"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.

"Changing Seasons"

Hmm, been a few days since I've jotted down some Thoughts. Here's what's been happening with me...

Winter is setting in here in central California. The days are getting shorter and clouds are taking over the sky. Today happens to be sunny, though, so I'm down at my favorite coffee shop trying to enjoy the rays while they're here. I'm tempted to say that I suffer from seasonal depression, but I know people who actually do. It has been suggested to me that I get one of those natural light sun boxes type things for my apartment. Maybe to go in that cave I like to call my studio ;-) Seriously, though, winters can be tough. Less sun, less warmth. Cold, lonely nights can seem even colder and lonelier.

I still haven't had any luck on the job front. But the issue with my unemployment benefits has been resolved. It turns out that they ruled in my favor a month ago and just hadn't resumed sending me the checks. The guy I talked to yesterday said he'll send me the one I should have received September 11th and some paperwork for the others. In a few weeks, I should be caught back up. It's a good thing, but I won't feel good about it until I see the money in my bank account. Just a product of living with what is.

My latest CD is 99% finished, though, and that is a very good thing. All the artwork is complete, and I think the mixes are too. I ended up with 12 tracks and have a new one I just wrote that I'm going to throw in there as a hidden track. It's a great disc and I'll do what I can to get it out there. That is the path, of course. Do what I can, leave the rest up to God. I always carry this idea in me of how great it would be to just make music, make enough money doing it that I don't have to worry about finding a job. How fortunate I would be to be doing what I love.

Working the Program has definitely become a part of my life, not my whole life. I go to my meetings, I hold my service positions, I work with others. One of my sponsees has started a new meeting up and I'll be hitting that tonight. There's cool stuff happening in my MA fellowship. We're growing and that is a good thing to see. With the proposition on the ballot out here in California to fully legalize marijuana, we're very conscious of the potential for new members. It's a small fellowship in comparison to AA and NA, but I like being a part of it. I feel like I have more opportunities to make a difference. And there is a bit of strange pride in being part of something that isn't viewed with as much acceptance. There's still a lot of thinking out there that pot is harmless, that it's not addictive. I really enjoy watching newcomers find their ways to the rooms and feel the relief of being in a place where they aren't judged.

I'm really glad to be seeing the therapist again, too. Something tells me I'm going to need that extra bit of help. Well, actually, that's kind of silly to write; of course I need the extra help--it's why I started going back. I feel a touch of gratitude for being able to ask for the help I need. That's something else the program has done for me. Not only have I learned to ask for help, but I've learned to ask for it from those who can give me the help I need.

I said in a meeting the other day that some days are more spiritual for me than others. Some days I'm filled with happiness and gratitude, some days are just sort of blah and I have to just keep on keepin' on. And so I do.

"What's A Drug?"

"Alcohol is a drug. Period." Those of us who have been to an NA meeting have heard these words, and they are profound. Personally, I think there should be a little, "so is marijuana!" tacked on afterwards, but that's my own issue. Some people feel very strongly that Nicotine should be on that list as well. There's even people who cut caffeine out, too.

I had a sponsee once who was on a harm-reduction program. He was taking methadone under a doctor's care as he dealt with his addiction to oxycontin. Many addicts have been faced with recovery from surgery where their doctor has written them a prescription for Vicodin, or some other narcotic. Doctors write prescriptions for marijuana use, too, for pain management. Cocaine was once used in medical practice. So was heroin. A study came out recently suggesting the use of psychedelics like LSD and mushrooms for medical uses. There are a number of faiths and religions that use mild-psychotropic substances as an integral part of their ceremonies.

So what in the name of God is an addict to do???

There are some easy answers. If it gets you high, then it's a no-fly. For an addict or alcoholic in Recovery, any mind- or mood-altering substance is something to stay away from. Many of us go to great lengths to establish an understanding with doctors about our need to remain sober. It's not about protecting our sobriety date; that's only the most superficial of reasons. At a deeper level, what it's really about is the kind of people we become when we use. When we fix, our addict selves are in control. The worst of us comes out, runs our lives into the ground, and causes all kinds of chaos, destruction, and harm to those around us.

There is an ongoing debate in 12-step rooms about what is acceptable in terms of psychiatric medication, too. Many of my brothers and sisters in the program suffer from severe mental disorders. They need mood-stabilizing drugs, anti-anxiety medication, and antidepressants in order to function on a daily basis. Without these medicines, they would be a danger to themselves and others. There are those who take a truly hard-line approach to this and insist that even psych meds are a no-go if you want to truly live the clean and sober lifestyle. I tend to err on the side of compassion. My personal story has a mood disorder misdiagnosis in it. I have found success in life and in the program without taking psych meds, but not everyone is like me. And, as always, the spiritual way of life teaches that it's not my place to judge.

I've had a number of conversations with many different people--my sponsor, sponsees, other friends in the program--about just what exactly it means to be sober. Is it okay for a marijuana addict to drink a glass of wine with dinner and yet still claim time as sober? What of an alcoholic who smokes pot on the weekend? What about a recovering heroin addict who drinks and claims they're clean now because they no longer do 'the hard stuff'? There is a parallel in the AA Big Book for that last one. It talks about just drinking beer instead of hard alcohol. The verdict? Still an alcoholic, even if all you drink is beer. Some people see pot as a lesser evil than nicotine and feel that cigarettes are bad but the occasional joint is okay.

The line I hold with my sponsees is this: psych meds are okay; pot and alcohol aren't; have your doctor prescribe you pain meds that aren't habit-forming. Cigarettes and caffeine are not mind-altering so they don't count. If you're getting loaded on something, put it down. I don't ever make anyone reset their date, though. That's a personal decision left up to each individual. It's up to each of us how honestly we work our own program. Most important of all, though, is to recognize in yourself what you're doing with substances. Are you fixing? That's the question. Any time we fix, we're indulging our addict side and turning away from the spiritual path.

I'm sorely tempted to write that how everyone works the program is up to them, but that's not rigorously honest. The truth of how I feel about what is and isn't acceptable use is what I've written above. People who attend my Marijuana Anonymous meetings and claim time even though they still drink piss me off. To me, it's no different than still using coke or shooting heroin. But I don't get to make that choice for them; I get to let go of it and remember it's not up to me, that they get to decide for themselves. God knows I've had people get in my face for my cigarettes and tell me I'm not sober because I smoke. So I don't do that. I don't get in others' faces and tell them how to live their lives or work their program. The spiritual path is about learning to be less judgmental, not more.

And I find it helpful, too, to look at the programs of others who have gone before me, who have had the most success in the program and are the most spiritual. They don't drink. They don't use marijuana. They don't take Vicodin. This is how I work my program. How you work yours is up to you.

"Break The Rules"

Okay, so this blog is about my life in Recovery. And in my life, I've gone back to therapy. I did a little bit when I was first getting sober. It was a huge help. I told my therapist at the time that he was helping me to reprogram my brain ;-) That comment, though, really isn't a joke. For nearly a decade, I'd been functioning with some sort of substance in me. My brain had learned to operate in an intoxicated state. Going sober, I knew that I would need help learning to think differently, literally.

The 12-step program is amazing, and it can help us to solve many problems, but not necessarily all. Some of us have issues which require professional help. Sometimes issues come up that we need to work on, but don't have the right person to ask & talk about with in our circle of friends, meetings, or our sponsor. When I told my sponsor I was going back to therapy, he gave me mad props for it, saying that he's glad because he himself is not a therapist, just another guy living clean and sober who happens to have more experience doing so than I do. I smiled when he said that. It's something I tell my guys, too.

I had my first session back with the therapist last night. There were no mind-blowing revelations, it's not like that. He's like a guide. When I'd seen him before, I'd felt almost like I was on some cross-country ski course, moving through the wilderness, and he was there to show me the out-of-bounds markers. This time, I went in and told him about what I was wanting from our sessions and he did much of the same. 'You want to get there? Okay, go this way...'

One of the things we looked at are some things I learned early in life. I didn't grow up in an alcoholic household specifically, but my mother is definitely the daughter of an alcoholic; she has the disease. And I can look back at the way things went down in my household growing up and see it. My therapist is big on recognizing what he calls the language of alcohol. It's the style of speaking, of interacting with others, that is common to those with the disease. They are the rules we learn for how to deal with other people when we grow up with the disease. He gave me a list. I won't reproduce the whole thing, but here are a few of them:

1. Lie (including by silence or omission)
2. Secrets
3. We have to LOOK good
4. No confrontation
5. No resolution
6. No emotional honesty (either with ourselves or with others)
7. Deny anything and everything

The list goes on, of course. These are the things we learn, growing up with the disease; these are the things I learned. It's what is most familiar to me--on an almost instinctual level. In a sense, it's how I have been hard-wired to interact with others.

As human beings, we are drawn to the familiar. It's biological. It's in our genes. To those who subscribe to the idea that the disease is genetic, so is getting loaded. But those of us who have worked the program of Recovery and found a different way to live know that just because we are predisposed to be a certain way, that does not mean we have to be that way. We can learn to do it differently. Even though I grew up in a household where I was taught these rules, where I learned that this is how I have to relate to the world, to myself and other people, that doesn't make it so. I can do it differently.

The program addresses a lot of these issues. The first step teaches us Honesty. There is a common saying in the program that we are only as sick as our secrets. It's helpful to me, though, to have this list. It's helpful to have these rules laid out for me as a guide for doing things differently. It's like a sign that says, "don't go here; out-of-bounds". Making the change isn't easy. Breaking these rules is difficult because they are ingrained in my brain as The Truth. But as I wrote the other day, just because I 'know' something to be true, that doesn't mean it is.

Ol' Z has got some new rule-breaking to do over here.

"Blown About"

It's so different--being centered as opposed to being blown about. I remember how it used to be. Every little thing would distract me, was cause for reaction, pulled me this way and that. It was like I lived in a permanent state of crisis-ready mode. Anything and everything that happenned, I responded to it in that way, as if it were a crisis. To say I wasn't grounded would be like saying clouds aren't grounded.

I'm not thinking of any particular incident today, just the general way in which I related to the world. Part of it was how I was taught to be in the world. Part of it was being desperate for any distraction from the emptiness inside me. The feeling of being lost demanded an escape. As a child, I found that I could escape through pretending to be happy and making others happy. As a teenager, I found my escape through adolescent love affairs--wildly dramatic ordeals full of chaos and melodrama. As I got older, it became drugs and alcohol.

My soul was crying out for peace. I remember that, remember doing that, from the time I was a little kid. I remember praying to God in pain and sorrow, "why does it have to be like this? Why does life have to hurt so bad? Why is the world so messed up and why is it out to get me???" The truth, of course, is that it doesn't have to be like that; that life doesn't have to hurt so bad; that the world really isn't out to get me. Fate is not at war with me. I was the one who was at war with the world because I hadn't yet learned how to accept some fundamental truths: that reality doesn't have to be the way I think it should; that it's not all about me; that I'm not in charge, God is.

It's crazy: just writing those words, just reaffirming that, here, on this page, I feel calmer.

I'm a big advocate for the Program being a spiritual practice to treat a spiritual disease. When I'm not being spiritual, when I'm being self-centered, it's a reversal of the natural order. I chase life around, trying to catch it. And of course I can't because that's not how it works. I'm not God; I can't bend and twist reality around to make it fit in with my designs. But when I am spiritually fit, I am at peace. I allow the world to be what it is, recognize it, accept it, and know that it's okay. Maybe life isn't what I want it to be, but that's just fine because it's not supposed to be. If I got everything I wanted all the time, well what does that create in me but a spoiled brat? It's the overcoming of adversity that builds strength, that allows me to become someone of character and integrity. An adult, yes? Someone who accepts what life throws at us with calm and peace, and doesn't stamp his foot and whine like a child.

If I'm reacting to life, then I'm not being present, in the moment. I'm not centered. It's only when I'm centered that I can truly act, and I act from a place of peace and calm. I make better decisions because I'm making them with a clear head, instead of the chaotic insanity of my diseased brain-state or in an intoxicated haze. This is what working the program of Recovery has done for me: allowed me to find peace, to recognize when my disease is controlling me, and to do something different instead of letting the disease dictate the way I conduct myself in the world.

“The Story of My Sobriety Tattoo”

I admit it: I get a lot of my inspiration for what I blog about from the ‘Just For Today’ emails. It’s a nice little dose of Recovery each morning. If you’re interested, go to the NA or AA website and sign up. Just a suggestion ;-) Today's was on the subject of truth; how what we think we know can change. I read that and thought boy do I have a story there... But DAMN is it ever an embarrassing one.

I don’t know how it is in other parts of the country or the world, but in the rooms I frequent, there are plenty of us who have sobriety tattoos. I have three tatts, myself: one on each shoulder blade, and a cross with blue fire behind it on my left forearm. The two on my shoulder blades are kanji--one meaning Truth, the other Justice. I got the Truth tatt back when I’d lost a bunch of weight a number of years ago. It was a symbol to me of my ability to accomplish something difficult, the ‘truth’ being that I’m stronger than I might think I am. The ‘Justice’ is a celebration of my finding peace through working the program of Recovery. After spending so many years in so much emotional pain, after so many days of despair and nights of hoping and praying for an end to my emotional suffering, I finally found a way out.

My forearm tatt is my sobriety tatt, though. It started out as something much simpler and then I added to it. The first part was done when I hit six months, I added more at nine months, then finished it after I hit one year. I have it on my forearm, a very visible place, specifically because it is my sobriety tattoo. This path that I walk of being clean and sober is something I’m very proud of myself for doing. And even though the tatt isn’t obvious as a sobriety tattoo, I like having it in a visible place so that, when people ask me about it, I get to spread the message of the power of Recovery. But this particular tattoo is more than just a symbol of my spirituality, it is also a reminder to me of some other very important things.

When I did the first part at six months, I had done a lot of research and picked out a symbol that had been around for thousands of years and that was steeped in meaning. It was a symbol of the earth, of harmony, still used in astronomy and astrology today. After I had it put on, I found out that this symbol meant some other things that I hadn’t been aware of, that it was an extremely racist symbol. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I am not that kind of a person and in fact one of the lesser prejudicial folks out there. I had a black coworker at the time, and we had a good laugh about how maybe I need to expand my horizons and meet more racists, that way I’d be more familiar with the symbology. My sponsor is Buddhist and when I told him about it, he went on his own little rant about how the Nazis had co-opted the swastika. We talked a long time about how symbols and their meanings change over time, how images can mean one thing, then come to represent something else, and then change again. Anyway, at nine months I had it covered up with a Celtic cross like the ones the Presbyterian church uses. But even the Celtic cross still has a hint of racism to it, so at one year I added the blue fire--twelve flames, one for each of the twelve steps--and called it ‘good enough’.

(August, 2009)

I was furious at the time, and am still a little embarrassed about the whole ordeal, but can mostly laugh at myself now. And here’s why: I am not omnipotent. So, not only is my forearm tattoo the symbol of my sobriety, it is also a reminder to me that not only do I not know everything, the things I do know might be wrong.

Great masters have been saying it since long before I was born: the path to wisdom is admitting and accepting our ignorance. It order to learn, in order to gain knowledge, we must first say these three words: I don't know.

As a deeply insecure, raging egomaniac, I need to remember that I don't know everything. And I find it even more helpful to remember that even the things I do know might be wrong. Because it’s not the things we don’t know that get us into trouble, it’s the things we do know that just ain’t so.

"A Simple Prayer"

The NA 'Just For Today' was about Step Eleven today and it's got me thinking. I'd always looked at this way of praying as something of an advanced prayer; it hadn't occured to me that it might be a beginning one. It is a simple prayer, for sure. Two parts. The first, seeking guidance, asking for direction. The second, asking for the strength to follow that guidance. It's very powerful stuff, and a prayer of faith. Implied in it is the idea that we are going to let our higher power direct us in our lives. The Christian tradition has a variant of this prayer, too: make me a vessel for your will.

I think the reason I'd always considered this more of an advanced way of praying is because of the tendency so many of us have for praying for what we want. To set that aside, to let go of our own desires and instead dedicate ourselves to the will of our higher power, that takes a lot of faith. But, then again, that's where the second part kicks in--not only do I ask for what God wants for me, but the power to do it, too.

I do receive insights when I pray and meditate. It's not like a bolt of lightening, more a gentle urging. But even more than that, I find that when I am diligent with my prayer practice, when I do it regularly, the rest of life goes smoother. I feel calmer, I deal with life better. There's a peace, a knowledge that I can do my best and God will take care of the rest.

So many people come into the program with little or no faith in something greater than themselves. Some (like myself) come in with a belief, but haven't yet learned how to rely on that power to guide us in our lives. It takes time and practice, like anything else. It takes learning to let go.

Letting go is a release, but it can also be downright scary. We don't know what will happen. We don't know what life will confront us with, what we'll have to contend with. Letting go is making a conscious choice to face the unknown, and that can be scary as hell. As sick and twisted as our patterns in life might be, they are still familiar to us, and that familiarity has a certain comfort to it. Any change, big or small, can be difficult because we're dealing with something new. We're pushing our limits, stretching out of our comfort zones.

This simple prayer can be the most uncomfortable one of all. For me, it's a lot like saying, "okay, God, it's all up to you. Just show me where to go, what to do, and give me the strength to do it." It doesn't matter the exact way we pray, so long as the intention is there. So long as we maintain a mindset of 'your will, not mine', we're on the path.

"Giving of Yourself to Yourself"

'Giving of ourselves.' It kinda makes me think of myself all wrapped up with a bow. Or maybe something more like 'hi honey, I got you a present!' 'Oh yeah, what?' 'Me! Isn't that thoughtful?' Pardon my sarcasm, but I'm not one of those every day is sunny, let's all let our inner glory shine with joy types of guys. Truth be told, the whole 'buck-up and be cheerful' attitude some people have can get on my nerves. It goes back to my childhood when I learned that I was supposed to always pretend to be happy, whether I was or not. And it has a lot to do, too, with my frustration at this quirk of American society that seems to demand the same, that seems to suggest if we aren't always happy, then there's something wrong with us, that we're defective, or inferior, or *gasp* deviant.

The Program has some fine suggestions on how to deal with feeling down. One of the main staples of how to get out of yourself is to find someone else who needs help. That's a fine idea, and good advice. But it's also one I'm wary of. I was raised in a family where this was the norm, where it was encouraged to such a degree that the self got cancelled out. I learned to help others and ignore myself, so these days I tend to err on the side of caution when it comes to working on myself. I know how to reach out, and I am well-practiced in being there for others. The thing I'm not so good at is being there for myself.

I've been battling some depression lately. I know part of it is the stress of being unemployed. I still don't have a resolution for the situation with my unemployment benefits. There's also some stress because of school. These two classes I'm taking right now are really boring. I'd been so much more interested back in spring, but I thought that doing this drug & alcohol counseling certificate would be a good step along the way in terms of career. I hated my psych professor, but I had a much better time because I really like the subject matter. I'm thinking now that it might be more worth my time to just go for plain old psychology classes. We'll see. I'm dealing with relationship issues, too. Not that things are bad, just the plain old stuff of I'm really not so good at being in one. My sponsor tells me this is a quality problem to have.

I've known about my issues when it comes to relationships for a long time. One of my reasons for getting sober was the desire to have healthy romantic relationships. I've done a lot of work on myself in this area, but have finally admitted that I need some professional help. Actually, no, the rigorously honest truth is that I've thought about going back to therapy for awhile; now I've actually taken action towards that. I contacted my old therapist who had helped me so much when I was first getting sober. The program-y thing to do would be to give myself credit for taking the action, and my sponsor gave me props for the willingness to get the help I need, but I'm having trouble seeing it like that. It's more like the desperation that's drawn me to it, the same kind of pain and desperation that led me to stay sober.

It's an unfortunate motif, this whole not truly finding the willingness to change until the pain motivation becomes strong enough. To those of you out there who can change without doing the whole pain thing first, my hat is truly off to you. As for me, I'm going to continue to give myself the credit of being willing to work of myself--regardless of how I came to the willingness to do it--because so many people out there don't do the work at all.

Maybe one day I'll be content; maybe one day I'll look at myself and think, "eh, good enough," but I doubt it. Until then, I'm going to keep on growing, and learning, and changing.

Darn :-)

“Right, Then…”

One of my more, oh, let's call it 'exciting' character quirks is that I am a deeply insecure, raging egomaniac. If I were to get all official-like, I’d call it a character defect. It’s an evil, two-sided coin. Even though I have done a ton of work on it, it still crops up. On the one side (usually the outside of me), is the demand that others recognize me as the greatest there ever was and treat me as such. On the inside is the deep-seated knowledge that I am a worthless sack of shit that doesn’t deserve anything from anyone and isn’t even worth the air he breathes.

Okay, I exaggerate. A little. Let’s move this discussion into the realm of what it used to be like…

The egoist part of me was convinced he was always right. He was so convinced about it that anyone who said differently wasn’t worth speaking to. If you challenged me, I discounted you. The insecure part of me wondered what the fuck was wrong with you that you were even speaking to me. If you did, I figured you had to be crazy, insane, and so I discounted you.

Can you see the pattern here? This evil two-sided coin of a character defect served very specifically to keep me isolated. It kept me away from other people. My brain was convinced that the only way I could relate to others--or them to me--was if they thought of me like a god or like insects to be ground under foot. I had no concept of a middle ground. I was either one or the other: all bad, or all good.

The program of Recovery teaches that I am neither.

I have done some bad things in my life, but I have done good things, too. I can take responsibility for all of these. I can claim the good I have done, be proud of myself for it. I can claim the bad I have done, put myself in the other person’s shoes, and try to make amends. More than anything, I can recognize that I am only human, not perfect, both good AND bad. It is the mixture of both that is the truth of who I really am, as I have been created.

Recognizing that, getting a true picture of who I really am and acting accordingly, is what it means to be right-sized. That is true humility--being honest with myself about who I am and how I live my life.

I don't have to be right all the time, or even most of the time. But most of the time, I do my best to be right-sized.

“Why Can’t You Just Quit?!”

My heart goes out to any of you who have had this comment thrown your way. Maybe it was a loved one who mouthed off out of anger or frustration. Maybe it was a total stranger who couldn’t seem to mind their own business. Whatever the circumstances, it is one of the worst things an addict/alcoholic can hear. We know, deep inside, that we need to stop. We want to stop. We want desperately to stop. We can’t.

It remains one of the most fundamental misunderstandings about this disease. To make matters worse, there are people out there who have been able to stop. There are plenty of people who looked at themselves and said, ‘gee, ya know, I’m really drinking too much; I need to knock that shit off’--and then did. Maybe it wasn’t alcohol, maybe it was marijuana, or speed, or coke. Somehow, they were able to back off, put the stuff down, and quit on their own. But instead of thanking their lucky stars for being able to do so, they look down on those of us who can’t.

Even with the changing understanding out there about the disease, there are still many, many, people who pass judgment on addicts. They stand on their proverbial high horses, turn up their noses, and think that since they were able to quit, anyone should be able to. They say addiction isn’t real, that it’s a choice, and that if someone really wanted to, they could stop at any time.

How wrong they are.

Some say that, if you are able to quit on your own, that you weren’t really addicted in the first place. I like to remember the passage from the Big Book of AA that talks about having found ‘a’ way to quit, not ‘the’ way, and that if you can find a way to quit on your own, our hat is off to you. I like to remember the passage that speaks to the incomprehensible demoralization. If you have trouble understanding what that means, let me spell out my interpretation. It’s an internal dialog that goes a little like this:

“Oh fuck, I’m drinking/using again. God damn it! Why am I doing this? Why can’t I fucking stop this shit?? It’s killing me. It’s destroying my life. I’m losing friends, money, family. I need to stop. I want to stop so bad. I promised myself and everyone else that I would stop. Why the fuck am I doing this again?? Why do I keep doing this, over and over and over again, even though I don’t want to? How is it that I want more than anything else in the world to not get loaded anymore and I keep on getting loaded?!?!?!”

It is because I am an addict. It is because I have the disease. Maybe there was a point where I could have just stopped, but it is no longer the case.

There are medical experts out there who can explain this in terms of biology. They can tell you about the changes that have happened in the brain, how the natural survival instinct has become perverted. They will talk about stress and how the brain of an addict has been rewired so that the only way to process stress is through using. I am not a doctor. I’m just another addict with the disease, struggling to learn a way to do things differently.

When our disease has progressed to a certain point, there is no turning back. We can’t just stop. It really isn’t possible. Really. We need to treat our disease. It’s not nearly as simple as replacing one bad habit with another habit that’s good for us. For folks like myself, it means a daily maintenance of my spiritual condition. It means going to meetings, working steps, and being of service.

To those of you out there who realized you had a problem and were able to ‘just quit’, my hat is off to you. For those of you out there who are like me and didn’t realize you had a problem until you discovered that you couldn’t ‘just quit’, I know how you feel. I have been where you are. I still am where you are. No matter how much clean time we get, we are still addicts; we always will be. And to those of you who feel you have the right to pass judgment and be self-righteous, I hope you find the compassion within yourselves to thank your lucky stars that you haven’t had to suffer as those of us with this disease have.

And for those of you who were able to quit on your own, and are able to recognize how fortunate you are, and who chose not to beat down on those who do suffer, I thank you. Every addict who still suffers thanks you. Your compassion is a welcome relief from a world that all too often lacks understanding.

"The Letting Go Imperative"

im·per·a·tive [im-per-uh-tiv]
–adjective
1. absolutely necessary or required; unavoidable: It is imperative that we learn to let go.

How about the conclusion first this time? Until we let go, we stay victims.

I was talking with a friend the other day who's having a hard time letting go of a previous relationship. She's worked through many of the stages of grief, like sadness and denial, but is still feeling a lot of anger about what happened. A lot of anger at the other person for what they did. She doesn't want to let go of the anger because then the other person will 'get away with' what they did.

I have another friend who tells a story about making amends to the stepfather who molested her. She made amends to his grave.

There was a newcomer at a meeting once. He was a cool guy. He came in, ready for change. He attended meetings regularly, was active in working his program, and managed to put some time together. At one point, he had a fight with his girlfriend and got drunk over it. The words of his sponsor? Wow. You sure did give her a lot of power over you.

One time, I complained to my sponsor about someone in the program who wasn't working it, who was continuing to feel terrible, and continuing to cause chaos and destruction in their life. I was angry about it. Frustrated. 'Why don't they get it?" I moaned to my sponsor. He laughed. Then he pointed out how much energy I was expending over it. Over something that was none of my concern, none of my business, that I had no control over. I was obsessing.

There's only one way out: letting go.

It takes time to understand. When we try to control others, we give them power over us. If I'm angry at something someone else has done (or didn't do), they have power over me. If my ability to let go of my anger is dependent on someone else's actions or reaction, they are in control of my anger. If my ability to feel happy is dependent on making others happy, then they are in control of my happiness. We try to make others happy, so that we can feel happy. We try to make others pay for or own up to what they've done, so that we can let go of our anger. Then we watch in horror as the world around us and the people in it refuse to act the way we want them to. We become even more frantic. We try even harder to make others act the way we think they should, the way we want them to. Then they don't and the cycle repeats itself at an ever-higher pitch. We try again, over and over, and we refuse to accept that they don't have to. And then we wonder why we feel crazy.

We give our power away, and we don't have to. We don't have to spend our energy trying to make others feel or act or say the things we want them to. We don't have to obsess over what (we think) other people need to do, say, or feel. And we really don't have to lay blame on others for refusing to live their lives the way we think they should.

When we focus on how others aren't the way we want them to be, when we hold on to things because of others' failure to comply with our wishes, we are giving them power over us. We are thinking and feeling, saying and doing, according to them. We are allowing them to control us. We are victims.

We don't have to be victims. We can let go of others. Maybe we are angry about something someone else has done. We don't have to be. We can let go of the anger. We can accept that we can't make others own up to their actions. We can accept that it's not our job to make others happy. We can accept what has happened to us in the past, look at our part, and take responsibility for it. And we can let others have the choice of being responsible for theirs.

We don't have to take on others' responsibilities. We don't have to waste our energy trying to make someone else happy or sad. And we don't have to waste our energy obsessing because someone else won't feel or do what we want them to.

We get to choose our actions. Other people get to choose theirs. We can focus on them, become obsessed or stuck, and allow our lives to become unmanageable, or we can stop being victims and choose instead to let go.