-sized. We continue to look honestly at ourselves. We get better at assessing ourselves as we really are, not who we think we are or who we want others to think we are. Looking at our character defects honestly is just another part of the process.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

"Imagine"

Yeah, okay, so, like, I admit it... I'm a Star Trek geek. I love the whole cannon--how it's such a rich and full fictional universe. I know the characters, the species, and have more future historical dates memorized than I do actual real dates from the past. My favorite of the series is Deep Space Nine and, yes, I do have the complete show on video.

There are some big complaints out there about Trek. It's too cerebral. It paints too rosy a picture of the future. It's naive about human nature. I think people who feel that way are missing the point of Trek, the idea that exists at the very heart of it, which is the idea of a humanity which has matured. It's stories about a future when humanity has grown up, where we've learned certain things. Things like how every human being has an intrinsic worth and value regardless of color, creed, or anything else. We've left behind the days of "I'm better than you".

It's always seemed to me that, in this future, humanity has figured something else out, too. We've let go of self-centered aims and chosen instead to live under a philosophy of bettering ourselves and humanity as a whole. Monetary and material gains have become passé. People are honest, forthright, and responsible for themselves and their actions. Somehow, the culture of the future is one where everyone conducts themselves with integrity.

One of the more curious aspects of Star Trek is how genetic engineering is not a part of this future world. Trek's future history has a 'Eugenics War' in its past, but the society of that future does not genetically manipulate their children. They don't splice their genes to improve themselves, to make themselves stronger or smarter. The absence of such a science fiction staple is really noteworthy. There's even an episode of DS9 where one of the main characters is found out (in a shocking revelation!) to be genetically enhanced and the comment is made about how there hasn't been a case 'like this' for over a hundred years.

Some might consider this a huge omission, but I disagree. The fact that no one in Star Trek is genetically engineered fits into that universe perfectly in my mind. The future humans wouldn't be interested in enhancing themselves, just as they don't intoxicate themselves with substances. They're more interested in exploring themselves and the universe around them as they really are. They've found acceptance of themselves as human beings. As a result, the forces of fear no longer dominate their lives.

* * *

On more than one occasion, I've heard people share in meetings about how frustrating it can be that more people don't live by the spiritual principles of the program. I've said it myself. As people in Recovery, we do our best to be honest while accepting that many (maybe most) others aren't. We try to be our best selves while accepting that we live in a world full of people who don't. We work to better ourselves, and sometimes struggle to let go of the fact that others aren't doing the same. We don't live in the rooms. The world out there isn't like the rooms of Recovery.

Imagine what things could be like if it were.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

"Rainy Night"

One of my favorite sayings: "It rains on the just and the unjust." My hometown here is under the weather tonight. It's coming down in waves and I'm tucked away in a coffee shop, sharing a table with some gals who are studying for their final exam in Intro French. I'm meeting some friends here and am a little bit concerned about finding a place for us to sit. It's pretty crowded. As I wait, I listen to the gals attempts at proper pronunciation and remember how it took me three times to get a passing grade in French when I took it 15 years ago.

So, the rain falls on the just and the unjust, yes? To me, it means that shit happens to everyone. No matter who you are, what your life is like, rich or poor, happy and healthy or otherwise. There are good days and there are bad days. It's called life.

When I was a kid, somewhere around ten or twelve, I was at a weekend camp with some other kids from a local church. We got to the campsite and the rain was coming down so thick that we could barely see in front of us. Instead of reporting for orientation, we took off exploring. We found a river nearby with a rickety footbridge. The dares to cross it began and somehow I ended up accepting the challenge first. It was pitch black. Our flashlights couldn't even penetrate the wilderness on the other side of the river. I strode out onto the bridge. It swayed in the wind and all of us wondered if it would break while I stood out there on the middle of it. I shone my flashlight down and the terror in my heart jumped up to my throat as I saw the rushing waters far below. I felt so alive. Eventually we heard the adults shouting off in the distance for us to return before they called our parents.

Even now, I still love the rain. When it comes, people scatter. They rush indoors, almost like they're fleeing from a shelling of bombs. I chuckle when I see it happen. It's only water--the lifeblood of all living things. Still, they run, afraid they'll melt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. Each year, when the seasons change, I make a point of standing outside in the first good storm. There's something about being outside, feeling the water drops pelt my face, that continues to makes me feel alive. Every once in awhile, I'll meet someone who tells me how they always go outside and dance in first rain of the fall, and I smile, hearing it, because I know exactly how they feel.

What does all this have to do with Recovery? Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. It's good to feel alive, instead of the dead I felt in my stoned stupor. It's the simple pleasures in life that are most important, things like standing outside in the rain, or being inside and watching it fall, or lying in bed at night and listening to the sound of it hit against the window. The program calls on us to be more aware of a power greater than ourselves. It teaches us to be present in the moment. When the weather is like this, I find those things easy to do.

I'm not sure if it's ironic, odd, or neither, but I often feel the most at peace when the weather is raging. All our attempts to control, all the things we do to tame our environment. We spend our days in artificially constructed buildings with our air conditioning. We drive from place to place in our temperature-controlled cars. Mother Earth doesn't care about it one bit. The weather still comes, and it comes with a force greater than anything we can counter. It's a comforting thought, to me, of things beyond our control. Whether I stand out in the rain or watch it from inside, I feel connected.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

"Money"

I was having fellowship at a local coffee shop after a meeting the other night. There were five of us and we took over a corner of the place. Depending on what kind of a mood we're all in and how good the meeting was, we can get a little loud sometimes. We haven't ever been kicked out, but I think it would be hilarious if we were. I mean, think about it--being sober and asked to leave? As opposed to being asked to leave because we're too fucked up? If it ever does happen, you'll read about here :)

Our conversations are usually Recovery-oriented, but they can go all over the place. Someone mentioned a reality show they saw on TV. Several of us in the group had to be brought up to speed, either because we don't watch reality shows or don't watch TV period (like myself). We talked about how fake reality TV shows are, how they're edited down and the producers only show you what they want you to see. Someone in the group mentioned that on a lot of reality shows, the crew buy drinks for the cast, encouraging them to get drunk so that there's more drama and that the show's more exciting. That led us to talk about shows like 'Intervention' and the other rehab & recovery related programs.

Now as I mentioned, I don't watch TV, but I have talked with many people who watch those shows and think they're great. One of my sponsees is a big fan of Dr. Drew. Personally, I don't like the idea of anyone capitalizing off of 12-steps. I think of it as a violation of the Traditions, but more than that I feel that one of the main reasons 12-steps works is specifically because you don't have to pay gobs of money for it. With all the commercialism in our culture, all the emphasis on buying things, the spiritual is something that so often gets dropped by the wayside. You can't buy faith. You can't buy God.

We were all debating this subject. Some felt as I did. Others thought the TV shows were good because they spread awareness, that they’re a valid way to carry the message. I disagreed; no matter what else a TV show might do, it's primary purpose is to make money, not to heal the spirits of broken souls suffering from the disease. I mentioned my blog and how Google is always giving me the opportunity to monetize it and sell advertising space. I never will. I don't write this blog to make money, I do it to share my experience, strength and hope. Writing this blog is about keeping myself sober and helping others to find what I have found--the same reasons as why I go to meetings.

As I was making this point, the following came out of my mouth: "We don't go to get rich, we go to get better." We all stopped for a brief moment. I'd crystallized it. That was the heart of the matter, right there.

It frustrates me so much that our culture has such a hard-on for making everything into a commodity. It wouldn't surprise me if one day we have the ‘opportunity’ to pay more for better air so we don't have to breathe that crappy "free" air. I don't like mega-churches that bring in big bucks. I really don't like old cathedrals covered in jewels and gold. To me, the spiritual is something that can't be bought.

The Traditions exist for a reason. The founders of AA arrived at them through trial and error and found that they work, and they discovered that charging people for this spiritual program doesn’t work so good. Meetings make just enough money to keep afloat, with maybe a little extra to pass on to the larger organizations. People can come in to a meeting and get the help they need without any obligation. If they want to, they can contribute a dollar or two. There's no admission fee. You don't have to pay your sponsor to take you through the twelve steps. You don't collect a salary for being General Secretary. As it is with the steps, we do it like this for a reason--because it works.

Monday, November 29, 2010

"Busy Brain"

I don't know how it is for y'all, but my disease never quits. It's always looking for a way to drag me down: new ways, old ways, creative ways, subversive ways, bold in-your-face ways... One of those ways is this constant nitpicking that goes on inside my head. It's like, no matter how much progress I make, it's never enough. For every little victory I make, the disease tells me it's not enough. It's almost like it stands there in its jail cell and yells at me, "you're still not perfect!" A few examples:

Today, I finished up a webpage with an online store so that fans could buy my CDs directly from me. What does my brain do? It goes off on how hardly anyone is going to order them. It cuts me down, saying how amateur I am, bemoans me for being so small-time. I respond the best way I can, reminding myself not to listen to the lies, and that it's okay to be proud of what I have done. It's good to be proud of my accomplishments, and important. The fact that I put a CD together, let alone have it available for sale worldwide? Excellent accomplishments. No doubt there are people out there who can complete a task, and then sit back and be proud of what they've done. And I can get to that place, too, it's just not a natural instinct--I have to do a little work to get there.

Another example: on Saturday, I drove down to San Francisco to be my friend's escort/date for a wedding she was in. I spent the day helping out, being of service. It was a religious ceremony, and the reception was long. It was at a revivalist church, which is fine, but it isn't a way of expressing faith that works for me. But like I said, it works for others and that's fine. There was a time when I would have mouthed off to about how their religion was all screwed up, got in other people's faces about how wrong the way they worshipped was. On Saturday, I just sat and let it all happen around me. Tolerance. Acceptance. Just because something isn't right for me doesn't mean I get to tell others it's not right, period. But the disease in my brain had plenty to say. Even as I won the battle against self-righteousness, the disease took a new tack and thoughts of how I should be more social started floating around my brain. 'Talk to people,' it said, 'meet people, find some gal and dance with her.'

Last week, I was at a coffee shop, reading. A good-looking gal came and sat down nearby. Instantly, the brain was in action: talk to her, strike up conversation, don't be a chicken shit! As it turns out, she and I did end up talking a little. I invited her to play a game of chess. She declined, saying she was waiting for someone. I went back to my book. When I left, she gave me a cute wave goodbye. I tried to give myself credit for overcoming my insecurities and talking to her at all, but the brain was right there with the old "it's never enough" routine. "You should've got her number!" "You should have kept talking to her!" and on and on, 'should'ing me to death.

To be fair, it isn't always like this. And, in a way, I'm glad for the times it is. This is what it's like for those of us with the disease, always being on-guard against that hamster wheel inside. We spin. Sometimes we obsess over other people. Sometimes it's over events. Sometimes, like what I'm talking about here, it's an internal thing where the disease tells us we aren't good enough, that no matter what we do it’s never enough.

The truth? The truth is that all we can do is our best, and that who we are--just as we are--is enough. So what if I didn't get that gal's number? I talked to her. For someone like myself, battling insecurity, that's a battle won all by itself. So what if I didn't socialize much at the wedding? I was there to be there for my friend. And the fact that not telling others how to live is becoming a natural instinct for me? That's huge. Maybe I don't have legions of fans clamoring for my latest release, so the fuck what?! I make my music, uphold myself to standards of quality, and the music I make is damn good. I don't do it for fame or fortune. I'm not saying I'm opposed to those things, but whether or not that happens isn't up to me, it's up to God. I do what I can. I make my music as best I can and put it out there.

This is what the program teaches us: to let go of the things beyond our control; to change the things we can; to do our best and accept that as enough. It's a process, one of learning and of doing. Growth will continue, as long as I keep on keepin' on.

Friday, November 26, 2010

"Responsible And Stuff"

I tell you, after reading the JFT for today, my first instinct is to tow the line and preach a little on the responsibility subject. How it important it is, the inner satisfaction it brings, the privilege of being sober and able to be responsible. Blah, blah, blah. Yak, yak, yak. Even to myself, as I imagine writing about it, I find my own voice sounding like one of Charlie Brown’s teachers. And if I'm bored with myself before I've even written anything down... well, bad sign. So instead, I'll start with all that and whatever else comes out, comes out.

One of my fellows talked recently about dreading work. He goes to bed each night, dreading the fact that when he wakes up he'll have to go in to work. I know exactly how he feels. I reminded him of how things used to be, the days when he wouldn't even bother to look for a job, much less hold one down. He works a sales job and gets frustrated, dislikes how so much of his time is spent convincing people he doesn't know to spend money they don't want to spend on things they don't really need. He's never said it like this, but I wonder if he feels like a con man. He tends to point to his character defect of laziness, but I wonder if there isn't some measure of his conscience at work as well. That’s the spiritual principle of Honesty happening, there.

I think, even though he hates his job, he does like having an income, and I understand that, too. These are relatively tough economic times. So many people hate their jobs, but are grateful to have them. Before I was laid-off, that was my refrain too: I am so grateful to have a job to hate. But even before I became unemployed, I wondered often about why it is that so many people hate their jobs. Why do so many people make their jobs their life? Some would argue with me that it's important to have a good work ethic. Personally, I think it's more important to lead a balanced life.

Sometimes, it seems to me that this whole culture is caught up in a bizarre notion of what it means to be happy. More is always the answer. If I work more, I'll get paid more, and then I can have more. More money, more things, more respect, etc. And the most obviously unhealthy thing about this, to me, is that it's a future-fuck. It's a focus on the future instead of an enjoyment of the now. How could people possibly focus on the now, anyway, when now is so miserable? It's only that focus on the future that allows people to get through the moment. It's okay to be unhappy now because I'll be happy 'someday'. It's a lie.

The moment--this moment, right now--is all we really have. As the old saying goes, tomorrow never comes.

Yeah, being responsible is important. I like paying my bills on time and actually really enjoy the fact that collection agencies aren't harassing me anymore. But our most ultimate responsibility is to ourselves. Nothing outside of us is going to make us satisfied, not money, not prestige, not a lover. There is a lot to be said for putting the time in, doing the hard work, and receiving our reward. But it's important, too, to not sacrifice the present for it.

The line between working towards something in the future and living in that future we're working towards is far easier to cross than we realize. And it doesn't apply just to work, either. I can't tell you how many times I've been in a bad relationship and chose not to leave because I was hoping it would 'get better'.

Our greatest responsibility is always to ourselves, where we really are--right now, right here. It's good to work towards a better future, just so long as we don't try to live in it before it's arrived.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

"The Holidays Are Coming"

Maybe I should say, ‘evil spacepod people are coming!’ There are a few of us out there who would prefer that to the thought of spending the holidays with our families... or alone.

Holidays are hard for a lot of us. Some of us are lucky enough to have family in Recovery. Many aren’t. All too often, the holidays are unhappy reminders of the insanity of our families of origin, the chaos we’ve worked so hard to escape from. Some of us don’t have family to be with, or refuse to be with, or are unwelcome around. Some of us spend our holidays alone.

We don’t have to. Hopefully, where you live is like where I am. There are Alc-athons and Nar-athons--meetings and events happening all day long. My fellowship is holding our regular Thursday night meeting tomorrow, and I will be there for that regardless of whatever else I end up doing during the day. And even if, through some twist of fate, it ended up that I had no place to go for a turkey dinner, I would still have that meeting to go to, and for that I am grateful.

I heard a newcomer share last night that the holidays are particularly hard for folks like us, and he’s right. But they’re hard for others, too. There are many people (perhaps too many) who don't have families or friends to spend these days with. Some are too poor to afford a special dinner, let alone a feast. Gratitude, that's what the program gives us. If we want to, we can suffer alone and be miserable. But if we choose to, we can spend these days with our fellow addicts and alcoholics.

This will be my third holiday season living the clean and sober lifestyle. Each year, it’s gotten a little easier. That's just my experience; I can't promise it will be like that for others. But I am definitely feeling the gratitude for the program. I know many people for whom those holiday meetings are life-savers. For some of us, the fact that we've got a meeting we can go to later is what gives us the strength to get through the day. Having just written that, I find myself laughing a little. So many days are like that--holidays or not.

It’s one of the many benefits of the program--we don’t have to be alone anymore. If you’re on the outs with your family of origin, or in the middle of an ending to your marriage, losing or have lost your kids, spend the holidays with your family of choice. Allow yourself to feel real love from those who really love you.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

"TOTD, yo!"

Ah, the disease. Some call it alcoholism, some call it addiction. Those of us who suffer from it call it fucking hell. The sobriety calculator app on my phone (which I usually blog from) tells me that I have 822 days clean and sober today. And yes, even with more than two years of time, I still suffer from the disease. I work steps. I attend meetings. I sponsor others. I hold service positions. But I still suffer from the disease. Don't misunderstand, things are better now than they were when I was using, but I am never cured. Like anyone living with an incurable disease, there are things I can do to treat it, but it will never fully go away. I'm thinking right now of a friend of mine who is coming up 15 years who always insists that, even now, she is not all well and wonderful.

There is still a perception out there that the disease is the addiction itself. If that were true, then mere abstinence would be enough for us. It isn't. Anyone who's lived with a binge user or a dry drunk knows that to be true. I am not the first to say that I don't need to be loaded, I can be an asshole all on my own. The disease is about behavior, about thought patterns, about ways of communicating. It is the perversion of our natural survival instincts. It is the rampant overuse of defects of character. It is our desire and attempts to control. It is the reactions we make and the actions we take based out of our fears, both real and imagined. Our use, our addiction to any one particular drug of choice, is only a symptom.

The disease develops through active use. Some say it's in our genes. For some of us, it's pressence can be seen long before we ever take our first drink or do our first drug. No matter how it starts, if it isn't arrested, it leads inexoribly to one of three places: jails, institutions, and death. Sometimes, reaching one of these is enough to wake us up from our stupor. We have a moment of clarity where we realize that we can't do it anymore. The idea occurs to us that there must be another way; there must be something better. We admit to ourselves that what we've been doing doesn't work. Perhaps we feel the presence of the divine and it gives us the strength to change. Maybe we crawl, battered, beaten, and broken, into the rooms of Recovery begging for help. Maybe we're dragged there.

We lose so much because of this disease. We lose material posessions. We lose our jobs and our homes. We lose people, too--our girlfriends, boyfriends, wives, husbands. We lose our family, our parents and our children. We lose our way, and we lose ourselves.

I've heard it said that the beginning of this disease, the thing that happens inside us that allows it to take root and grow, is the idea that we are not enough. If you suffer from this disease, then somewhere along the way you bought into the idea that who you are, just as you are, isn't enough. That you had to be someone or something besides who you are at the core in order to be loved by other people. At the heart of so many of us with this disease is the idea that we are inherently unlovable. We feel that we don't deserve to be loved, that we have to do something special, be someone else, in order to be worthy of love. For many of us, the disease progresses to the point where we don't want to be loved, where we will do anything and everything to keep others from loving us. And all the while, we live our lives with this empty feeling inside.

In the grips of our disease, we are insane. And like all insane people, we think we aren't. It takes a clear head to see how crazy we are. It takes the presence of other people who have been restored to sanity, who posess a measure or peace and serenity, who can show us a different way.

There are many opinions about the way out of this disease. Some feel therapy is the answer. Some believe that devout religious practice is. The rooms of 12-step Recovery don't claim to be the only way, just a way that does work. I've never met anyone who said they had worked all twelve steps of the program and it didn't do anything for them. I've heard it said, in different words, that it's important not to expect more than what the program offers. The program only offers freedom from active addiction, nothing more. I happen to disagree. What I have found through working the program of Recovery is nothing less than freedom. It's freedom from active addiction, yes, but also freedom to learn who I really am--and that includes the freedom to see the parts of myself I don't like and the freedom to work to change them.

I've learned, too, the dangers of underestimating my disease, of thinking that I've got it licked, that I've won the war. I don't get to win this war, but I do get a working truce. If I keep up my program, if I keep on working on myself, then I get an amicable separation from this bad marriage. And for me, that is more than good enough.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

"Envy"

I wrote this song once. The chorus went: "I wanna be someone else, from another place, with a different face; I wanna see myself, in another scene, from a different dream." My bass player at the time left the lyrics out one day and his mom saw them. She read them, then looked at him and asked if he was depressed. He told her that I was the one who had written the song. At the next band practice, we all had a good laugh about it.

Because, of course, you know there was no way in hell that I would admit at that time that I actually was depressed. I couldn't admit it to myself, much less anyone else. Denial. It ain't just a river in Egypt.

Envy is a big part of this American culture, though. We see people with bigger houses, fancier cars. The pretty girlfriend. The succesful husband. There used to be a saying about being happy with who we are and with what we have. I don't hear that saying anymore. Our great consumerist society is entirely dependent on people being dissatisfied with what they have. If you're happy with what you've got, why would you buy anything else? If your cars runs and you like it fine, why would you want a new one? One of my conspiracy theory friends is even firmly convinced that the whole move to HD TVs was a deliberate cash grab by the electronics industry.

Envy is a dangerous thing. You can always find someone better than you. Someone who has more money, or a better relationship, or seems to have a better life. It's dangerous because if we're thinking of others as better than us, we're thinking of ourselves as less-than them. The reversal of these roles is the equally dangerous pride, where we think we are better than others. It's a neverending cycle that we can escape from if we choose to: we simply stop comparing ourselves to others. Period.

There is a type of envy that is useful, but I don't like calling it that because it's something that is healthy for us, while the type of envy I've been talking about definitely is not. This other kind I'm talking about is the feeling we have when we're in a meeting and we hear serenity in the share of someone else in the group. It's that moment when we're talking to members of the fellowship and we realize we want what they have. Not their material possessions, not their station in life, but that certain something they have inside that we can't even find words for. We see a kind of peace that seems to radiate outwards from them and we realize we want that for ourselves, too. It's the best advice I've ever heard for choosing a sponsor: find someone who you want what they have.

Envy is evil. Envy is the disease messing with us, telling us we're not good enough, that other people are better than we are. It. Is. Lying. Maybe we don't have lots of money, or a good relationship (or any kind of relationship, for that matter), we are still human beings. We are still people of worth and our lives have value. Don't let the disease tell you any different.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

"Got Hobbies?"

One of the things I like so much about my therapist is that he’s very matter-of-fact. I suspect that it wouldn't matter if I were talking about how nice the weather is outside or crying about childhood trauma, he would still respond with the same, steady, even-keel. Lately, we’ve been talking a lot about building self-esteem. “And how do you build self-esteem? You do stuff,” he says. Simple, yet profound; matter-of-fact, and so very true.

Our self-esteem comes from having success in our lives. The longer and harder we work at something, the greater our self-esteem will rise at the successful accomplishing of what we set out to do. The old saying, ‘the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory’ comes to mind.

I had very few victories as a kid. I didn’t participate in sports. I didn’t really play much with other kids. I was smart, but most of the time I didn’t do nearly as well in school as I could have because I was afraid of the bullies who came after me when I did. My overprotective mother had conniption fits if I didn’t stay close to the house, and my fear of her reaction kept me from exploring the neighborhood. Most of my childhood was spent inside my head, in my imagination. As an active addict, I didn't have much success, either. I’ve never owned a home. My cars have always been hand-me-downs from other members of my family from when they bought new ones. What furniture I had was mostly leftover from when my grandmother died. I did have hobbies, or one rather--my music. But even that, there wasn’t much to show for it. I started many projects that were never completed. My band never played any gigs.

Things are so different now--I’ve completed and brought to production two full CDs of music this year. I do still have Nana’s couch and table, but my bookshelves are ones I bought and assembled myself; the TV I bought sits on a stand I got from Ikea. Bit by bit, things have changed.

Working the program in and of itself is a self-esteem booster. There is no feeling more amazing than to put time together where we once were unable to get through a single day without getting loaded. There is a sense of satisfaction that comes from getting through a set of Twelve Steps. Working those steps is NOT easy. Being of service can touch us in places, too, where we feel good about doing good--for others and for ourselves. But the program of Recovery is merely the foundation for living our lives, not life itself.

My music is only one of my interests. I’ve recently started shooting pool again. Many years ago, I had played in a league, even shot in tournaments. It’s been very cool to see my skills come back. I’m a member at my local art museum. I enjoy going there to see the art, of course, but also because it’s a peaceful place. Walking around, contemplating the different works, is almost like meditation for me. Modern art is especially captivating. I love to stare at a painting or a sculpture that seems to be of nothing, noticing the feelings that come up inside as I do so. I’m even getting back to exercising. It’s been a few months, and I can’t do nearly as many pushups as I used to be able to, but I know that will improve with time and practice. I found a cool website that gives a 6-week plan for building up enough strength to do 100 pushups in a single set.

Building self-esteem takes work, but it is doable. We can set goals, ones that are easily achievable at first, then add in more difficult ones as we make progress. We don’t have to beat ourselves up if we don’t succeed at first, either. We can just keep on trying until we do. Exercise helps the body as well as the mind to feel better. Our hobbies help us to round ourselves out, becoming even more fully human, more complete and whole. What we do isn’t nearly as important as the actual doing of it.

One of my sponsees talks from time to time about how he ‘doesn't like doing anything’. He says it as one of those half-joking truths. I recently passed on the advice of my therapist--do stuff. Go out and exercise; take up a new hobby. Try stuff. Do something different. Discover something you never knew you liked doing. Keep on doing it.

Sure, it ain’t easy, but it is simple. Get out there and do stuff.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

"Just Another Day"

I have a saying: Blargh. It's kind of my short-form way of expressing the idea, "shit's all fucked up, life is crazy, people are nuts, and oh by the way I'm still here and watching all of it," with a healthy dose of amused 'whatever' to top it all off. It's one thing about this blog--there’s not a good way to just make unintelligible noises. It would seem that this is one of those days where I don't have any particular point to make, just writing to let my readers know that I'm still here and I'm still sober. Which any Recovering addict can tell you is a one-two miracle punch combo.

Right now I'm at my favorite coffee shop. There are patrons at a table next to me talking in a stoned-out inflection about conspiracy theories of the local power company. I'm watching business-type folks come in and go out. Some have laptops, some have newspapers. Some are on breaks from work, others are clearly looking for work. Pretty girls with their slovenly dressed boyfriends abound. The stoners' topic changes to a heated discussion of which bowling alley in town has the best lanes.

I'm still unemployed. Unemployment here in California is pretty bad, with 1 in 7 people out of work. I'm still working the program, though. I’m still doing good things for myself, still pressing on doing what I can and doing my best to let go of the things beyond my control. I've been working on promotion for my latest CD. I've got some internet radio play going and am already seeing fans crop up all over the world. Not tons, but so what? I threw up some quick and dirty music videos on YouTube. Again, they aren't getting tons of play, but I'm not stressing about that either. Sure, it would be nice to have thousands of fans, all demanding a copy of the latest tunes, but that's not up to me. I do what I can; I make the music, I put it out there, and whatever happens happens.

Every once in a while, one of the pretty girls throws me a casual glance when her guy is looking the other way. I smile to myself.

There's only a few weeks left for school this semester. It's looking like I'll pull an 'A' and a 'B' for my two classes, and I'm okay with that. It would have been nice to make 'A's in both, but that's not what I earned. The classes have been really trying for me. The teachers are blah, bordering on terrible. I don't feel like I wasted a semester, though. I'd thought that going for the drug & alcohol counseling certificate would be a good idea. Now I know it's not something I'm interested in, and that's good knowledge to have. Keeping on with it might mean a new job sooner, but I'm okay with putting in the time to become an MFT and so I’m going to set that course an head straight for it. I know now that the D&A counseling isn't a job I would enjoy and the whole point of finding a new career is to do something I want to do, a job that I’d enjoy doing. The days of slaving away at a job I hate are over. It's about knowing that I'm worth it; I'm worth the time and energy to do what I want with my life.

We've got our district meeting tonight for my MA fellowship. No doubt personalities will run strong, and that's okay too. We’re going to look at our H & I activity and see if there aren’t better ways for us to reach out to the community. California’s ballot measure to legalize marijuana failed, but there are still plenty of medical dispensaries in operation. Every week, more and more newcomers are showing up at our meetings looking for a safe place to get help.

I like days like this, days where nothing is particularly different or special, just that my attitude is good. Even as the stoners come over, uninvited, to play with my Zippo lighter on their way out to go smoke. No job, no girlfriend, and no idea what the future holds, and still I deal with the world from a place of slight amusement. It's not that life is good or bad, it simply is what it is. And today I'm able to face it from a place of strength, thanks to my higher power, and security in myself, thanks to the program.

Still staying sober over here...

Saturday, November 13, 2010

"Connection"

At my homegroup last night, a newcomer shared that they didn't want to drink or use because it would cut off the connection with their higher power. I heard this said and thought to myself, "wow--you just hit the nail on the head." It was great to see someone so new clue in to such a fundamental aspect of the program. If we're loaded, we can't make conscious contact. Being intoxicated--even a little--prevents us from making that connection with the power greater than ourselves. It prevents us from hearing the small still voice speaking to us deep inside. It obliterates our ability to follow our higher power's will for us.

The program is a spiritual program. The purpose of the 12 steps is to have a spiritual awakening. By working each step, we learn a specific spiritual principle. By the time we reach the end of the 12 steps, we have had much practice in using these principles. When we work the twelfth step, we start putting all that we have learned into daily practice; we become living examples of the power of living the spiritual life. Our very presence is a message of that power. We become connected to the power greater than us, connected to our true selves, and connected to other people in a most powerful way.

For this addict/alcoholic, who used to spend his life in total isolation from all of the above, it is a gift for which I am so grateful. There really aren't words to express how it feels to not be alone anymore. There are times when I feel alone, sure. There are times when the last thing I want is to be around other people. But at those dark times, on those dark days, I lean even harder on God, and I know that my prayers are heard. My prayers are answered. Maybe not in the way that I want, but in the way that I need. It's an amazing thing, to feel empty, lost, and weak, and then be filled with the strength of my higher power.

I really liked hearing the newcomers share last night--all of them. It was great to hear their dedication to the program, hear how it's already helping them in their lives. When I shared, I thanked them for what they'd said. I talked about being where they are and remembered how it felt to be new, to go through those stages. I remembered the exhilaration I'd felt at the beginning, how it had felt so good, how it got harder, then how it got even harder than that, and how it finally started to get easier. The road of Recovery can be a hard road at times, but the journey is worthwhile--so long as I remember that it's a journey and not a destination.

Even when I feel lost, I'm still connected to my higher power. When I feel isolated from my fellows, I can go to a meeting and know that I'm not alone. Even if I don't share. Even if I don't speak a word to anyone. Sometimes I'm stuck inside myself having a pity party. Being at a meeting jars me out of that rut and reminds me of the truth: that I am connected.

The disease can block that connection, but only if we let it. Getting loaded can block it. Letting fear dictate our actions can block it. But always we have the ability to overcome. Instead of letting the disease run things, we can reach out for the strength of our higher power, let ourselves be moved, guided. Connection is always available to us, and it's our choice whether we rely on it or not.

Friday, November 12, 2010

"Feeling Lost"

There is something comforting about black and white. Either or. Right or wrong. Good or bad. It's a way of looking at the world and making what you see very simple. Small problem, though: most of life is not simple. Or shit, I don't know, maybe it is simple for some people and it's just not simple for me.

I've been thinking about selfishness lately. My therapist has got me focusing on this idea. I must admit to having some difficulty with it. Part of the problem is years of Recovery training against not being a selfish asshole. Part of it is the learning I did growing up that being selfish is wrong, bad, sinful. And part of it is just the me that is me who hates how much selfishness there is in the world around me. And part of it is the me who feels guilty and ashamed for so much as thinking selfishly.

When in the grips of our disease, we are extremely selfish. I've heard it said that being selfish isn't bad, in and of itself. It's that we as addicts and alcoholics find unhealthy ways to be selfish, and we take it to the farthest extreme. Working the program is a selfish act, but one that is good for us. It helps us to build a more positive relationship with ourselves and with others. But no matter what we do in the program, no matter how much we help others along the way, we are doing it all for a selfish reason: to not get loaded. Somehow, we decide that we are worth more than to spend the rest of our lives using. Maybe we decided that we don't want to go to jail again, or we don't want to be institutionalized again. It's still a selfish decision.

I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around this positive selfishness stuff. There's a lot of resistance there, a loqt of learning to unlearn. My insides say that any kind of selfishness is bad. Period. That if I am selfish in any way, I have to balance it out, or even totally overcompensate, with selfless acts. The only way to justify being selfish is to be even more selfless. I'm thinking that this idea in my head is why I'm having so much trouble with the self esteem lately.

I'll keep working on it.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

"Simple Answers"

Some people think there aren't any simple answers. I disagree. Some questions have very simple answers. Why can't I stop using/drinking? Because you're an addict/alcoholic. Why doesn't anyone like me? Because you don't like yourself. Why do I keep on ending up in abusive relationships? Because it's what you're used to.

Yes, I just said a mouthful.

Just because an answer is simple, doesn't mean it's easy. Truth can be a very hard thing to swallow--especially for those of us with the disease. Denial is like our favorite jacket. Pointing a finger at everything else, refusing to admit our part, these are habits so second-nature to us they're almost as easy as breathing. Maybe even easier.

Some people think they had a choice to use and/or drink, that they're the ones who choose to pick up and put in. One of my most fundamental understandings about the disease is that that is not so. It's when you can't quit, when you can't not get loaded (under your own power), that's what it means to be addicted. This isn't an easy truth to face. It means having to make radical, drastic changes in one's life. It's a problem that we need help to deal with. It's what it means to be addiced: we can't stop on our own. Yes, we're responsible for our actions, and that responsibility can mean we get the help we need, or we continue to use until we die.

Some of us spend all our time wallowing in sorrow because we don't have any friends and because we're convinced no one would want to be friends with us--especially if they knew us. God knows I've done some things in my past that I am not proud of. Followers of this blog know I struggle with self-esteem issues (what addict doesn't?) It's something I work with my sponsees on, too. The key there is, once again, what is our part? If we don't like ourselves, how can we expect anyone else to like us? If we spend our energy throwing out hate and negativity, why would anyone want to be around us? We can end up pushing away the very people we want to have around.It's when we take the time to do the work of self-acceptance, that we find people in our lives who accept us as well.

Unhealthy romantic relationships are another prime example. If we grew up in a home where there was abuse, we're much more likely to find ourselves in abusive relationships as adults. Our parents set the example for us; it's what we learn as normal. Changing that knowledge, learning something different, can be a long and difficult process, but it can be done. If we don't do it, then we may well be doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again, always wondering why nothing ever changes. We have to do the work, examine the problem with a cold eye, and be willing to do what is needed if we really want to make the changes in our lives we want to make.

It always comes back to changing the things we can. It comes back to ourselves, the only thing we really have any control over. We do the work on ourselves that needs to be done, and the rest of our lives change accordingly. All we have to do is keep at it, and we will see the difference manifest. And when we do, it's miraculous.

Monday, November 8, 2010

"It Was That Bad"

The JFT today talked about how easy it can be to forget how insane we were in our active addiction. It brought to my mind the story from the AA big book about the jaywalker. I've blogged about it before and it's a well-known enough story that I'll leave it un-paraphrased here. The point of both is simple: in our active addiction, our insanity is on par with asking for a fatal wounding.

In many ways, that's what we did. It's what I did. It's not a big stretch to summarize my using career as an attempt to die slowly, because I lacked the courage to do it quickly. That might not make sense for a suicide survivor such as myself to write, but here's a clue as to how deep my insanity still goes, how it lingers and persists: there is a part of me still that feels if I had really been serious about killing myself, I wouldn't have let anything stop me. Now, I can take this talking point of Uncle Steve's and recognize it for what it is--an attempt to take my story of survival and turn it into something which will drag me down to the place where I might try again to die. That's what years of Recovery has done for me; it's allowed me to see the insanity of my disease and recognize it for the lies they are.

But after years of Recovery (or even mere months) we become different people. It IS easy to forget how insane we were. It's too easy to tell ourselves that things weren't that bad, that we weren't really all that insane. And that, of course, is the real insanity of this disease that never quits. It wants us to think things weren't that bad. If we forget how bad it was, if we romanticize the times we spent using, then we are taking the road to relapse. My disease doesn't want me to be healthy and sober, happy, joyous, and free. My disease wants me to be loaded. It wants me to be miserable. It wants me dead.

The more Recovery we get, the more insane our insanity seems. To someone who feels they are loved unconditionally, that there is a power greater than himself who wants all the best for him, to compare that with how I used to feel--that fate itself was personally at war with me, that I was doomed to lead a life of misery, those things are polar opposites. The same is true for my social relationships. Where I once was convinced that no one wanted to talk to me or spend time with me or have anything to do with me at all, now I have people in my life that love and care about me for who I am and appreciate me for my own unique self. To look back and remember what it was like can be painful.

I can still remember. I can still get back into those feelings, into that mindset. I don't like going there, but remembering it is different than living it. The sting isn't quite as sharp. And continuing to go to meetings, listening to newcomers, helps me to stay in touch with it and not forget. Those days are a resource to me now. They are the experience I draw on when I share and when I talk to newcomers before & after meetings. It's how I let them know there is hope. I can say to them with the authenticity of experience, "I have been where you are; I have felt how you feel; it really does get better."

Saturday, November 6, 2010

"My Problem"

"Dear God: I have a problem--me."
"Dear child: I have an answer--me."
--Anonymous

The best share opening I've ever heard? 'Hi, my name is booze and I have a Zach problem.' Followers of this blog are aware of my belief that, for those of us with this disease, our use is just a symptom. Our real problem is with ourselves. It's why we don't get instantly better once our bodies are free of substances. It's why binge users and dry drunks are still as difficult to deal with when they're not loaded as when they are. It's why Recovery is a process, not an event.

Medical doctors with their research will show how the disease is a perversion of our natural instincts. We have needs, and we try to get those basic needs met, but we do it in unhealthy ways; in ways that end up causing harm to ourselves and those around us. Therapists will talk about how the very language we speak is different than how 'Normies' communicate. We talk around the subject, with implied meaning, avoiding directness. We tell lies of commission and omission. In many cases, our very perception of reality is warped.

My problem has always been me. In the grips of my disease, I'm a deeply insecure, raging egomaniac. Inside, I think of myself as the worst of the worst, while outside I demand that others treat me as the best of the best. Oh, to be right-sized...

I'm in the vice grips of my disease again today. It doesn't surprise me, actually. I've identified the boulder in the soil of my soul--the issue of low self-esteem--and have been working on it. I've been making a dedicated effort lately to embrace the good qualities I have. I've been actively doing things I enjoy doing because I enjoy them. I ordered the CDs for my latest album; I went out and shot pool for the first time in like a year. I was of service to others this week as they struggled through majorly difficult times in their lives. And I noticed that I have been feeling better--about myself and just in general, too. So it doesn't surprise me that I woke up this morning feeling depressed and low. Why? Because my disease never quits.

My disease doesn't want me to feel good about myself. It wants me to suffer and die. If I fight, it fights back. If I feel good about myself, it looks for ways to make me feel bad about myself. It tells me the most sinister of lies. It whispers in my ear that feeling good about myself, that feeling I am a person of worth and value who deserves to be happy and healthy, who deserves all the best life has to offer, is a horrible unspeakable evil and that I am the lowest of the low if I so much as dare to think these three simple words: I am enough.

Many addicts feel they are their own worst enemy, and it's true for me too. For some, it's an out-of-control ego. For me, it's a deep lack of self-worth. But I am chipping away at that boulder, and I'm not going to stop just because the evil demon that I keep jailed up inside my brain is complaining more loudly today than normal. Of course he is; I'm winning the war against him.

I shared at a meeting last night that when I feel lost, I reach out to my higher power and ask for guidance. That when I'm confused, I ask to be shown the way to go, which way to turn, what choices to make. Sometimes I ask for specific things. Sometimes I ask for the strength to do what's best for myself. Sometimes I ask for nothing more than for God to guide me, to guide my thoughts, guide my words, guide my actions. 'Keep me on the path.' 'Help me to let go; help me to do what you would have me do.' When I do this, when I stop trying to rely on my on strength and instead align myself with the strength of my higher power, that's when things go better. Sometimes the change even happens on an unconscious level and I find myself gratefully amazed at the fulfillment of that ninth step promise--I find that I'm intuitively handling situations that used to baffle me.

Today I'm going to spend more time doing the things I enjoy, the things I know are good for me. I'm going to spend time with people who love me. I've written in my journal. I'm keeping conscious contact with my higher power. I'm writing in this blog. The disease can make all the noise it wants; the louder it screams, the more I want to smile because I know the reason for its cries: I am winning the war against my disease, and my disease is a sore loser.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

"Good Man"

An important part of my program is that I journal. I write down my step work, my fears, the events that occur as I go about my life, and the thoughts and feelings that come to my mind. It's something I suggest to my sponsees, if for no other reason than to provide themselves with a written record of their Recovery journey. I'm going to share a brief bit from my entry for today.

"I want to take a moment here and give myself a break: I've spent most of my life cancelling myself out. I learned (somehow) that feeling good about myself is bad. I am working on changing these things. I am making progress. I am still on the path."

I chaired a meeting once and was told by someone afterward how much he appreciated my story, that he could tell my Recovery journey was one towards self-acceptance. I've started going to therapy again because I felt there was an immovable rock in the soil of my soul--and that rock has been revealed to me as the same-old self-esteem issue I have done so much work on. I went back to therapy looking for someone to help me figure out what this boulder was that keeps on impeding my personal growth, and for help in getting it the fuck out of there. It may be more of a break it down into smaller chunks and haul it away kind of job. And that's okay. I'm glad to be working on it, regardless of how the job ultimately gets done.

One thing I tend to do is cancel myself out. Or, in slightly harsher language, make lies of ommission about myself. I have a lot of good qualities that I don't let out, don't talk about, that I forget about. I have a number of friends, and I'm thinking of one in particular, who tell me that I'm a good man. It's true. I feel uncomfortable thinking about it or talking about it, though. That's the work I'm doing right now, continuing to become more right-sized. Honesty with ourselves has to come first before we can be honest with others. If I am attempting to lead the spiritual life, be who I really am as God has made me, then that means fully accepting who I am and not being ashamed of it--even if it means I'm a good man and deserve all the best.

This blog is part catharsis, of course. I talk about my life, hoping in part that others will read it and will benefit from my words, yes, but this blog also is a way of working my own shit out. It feels very strange to me to write about myself as someone with good qualities, but I don't doubt that my friends would think to themselves, "well, Zach, you do have a lot of good qualities; why shouldn't you embrace them and be proud of them?"

Many of us--probably most--that walk into the rooms of Recovery struggle with self-esteem issues. For myself, this struggle began long before I ever first picked up, and was compounded by my behavior in active addiction. The program has given me a way to clear away the damage I've done and deal with the wrongs I've committed. It's given me the chance, too, to work on this issue of self-esteem. With a clear head, through working the program, I've had some successes now upon which to build that which has eluded me for so long. I've stayed clean and sober for over two years. I'm one of the leaders in my Recovery community. I'm liked, respected, and admired by people I care about. It's not the be all, end all, but the beginning. It's a foundation on which I can build.

And I'm building.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

"Ongoing Problems"

I have an ongoing problem in my life: being unemployed. Though I have to admit, that bit from the movie 'Office Space' keeps coming to my mind. "You've been missing a lot of work, Peter." "I wouldn't say I've been missing it, Bob." Laughter. Seriously, though, my situation, which does carry a certain amount of stress, is nothing compared to what some others have to deal with. I have one friend who's being evicted. I have another who deals with life-threatening health issues. And then there are those who have broken brains that even medication can only do so much for.

I've only been out of work a few months. There are those who have been unemployed for years. I struggle sometimes with depression, but there are those who have Bipolar Disorder. I don't have any children, so I've no idea what it's like to deal with uncontrollable kids day after day. Or to have one of them die. Or to be unable to have children at all. I've been fortunate enough in my life to rarely deal with illness. I can only imagine what it's like to have to take medication just to stay alive, or to function in society.

What I can do is be there for those I know who deal with these issues. I can help a friend move the few possessions she has into a storage unit so that they don't get thrown out by the police. I can offer reassuring words to someone who is suicidal and be an ear for them to talk to as they struggle to find the strength to face one more day. I can offer my shoulder to cry on and a tight hug to someone as she cries about not being able to have children.

I have to take care of myself, too, of course. If I don't do that, then I'm not able to be there for anyone else.

One of the things that bothers me so much about this culture is that there are seemingly so few people who care about others. There's too much guilt-based helping, people who lend a hand not because they truly want to but because they'll feel guilty if they don't. People who don't know how to say 'no'. It breeds resentment, and they end up with harsh feelings towards those who need help. So many people don't understand or know how to have good boundaries. And of course, there's always the over-arching Laissez-Faire, Social Darwinist idea that you shouldn't help people, people should only help themselves, and if they can't they deserve to die. I really hate that shit. Maybe that makes me a socialist commie pinko tree-hugging liberal. So what? The truth is that nobody gets anywhere in life without some kind of help from someone, somewhere along the way.

I'm not always able to help others. I have my days where I'm the one who needs helped. So often I have found--and this is true for myself as well--that what most people need when they need help isn't someone else's pity. They don't want someone to solve their problems for them. More than anything, what they really need is someone to listen to them, who will hear them out, and let them know that what they think and feel is valid. That they are worthwhile as a person. That what they're going through matters.

Sometimes helping is an action. Sometimes it's nothing more than listening. Whichever it is, the help I always try to give is to make sure that the person on the other end, the one who is suffering, knows that they are loved and feels it.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

"Prayers For Others"

"Just don't drink or use and everything will be alright."

"Sometimes there are more important things than not getting loaded."

* * *

I have two people on my mind today, both of whom I hold dear to my heart. One has been out of work, unable to find employment for years, and is being evicted. The other is dealing with an abusive relationship and seemingly unconquerable mental health issues. They both have plans. One of them is going to not drink or use no matter what. The other is doing everything she can just to stay alive.

When I was a kid, I was taught that being an adult is simple: go to college and when you get out you'll get a decent paying job. With some hard work and dedication, you'll make your way steadily up the ranks. You'll be able to support a family, buy a house, and have time on the weekends to build a white picket fence. Reality turned out to be a far cry from that fantasy. So many people still have this idea in their head, though, that all you have to do is work hard and you will be rewarded. People of this stripe never seem to understand that some people don't ever get rewarded, no matter how hard they work. For all our gains against prejudice and discrimination, these forces are still alive and well. Just ask anyone who's black, or a woman, or older.

We live in a youth-oriented culture. Sometimes that means business owners will only hire young, pretty faces. Sometimes it mans they'll only hire the inexperienced, cheap labor. Sometimes it means you can't find a job no matter how hard you try, no matter how much good experience you have, for no other reason than you're just 'too old'. Not that any prospective employer will ever state it like that. No, they hide it instead in phrases like, "you're overqualified." My friend who can't find work believes very strongly that's what her situation is--that she isn't some young thing who shows off her cleavage for all to see. She's probably right. She gets asked regularly what she's going to do, where she's going to live. Her answer is a firm, resolute 'not get loaded.' She doesn't know what's going to happen, but for her she knows the way to get there is staying sober.

Some might call that a profound act of faith, and it is, but she would just shrug and say that she's learned the hard way that it's the only path open to her. All the others are dead ends.

* * *

It was through choked back tears that I heard firsthand the story of my other friend's relapse. Listening to her frightened voice over the phone, she told me about the state of her relationship--in broken shards because of infidelity. No amount of group therapy, meetings, or service was enough to keep her spirit from crumbling. The pain of years of abuse, coupled with a brain that never stopped telling her she wasn't worth anything better, was more than she could bear.

I would never dream of looking down my nose at her for needing to escape. For many addicts, the mantra of not getting loaded one day at a time gets broken down even further--one minute at a time, one second at a time, one moment at a time. For those dealing with a dual-diagnosis, battling severe depression and overwhelming life circumstances, not getting loaded can take a backseat to the far more crucial business of mere survival. Who has time to worry about getting loaded or not when it takes all you have to not commit suicide?

Some might argue that that's putting the cart before the horse, but my compassion wins out for people struggling in that deep valley of shadows. There are those that can use the energy of not getting loaded to motivate themselves and stay alive. But for me, having spent enough time walking through that valley such that I will never forget its darkness, I can not condemn someone for getting loaded if that's what they need to do to hang on to life for a few more days. If you're still alive, you still have the chance to make things better. The callousness of saying, "yeah, they killed themselves, but at least they died sober" is, in my mind, unforgivable.

* * *

Of course the ideal is to stay alive and stay sober. Life isn't always ideal. In fact, for most of us with this disease, it is so far from ideal that the idea itself is laughable. We go through a pain deeper than many can ever know. We face judgment and ridicule, not just from people on the outside looking in, but from within ourselves as well. My greatest enemy will always be my disease--that nagging voice inside that tells me that no matter what I achieve in life, no matter how much good I am to others, I will still be worthless. I am fortunate that that voice is not nearly as loud as the constant drone it used to be. It has quieted because I've had success working the program of Recovery. But it isn't always quiet. It can still scream. Sometimes, it's louder than anything else. It tells me lies that I feel are true, no matter how much evidence there might be to the contrary.

My prayers are for these two friends of mine today. I praise their courage and their strength. I hope from the deepest part of myself that each of them holds on and pushes through to better days. God be with you, my family.