"Last Day At Work... Again"

((This blog is first in a four-part series "Attitude Problem"))

Oh my, where to begin? How about a brief recap: Back in April, my company had a round of layoffs. My job wasn't cut, but because of the union rules, someone else who was laid off was able to take my job even though she had no experience doing it. Flash forward a couple months, and this person takes another job, leaving my old position vacant. The company called me and asked me to come back and do my old job again (as a temp) because they had no one to do it. I agreed. A few weeks into my being back, they hired for my position and hired someone else--and once again, it was someone who had more seniority than me yet didn't know anything about how to do my job.

((Why, yes, this is something that could drive a man to drink. Not this man, though...))

However, due to a glitch in the matrix, they weren't able to put the new person into my job right away and so kept me in the position until such time as the issue had been resolved. So I kept working, not having the faintest clue how much longer I would be working, and knowing full well that at any moment things could be magically worked out and my services would no longer be required. My bosses did talk about keeping me around long enough to train my replacement, though. Isn't that nice of them?

As I kept on working, a situation ultimately came up where my superiors tried to assign me to a task that wasn't part of my job. It was something they knew I wouldn't want to do, and something they hadn't cleared me for as part of their agreement with my temp agency. It's possible they just hadn't expected me to be around this long. And it's possible they knew that if they'd tried to make my doing this task a condition of my coming back, that I wouldn't have come back to begin with. When the time came for me to do this task, they gave me no prior warning or notification; I came in to work one day and discovered I had simply been assigned to it. And the notice had come not in person, not by any official email, but by a phone call left on my voicemail.

This task was something I had done in the past, that I had complained to my superiors about each time, and loudly enough that they'd learned it wasn't really worth the headache to have me do it except on the most rare of occasions. It's an extremely menial task, something that is a poor use of me as a resource, and their assigning me to do it always gave me the impression (along with other more subtle indicators) that they didn't see me or the work I do as valuable.

When I was assigned to do it this time, I had an out. It wasn't work I'd been contracted to do; it actually would have been illegal for me to do it. Those are more technicalities than anything, though. The rigorously honest truth is that it was something I didn't want to do. Actually, no, here's the rigorously honest truth: oh HELL no, you are NOT making me do THAT shit.

After hearing the voicemail, I went to see my superiors. I let them know that I was pretty sure they couldn't assign me to do this task. I reminded them that I'm a skilled worker, and that I had my own job that needed doing. They looked at me with blank faces. Empty eyes stared back and I've no idea whether they were thinking to themselves "aha! Now we've got him!" Or "the robot is speaking? It's not supposed to do that..."

I stood my ground. Then I contacted my temp agency to let them know the situation. A flurry of communications went back and forth between my superiors, the temp folks, and our company's human resources department. The culmination of all these was a closed-door meeting between my superiors and myself. They let me know I was right, that they couldn't force me to do this task. Then they informed me they were going to hire a temp who they could force to do it and gave me the 'opportunity' to be that temp. They're such nice guys! I told them 'no, thank you.'

I got a call from my temp agency the next day. My contact asked about the meeting. Then she asked if they had given me a last date for my assignment here. I told her that they hadn't and that I was very surprised by this, given the nature of the conversation. She said, "well, they told me." And she let me know when it was--today is that day. It's less than a week later.

"Being Two"

A quick note about what I wrote on yesterday: everything's alright. As expected, my fears were just running rampant. Uncle Steve had the damn tv up so loud I couldn't hear myself think.

* * *

I'm here at the evil workplace again, and while I do have some writing to do on that, I have something else on my mind. On Friday, I went to two birthday meetings. The first was my AA homegroup. I claimed my two years, got my chip, and was a little overwhelmed by it. Not so much to tears, but I definitely regressed to a bit of a childlike state as I declared in a little kid voice, "it says two!" When I'm done being embarrassed, I'll laugh at myself for that. It didn't last long, though, and for my brief share I talked about being a link in a chain now, how I can't do life without the help of the group, and how amazing it was to not be alone anymore. Talking to an old-timer afterwards, I mentioned how at some point I'll just accept that I'm sober now, but there's still a lot of shell-shocked happening inside. Still a lot of fear. These things pass in time.

I went to my Marijuana Anonymous meeting after and we had an incredible birthday night. Lots of people took chips. I got to stand by one of my sponsees as he got his one-year. I almost cried, giving it to him. I know that not every meeting does that, where the sponsor gives the chip, but I like that we do. I'm proud of him, and was proud to tell everyone so. For mine, I talked about never being cured and about how as time I get time, it feels less an less like something I did and more and more like something I allowed to happen.

I work a program of total sobriety. I don't have seperate dates for alcohol or pot (or shrooms or crystal meth). To me, any chip I get represents my time free of all substances, but I like having the two chips. The MA one is plastic and comes on a keychain. The AA chip is brass. Over the weekend, I drilled a hole in the top so I could put a chain through it and attach it to my keys, too.

They're sitting on my desk right now, facing me. The "II" of the AA and the "2 Years" of my MA and I feel like... I'm not sure. A sense of accomplishment, for sure. Some pride. A lot of gratitude. A slight sense of having 'made it'. The second year was tough. In some ways, much harder than the first. I feel like I learned more this past year, but the amount I've learned both years is so great, it's really tough to tell.

I had a conversation with a friend of mine around the time he turned three. We joked about how after the first year the old-timers told us that 'now it gets hard'. And he commented about how the third year was harder than the second. He laughed, saying that every time you pass a milestone, it gets even harder and wondered about when it actually got easier. I guessed that it isn't that it stops getting harder, you just get better at handling the fact that it does keep getting harder.

* * *

Two is a big deal for me. Two is the age that I point to as an age that I stopped developing. It's the age that I locked in the idea that I had to be what someone else wanted me to be in order to be loved. It's the age that I bought in to the idea that I wasn't enough, just as I am. It's the age where I learned that I had to be a 'good little boy', that I had to be 'perfect'. Recovery has been a process of unlearning these things, among others.

I write in this blog about Lil' Joshua--my inner child--who is two. For me to be two now in my sobriety, I find myself with a sense of finally being able to move forward. To grow and develop as I should have been allowed to but wasn't. I know I've made great strides already, and this talk of being two is in some ways more metaphor than anything else, but in some ways it's not. Events in my personal life have shown me recently that the two-year-old inside is still two. I can still throw a tantrum, stomp my feet, and shout 'no' when I don't get my way.

There's still so much to learn. There's still bumps and kinks to be worked through and ironed out. There's still work to do, and there always will be. And in the meantime, life keeps happenning.

I don't know where the attitude of mine comes from, that life is a life-long process of learning. It doesn't really matter. I'm glad for the opportunity to keep learning. I've done some thinking here and there about what the meaning of it all is, about my purpose in life. I've prayed and asked God what my mission here on this Earth is, and the guidance I've received has been to be who I really am as I've been created. At least part of that is someone who wants to learn: about myself, about others, about the world around us.

Maybe there's a natural curiosity that goes with being two, and maybe its brightness will fade in time. I hope not. In the meantime, it's keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep doing the right thing. Let myself be guided. Be true to who I am, and serve God by honoring him as best I can each moment. And when Lil' Joshua shows up and tries to run things, don't beat him down, but let him know that he is loved.

"Reckoning With Grief"

Grief and fear are on my mind today. Someone I love is going through a very tough time, reckoning with a loss that she has kept at bay for years. It’s finally broken through and feels like more than she can handle. She talks about feeling like she’s drowning. I’m afraid for her and find myself worrying and afraid for myself. I know full-well that she’s strong enough to make it through, but I’m still afraid she won’t. I’m having shadows of Ken’s death, and doing a lot of reaching out to my higher power for peace from my overactive imagination.

My brain is doing its addict thing. Uncle Steve is watching the old videos from when Ken committed suicide. He’s telling me we’ll have a new video to watch soon. I snap at him to shut the fuck up, that he doesn’t know the future. I’m telling myself that I don’t know the future, and to have faith, and that regardless of what happens I will make it through somehow. But that damn addict side—good ol’ Uncle Steve—is already making his plans for the worst.

I try to remember that this what I do, that I don’t always handle uncertainty well. That my fears are fierce. And that being consumed by my stuff prevents me from being there for those who need me. But that damn Uncle Steve side keeps shouting at me. He’s just a metaphor I use here, in this blog, because it’s easier to talk about him sometimes than it is to say the simple truths: I’m afraid. I’m worried.

Thoughts about my own suicide attempts are showing up, and the damn disease is using them as a way to try to make me feel less-than. It tells me that I’m a liar for saying I have three suicide attempts—it tells me, “you got interrupted once, and the second time you reached out for help and had yourself put in a mental hospital; you never really tried to commit suicide. You didn’t actually load a gun and point it at your head. You didn’t ever actually slit your wrists. And that third time, what a joke! Trying to OD on pills that you can’t overdose on? What a moron!”

The disease feeds on fear. It’s like candy to it.

I look down at my legs and count the scars from my self-inflicted cigarette burns and razor blade cuts. Twelve on the right; six on the left. I know there used to be more. They’re fading as time continues to pass. It’s been years now since I made any, but I still remember doing them. I can still remember the intense, agonizing pain I was in that was so intolerable that holding a lit cigarette to my skin was the only escape I could find from it. I can still remember feeling so consumed by fear and sorrow and pain that the only way out seemed to be ending it all.

A sponsee of mine is dealing with a real hard issue right now. It’s something totally different than the situations I’m writing about here, but it’s strong enough that he’s debating leaving the program. I told him about a basic, basic, tool that I started practicing when I began my Recovery: acceptance. The way through is acceptance. Know how you feel, and know that it’s okay to feel it.

I’m afraid right now. Some of that fear is justified. Some of it is the specter of my past experiences reasserting themselves on the present. Some of it is my disease blowing things way out of proportion. But fear is just a feeling, and feelings don’t kill us. They can be so strong that they overwhelm us, they can threaten to drown us, but they can’t actually do so. I’ve learned through my work in Recovery to name my feelings, to call out my emotions.

The way through is acceptance. If I’m feeling fear, then that’s what I feel. And that’s okay. And I will BE okay, no matter what. Because I’m okay now.

“Life Happens”

(This blog is first in a three-part series, “Time Takes Time”)

When I had a year of Recovery under my belt, I got involved in a relationship. Making a long story short, it was not a good thing. Things between us were very chaotic. I’d say that I went totally insane trying to do it, but the truth is that I’d been totally insane to even start it. By the time it was over, I’d managed to devolve into such a hysterical state that I was punching holes in doors again.

I have a friend who went through some difficult times financially. He decided to go to his parents and ask for their help. They had been so supportive of his getting clean, and of him moving forward with his life, that he assumed they would give him any help he needed. He approached them thinking they would say ‘yes’; he knew they loved him and thought they would want him to be successful in his new life. They denied his request for help, and in response he cut them out of his life. He had around nine months at the time.

Someone who I think very highly of had two years clean when she reached a breaking point. Things in her marriage were not so good, her children were driving her crazy, her job was stressful beyond belief, and money was so tight that she didn’t know from day to day whether she would be able to feed her family. She called her sponsor, kept going to meetings, but each day was a struggle to not get in her car and literally just drive away from all of it.

At a recent meeting, I had a conversation with a newcomer. She has about three months. She’s got a sponsor, is working the steps, and is being of service. Currently, she’s unemployed. She has children who are grown and out of the house, but their lives are filled with insanity and it affects her. She tries to help, and tries to keep boundaries, but finds herself full of anger and sadness and all the other emotions that go along with trying to deal with life. She told me that she finds herself shutting down and spending days locked away in her room, in bed, because it’s all too much. She wants to yell, scream, cry.

My sponsor will share in meetings that he has done some crazy things in sobriety. A newcomer I knew once shared with me privately that hearing this comment was the reason why she chose to continue working the program: because she realized that she could be crazy and sober at the same time. Her thinking was that it was okay for her to be sober if she was allowed to still be insane, too.

I had a best friend once who one day, after insisting to me for months that he wasn’t interested in an ex-girlfriend of mine, let me know that the two of them were getting together. They’d had feelings for each other for a long time and he couldn’t bear the guilt of it any longer. Even though he knew it might well be the end of our friendship, he had to do what he had to do. We’ve barely spoken to each other since.

Recovery is a process, not an event. Our lives don’t magically become perfect overnight just because we get sober. We still create wreckage. We still create chaos. And no matter how much time we get, we are never cured. Our brains and our bodies are damaged. Our thinking and our reasoning processes have become warped by the disease. That doesn’t change just because we stop putting in.

“Stress Happens”

(This blog is second in a three-part series, “Time Takes Time”)

There’s a lot of research into addiction happening these days. I listened to a lecture recently where the doctor talked about the medical community’s current understanding of our illness. He broke it down into simple terms: addiction is a brain disease that affects a very specific part of the brain. It isn’t the part of the brain that handles our conscious thoughts, or our moral reasoning, but our instincts. Our actual survival instinct has been hijacked, distorted.

Our brains have become convinced that our survival is dependent on putting in whatever it is we’re addicted to. That’s why cravings are so fierce for those of us who suffer from the disease: our brain is telling our body that we won’t survive if we don’t put in. And the trigger for this reaction isn’t trauma, it’s stress. Yes, many of us who suffered trauma learned to cope with it by getting loaded. But the medical community says that it isn’t the trauma itself that’s the issue, it’s the stress caused by the trauma.

In meetings, you’ll hear people talk about how we did what we had to do to survive. This is literally true. The horrors some of us experienced were so untenable that we couldn’t handle them; we got loaded because it was the only way we could find to cope. We didn’t have any skills for dealing with what we had been through. This is especially true for those of us abused as children. The trauma of abuse is one of the biggest stressors a human being can experience. For some, it is an experience so horrible that it cannot be experienced; it has to be repressed. But even when that happens, the experience is still there and the stress of it still exists.

Trauma isn’t the only thing that causes stress, of course. Losing a job. Getting a new job. Having difficulties in your marriage or relationship. A big test for school. Trying to get a promotion at work. Buying a house. Being homeless. Stress is the trigger for cravings, because those of us with this disease have taught our brains that the way to handle stress is by getting loaded. If our disease has progressed to the point where we are constantly getting loaded, it is because we have come to depend on our substances more and more for each and every little stress that life throws our way. The OA folks are very clued into this; they talk about being ‘stress-eaters’ and ‘compulsive eaters’.

The doctor closed out his lecture by saying that 12-step programs are fantastic lessons on how to deal with stress, and I can see his point. Looking at the steps from that perspective, I see it like this:

Lying is stressful, so we learn to practice honesty instead (Step One). Feeling that there is no way out, that we are trapped, we find hope that we might not be trapped after all (Step Two). Knowing that we can’t do it by ourselves and need help, and becomming willing to accept that help is a huge stress reliever. We find a way to have faith in those who can help us and in our higher power to give us help (Step Three).

Carrying resentments around, being consumed by our fears and the weight of the past, is an enormous stress. We've wrought all kinds of crazy havoc on our lives and the lives of those around us. So we practice courage and learn how to let go of all of it (Step Four). We share about the hard stuff of our lives with someone else who understands what we’ve been through. We get a huge amount of relief in learning that we are not alone (Step Five). Etc., etc.

“Recovery Happens”

(This blog is third in a three-part series, “Time Takes Time”)

Life is stressful. Dealing with life on life’s terms is HARD. Especially for those of us with this disease. We don’t have the years of experience dealing with it that normies do. We don’t have experience dealing with other people, with ourselves, or with the world around us. For a multitude of reasons, we weren’t given the tools we needed to live our lives. We learned how to deal with life by getting loaded.

The program of Recovery teaches us a different way. It teaches us how to manage our stress levels. It teaches us how to handle our emotions. It teaches us volumes, and we re-wire that new information into our brains by doing. Every time we deal with life without getting loaded, we help to undo some piece of the damage caused by our disease.

But it takes time.

You’ll hear people talk about how they stopped developing when they starting using. This is a truth. Normies have their whole lifetimes of experiences in dealing and coping with the shit life throws at us. For many of us with this disease, the only amount of time we have is the length of time we’ve been sober.

When people talk about ‘being two’ (my current age), they mean it more literally than figuratively. The NA folks really have a point when they say give yourself a break. Acceptance is so crucial. When we start working the program, we don’t have the experience of dealing with our lives and so we deal with them as best we can. And we create chaos. And we create wreckage. It. Happens.

It takes time to learn how to deal with all the many convoluted complications life confronts us with. It takes time to learn how to process our emotions. It takes time to get to know ourselves and learn who we really are. And while we’re doing all that learning, life keeps on happening.

So we do the best we can. We try to remember that we aren’t perfect. One of my favorite sayings is that if you aren’t making mistakes, you’re not learning. It’s so true. In the program we say ‘make different mistakes’--it’s an acknowledgement that we are going to screw up, and that if we can learn from our missteps, we can make changes in our lives and keep moving forward.

Never forget—we aren’t supposed to be sober; we’re supposed to be loaded. We’re supposed to be dead. As I heard a speaker say once, “the biggest miracle in any meeting is when someone gets up and takes a 30-day chip.” We always have a choice. We can keep moving forward, or we can go back out. If we’re not doing the one, then we’re doing the other. You’re either moving away from your next drink/hit, or moving towards it. We don’t get to stagnate. If we stop moving forward, the disease pulls us back. It will pull us all the way back out.

It takes time. It takes time to learn a different way of life and, as we learn, we are going to cause chaos and wreckage. The program gives us a way to handle that. It gives us a way to deal with it. And as we keep working the program, we create less chaos and less wreckage.

If you’re reading this blog and you’re new to Recovery, keep at it. If you’re an old-timer and you’re reading this blog, keep at it. We must maintain a constant vigilance. The rewards are there. The miracle is there. It will happen. Don’t quit before the miracle happens.

"No More Miracles On Demand"

When we’re active in our disease, we find ourselves in all kinds of messes, things that it would literally take a miracle to get out of. We can’t see that we have (more often than not) created our own mess. Our prayers aren’t humble; we don’t ask, we demand. We demand miracles and we don’t understand that our higher power loves us so much that we are given the freedom to get ourselves out of the messes we’ve created—if we choose to.

One of my sponsees shared with me once about how he prayed many times for God to relieve him of his disease, to help him stop using. It never worked before now. He says the reason why, the difference between then and now, is as clear as day to him: he had to do his part. There is a very old saying: God helps those who help themselves.

I have a friend who, when he talks about his faith in his higher power, talks about how he used to pray to the 'Santa Claus' God. That's hilarious to those of us who know what he's talking about. To someone who doesn't, I imagine it's confusing as all hell. Someone else I know will talk about how, when she feels herself starting to get sick, used to pray to God that she didn't; now she prays that if she does get sick, God will give her the strength to get through it as best she can.

Step Eleven: [...] praying only for knowledge of God's will for us and the power to carry that out.

I hear people in meetings share about sending up their 'flare prayer' and I like that idea a lot. No matter where we are, what we're doing, or what we're going through, we can make contact with our higher power and ask for help. Working the program of Recovery retrains our thinking, reconditions the way we pray. Most of us come in to the rooms knowing only how to pray for something specific. "Give me this job," or "let my mother live through her illness". Sometimes our prayers are outright selfish, sometimes they might not seem so at all.

A real hard-line approach would be to say that any time we pray for something we want, it's a selfish prayer. I can't quite buy in to that. I don't think it's selfish to pray that your parent or child doesn't die. Asking for strength and courage to get through a difficult situation is a fine prayer for anyone at anytime, in my opinion. Praying for others' health and happiness? I don't see anything wrong with that.

Prayer is a spiritual discipline, though. When we work the eleventh step, we focus very intently on praying in a very specific way. There is great, deep power in this kind of prayer. We try to let go of everything inside ourselves that keeps us from the fullest acceptance of God's will. It's a prayer of acceptance. We do our best to remove our desires, our thoughts, feelings, and motivations from the equation. We ask some of the deepest questions there are. We ask for direct guidance on living our lives.

The Santa Claus prayer is when we are praying selfishly for what we want. The Eleventh Step prayer is praying selflessly for what God wants. I think it's simplified best like this: Thy will be done. I don't really like the old language there, so I tend to go for the more current: Your will be done, not mine. Either way, it's a prayer for living life according to my higher power's plan, of letting go and not trying to force reality to resemble my design. It's about finding peace and acceptance for what is, and not being stuck in what might be.

There are two people close to me who started Recovery more or less because their spouses delivered an ultimatum: either get help, or I’m leaving. One of them is no longer married, the other is; both of them felt in that moment that it was the worst possible thing that could have happened to them. Now, both of them feel that it was absolutely for the best.

Our higher power doesn’t really answer prayers that follow the format of ‘I want’ or ‘make this happen’. We aren’t given what we want; we are given what we need. Maybe we don’t like it at first, maybe we can’t understand it, but as time passes and more is revealed, we find gratitude and comfort in the knowledge that we are cared for and loved.

"What Does Two Years Look Like?"

On Saturday, I celebrated 2 years of continuous sobriety. Two years clean and sober from any and all mind- and mood-altering substances. I went to a sober BBQ and enjoyed the companionship of my fellows. A number of people had a lot of love for me and it was an awesome day. I made some time to journal and comment on the occasion, but discovered I didn't have much to say. When I mentioned this to my sponsor, he laughed about how funny it is that there isn't much to say when things are going good; we can go on for hours if we're pissed off about something, but life being good simplifies very simply: life is good.

I'm going to qualify that just a bit and say it more specifically: life is working now.

I have a job. It sucks, there are tons of toxic people all around me, backstabbing, undermining, childish behavior, but for the most part it doesn't bother me. I don't have to get involved. I'm not appreciated as much as I'd like, and definitely treated as less-than, but I don't lose sleep or have temper tantrums over it. There is a resilience there, a strong spiritual force that comes from within.

I'm in touch with my family. They are still themselves. They still communicate the way they do, still live their lives in ways that strike me as insane and unmanageable. They never talked about my problem before I got into Recovery, and now that I've been clean and sober for a while they still don't talk about it. But I don't try to change them anymore. I don't berate them. I even manage to avoid judging them most of the time. It's a far cry from two years ago when I wasn't even speaking to them.

I'm dating. It's going how dating goes. I meet women; sometimes we connect and sometimes we don't. I can recognize when something isn't working and let it go. I don't try desperately to hold on to something that's unhealthy. I don't try to make something work that doesn't. If I meet a woman who has issues, I am supportive but I don't take them on--they are her issues and I let her have them. Some of the women I've dated, I'm still friends with; some of them I'm not. But that's very different from how I used to burn every relationship to a smoking cinder. And when things are over, I don't break stuff anymore. I don't put my fist through doors anymore. I can't think of the last time I yelled or screamed.

I am responsible now. I pay my bills and my rent and I do it on time. I keep to a budget. I have a savings. I live in a very decent place that has enough room for me and my music equipment. I take care of things that need taking care of, and usually I do it sooner rather than later. I obey laws now. I still don't like cops, but hey how 'bout that?

These are all external changes, and they are impressive, like night and day from how things used to be. But the internal changes are the more amazing ones. Things like how much peace I have inside, how centered I am within myself, and how the strength and force of that peace pulls me back to it. Being serene has become my new normal. When I am knocked off of it, I return to it almost like one of those children's toys that perpetually rights itself.

I know now--without a doubt--that I am a person of value and of worth, and I know it deep inside myself. I have people in my life who truly love and care about me unconditionally. My sense of self is not dependent on who my friends are, or how much money I make, or anything outside of me; it comes from within. The friends I have in my life I have because I care about them and their lives. Two years ago, I did not have friends. Period.

Being sober isn't the center of my life, though. Recovery, working the program, that is not my life. It isn't a way of life to me, it's a way of living. Recovery is the way I have found to be in the world that works. I am not the center of my life, either. Not to get too spiritual, here, but my life and my body are all just on loan. God is the center of my life. I put my trust in him, ask for knowledge of his will for me, the ability to make it so, and he gives me what I need. And I get to stay sober.

I get to help others, too, to find what I have found. It isn't easy. I've had some hard times and dark days. But I've gotten through it all without picking up and the end result has always been for the best. To say I have a life beyond my wildest dreams? I guess that description fits, but it doesn't do justice to what life is like for me now--especially when compared to how it used to be. It's like trying to describe color to a blind man, or music to a deaf woman.

So I'm going to close out this entry with a return to where I started. What does 2 years look like? Life works now. It sure as hell didn't before. And that's a fuckin miracle beyond human power and understanding, possible only through some seriously hardcore divine intervention. I truly am one of the lucky ones, no two ways about it.

"Less Than"

People don't need to know that we're drug addicts in order to treat us like shit. There are all kinds of other reasons. Any excuse will do to treat us as less-than. Because we're a man, because we're a woman; because we're gay, because we're straight. Because we're red, black, yellow, brown, or white. Because we’re poor. Because we’re rich. When AA first started back in the 30s and 40s, there was a social stigma attached to alcoholism that many of us might have a hard time understanding. We don't have to deal with that as much anymore. Even the stigma against being a drug addict is passing as more people come to understand the nature of the disease, and that those who suffer from it need help and not punishment.

But people will find any excuse to treat other human beings as less-than human. As for those of us in Recovery from this disease, we get to learn how to deal with being treated that way. We get to learn how to act from our spiritual sides, instead of just reacting. When someone confronts us, treats us badly, the temptation rises to lash out. If someone is talking shit to our face, we want to trash them back, or give them the beating we think they deserve. Recovery teaches us we don't have to do any of those things. Not everyone has the urge to react in those ways, though.

Some of us hear a voice telling us we're no good and think it to be true. I am one of these. Growing up, I had many voices telling me I was worthless and few to tell me that wasn't true. I had very few successes to help me build self-esteem. Growing up, I learned that I was worthless, no good, not a person of value. I learned, too, to cover this emptiness up with loud, boisterous bragging. I covered up the fact that I knew so little by acting like I knew everything. I covered up my deep insecurity by acting like I was the shit, and with a lot of false modesty thrown in in an attempt to force others to tell me things I didn’t know how to tell myself.

Feeling good about ourselves has to come from the inside.

It was not until I started Recovery that I began to learn that I was a person of worth and value. And it was a long time before I started learning how to love myself. This, too, is a process. It takes time. The longer we work at it, the better we get at it. I began this process by feeling the love of other people in the group. It didn't make sense to me at first, but over time I began to accept it. I learned how to have boundaries and how to let go of people in my life who didn't treat me with love. I learned that I get to choose who is in my life and who isn't. Slowly, I learned that I do deserve to be treated well, that I don't deserve to be treated as less-than. Slowly, I am learning to accept that there will always be others are going to treat me as less-than, no matter what I do.

Now that I know these things, my reaction when treated as less-than tends to be more like the first example. I feel my anger rise, my righteous indignation, my ego being threatened. There is a part of me that feels threatened, his back up against the wall. Somewhere inside of me, a protective voice wants to shout, "how dare you! Who do you think you are to say that to me? To do that to me? Don't you have any idea what I've been through, the hard work I've done? Don't you know who I am?!?!" And this, of course, is my disease, too. As much as the part of me that wants to give up and accept another's limitations on me exists, so too does my disease want to bash the face of someone who lowers me to a status less-than theirs.

It's about balance, about finding the middle ground. I don’t have to accept someone else’s opinion of me, and I don’t have to try and change it. I can know, inside, that I am enough, and that someone else’s opinion of me is none of my business.

So I remember that I am a person of worth, and of value, and that I am loved no matter what anyone else might think about me. I remember that I am human, imperfect, and that I am going to fall short sometimes. All I can do is my best. And my best is good enough. I am good enough. I don't have to prove it to anyone anymore, not even to myself. I know it, deep inside.

Sometimes I forget these truths, but because I make healthier choices these days, I have people in my life now to remind me of them.

"Feeling Good Ain't Bad"

Feel your feelings. Do something different. Good stuff in life can be just as difficult to handle as the bad. Maybe even more so. These are the thoughts that are circling in my brain today.

I was talking with my sponsor yesterday and we both agree that my life seems to be going pretty darn well these days. Part of it is the benefits of having nearly 2 years clean and sober; a lot of it is continuing to work a strong program. On Tuesday, I chaired a meeting and I wrapped things up by saying that Recovery isn't my life, but it's working the program that allows me to have a life. And today, because of the program, because of the help of others, and because of the grace God has shown me, life is good.

And because I am still an addict, the fact that life is good can be a problem all unto itself.

My sponsor would say that life being good isn't a problem; just accept that it is and enjoy it while you can because this too shall pass. Or he might say that if it is a problem, it's a quality problem to have. Both of those are true, and are excellent advice, but I want to take just a minute here to sit in the middle of this so-called problem and study its shape. Maybe I'm suffering a little shock from the fact of being faced with it. Maybe I'm feeling reflective because my 2-year birthday is the day after tomorrow.

Really, though, I feel like what I want most is to reach out to those reading this blog and ask the question, "has life ever gone so well that it scared you shitless?" and reply, "me, too."

I've seen people work this program, have success doing so, and manifest some pretty amazing rewards. Sometimes it's material. They'll buy a new car for the first time in their lives, or buy a house. They might finally get the dream job they've always wanted. Or maybe they find a great relationship partner, someone they connect with and can share their whole selves with.

For me, I used to do a lot of self-sabotage. I didn't believe I deserved for good things to happen to me, so at the times they did I would find some way to stop it from happening. It's not like this was a conscious thought process for me, far from it. For example, if I found myself with a great friend, I would question their motives (or their sanity) and even though I might not say anything to them, my behaviors and my attitude towards them would change, would sour. Soon enough, they wouldn't be interested in being my friend anymore. And in my mind I would think 'good riddance', or that they had proved themselves to be the phonies I had decided they were.

When we're always loaded, we don't deal with our feelings. Learning to process them is a learning process, to be sure. Many of us have plenty of experience feeling bad, so those are the feelings we tend to learn how to deal with first. But we can have just as hard a time dealing with feeling good, too. I know I do. Lately, I've been feeling a lot of good stuff. It's been very strong, intense. And I've found myself thinking along the lines of, "oh shit! What do I do with this?!?!"

I don't have to do anything with it at all, of course. I can sit in it, feel it to its fullest. It's just a feeling, it's not going to kill me. In fact, one thing I've been thinking about is that it's just as important to not react to strong good feelings as it is to not react to strong bad feelings. That was always the mistake in the past--ohmygod, I'm feeling something really strong and I can't handle it and I have to do something about it RIGHT NOW!! But that is the addict pattern. It's the need to escape, the fear of being unable to handle something. The inexperience of feeling something, and so I would react to it, do something, instead of just staying centered, feeling whatever it is, and accepting.

One thing that helps me sometimes is to imagine how I might handle what I'm going through if I were a spiritual master. And for this, it seems to me that I would handle it much as I would other intense feelings. It would go something like this:

"Hmm. I'm feeling really great. That doesn't happen all that often. Very interesting."

It's not a denial of what I'm going through, just a calm acceptance of it. I feel what I'm feeling, yet remain centered within myself. The feeling doesn't rule me, I am not the feeling, it is a part of me. Feeling what I feel does not require escape. It doesn't demand action of any kind. But even from that perspective, I admit I still have a very strong sense of "holy shit!" happening inside. And that's okay.

It's okay to feel good. It's even okay to feel really good and to be really happy. I don't have to drown in it, I can float above it and be amazed. Handling feelings takes time and practice. But the more we practice, the better we get at it.

"What's In A Fellowship?"

Also known as, "A meeting is a meeting is a meeting." Why? Because the disease is the disease is the disease. Experts in the field, medical and psychological, will tell you this. Sometimes they call it alcoholism, sometimes they call it addiction. It's the same thing. It's why the 12-steps work regardless of what you're hooked on. It's why so-called cross addiction is such a huge issue. It's why working a true program of Recovery requires being clean and sober of all mind and mood-altering substances. If you're going to Narcotics Anonymous but still drinking, you're not sober. If you go to Alcoholics Anonymous but smoke pot, you're not sober.

This is not to say that the different fellowships don't have their place. The main fellowship I attend is Marijuana Anonymous. That was my drug of choice. Sure, I drank. I've done crystal meth, some shrooms, and bits of other things here and there. But no matter what else I tried, pot was my main drug. When I talk about being loaded 24-7, I'm talking about the weed. I go to MA because it gives me a chance to talk about pot (if I need to) and because there are people there whose disease manifestation most closely resembles my own. But it's not the only fellowship I attend.

I also regularly attend an AA meeting that I absolutely love. While I'm there, I respect their traditions and don't talk about pot. But I go because there's good Recovery in that room, and I can relate because I can look at the times I did drink and see that I drank alcoholically. I can identify with the things they have felt and the insanity of their lives. I have the same disease they do. I go because there are people there who have time. There's a joy there, and a firm commitment to living the spiritual life. I listen to them talk and want what they have. It's the place I go to get the Recovery I need. Then I take that and pass it right along to the other meetings I go to.

I've watched people take sobriety chips and talk about how their drinking is a problem, but at least they've still got their time off of pot. I've known people who drink and smoke weed everyday but still consider themselves sober because they don't do crank or shoot heroin anymore. To me, that's insane. This is a program of rigorous honesty, but I can't control other people. One of the reasons the 12-step program has been so successful is because each member is personally responsible for their own program. No one else gets to tell them they can't take a chip.

Most of the time, I can remind myself of this and let it go. If I find I can't, I talk about it with my sponsor or other people in the program. If I still have trouble, I can work a fourth-step around the issue. But it is frustrating to me, in general, that so many people fail to recognize the full extent of this disease. I talk about this with one of my sponsees a lot, too. He has a sponsee that refuses to change his sobriety date. I just remind him of the same things that I need reminding of: we can't control other people. We can be rigorously honesty with ourselves, set an example, and allow others to follow it if they choose to.

This point that I harp on from time to time, that it's all the disease, is one of my main themes on this blog. I talk about it for a number of reasons. One of those reasons is that it breaks my heart to see someone who is suffering not get the help they need. Another is this really important point: the fact that we abuse substances (regardless of what those substances are) is a symptom of the disease, not the disease itself. All the crazy behaviors and thought processes that go along with the substance abuse, they are not the disease either--that's why bad behaviors and insanity continues even if someone is 'dry'. And this is why the 12-step program of recovery works, regardless of whatever your favored substance is: the 12-steps treat the disease itself, not its symptoms. It is a spiritual program, designed specifically to treat a spiritual malady. The purpose of the twelve steps, and what happens to those of us who work them, is to develop a spiritual way of life.

In some meetings, you'll hear them talk about the purpose of the steps being to find God and build a relationship with him. I don't like saying it like that, because even the G-word comes loaded with so many preconceptions. But the concept is true. We learn about a power greater than ourselves, how to get in touch with it, and to lead lives centered around it and not centered around ourselves. For some, that means 'God'. For others, it means the 'Great Spirit'. For still others it means the sky, or the universe itself. If I were to be specific about what my higher power is like, I'd have to call it that force which is everything and is in everything, that guides us and gives us the freedom to guide ourselves. Most of the time I cheat and say 'God' because it's a lot shorter, but I am always aware that my concept of God is very different from that of many Christians.

A lot of people get hung up on 'God'. A lot of people get hung up on the different substance abuses that manifest from this disease. As the saying goes, we listen for the similarities and not the differences. It's a good thing that Narcotics Anonymous exists, because many addicts wouldn't get the help they need if it didn't. Too many alcoholics can't see the similarities there. It's too bad that so many NA meetings urge people to go to AA for help with their alcohol issues, even though it says right in the opening readings that alcohol is a drug.

One of the reasons I have been so successful in working the program of Recovery is that I was able to recognize right from the beginning that the disease is the disease, regardless of what substance is abused. I was able to see that my behaviors weren't because I was a bad person, but because I am spiritually sick. And yes, I do use the present tense there. I am never cured. I will always be an addict. But if I stay sober, if I keep working the program, then I will continue to receive my daily reprieve.

"Reading 'No More' Once More"

I recently picked up and started re-reading Melody Beattie's "Codependent No More" again. It's one of my favorite books, and even though it's a little old, I still feel it's one of those books that's a good read for anyone in Recovery--and for those in a relationship with someone who has this disease, of course.

Some addiction experts describe codependency as 'the disease, but without an addiction'. Some people call it the way we learn to relate to those who have the disease. It's a way of living that is characterized by doing things for other people that they can and should be doing for themselves; excessive helping; poor boundaries; not acting but only reacting; obsessive thoughts; low self-worth; attempts to control use/drinking; guilt-motivated actions; and a whole host of other behaviors.

A woman who takes away her husband's booze to try to force him to stop drinking. A parent who does their grown child's laundry. A man who rumages through his girlfriend's phone to see who she's been calling. A son who provokes his father into beating him instead of his mother. A girl who has sex with a man in the hopes that he'll stay with her. The addict in Recovery who bends over backwards to repair relationships with their children in an atempt to make up for years spent high. These are all codependent acts. They are all attempts to control something we can't--specifically, other people.

Many of us in Recovery have codependence issues. It's been suggested to me that codependency is my primary issue, and not my disease. To me, that question is a non-starter because I see codependency as just another shade of this spiritual malady. My feelings on the subject are "of course I'm codependent--I'm an addict." I have an innate difficulty accepting life on life's terms. I have a natural inability to let go of the things I can't control. Through working the program of Recovery, I am learning. Thank god.

I have a special relationship with this book, though, because this is the book that got me started on the path to Recovery. The first time I read it, it was a spiritual awakening all unto itself. I learned about boundaries. At the time, I didn't know that I was allowed to have them. I began the process of learning how to be in touch with what I think, and what I feel, and I began learning to live my life according to those things and not according to what I thought others expected me to think and feel. It planted in my brain the seed of an idea that would eventually grow and blossom into I Am Enough.

As time has passed, and especially as my time in Recovery has passed, I have gone back to this book. Usually I just read a few pages here and there. It's been a blessing to re-read the characteristic behaviors and thought patterns and see in myself that I'm doing less and less of them as time goes on. This book has been a huge resource for me in my work with my sponsees. It's helped me to keep my own boundaries strong and advise them in ways to do the same.

People who attend Al-Anon or ACA do a lot of work on codependency issues. Just like working any 12-step program, the changes made are true life changes. A different way of relating to other people is learned. And a different way of relating to yourself is learned, too. There's even a Codependents Anonymous fellowship, which helps people to deal with these issues regardless of whether they have someone in their life who suffers from addiction or alcoholism. I love their first step; it's about being powerless over other people. That's a valuable thing to remember for everyone, and sponsors especially.

Whether you have this disease yourself or someone important in your life does, you owe it to yourself to give this book a read. It can change your life. It sure changed mine.

"Among The Normies"

What's with all the less-than?! This is what I'm asking myself right at this exact point. Allow me to explain.

I'm at a party, put on by an old college friend. It's cool, actually. When a bunch of musicians get together and have a party, they don't really have entertainment. Everybody brings their gear and you get a rotating group of performers. People step up, go off, and everybody gets to play while everybody gets to listen to everybody play. I've yet to step up, but I know I won't get away without taking my turn at the keys.

There's lots of booze, and I caught a whiff of the ganja, too. I'm holding fast to my 7up.

I don't put myself in these situations very often, because it leads directly to all kinds of unhealthy thoughts. Damn I wish I could drink like normal people. Man, it'd be nice to get high. This party has some added stress for me, though, and it's bigger than the urge to get loaded, wishing I was up there playing with everyone and feeling very out on the outskirts of the crowd because I'm not. But there's more than that, too. Most of these people are couples. They have families. Children. Houses. I find myself skirting around that, "damn I am such a fuck-up" area. I know I don't have to think that or feel that way, but sitting here among the BMWs and SUVs, it's a little tough not to have that floating in brain. So I try to remember I Am Enough.

When I had a month or two sober, I went and saw a friend's show. It was in a bar, and that didn't bother me so much. I smelled the reefer outside there, too, and did okay. There just came a point where I had to decide for myself to just have fun. Just have a good time. I'll do my best to get there tonight.

A pity party is a party of one, and I can isolate very well in a room full of people. So I'm talking to the people I know, not bailing early even though I really would like to. My sorbriety isn't in danger, and this time will pass. Even though it's a struggle at the moment, I'm struggling towards a good place. Very different from how it used to be. I'm not getting fucked up and making an ass of myself. I'm not being a dick to anyone. Keep on keepin' on.

"Chaos Envy"

I've written before about feeling less-than because my story isn't as horrific as others', but the subject is on my mind again today.

We all have different paths which lead us to Recovery, but there are common themes. Most people have an example of trauma in their past, whether it's being verbally abused, molested, or raped. Most of us would agree that our lives were hard, regardless of why or how they were. A lot of us know how it feels to not belong, and to feel worthless. I've counseled sponsees and newcomers about feeling less-than because their lives weren't as rough as some others. I tell them that's something to be grateful for, and that it's pointless to compare yourself to others in that way because you can always find someone worse--or better.

I share with them, too, about my own experiences in life and how they sometimes lead me to feel the same way. We hear about so much of the Real in the rooms. I don't know anywhere else that you can hear people bravely share their honest truth about being assaulted, or imprisioned, or locked away in a mental hospital. Sometimes, someone will share all of the above in just their own story. I've been arrested, but haven't really gone to jail. I've been institutionalized, but for suicide--not because I was loaded.

I'm thinking of coining a phrase, here, for this idea that we're less-than someone else because we haven't been through as much disaster in our life as others have. "Chaos Envy". Yeah. I think I'll keep that.

At my home group tonight, I got to claim my time. They called for August birthdays and I said that I will have two years on the 21st. When I shared, a number of people called out 'Happy Birthday'. I was suprised by it, and deeply appreciated the love. The discussion topic was what have other people in the program done for you and I shared about feeling low, suicidal, back in January. I talked about how it was a friend from the program who was there for me, who called me to let me know that he'd heard I was having a tough time and that he cared about me. And I said how there was a time--a long time, and not that long ago--where I couldn't imagine having friends like that.

That's a pretty bad place to be. To be so miserable. To be unable to imagine someone caring enough about me to call and say they didn't want me to die. I remember feeling like that most of the time. I didn't get there because I was told I wasn't good enough. I wasn't abused verbally, physically, or sexually (that I can recall), but it is where I spent most of my days. I remember feeling that way long before I ever first picked up. I remember being a teenager and feeling this way. There's a line from a book I read once about being afraid to go to sleep because I'd wake up and live.

Wanting to die, that was so much of how I spent my life before Recovery. Getting loaded relieved me of this feeling at first, but after a while it stopped doing so. And I still have moments here and there where the feeling resurfaces, but they are becomming fewer and fewer. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that my own personal hell might not have been as hellish as some others' was, but it was hell for me. And that means I qualify.

It doesn't matter what you've been through. Only you can judge for yourself if you've bottommed-out. Just like only you are qualified to say if you suffer from this disease. Just as only you can decide for yourself that you want Recovery.

"Never Satisfied"

This is one of those 'what it used to be like' stories.

Before I got sober, my then-fiance (and now ex-wife) and I took a cruise up in Alaska. It was beautiful. I'll never forget the sight of waking up to the mountains as we floated by them in the iceberg-filled ocean. I really hope to get back there someday.

The cruise was supposed to be a honeymoon trip. We started planning it a year in advance. Very early on, my mom caught wind of the fact we were going. Before long, she had decided that it would be a great idea if the cruise became a family trip. She made her proposal to me which included a very sweet deal of my parents paying for most of the cost as well as upgrading our tiny cabin to a balcony room. It wasn't public information yet that the ex and I were engaged. In fact, when the inital plans were being made, I don't think it was even official between the two of us.

As time went by, the trip became even less and less like my original intentions. A trip which was supposed to be a honeymoon for my fiance and me ended up being a six-person family vacation that included both my parents, my sister, and a family friend. The cruise line we had chosen was overridden and another selected. Once onboard the cruise, it turned out to be nothing like what I'd hoped for. There were no activities on the ship for people the age of my fiance & me. In fact, the average passenger age seemed to be about 75. The food was accordingly bland and even though the ship was big, we were never far from my family--the entire trip.

At the end of the second day, I broke down. It didn't matter how drunk I got or how high I was, I was still miserable. My fiance asked what was wrong and I told her about all my frustrations with how the trip was nothing like what I'd wanted it to be. I was falling to pieces, in tears. But instead of putting her arms around me, instead of saying she understood, and that it was okay, that we'd try to make the best of things, she started crying herself. And then she screamed at me:

"You're never satisfied!!!"

Sometimes, I think back on that trip and wonder if my impression of the natural beauty of Alaska isn't even more vivid because the rest of the trip was so miserable. And I think, too, that one of the reasons the memory stays with me is because it was such a confluence of so many issues from my life. I can look at it and own my shit now, of course. I fourth-stepped this trip a long time ago: I was the one who failed to stand up to my mother. I was the one who let myself be swayed by my parents' money. I was the one who chose to marry my ex-wife. I was the one who chose to stay with her even after I'd been given multiple examples of her not being supportive and emotionally unavailable. And I was the one who wasn't present for my life because I chose instead to be loaded all the time.

This comment, though, this idea of never being satisfied, it stays with me. It is true that I am much more satisfied now than I ever have been before, but fully satisfied? Not really. Is anyone ever? Maybe. There are probably many people who are totally satisfied with their lives, don't feel the need for change, don't want more, etc. I'm not one of those. I don't think it's a disease thing so much, though my disease can definitely amplify this feeling. I think it goes back to the being a seeker aspect of myself. There's also the issue here of perfection. Part of my not being satisfied does come from that knee-jerk yearning for perfection. Because I learned growing up that everything is supposed to be perfect, that I'm supposed to be perfect, and if everything isn't perfect, well then it's my fault for not making it so and I'm a failure. That part of it, that is definitely my disease.

I can't do anything about the past. I can't go back and tell my mom, "No, mom, this trip is just for me and ____." I can't go back and un-marry my ex, or talk to the me of the past and wake him up to the fact that he deserves better than the day-to-day heartache of being with someone who isn't what he needs and can never be. All I can do is keep moving forward and do my best to not make the same mistakes. I can have boundaries with my parents and keep them strong. I can make sure that I get involved with women who are truly loving and supportive and know how to show it. And I can stay sober so that I can show up for my life; it's what makes the first two possible, after all.

There is a healthy way to never be satisfied. It looks like this: being grateful for how good things are and still striving to make them better. It's being in touch with yourself, knowing you are enough, and continuing to strive for improvement in the areas that need work--because there's always areas that could be better.

Not everyone lives their life this way, or has to, but I do. The issue today isn't so much one of not being satisfied, it's one of being a seeker, someone who is trying to get as much out of life as possible. Because life is short. Because, really, I'm not even supposed to be here, above ground. For whatever reason, God has decided to keep me around, and one of the ways I show gratitude for that gift, the gift of my very life, is by pursuing it to the fullest.

So yeah, I'm never satisfied. How 'bout that?

"11 Days and Counting"

I keep thinking that I need to have a censored picture of myself here. Something about that whole anonymity thing. I don't use my last name and protect other people's anonymity, but still. Having a picture of myself, even one that most people wouldn't recognize as me? I'll think on it some more.

My two-year sobriety birthday is coming up soon. I'm doing my best to keep on, one day at a time, but am definitely conscious of it. Maybe on the day itself I'll write a reflection of the past couple years. Though I do have a lot planned for that day already. My two homegroup fellowships are having BBQs--both on that day and in almost the same location. I have been thinking about the big 2 off and on for awhile. I'm sure at some point I'll be better able to just sit back, relax, and let it be.

After a relapse on the cigarettes, I am back to day 2 there. It feels good to still be trying. The temptation is so strong to just say fuckit and pick back up. But I'd really rather not. I'm being a little more aggressive in my attempt to quit now. Before, I was just chewing the nicotine gum as much as I needed or wanted to. Now, I've actually got myself on a reduction regiment. In time, it will be done. Just gotta keep reminding myself that I'm worth it.

I even gave myself a little incentive last night. When I was unemployed, I was doing a lot of exercising and I'd even started running. This was huge for me. I was the kid who NEVER did anything active. I didn't play sports. I didn't have friends I ran around and played with. For god sakes, I was the kid who was picked last in P.E. after all the girls. But I've been feeling that itch to run for a few months now because I know it will be great exercise and I want to show myself what I'm capable of. And yes, I want to look good naked. Who doesn't? Since I went back to work, the exercise has fallen way down the priority list. So last night I went on my walk/run. I'd been on a plan to gradually step up the amount of running I did over time. Last night, I ran half a mile. Not all at once, just a quarter mile at a time with a quarter mile walk in-between. But it felt good to push myself. It had probably been a week since I'd ran and I had only done a quarter mile before.

There is something this Recovery thing does, a transformation that takes place. The craziest part of it is that it happens almost naturally, just by continuing to show up. If you go to enough meetings, you'll start thinking about how you need to get a sponsor and work the steps. You'll find a desire to be of service. And ever so gradually, you will come to the amazing realization that you are a person of worth and value. It can happen even faster if it's something you actively pursue. But even if you don't, even if you just keep on showing up for meetings, keep coming back, the change will happen. There's an indescribable energy of healthy meetings. When you've put yourself in the middle of a group of people who are actively working to be more spiritual, who are actively moving towards being healthier, you move with them in the same direction.

Letting go is so important. "Let go or be dragged," the saying goes. I prefer, "allow it to happen," because that's what worked for me, but it really doesn't matter. It's whatever works for each person.

I have so much in my life to be grateful for these days. Some of it was already there, I just didn't know how to be grateful for it and accepting of it. I have a good home, food in the fridge (okay, the freezer--I'm a guy, what do you want?) I'm pretty damn lucky to be alive. Today, it feels like the biggest difference in my life is how I look at it. There are many, many, other differences of course, but in this moment that seems to be the big one. I could go on about being able to be honest now, or being a man of integrity, or of strength and courage, and those are all very good things. I'm really grateful for those changes and for being able to see them. But the biggest change of all seems to be the very fact that I can be grateful now.

Praise be.

"Life Keeps Happening"

Stay sober, work the steps, call your sponsor, blah blah blah ;-) I'm kidding, of course. A little silliness over here for various reasons.

It's a Monday and I'm at the evil job place. There is all kinds of drama going on, but I'm keeping strong boundaries. I was thinking earlier that strong boundaries can be really tough sometimes. If your neighbor's house gets bombed, your house might not have been touched but the foundation might be shaken; there might not be any broken windows, but the explosion sure can rattle them. This is all a very metaphorical way of trying to say that I'm still working, but matters surrounding my job are highly chaotic. One day at a time is how I'm doing it. I'm working this week; that's what I know. The future is something I can't control. So I stay in the moment, offer a listening ear to those affected, and try to be compassionate towards the spiritually sick.

But even the insanity of this place and the boredom of my job on a Monday of all days is not enough to dampen my spirits. I had an amazing weekend, full of working with others. Two of my sponsees did ther fifth steps this weekend. Wow. My sponsor had warned me that I'd be pretty drained by the time it was all over. I was, a bit, but mostly I was exhilarated. Yes, active listening for an extended period of time can be tiring. But for me, the healing power of being on the receiving end of a fifth step was a spiritual rush. My sponsor gave me big props for doing the deal. He says I really walk the walk, and I appreciate the support. To me, most of the credit goes to my sponsees. They're the ones who stuck with it and did the work of pushing through their fourth steps.

I heard from a third sponsee, too. He's reached that place so many of us do where the newness of sobriety is wearing off. He's feeling some fear and frustration. It was clear right away that what's going on is he's coming down off his pink cloud. I talked to him about it, let him know that it's something we all go through, and that he's right where he's supposed to be. By end of the conversation, he was feeling much better.

I had a few phone conversations with some friends, and each of them commented to me about how good I sounded. One of them was particularly concerned with the difficulty I'd had in my personal life (yes, there was that happening through all of this this weekend, too) and the other had been concerned about my dealing with so much life stuff in general. But I felt good because I had accomplished so much and because of how things had gone with my sponsees. There was some time, too, to work on my music this weekend, and that makes me happy more often than not, as well. Since I went back to work, that's been a difficult thing to find time for.

It's kind of funny. I was unemployed for just long enough to figure out how to fill up my life. Since going back to work, it's been a major restructuring process. How to fit in everything I had going in my life, now that I had significantly less time in the day. And also a few new very good things on top of it. It's working itself out. The key, as always, seems to be to keep putting Recovery first. Keep going to meetings, keep on being of service and working with others. Take care of myself, live according to the spiritual principles of the program to the best of my abilities and the rest of it takes care of itself. No, that's not right, because it doesn't give credit where credit is due. I do my part, and God takes care of the rest.

Keep moving forward. Keep doing the next right thing. Keep on keepin' on.

"Giving Back"

Also known as Being Of Service. There's lots of ways. If you're new, you can be of service just by being at a meeting. If you've built up a little time, you can make coffee or take a Secretary or Literature position. If you've been coming around for awhile, you can take a Treasurer, GSR, or General Secretary spot. Having a service commitment is one of the pillars of my program and I stress the importance of it to all my sponsees.

One of the meetings I attend has a shortage right now of people willing and able to take higher-level service commitments. The meeting is well-attended, but as people get time, they either stop attending regularly or choose to not be of service, or both. I was talking with my sponsor about the situation and we had ourselves a few choice words of agreement about the subject.

If no one were of service, there would be no meetings. And the concept doesn't apply to just meeting-related positions, either. I hear people share about having finished their steps, and yet don't go on to that crucial part of, "...and now I'm available to sponsor others." What if my sponsor had gotten sober and said, "well, thanks all, that was great; see you around!" He wouldn't have been there for me when I needed a sponsor. Maybe I wouldn't even be sober today. Maybe he wouldn't either.

The best comment I've ever heard on this issue is what an old-timer said in an AA meeting once. She had over twenty years of sobriety under her belt, and yet still chaired meetings. She sponsored other women. She took the occasional Secretary gig. She said that she kept on being of service for a very simple reason: she owed. She owed a debt to the program that she could never--ever--fully repay. Being of service was the least she could do to try. The program had saved her life. The least she could do was give others the same chance.

Occasionally, someone will nominate me for a meeting Secretary position. I chuckle and then respectfully decline. I've been a Secretary many times; give someone with less time the chance to reap the rewards of this part of the program. If they try to insist, try to give me grief, then I go ahead and list my current service work out for them: I'm a Treasurer; I'm the area committee chair; I'm sponsoring three men who are actively working their steps. And oh yes, I do the newsletter for our area, too. Then I ask them what service they are currently doing. Their answer, more often than not, goes something like this: "Uhh... nothing."

I owe. I owe the program my life, maybe more figuratively than literally, but then again maybe not. The last time I had a really bad bout of depression, it was my friends in the program that held me up and kept me from drowning. I've learned things through working the program I never thought I could, not the least of which is that I Am Enough. For me, I continue to work the program, and part of that means continuing to be of service. I can't make anyone else be of service. I can't make any other sponsors make their sponsees be of service. But I tell all my sponsees how crucial it is. Because we owe. We wouldn't be here today, we wouldn't be where we are today if it weren't for those who had come before us giving back and showing us the way. Now that we're living clean and sober, it's our turn to do the same. It's our turn to help others.

To me, the fullest meaning of 'we only keep what we have by giving it away' is this: I was given a life through working this program that I never would have dreamed possible. That's a gift beyond measure. And the way I get to keep it is by helping others, and giving them a chance to have the same.

"Some Days Are Like This"

So here's more proof that I am still an addict: I've been trying to quit smoking, right? Made it past the two week mark, then had a real bad craving day yesterday. Woke up this morning, tried to meditate and couldn't. On my way to work--which I was already late for--I stopped to buy a pack of cigarettes. I smoked half of one and threw it away because it tasted nasty, made me feel horrible, and my lungs felt awful. Half an hour later, I'm smoking another one. And this time I'm gonna finish it, goddammit.

I'm completely conscious of what I'm doing. I don't want to do it, and yet I'm doing it anyway. I know all the health reasons why I shouldn't. I'm fully aware that I'm doing it to escape and cope and deal with what's happening in life at this moment. And I do it anyway. For those who aren't aware, this is part of the addiction pattern: you want to stop and yet keep on doing it anyway. In all honesty, I'm flat-out amazed I didn't do it last night. And what's more, do I feel better after having a cigarette? Nope. It doesn't help. It doesn't work for me anymore. And I do it anyway.

My mind fishes out a memory of trying to quit smoking when I was still married. When I relapsed, she'd said to me, "I knew you weren't strong enough to quit." Thank God that, in the rooms of Recovery, we don't shoot our wounded.

Some people might argue that a relapse on smoking cigarettes isn't that big of a deal. Then again, some people say cigarettes are more addictive than heroin. I suspect that most heroin addicts would tell you to fuck off if you said that to them. Relapse on drugs or alcohol isn't part of my story (yet), but I know a fair bit about it. There is a natural progression that happens. And I can look at my life in this moment and see what's going on with me that I'm where I'm at with these evil cancer sticks.

Work. Is really. Pissing. Me. Off. Wait, wait, let's rephrase that properly: I'm really pissed off about my work situation. (Better.) Actually, it's not so much that I'm pissed off as it is that I'm feeling such a strong sense of futility. I'd felt so optimistic, so hopeful for my music, and today the reality I've always had such a hard time accepting is really hard to accept: that most people hate their jobs; that I just have to do it because it's part of life. And, of course, there's all the added instability of these economic times, the fact that I'm only a temp right now and don't know how much longer I will be working, and the stress of the job itself.

It's not all about the job. There are issues in my personal life, with my family, a strained relationship with my sponsor, and what it's like for me, what happens with me, is a sense of futility begins to set in. Why. Bother.

Depression is not where I'm at, but it is a state I know very well. I've spent many, many hours frustrated with this life thing. There is anger at the world, unable or willing to accept it as it is; there is anger at myself for feeling how I feel; anger at imagined voices that tell me to get over myself and stop whining; and as I write all this I hear a new thought come into my mind... that I'm pissed off because I'm being reminded just how powerless I really am.

Thank God for that. Because this is something I know how to deal with.

I am still powerless over the people, places, and things I can't control. My life is still unmanageable. When I try to control, when I try to run things, I go insane. My job is to let go; to let God take care of it. I can't do it. He can. So let him.

Sometimes, faith is easy. Sometimes not. Sometimes, faith sounds like this:

"Okay, God; I really don't like what's going on right now and I really don't understand it. And for the life of me I really can't figure out what you're up to. But if you show me the path, I will walk it. Tell me which way to go. Reveal to me the next step to take. Give me knowledge of your will and the power to carry it out. My life belongs to you. I give you my will to do with as you see fit. Move me; help me to be your instrument and do your will in the world. Cause ya know, if I try to do my will, all I'm gonna do is fuck shit up. Amen."

Hmm... I think I just might print that prayer up and post it on my bedroom wall.

((Update: after I wrote this entry, I took the rest of the pack of cigarettes I'd bought and threw them in a dumpster.))

"Wisdom To Know The Difference"

Lil' Joshua is screaming right now, the way a baby wails when frightened by too many loud noises. Sometimes the hardest thing in the world can be to not have a tantrum, slam doors, throw things. I'm using my tools today. Especially prayer.

I came into work unsettled. Since getting here, I was copied on an email talking about the woman who's going to be taking over the job I'm doing here. That's twice now that 'my' job has been given to someone else. Then I spilled coffee all over my workstation and myself. I was livid. In two and a half years, I've never once spilled coffee at my desk. Had to plug in a new keyboard and I'll be dealing with a cold, wet pant leg for hours.

It will be alright. It's alright now, of course. I've just got a lot of questions running through my mind. Questions about straight-up life issues. Kind of a shame. I was all set to write about honesty and truth and be inspirational, but life is doing something different than what I want yet again. I remind myself that I'm not alone, that there are many others like me who have just as hard a time accepting when life doesn't go the way we want it to. On another day, maybe the sequence of events wouldn't bother me. Today, it's got me freaking the fuck out.

Breathe. Breathe. Remember that this, too, shall pass. Remember that I still don't have a lot of experience accepting life on life's terms. Remember that my life is unmanageable. I can't do it, only God can. And I need to let him.

The program of Recovery isn't a way to get off drugs or alcohol, it's a way to live life for those of us who don't know how.

I'm thinking once again about how this job isn't me. I'm feeling frustrated that I might not ever get to do with my life what I want to do. I'm worried that I will always be stuck, having to pretend to be just another drone. I remember that it isn't up to me, it's up to God, and that he will lead me if I let him. I find gratitude that I'm not starving or homeless or hungry. I give myself a break because I'm not throwing things or slamming doors or breaking things no matter how much I might want to. I give myself credit that I'm not getting loaded. I may want more than anything else to throw my hands up and say, "fuck it!" And let it all go to hell, but I don't. Instead, I work my program, I use my tools, and I sit back down at my desk and keep moving forward.

I remember, too, that it isn't always hard, it's just hard right now. And it's not hard because what I'm going through is hard, it's hard simply because I'm still an addict and I still have bad days. We all do. It's part of life.

Outside, I prayed for guidance. I asked to be shown the way and for help to get through. A rough-cut version of the eleventh step. "God, tell me what you want me to do and help me to do it." And within me I felt the urge to say the serenity prayer. I confess, I did it with my own little favorite twist.

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change what I can, and wisdom to know the motherfuckin difference."

"I'm Not Hungry"

((This is TOTD blog #100! Cool...))

Ah guilt. My favorite saying about guilt goes like this: if someone is giving you a guilt trip, think of it like they're serving you a shit sandwich. All you have to do is say, "no thanks, I'm not hungry."

Those of us with this disease can serve up shit sandwiches, too. One of the worst is to throw our Recovery back in someone's face. Maybe we got into recovery because one of our loved ones threatened to leave us. The process takes a while. When there isn't immediate improvement, our loved ones can become just as frustrated. When we are new, we haven't address issues of behavior yet. We're focused solely on staying clean and sober, one day at a time. Our loved ones might get impatient at the apparent lack of progress. Maybe they say something to us about our behavior or our attitude and we react. Poorly. We might even tell them something like: "Back off! I'm doing this for YOU". File that under 'F' for 'fucked up'.

We don't do Recovery for other people. We do it for ourselves, because we don't want to live that other way any more.

Our families can really serve up those shit sandwiches. They have known us longer than anyone else. They know how to push our buttons, manipulate us. Our romantic partners do, too. My ex-wife used to push and prod and poke me until I blew up at her, then point her finger at me and say, "see!! You DO have an anger problem." Or maybe they try to make us feel guilty for not going to a family dinner that we didn't want to because we knew eveyone there would be drinking. Maybe our families are extremely codependent and only know how to communicate through using guilt.

Guilt is evil shit. Sorry to be so profane here, but it's a worthy topic for it. It's one thing when we feel legitimately guilty for harm we have done. It's something else entirely when others try to make us feel guilty when we haven't done anything wrong. It's a tool of a manipulation. People try to control us, make us do what they want us to do or feel the way they think we should feel. It's works both ways. We can do the same to others, but we don't have to.

Any time we attempt to control something we can't control, we feed our disease, make it stronger. When we let others control us, our self-esteem suffers, and that feeds our disease, too. We don't have to let others control us. No one else gets to tell us what to think or how to feel.

Standing up to guilt takes strong, healthy, boundaries. That's something not many of us know when we start our Recovery. Thankfully, it is something we can learn. We can learn to recognize when someone is trying to make us feel guilty. We can learn that we don't have to go there. We can learn to see that shit sandwhich being served up and say, "no thanks. I'm not hungry."

"Regular Inventory"

I've heard some people describe steps ten, eleven, and twelve as 'maintenance steps'. I understand what they're getting at. You've done the other steps, and these are the steps you keep on doing to stay on the spiritual path. For myself, I've found it more useful to keep working all twelve, but that's just me in this moment of my Recovery. These last three steps, though, are a distillation of the previous nine. Step ten is about us; step eleven is about God; step twelve is about working with others. So, if just working these three steps works for someone, I get that.

Step Ten: continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

A full-on tenth step can be a fair share of writing. I try to keep something of a tenth-step attitude, just in general as I go about my day to day life. It's important for me to be mindful. I need to stay in touch with myself and with my disease. It's almost like how diabetics need to check their blood on a regular basis. If something's out of whack, they make adjustments. I do the same. I look at myself, examine my motives, see what I'm doing and if it's working. If it isn't, then I can change it. If I make a mistake, I take care of it promptly instead of letting it snowball into something unmanageable.

Checking in with me doesn't have to be a torturous process, either. It can be as simple as being detached and noticing things. "Hmm, I'm feeling a lot anger today; interesting." Or I can take a more humorous approach to it, which, for someone like me who used to take himself WAY too seriously, can be important. "Oh great, Uncle Steve's watching THAT channel again..." "Yeah, lil Joshua has been whining about wanting to play on the swingset for days..." These are both just different ways of admitting to myself that I'm stuck on something, or being childish.

As I continue to stay sober, continue working the program, my instincts are slowly changing. I'm thinking less of myself and more of others. I'm living a more spiritually-centered life. But I am still an addict. I will always be an addict. Keeping a tenth-step state of mind helps me to stay in touch with myself and keep my less-spiritual side at bay.