"Sharing Our Deepest Selves"

I wrote a song once. The chorus went, "tell me your deepest fears, I will believe you; cry my your wettest tears, I'll understand."

It's a little ironic. People have told me how much they admire the way I share so much of myself at meetings. I've gotten more than a few comments about how I put myself out there on this blog. Yet I know there is plenty more I don't share. Certain topics are pretty off-limits, each for different reasons. I hardly ever share that relapse isn't a part of my story, out of respect and recognition for the fact that it is for so many. I never talk about being in jail, except perhaps to acknowledge the fact that it happenned. My time in a mental institution gets discussed a little bit, but still only very rarely.

Uh-oh, there I go opening up about my secrets again...

Those of us with this disease know what it's like to walk through hell and live. And a lot of the time we come into the rooms, hear other people's stories and think that our own hell wasn't so bad. There's a line there to walk. We need to accept that what we have been through, our own personal hells, were hell for us to go through. All the things we've felt were and are valid. How you feel is how you feel. At the same time, we can ackowledge that there are others who have had to endure far worse.

Sometimes we hear someone else's story and feel better about what we've been through. Understanding another's pain can help us to release our own. Sometimes, when we're stuck inside ourselves, it doesn't matter what other people have been through. We feel like our lives are the worst and we can act out, like little children. Feelings can be tough, whether good or bad.

I've been to some speaker meetings where the chair really opened up. I've heard people share about being abused, raped, molested. It's very common for people like us to have that as part of our story. I've heard horror stories stated so matter-of-factly that a normie would faint dead away from sheer cognitive disonance. Because they can't understand. If you haven't been through hell, you can't quite fathom what it is that each of us with this disease goes through. There's no frame of reference. How do you explain the harshness of hell to someone who's only ever lived in privileged heaven? And if you try to explain it to them, denial kicks in and they'll refuse to believe that 'those things' could happen--and to so many. It's one of the reasons that it is so crucial for addicts and alcoholics to help each other. We understand.

This understanding happens in meetings, but it happens in our step work, too. When we do our fifth steps, we share deeply personal, private information about ourselves. We share our deepest secrets. And it is because we share those secrets with someone else who suffers from this disease, we find relief in doing so. We share secrets we thought we'd take to the grave, and almost every time our sponsor replies, "yep, I've done that too." We aren't alone, and we realize it--truly realize it.

We share the parts of ourselves we don't want anyone to see with someone who understands, and in return we receive the healing power of Knowing we aren't alone.

"Hope For A Healthy Relationship"

I had coffee yesterday with a friend from the program. It had been a while since we sat down together and it was good to see her. I had an amends to make to her, which happened very naturally in the course of the conversation. The two of us used to be much closer than we are now, but I had said some things to her in the past that were insensitive, hurtful. We'd once had a close friendship, and I'd taken that for granted. We are still friendly to each other, still care about each other, but because of my actions we are no longer as close as we once were.

This is okay. All relationships are constantly changing. And the important thing is that I admitted my wrongs and faced up to the harm I had done. Some might call this a minor amends, but I believe there is no such thing as a minor amends. I doubt she feels that way. Anyone to whom we have harmed in any way, when we admit our wrongdoing to them face to face, it's a big deal.

We talked a lot, too, about how our lives are going these days. I'm actually very excited for her because she's engaged now. I remember many conversations between the two of us, earlier in my recovery, discussing romantic relationships. She's probably the first person I heard say that relationships are the last frontier for people like us. Whether it's because of our inexperience dealing with emotions, our knee-jerk reaction to be self-serving, our knack for making really bad choices, or all of the above, relationships are just plain tough. They're tough for everyone, of course, but those of us with this disease have some added challenges that can make it feel impossible. Even with years of Recovery under our belts.

I've made my share of bad choices in the past, when it comes to relationship partners. I've been with some seriously mentally unhealthy, toxic women. I've stayed in bad relationships far longer than I should have, mostly out of fear. Fear of the unknown, fear that I'd always be alone. I've had to learn that I am worth having someone good for me in my life. I've had to learn, too, that I am responsible for my choices and that if I pick an unhealthy (or totally insane) woman to be with, that is a choice I have made.

There have been times where I felt so low, was so full of fear, and so wracked by insecurity that I was willing to accept affection from anyone. Loneliness and isolation feed on each other, and thinking no one could ever love you is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I've been with and stayed with women who treated me in a way that no one should ever be treated, and I stayed with them because I didn't think I deserved to be treated any better. Some people will have a hard time trying to imagine feeling like that, being in that place. Others will know all too well what I'm talking about.

In Recovery, we talk about 'peeling the onion' and getting to deeper layers of ourselves. We can address deep-rooted issues we might not have even known were there, and we can find the courage to work on issues we have never before been willing to admit to ourselves needed work. For myself, that has meant analyzing my past relationships and discovering what an enormous role my own low self-esteem played in the choices I made in the past.

Identifying that character defect, that negative egotism, and giving it up to God has been a huge change for me. I can see the difference in the way I handle myself now, too. I'm better able to recognize when things aren't working, and able to let go of it much more quickly. I don't have a need anymore to make something work. It either does or it doesn't. Seeing my friend engaged gives me hope that it is possible for me to have a healthy relationship. And I have faith, too, that if I keep on doing my part--be honest, be a man of integrity--the rest will take care of itself. You could even say that I've filed the entire relationship issue under 'things God does for us that we can't do for oursleves'.

I don't really write much here about my dating. It doesn't seem appropriate, somehow. But I will say this: if it weren't for my Recovery, if I wasn't sober and working a program, it wouldn't be possible.

We learn so much by working the program. We learn how to make better choices. We learn to ask for help, how to ask for advice, and we become capable of following it. We see others doing well in their lives and discover a hope that maybe--just maybe--things can go well for us, too.

"The Solution"

Why do some people 'get' Recovery right away while others struggle for years? Why, if the 12 steps are always the same, are there so many different fellowships? If the disease is the disease is the disease, why isn't there just one big fellowship called 'Anonymous'?

It's heartening to me to see newcomers come in and 'wake up'. It helps me, too, to see others who were there when I came in that are still living Happy, Joyous, and Free. It makes me sad to hear of those who are still struggling to get there. The program of Recovery brings awesome rewards to any who choose to follow it, who devote their life to spiritual principles. Sure, it ain't easy. For those of us who do it, it can be the hardest thing we ever do. When life happens, we have the choice to get loaded or not. The way we choose not to is by working the program instead.

Many, many people work the program simply because they don't want to get loaded anymore. They want to stay sober. For myself, I work the program because I've discovered that I truly enjoy and prefer living the spiritual life. I get uncountable rewards. Staying sober is one of them, to be sure, but the peace and serenity I have found is such a profound relief from how I used to feel, sometimes the fact that I don't have to get loaded anymore is almost an afterthought. At its best, the program allows me to be in communion with God, and at one with everything around me. I don't have to get fucked up and destroy lives anymore. I don't have to be an arrogant, self-centered asshole anymore. There is another way. There is a solution.

If all someone wants is to just not get loaded anymore, the program can show you how to do that. What most people who follow the program discover, though, is that it gives us so much more. We can become changed, truly changed men and women--if we allow it to happen. Some people don't want to. Some want to stay their same old selves. Some, the change happens overnight. For others, it comes gradually without our even realizing it. Getting sober is only the beginning. Working the program takes us so much further. It seems like fringe benefits at first--caring about others, living lives of integrity. Then it becomes the center of our lives. Instead of life revolving around alcohol or drugs or whatever the 'problem' seems to be, we begin treating the real problem: the disease itself. We become happier, healthier. We become a force for good in the world, instead of a force of chaos and destruction. Our lives become spiritually-centetred, God centered.

Speaking for myself, my real problem was and always has been me. Getting loaded just made things infinitely worse. The program gives me a way to deal with myself. It gives me a way to deal with the world, to live in it instead of in my own privately-defined world inside my head. I get a way to deal with other people besides trying to control them. Instead, I can accept people for who they are as they are. I can deal with life on life's terms. The Big Book of AA is clear that the program is not 'the' solution, just 'a' solution. And it works.

There are certain things about my Experience, Strength, and Hope, that I believe have helped me to be successful in working the program. I've always intuitively understood that the disease is the disease, regardless of how it manifests. I was able to understand right from the beginning that my problem isn't drugs or alcohol; it's me. I am the problem. I have a spirtual illness. I am a self-centered, judgemental, asshole. It's through working the program that I overcome and change those defects. God's plan is for a unified whole, not a bunch of little pieces which tear each other into still smaller pieces. When I live for myself, I am working against God's plan; when I live according to spiritual principles, God's power flows through me and I become a force for good in the world.

The entire purpose of the 12-step program is to have a spiritual awakening. We come to see ourselves as just one piece of something infinitely larger. We stop living lives of exclusion and begin truly accepting others for who they are as they are. It's great to not have to get loaded anymore, of course. It's a fuckin miracle. But it's only the first of many I've found through continuing to work the program and live the spiritual life.

"Dealing With Conflict"

If someone has a problem with you, it's their problem.

This is a real gem. I love this saying. There is something so profound about it. It's about having boundaries and knowing that it's not all about you. It's about understanding that other people have all kinds of issues going on in their lives, and having compassion for them. And it's about not being so damn sensitive.

Conflict is a part of life. It's a part of Recovery. It's part of dealing with life on life's terms.

Dealing with conflict was not a skill I learned growing up. As a matter of fact, I was taught to avoid conflict at all costs. I learned to run from it. If I couldn't avoid it or weasel out of it, I tried to play peacemaker. Strength and courage were foreign concepts. Growing up, I was never in any fights. I'd been taught to just walk away, or to be passive. But I also wasn't taught to defend myself, either. Or maybe a more accurate way of describing it would be to say that I learned to not defend myself.

It didn't matter if it was a physical fight or a verbal one. Maybe someone was telling lies about me, or accusing me of things I hadn't done. I always avoided whatever it was. Even as an adult, this continued, progressed. Growing up, I had learned that I wasn't worth standing up for, that I wasn't worth defending. Others hadn't stood up for me, and the times I had tried to stand up for myself didn't go well. Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying.

The psychologists refer to this as 'learned helplessness'. Children learn (in a variety of ways) that there isn't any point to standing up for themselves. They learn that there isn't any point in asking for help. At critical times in their development, they don't receive the support they need; they don't receive the help they ask for. So they learn to stop asking. Hopelessness and depression set in. Suicide often follows.

It wasn't until I got into Recovery that I began to think that I might be worth standing up for. Slowly, I began turning that wheel a different direction. I re-learned how to admit to myself when I needed help, and I started to ask for it. I found people who held me up. I found others who cared about me, believed in me, who stood up for me and helped teach me that I am worth standing up for and that it's right and good to stand up for myself. I've met some people, too, who don't feel that way. That's alright. It's egotistical to think everyone will like me, and it's just as egotistical to think everyone hates me or that no one likes me.

Conflict is going to happen. We'll have conflict with our families. There will be conflict with our coworkers. Our lovers. Total strangers. Even in Recovery, there will be conflict. Sometimes, it's an honest disagreement. Sometimes, people will just flat-out not like you. Sometimes you'll come into conflict with someone and they won't even realize it because they're so stuck inside themselves that they can't see anything else.

The program teaches us compassion. We try to remember that everyone has issues, and that even those who are trying to live the spiritual life aren't perfect at it. In my psychology courses, we've talked about self-centeredness and how we human beings have a tendency to think that others are thinking about us far more often than they really are. For those of us with the disease, this obsession is amplified ten-fold.

Most of the time, people aren't thinking of us. The times that someone is deliberately out to hurt us or mess with us, or piss us off, really are far fewer than we would think. It's not always about us. In fact most of the time, it isn't about us at all. And even at the rare times when someone does have a problem with us... it's their problem.

Boundaries, my friends. Boundaries.

"Day Six"

It's day six off the cigarettes. But more than that, it's a Monday back at work. Yes, I know, I need to be grateful. I am, actually, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it. It's the acceptance thing--I am working now; that's a good thing. A lot of people are unemployed right now, it's true. Something else that's true? A lot of people who are employed hate their jobs. Especially on Mondays. It doesn't mean they don't appreciate the fact that they're working. In fact, when I think of the whole 'be grateful' thing, sometimes I picture a janitor mopping shit up off the bathroom floor. I'm willing to bet he still hates his job, even if he's glad to have the income.

I'm not really all that cranky from the quitting smoking. I know it's a factor, but mostly it's being at the job. This past weekend, I spent some time working on music with a good friend of mine & playing a gig out of town. I really enjoyed myself. The contrast to being here, sitting in a cubicle, surrounded by the bitterness and futility that radiates from my coworkers, well as the old saying goes it could drive a man to drink. Not this man, though. At least, not today.

Thoughts of lighting up a cigarette do keep running through my mind, though. Fortunately, I am able to look at them and see them for what they are: a desire to escape. It's one of my use patterns, and I treat it the same as I would other cravings: I don't have to pick up; this too shall pass; if I pick up, I will die. To a non-addict or even some folks who are and are in Recovery, that might sound extreme. But I really want to stay quit this time. And picking back up doesn't do anything to solve my unhappiness. The only 'cure' here is time.

In time, I won't crave the cigs as bad. In time (a few hours), I won't be at work anymore. In time, I will have a different job. The program teaches us to stay in the moment, though, and not to future-trip. What's my moment like? It's kind of like this:

Well... here I am. I don't really want to be here, but here is where I am. I don't have to be here, but I chose to be here. Because I like paying my bills. I like paying my rent. I really don't want to live in my car. I really don't want to die of lung cancer, either. So I work. So I keep on not smoking. This moment won't last forever; it will pass. Then another moment will come, and it too will pass.

It's been a few days since I blogged and I confess, I'd felt a little out of sorts. I try to write something uplifting and positive each time, try to give some hope to others even if I'm feeling low. I don't seem to have that today, just a lot of 'blah'. Well guess what, life is full of 'blah' moments. Sometimes I think people like us have the hardest time with 'blah'. For myself, even now with having been sober a while, I'm still not quite sure what to do with 'blah'. Maybe a Zen master can find deep meaning in it, but I ain't no Zen master :) just another addict/alcoholic trying to get through life in all it's phases while staying sober.

"Thank You For Not Smoking"

Okay, I don't want to make a big ol' speech, but since this blog IS about my life, a change this major needs to be written about: yesterday, I quit smoking. No, not cold turkey, I'm chewing nicotine gum. This is a change I've been planning for a while. I have been gradually smoking less cigarettes & chewing more of the gum for several months now. When I went back to work, that plan largely got abandonded, but something very interesting occurred. I was out on one of my breaks, having a cigarette, and I looked down at it and realized I was totally using it to cope with how unhappy I was being back at work. I knew I was done, and that I really didn't want to do it anymore.

I've tried to quit smoking many times, now, and several ways. I was actually quit for about a month before I got sober. Picked it back up within just a week or two. Last year, I tried four times. This year, I didn't make any resolutions or decisions, just said to myself that I'd quit when I was done. Before I got laid-off, I had joked about quitting smoking if that's what happened. When it did, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was.

The stepping down was my sponsor's suggestion, and it turned out to be a really good one. As time went by, I found myself liking the gum more than the cigarettes. Then, there came a point where I was just flat-out tired of the smoking. When that moment at work happened, I knew it was long past time. I decided that when I'd smoked my last cig, that would be it. That happened on Tuesday. I didn't savor it, I didn't wait until a certain time to smoke it, I just had it when I would normally have one, and then it was done. Hopefully, forever.

Some people think you should quit smoking when you get sober--at the same time you quit everything else. Other people say you should wait at least a year into Recovery before attempting to quit. Some people who have never smoked cigarettes in their lives will pick the habit up after entering Recovery. People who've been quit for years will start back up again. We are addicts. This is what we do. Addiction experts call cigarette smoking a compulsion, not a full-blown addiction. I am not going to comment on that. A lot of people used to smoke. There was a time when being an ashtray cleaner was a dedicated service position. And I just want to remind people that this is a habit many doctors once advocated.

Our culture has changed, when it comes to smoking, but I say 'woe' to the person foolish enough to get up in a Recovering addict's face about it. In fact, I remember someone being new to the program showing up at an NA dance I went once. He was wearing a 'nicotine is a drug' tshirt. Wow. I think I even asked him about it. His reply was that it is a drug; it is addictive. Of course, so is being a self-righteous asshole.

I hope I stay quit this time, I really do. But I'm not concerning myself with the future. I know how to work this, and it's the good old-fashioned way: One Day At A Time. Some might say that, with the stress of being back at work and all that I have going on in my full life, maybe I should wait to quit. But I know that's just an excuse, and that any excuse will do. So I might as well quit now. I have to at some point, or else I'll die. I really do hope I'm successful at it this time. Maybe even being back at work was what helped me to quit, considering I wouldn't have had that moment of clarity if I hadn't been back.

"Taking The First Step"

Sponsorship can be so cool. It's a beautiful thing, watching up close as someone changes their life and starts living it differently. The haunted looks become joyful smiles. The self-obsession becomes concern for others. The self-hating becomes humor.

It truly is my priviledge to help guide others on their spiritual path. I get to watch myself, too. It could be easy to listen to my sponsees share in meetings and think that the reason they are doing well (if they are) is because of my spectacular vision and tutelage. But I know that's not the case, and if my brain ever starts to tell me it is, I can wave and say, "yes, hello disease, I see you over there." If my sponsees are doing well, it speaks far more to how well they're working the program than it does my involvement.

At my step-study meeting this week, I got to hear one of my sponsees share that he'd just finished working step one. The group commended him and you could see the change in him from before. He was proud of the work he's done, but there were also the signs of the change that working the program brings. More peaceful. More real. He talked about the work he'd done. He'd been very thorough on his first step, maybe more so than most. As his sponsor, I was happy to let him work the program as he felt he needed to, and just watched to make sure he continued making progress.

When he'd felt he was done, we had gone over his work. He had been thorough, but as we talked it became clear that there was still something not quite right. It wasn't something I could put a finger on, except to say that he seemed to still have a reservation somewhere. Like, somewhere in the back of his mind he was still thinking maybe one day he could go back to getting loaded the way he used to, or perhaps one day he'd be able to control his using. I realized that, for all the work he had done, he hadn't quite managed to actually take that first step.

This is what I said to him: when we read the first step in meetings, we say 'we'. When we take the first step, we say 'I'. *I* am powerless. *My* life is unmanageable. The text from 'how it works' says these are the steps we took. These are things we have done. When my sponsee then said the first step using the word 'I', his entire look changed. It was as though he were honestly admitting to himself for the first time that he really was an addict. The deceitful power of denial fell away--and so did his reservations.

After that, he seemed to have felt a little self-conscious about all the work that he had done when the actual taking of the first step was so simple. I reminded him that simplicity is something we learn though working the program. I told him, too, that all the work he had done served a very important purpose: it was what he had to do to make himself ready to take that first step honestly.

I've heard people share in meetings about the importance of the word 'we' in that first step, and they are absolutely correct. It's our first introduction to the idea that we aren't alone. We aren't the first to have to admit to ourselves that we have this disease. We aren't alone in our Recovery, either. There is a solution. There is help.

We take these steps for ourselves, but not by ourselves.

"Not Everyone's A Dreamer"

I always love it when the 'Just For Today' applies so directly to my life. This morning's email talked about fulfilling our dreams, and my mind has lately been on that very subject. When I was laid off from work back in April, I took it as an opportunity to do what I truly love doing--work on my music and my writing. Here I am three months later, blogging every day and with an entire new CD written.

This blog is something I enjoy doing a lot. It's a place for me to write about what I'm going through, and writing is a big part of my program. I keep a journal as well. The amazing thing about doing this blog, though, is the comments I've received from others about how helpful it has been to them. I've even gotten a number of messages from people who don't suffer from the disease and yet find wisdom in and guidance from this spiritual way of life. I count my writing as part of my 12th step work and am glad to be out here on the web helping others by sharing my life.

It's a little different with my music. Sometimes I'm able to use that talent to help others. My last CD was spoken word over beats I'd made, and each song was inspired by the spiritual principles behind each of the steps. The current project is instrumentals, but the song names are Recovery-themed. The album has a broad appeal and I'm hopeful that it's something that will find its way to a larger audience. Even though neither of these projects mention the program specifically or reference anything that would give them away as 12-step inspired, people who are in Recovery will recognize them as such. It's an old technique called hiding something in plain sight.

Music has almost always been a part of my life. There was a period when I gave up on it, didn't play, didn't compose, and that's when I started writing, but other than that, it's always been there. From the time I started piano lessons as a kid, to my college degree in music composition, to today where I create and record in my home studio. It's been a friend that kept me company when I was lonely, didn't judge me when others were cruel, and help me to say the things I was feeling inside that I didn't have the words for. And, after 25 years, it's something I've become pretty damn good at.

I've thought off and on for most of my life about earning my living through my music. As a kid, my dreams were grandiose. As I got older, my insecurity took over and thoughts of not being good enough held me back. Added to that were my fears that I might not love my music nearly as much if I was dependent on it as a source of income. It would become like work instead of being for just my enjoyment. When I told a friend about these fears, she wisely replied, "then your work will be something you love."

The 'Just For Today' talked about how our dreams become possible through working the program. It is so very true that there is no way I could have pursued music professionally when I was loaded all the time. I was too lazy. My head was stuck in a fog. I was way too insecure to not take rejection personally. But now, I have a realistic view of things. I can listen to what I have made and know how good it is in comparison to what else is out there. I have wisdom from my experience working in the industry. And I know that it takes a lot of luck, and that I have to do my part to put myself in a position to be lucky. After nearly two years in Recovery, I'm daring to dream that God might have given me these talents for more reason than just to keep myself company on the piano late at night. I'm feeling the need to pursue this, not for financial gain, but because of something deep inside me; because it's who I really am.

Not everyone has dreams. For those of us that do, Recovery makes those dreams possible. It doesn't mean they'll come true. We get to do our part and leave the rest up to God. What once was impossible can become reality. And if our dreams don't come to pass, we can know that we did our best, that we did all we could. It we don't succeed, we can know that at least we tried, and that that was not a priviledge we had when in the grips of active addiction.

Dream your dreams. Stay sober. Do your part. See what happens.

"A Journey Out Of Misery"

My two-year birthday is coming up in about a month, and I've found myself thinking about my story. I've chaired meetings a number of times now, and have been told that every time I tell my story, it's different. Not in a lying way, just that I focus on different things depending on what mood I'm in and what I'm moved to say. I really admire people who can condense their story down and keep it consistent, but I'm not one of them. So when I chair, I do my best to be honest and let myself be moved. My prayer before I begin is, "God, help me to say what needs to be heard."

I've also heard many, many, many people tell their stories. Sometimes I relate a lot, other times not so much. Sometimes I relate very strongly on an emotional level, even though the details aren't very similar. Sometimes I get stuck focusing on the differences and I have to fight the demons inside that tell me I don't belong. Almost everyone begins their chair talking about their use, the progression of their disease, and how insane things got from it. My story doesn't have the same structure. If anything, my story runs in the opposite direction. My life didn't get crazy because of being loaded, I got loaded because my life was so crazy. That is kind of an oversimplification, though. I've written my story in this blog before, and I wonder what it would be if I wrote it today.

We all have our stories. No one's is exactly the same as another's, but we all have common threads that weave through the tapestries of our lives. A lot of us come from homes where one or both parents suffered from the disease. A lot of us suffered abuse or some other severe trauma in our childhoods. Many of us spent our lives feeling like we didn't fit in or belong. Most of us have major control issues. Most of us have had people in our lives die from this disease.

It's similar with our Recovery. Everyone works the program in their own way, but the things we do are similar: we attend meetings; we work the steps; we take service positions; we reach out to others; we sponsor and are sponsored; we participate in the fellowship outside of meetings. Each of us does these things in different amounts at different times in our Recovery. We each bring our own unique way of doing these things, but we do them because we've found that they work. Our clothes may not be the same, but they're cut from the same cloth.

Some of us come into the rooms because we can't bear to go on living with things the way they are. Maybe we've realized we will die if we continue on in the same way. Maybe we've realized we want to stop and can't. Maybe we want our children back, or we want to stop hurting the people we love. Maybe we have to be there to save our relationship, or maybe we'll go to jail if we don't attend. Maybe we simply don't want to be in pain anymore. Regardless of the specifics, we learn quickly that the power of the program does keep us sober. It's not long afterwards that we begin to be amazed by all the other things it can do for us.

For me, Recovery has been a journey out of misery. My life before the program, well, I'd hardly call it a life. I didn't have any real friends. I was estranged from my family. I was consumed with hate--for myself, for people, and for this world I felt condemned to live in. Most of the time, I was straight-up miserable. And it had been that way for as long as I could remember. I owe a debt of gratitude to the program that I can never fully repay. Not so much because I have been freed from active addiction, but because I have been freed from the chains that kept me bound to my suffering.

I'm not saying everything is perfect now. It's not. I still have problems. There are plenty of things that I struggle with. And, of course, there's good old-fashioned life to deal with. But I can deal with it now. I have a set of tools now that I can use, and some powerful knowledge. Who I am really is enough, even if I don't feel that way at times. Not only am I worthy of being loved, but I am loved. What the program has given me is not a way of life; it's a way of living. And it works.

“Fire Hazard Dry”

At my usual Friday speaker meeting last night, I heard something I hadn’t heard before. (I love it when that happens, btw). The speaker was telling her story, about how things had gotten so insane, and came to a part where she stopped drinking, but just all on her own. We refer to this ceasing of consumption without having any Recovery as being ‘dry’. She talked about herself as being ‘fire hazard dry” and I fell in love with the phrase.

I started getting loaded a bit later than a lot of people. It wasn’t until my early twenties. But I’ve always been able to look at my behavior before that and see the disease. I see it in the self-centered way I moved through the world. I see it in the deep insecurity I felt, coupled with my raging ego. I see it in the way I tried to make reality be what I wanted it to be instead of accepting it for what it was.

When I heard this woman talk about being ‘fire hazard dry’, I knew exactly what she meant. And I felt like I finally had a way to describe how I had been before I ever first picked up or got drunk or anything. My institutionalization is from before I first picked up. So is my time in jail. So is one of my failed marriages. You can throw in there some failed relationships, some destroyed friendships, and a lot of self-harm, too. And don’t even get me started on how bad things were between me and my family. My first two suicide attempts are from this time of my life as well.

I was raised to believe that alcohol was bad, that drugs were really bad, and that anyone who drank or did drugs was an alcoholic or a drug addict. It was out of fear that I stayed away from drugs and alcohol for so long. It was one hell of a culture shock when I got out into the world and discovered that most people drink. But the concept of people just drinking socially didn’t exist for me. It still doesn’t, really, but that’s a subject for another time.

For some people, this disease develops through excessive use. It hasn’t been like that for me. When I did start to drink, I drank to get drunk. When I started getting loaded, I got as loaded as possible, and it was not long before I was loaded all the time. When I first picked up my drug of choice, I felt a peace and an exhilaration I’d never thought possible. Finally, I’d found the answer to all my life’s problems. Finally, I’d found a way to escape the world and escape myself. I loved being fucked up. I loved thinking that I was a part of a group, that I belonged, and I really loved being able to let go of all the everything that my thoughts were always consumed with. And once I picked up, the disease progressed and progressed until I got into Recovery.

Some have suggested to me that I have mental issues apart from my disease, but at this point I’m pretty sure that’s not the case. I went to my first therapy session when I was fifteen. I’ve been misdiagnosed as bipolar, and they’ve tried just about every form of medication on me known to man. And guess what? None of it worked. None of it helped. Therapy didn’t work. Psychopharmacology didn’t work. But the program does. Being loaded wasn’t the answer I thought it was; it wasn’t the solution. The serenity I’ve found through working the program is beyond anything I ever thought possible. It’s taught me a way to live that works. I needed one long before I ever first picked up, back when I was fire hazard dry.

At the risk of being a Big Book thumper here, I can’t help thinking about the passage that says how a man is unthinking when he says sobriety is enough. I know from my experience that it isn’t. Getting loaded, whether through alcohol or any other mind-altering substance, is not the disease; it is only a symptom. We need Recovery to treat our disease. Getting sober is only the beginning of the journey.

"Don't Should Yourself To Death"

You'll hear it every once in awhile. Someone will chair a meeting, or you'll be in a conversation afterwards, and a comment like this one comes out: "I had to eliminate some words from my vocabulary--always, never, ought, should." Maybe instead of 'ought' they'll say 'have to'. This comment can be real puzzling, especially to newcomers. It is a part of my program, though. I've found it useful, even if misunderstood by others. And just because I do it doesn't mean others need to, too. I dated a woman once who told me after we stopped seeing each other that she was so glad she could start saying 'should' again, and I thought quietly to myself how we all have our issues. As with so many other things, how I work my program is up to me and how other people work their program is up to them. But I digress...

'Never' and 'always' are pretty easy ones to understand. We don't live in a world of absolutes. We're not God and don't know everything. Sure, it's easier sometimes to think of things in black and white, but reality is mostly a vast, wide, gray area. 'Ought/have-to' is a really important one. The program of Recovery can be very empowering. Part of that comes from learning to take personal responsibility. Another part is from coming to fully understand our freedom of choice. We don't 'have-to' be clean and sober. We choose to be because (among other reasons) we don't want to be in pain anymore. We don't 'have-to' do anything; we make our choices and then we deal with the results.

But 'should' is my favorite word to not use. People will complain to me about, oh, anything and talk how it 'should' be this way or it 'shouln't' be that way. I listen, then say, "I'm sorry, 'should' isn't part of my vocabulary." Most people get really confused because they don't have the faintest clue what I'm talking about. To people in Recovery who know my views on this--like my sponsees--they'll hear me say it with a little more humor. "What is this 'should' word you keep using? I'm unfamiliar with that word. I need a dictionary..."

Here's my deal with 'should': 'Should' is the direct enemy of acceptance and second kin to denial.

If we're focused on the way things should be, then we aren't accepting them as they are. We aren't living life on life's terms. I shouldn't be addicted. Well, guess what--you are, and you need to deal with it. I shouldn't have mouthed off to my boss like that. Again, guess what--you did and now you'll have to face the consequences. I should really go grocery shopping tonight. Okay, yeah, so what? If you need to go buy food, go do it.

We'll use 'should' on other people. Someone will say something hurtful, or do something we don't like, or will act in a way we disagree with. So we say, 'they shouldn't have done that' or 'they should have said something else.' If we're doing that, then we've forgotten that we have no control over other people. 'Should' shows up with places and things, too. My favorite coffee shop is open til 11pm, but they bring the outside chairs in at 10. I could sit here and say they should leave the chairs outside until they close, but I'm powerless over places and things.

A lot of times, we'll say should instead of talking about how we're really feeling. We can recognize it when it happens, and we don't have to beat ourselves up about it either. If we think 'should' or hear it come out of our mouths, we can take it as an opportunity to look at what we're really thinking and feeling. We can turn that denial around and move ourselves forward with the deeper truth of what's going on inside us. Like anything else, it takes practice, but it can be done.

I do suggest to my sponsees that they try to avoid 'should' and the other words on the list above. It's a helpful tool for retraining our thinking, helping us to move away from being passive and start becomming active. Using the word 'should' keeps us in denial. We don't have to do that. We can stop focusing on what should be and start focusing on what is. If you're upset about something, then fine. How you feel is how you feel and it's okay to express that. You can even take action if you want to. I could write to the coffee shop and ask them to leave the chairs out. If someone is thinking they should be working the program better, they can stop thinking and start doing.

'Should' isn't real. It's a wish for things to be different than they are. If we're living in 'should', then we're back to living in our own privately defined world all over again.

"Crazy On Different Days"

Someone said it last night. I've said it myself. I've heard it said many times by others. "You people are crazy, but you're my kind of crazy."

Just because we get clean and sober doesn't mean we stop being ourselves. We addicts and alcoholics can have the strangest senses of humor. Things that might make normal people fall over in hysterics, we just shrug our shoulders at. Events, circumstances, and comments that normies might blush at, we let out belly laughs and loud gaffaws. Our perspective is very different. What we have been through, what we've seen in our life journeys, gives us a window into the real that so many people can not understand. Is it any wonder that people look at us with arched eyebrows when we chuckle about things that make others weep?

We weep too, of course. Just as we have moments of serenity, we have our moments of sorrow. Some are for obvious reasons. The death of someone close to us is no less hard than for anyone else. Some things we might be particularly sensitive about. Remember that we are not nearly as experienced in dealing with our emotions as our age would indicate. We don't talk about our age being our sobriety time for nothing; in a very real sense, that is the amount of time we have spent being adults. It's the amount of experience we have dealing with life, dealing with ourselves, and dealing with the world we live in. It's a wonder that we don't break down in tears more often. After all, this reality we inhabit was something we've had a hard time understanding and dealing with for as long as most of us can remember.

We do still go crazy from time to time. It's not the uber-insanity of active addiction, but still bonkers enough that if we don't take care of ourselves, we can do all kinds of damage. It's one of the reasons that having friends in the program--being a part of the fellowship--is so crucial. Using the phone list can do more than save our lives. It can be a way for us to avoid acting on self-will. Having the ear of someone else in the program who's impartial and not in the same mental place as we are helps us to keep from making rash decisions. Talking to someone about what we're going through makes it bearable and helps us to act, not just react.

The disease is always lying to us. It's always trying to trick us. It will distort our reality to such a degree that we find ourselves thinking there is no other alternative except to get loaded. It's wrong, of course. There is nothing so terrible, nothing so fantastic, that we need to get loaded--ever. We may be thinking the end of the world is at hand. We may be certain that those we love are plotting against us. An innocent comment can be blown so far out of proportion that entire relationships fall to dust--especially friendships.

Fortunately, we have the program. Some people say the steps are the program. I disagree. The steps are a part of it. So is going to meetings. So is being of service, sponsorship, and the fellowship, too. We work each part in different ways with different focuses depending on what we need at the time. The fellowship is no less crucial than the steps. Having someone to call has kept me from throwing chaos at people I love. It's helped me to better understand myself and the others in my life.

Go to enough meetings and you'll hear it: yep, we're all still crazy over here. But it's on different days. So on the days we're not crazy, we help those who are having a hard time. When we are going bonkers, we let ourselves be helped. And so the cycle of healing continues. We continue to Recover.

"1-5-9"

Honesty. Integrity. Justice. These are the words swimming around for me today. Not so much in a clear-cut way, but more of a this is what's going on right now kind of way.

I continue on with my amends and am starting to feel some real healing from doing them. Some relationships that I'd thought damaged beyond repair are on the mend. Some people have taken responsibility for their part in what happened between us and even apologized for it. I've received some gifts of kindness, supportive comments that have meant the world to me.

At the same time, I'm back at work at my old job temporarily and that has been a challenge. But it's been a different sort of challenge than before. This was the job I was working when I got sober. It was a job I took just to have a job. Even before I was laid off, I realized how much this job was not me. Being back after having the time to do the things I truly love has been an education. It's helped me to see how, in my active addiction, that I chose not to be myself. It's an honesty thing; an integrity thing. Okay fine, I'll call a spade a spade: being here feels like lying. Word on the wires is that I won't be here long, and that's okay.

Instead of being pissed off at the situation, I feel my energy naturally flowing towards the desire to do what I really love. If (when) I'm back to being unemployed, I can put a renewed focus into my music. I have no idea where it will go from there, but having had a taste of how it feels to put my God-given talents first in my life, I find myself truly wanting to do what I can to follow that path. The change in me was becomming evident. Living as I was truly meant to live, being who I believe God created me to be, I had started to taste real joy. And others around me noticed. Being back at work, I can see the difference now, too. It's as clear as night and day. I'll keep working here as long as they'll have me, but when the time comes and I find myself once again without a job, I know the next right step to take.

Light is being shed on issues in my personal life, too. I'm beginning to see more of what I do want from a partner instead of just what I don't want. That's a huge gift. I'm learning more about what I actually need, instead of what I don't. I've made, oh, let's say poor choices in women in the past. I'm beginning to truly accept that I don't have to do that anymore. I'm learning that I really am worth having someone good for me in my life. I hope to keep learning more.

But it's the work thing that's really so huge. I can see with almost crystal clarity how unmanageable this is. All the imaginary conversations. All the coffee I find myself drinking, all the cigarettes I find myself smoking. It's blantantly obvious to me that it's all just an attempt to cope. On one level, they are distractions from how I feel, but the recovering addict in me wants to call them something else: crutches used for avoidance. Denial patterns.

I don't know if it's God's plan for me to make music my life. I don't know if it's in the cards for me to be successul enough with my talents that I can just make music and write, but I feel a desire deep inside to make the effort. And I know that I have to do my part in order for it to happen.

My morning prayer and meditation time has been really helpful, too. I feel more focused during the day, more comfortable in my own skin, and more in the world. I'm doing better at seeking God, and finding more willingness to let myself be guided. There are moments now where I'm starting to truly feel free. It's becomming easier to let go, to relax, and to let God handle all the shit I can't. I'm getting better at doing my part and letting God take care of the rest.

I'm imagining that what I've written here might make me seem a little scattered to some. But inside myself I don't feel scattered. It's more like the program is working for me in multiple ways, on multiple levels. It's started firing on more than just one cylinder. Today, it's 1, 5, and 9. I can only imagine what it would be like if it were firing on all 12.

"Happy, Joyous, And Free (???)"

I've been reading the Big Book of AA again. Just started at the beginning and haven't gotten too far. Not up to the passage that contains the phrase I've used for my title there. The phrase came to my mind and so I skipped ahead and read it. Context? This is from chapter 9, 'The Family Afterward'. A paragraph earlier is the well-known 'we are not a glum lot' and the full quote for my subject is, "We are sure God wants us to be happy, joyous, and free." Not we 'think' he does, but we are 'sure'.

There's a great story I heard once. A man is standing with his minister. Together, they see a bumper sticker proclaiming the car owner's certainty of faith. The man turns to his religious guide and confesses that he wishes he had that kind of faith. The minister chuckles and replies, "that isn't faith; God can't do anything with certainty."

Not everyone agrees on this point. For some, they see faith as certainty. They are certain God exists, certain they will get into Heaven if they live by certain rules which they are certain were ordained by God from up on high. To people of this stripe, faith isn't really faith if you aren't certain about it. Some atheists have a similar faith. They are certain God doesn't exist, and when they discover that people of deep faith have doubts, they hold it up as proof that their beliefs are true. Certainty is exclusionary. Certainy means you are right and others are wrong. My faith is not of this brand.

The broader context of the Big Book passage asks the question, how can you people (meaning those of us in Recovery) be so relaxed? How can you be so casual, so frivilous, about such a dire subject matter? It is true that those of us who find our way into the rooms of 12-step meetings have been through hell. The joy of Recovery is in learning that we don't have to go there anymore, becomming free of those bonds. The chains of our old lives, our old pain, falls away. I have heard it said and repeated it many times: Recovery does not have to be a funeral.

We have to work it, of course. If we don't work the program, we don't receive the benefits of it. Our lives may change some, but if our commitment falls off, so do the promises, and we find ourselves back in the midst of our old patterns. The chaos returns. The pain returns. Luckily for us, we can change that at any time, right ourselves, and begin walking the spiritual path anew.

Some people don't want to. Some don't want to do the deep soul searching required. Some have issues they don't want to share, things horrible yet so familiar that they're unwilling to let go of them. Fear is probably the most poweful aspect of the disease. I know my fears still hold me back in certain areas of my life. I have experienced those moments of being happy, joyous, and free, but they have been just that: moments.

I can't say for certain that God wants me to be happy, joyous, and free. I try not to claim to know what God wants. But I believe it to be true. Earlier in my life, I felt that God wanted me to suffer, so why can't the opposite be true? Or maybe it's a freedom thing. Maybe we can suffer if we choose, be happy if we choose. What do I believe? I'm honestly not sure. Being happy, joyous, and free sounds a hell of a lot better than the way it was. Maybe it's a signpost on the journey. "Happy, Joyous, and Free--10 miles ahead."

We addicts sure do have a sick sense of humor :)

"Different From Our Fellows"

Someone I dearly love once shared in a meeting how frustrating it is that, while she lives her life by spiritual principles, so many others in her life don't. I found myself thinking about this today and had a mental flash of Jesus, the prophet whose spiritual teachings centered on Love, looking around himself and being on the point of tears because there was such little love in the world around him.

We don't have to go nearly as far in the past to find prophets. We can think of the Rev. Dr. King. Or John Lennon. There have been many who looked around at the world and spoke, saying, "if only we realized we are all connected; if only we cared about others instead of just ourselves." The idea even finds its way into our popular culture. Most people my age will remember a movie about a pair of time travelling stoners who preached, "be Excellent to each other."

We aren't. We don't treat each other with love, kindness, and generosity. We don't help each other in times of need nearly as often as we could, and not just out of pure selfishness. We find all kinds of ways to justify treating others poorly. We convince ourselves they aren't as important as we are, that they aren't as fully human as we are. We denegrade them for all kinds of reasons: they are a different gender; their skin is a different color; they make less money than us, or more; we disagree with their lifestyle. Our society and the world at large is struggling with these issues, and even if we solve them, still more will arise. We human beings are endlessly creative in finding ways to label each other as different.

In the program, we learn to focus on the similarities when we are in meetings. We can take that suggestion with us into our lives, too. We can look for how other people are like us instead of focusing on how they are different. We can take the spiritual principle of Love and apply it in all of our affairs.

But not everyone is in the program. Not everyone lives or even tries to live by spiritual principles. Honesty and integrity are truly rare in a culture where liars, cheats, and snakes are the ones who are successful. Our lives are filled with people who say one thing to our face and something entirely different behind our backs. We all know people who are nice because of their own guilt and not a genuine sense of caring. We all know the feeling of betrayal, of being told one thing and observing actions that go against it.

So what do we do? Do we give in to the dishonesty of the world and become dishonest ourselves? Do we look at others being selfish and decide that we need to be selfish, too? Those options are open to us, but we don't have to do it.

Living the spiritual life comes with a different set of principles and a different set of rewards than the material life does. By focusing on helping othes, we help to heal our inner selves. By letting go of material wealth, we receive the reward of a rich spirit instead. We find inner peace, inner happiness, a wellness of being that is not dependent on the world around us. Choosing not to take advantage of others does not mean we let them take advantage of us. Being honest doesn't mean we accuse others when we see them lying.

And when we are confronted with those who do not live as we do, we can choose how we act towards them. We can practice compassion, do as the AA big book suggests, see them as spiritually sick and treat them as we would a sick friend or loved one. This doesn't mean we don't protect ourselves from harm. When visiting someone who's sick, we sometimes wear a mask. We can practice tolerance and acceptance, too. Again, acceptance does not mean approval. We don't have to like the way others live their lives, just accept it. The freedom they have to do as they choose is the same freedom that allows us to live as we choose.

Live the spiritual life. It's a life beyond your wildest dreams. Others might not understand. They might even laugh at you, call you a fool, an idealist. So what? Live it anyway.

Share

"Little Miracles"

I gave one of my sponsees this piece of advice today: look for the little miracles. My example to him was to think about what happens when you cut your finger. It bleeds for a little while, then it heals. That's pretty fuckin amazing.

Not everyone thinks so, of course. Some people will read that and think, "well yeah, duh, so what?" Others will go further and recite the chemical process of blood clotting and move on to a discussion of the body's natural need to heal itself so that we don't die. And yes, of course those things are true, but when I think of this example, I am amazed and somewhat awed. Allow me to change the metaphor.

Some look at a painting and can deconstruct it. They can talk about the color choices made by the artist, the style of the brushstrokes, the size of the canvas and the amount of paint used. But none of those topics speak to what the painting is of. That information says nothing about the beauty of the work or the feelings which rise in us when we look at it. Just as it is when viewing a work of art, we can look at a cut and see only the technicalities of what happens as it heals, or we can look at the result and be amazed. Allow me to change the metaphor yet again.

I went to college for music, majored in composition, and I have done my share of deconstruction and analysis. But nowhere in any of my lectures did we stop to talk about how a piece of music can move someone to tears. A lot of my fellow students said there was a magic that was gone from the music once they had analyzed it. It wasn't like that for me. For me, knowing how the 'magic' works has only deepened my appreciation for it. Now, I can hear a song, analyze it as it's playing, and still feel the emotion of it. I can still feel the deep emotions of music, even when I know how it works.

There are miracles everywhere. Some might argue that 'miracle' is just a word for something we don't understand. I disagree. I think it's possible to understand exactly how something works and still find it miraculous. Healing. The beauty of a work of art. The power of moving music. The way trees grow. The sound of the wind. The color of a sunset.

A lot of addicts feel the mere fact that they're alive when they should be dead is a miracle, but we can see miracles everywhere if we want to. It's all in our perspective. We get to choose. We can look at the world and see only the ordinary, or we can see it as amazing and full of wonder. It's up to us.

Share

“Fear Is My Go-To Emotion”

(This blog is third in a three-part series, “Confessions of a Bad Mood”)

When I got home, I called my sponsor. He was amazed at how quickly things had happened with me going back to work. I told him about feeling sad and knowing that I’d get to the gratitude place eventually. He encouraged me to make it sooner, rather than later.

My sponsor’s real big on gratitude. I’d even go so far as to call him an expert on the subject. He’s been many places in the world and seen firsthand what real poverty and desolation looks like. He’s always finding new ways to remember how fortunate he is, how lucky he is to have what he has and to be where he is.

We talked about my fears of going back to work, how much I enjoyed having my time unemployed where I could just work on my music and my writing. I told him that I’m afraid I’ll never get a chance like that again. I told him, too, about some fears I’m having in my personal life--that I’ll never be able to handle a relationship, that I’ll always find some way to fuck it up. His suggestion was to recognize my fear, label it, and then step around it, and it reminded me of a story I’d written once. The story is of a spiritual master who gives advice like this:

“Ants follow the path laid out by those who have gone before them. But what if this ant, in the course of its journey, should find its path obstructed by a boulder? What, then, is it to do? Does it attempt to move the boulder? No. It makes a new path and goes around. If you can be like this tiny insect, and accept the boulder in your path, make a new one and go around, your journey will continue.”

I’ve heard people share in meetings about how their go-to emotion is anger. No matter what happens in their lives, their first response is to get angry. Mine is to be afraid. I’ve thought often about the last layer of tension I have in me. I used to be unbelievably uptight. Every once in awhile I’ll share about being tense and people look at me as if I’d just said I was from Saturn. It’s not something others can always see, but I can feel it there. Tonight, I realized that last layer of tension, that thing that is always with me, that last film of stuff that is holding me back, is fear.

I cried tonight. That is something I almost never do. I sat down at my computer to write this third entry and was overcome. I went into my bedroom, laid down on my bed, and dissolved into tears and wails. I’m so tired of being afraid. I'm exhausted from it. I can't sleep because of it.

I’m afraid I’ll never get the chance to be who I really want to be. I’m afraid I won’t be loved for who I really am. I’m afraid I’ll always hurt other people. I’m afraid I’ll always be fucking up relationships, doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing, and on and on and on. I could sit here and type ‘be not afraid’ until the cows come home, but acting as-if can only go so far.

It’s so hard for me to remember the good things about myself. Tonight, as I was on the phone with my sponsor, I read to him my latest amends letter. He was really impressed and kept saying over and over again what a good job I had done. I nearly burst into tears at hearing that.

Fear doesn’t serve me anymore. It doesn’t work for me anymore, as surely as getting loaded doesn’t work for me anymore. It keeps me from being comfortable in my own skin. It keeps me isolated from the world. And it keeps me from being in relationship with others. But I have lived with it for so long, it’s not easy to let go of.

So I’m going to try treating my fear like that boulder in the story. I’m going to pray to be shown the path around. And I’m going to keep moving forward. I know God is with me. I know I am loved by God and by others. And I have hope that, in time, I’ll be able to let the fear go.

Share

“A Meeting Outside The Meeting”

(This blog is second in a three-part series, “Confessions of a Bad Mood”)

I blog from my phone a lot. It’s easier to sit at the computer and type, but I like being out in the world and writing. I can totally understand why people take their laptops to coffee shops. Writing at home, I’m alone; when I blog from my smartphone. I’m around other people. We humans are social creatures, after all.

It was as I started the previous entry that I saw a friend from the program. This is someone I have a lot in common with and have bumped into more than once. We’re both musicians, we both write. He’s got some years on me, in terms of clean time, and has been through his share of shit. I told him a little about the space I was in, and he did what we in the program so often do: he opened up to me about himself.

He told me about what his life has been like the past few years, the struggles he’s gone through, that he’s still going through. And the message was a powerful one--through it all, he stayed sober. At the lowest possible moment, he received a touch of grace from his higher power, and from that moment on, he knew that everything was going to be alright.

I felt so fortunate, being able to sit there and listen to him. A one-on-one situation can be so much easier for me than a crowded meeting. Listening to him, I knew that I had plenty to be grateful for, though the thing I’m most grateful for was being able to get outside myself when I was hurting in a bad way.

Recovery is a journey. It doesn’t stop when we get a year, or two years, or five or ten or twenty. We experience different things at different stages, depending on how we work the program and what life hands us. I find myself thinking about something I shared once: that I’ve been really fortunate not to endure some of the real life trials that most people go through. And this man I talked with tonight showed me true kindness, by understanding what I was feeling and not shitting on it (as some other people in my life have in the past).

He didn’t have to do that. He could have said, “You’re upset because you got your job BACK??” and laughed at me. He could have talked down to me, told me how ungrateful I was. But he didn’t. He understood. He knows how our minds work, that whatever we’re going through can seem like the worst of the worst.

Sometimes I feel like I’m not fully in the world. It’s as though my soul, when it was placed in this earthly body, was shoved into a container incorrectly sized. A round peg in a square hole. When I’m low, the way I was today, it can be a dangerous place for me. I come down on myself for not being perfect. I come down on myself for not being able to appreciate all the good things I do have and focusing so intently on the tiny bits of bad. It’s one of my character defects, this negative egotism. And at the same time I want to lash out at the world for not respecting how I feel.

It’s a balancing act, acknowledging how I feel while at the same time keeping grounded in reality. With what I happened today, I have to remember that this huge, life-altering change happened very suddenly. When I was laid-off, I’d had months to mentally prepare. Going back to work, I had less than 72 hours. Going back to work is every bit as big of a change as becoming unemployed.

I know there are countless others out there who are less fortunate than I am. I know, too, that I have many other gifts which don’t translate as well into financial gain. Those are the things that make my life worth living, and being back at work doesn’t take them away from me. If anything, it makes them all the more precious.

Share

"Back At Work"

(This blog is first in a three-part series, "Confessions of a Bad Mood")

Earlier this week, I got a call from the company that laid me off back in April. It turns out that the woman who had taken my position had gone back to her old department, leaving no one available to do my job. It was the Human Resources folks who called, asking if I was available and willing to come back on a temporary basis. I told them I was. They contacted a temp agency, set everything up, and today I went back to work at my old paygrade--less than a week later.

It was really strange, sitting in my old cubicle after three months off. Some might call it a miracle, a gift from God. That's not where I'm at with it, but I don't want to get ahead of myself here.

A number of people were glad to see me back. I got some hugs and lots of smiles. Things weren't as bad as I'd feared they would be, in terms of chaos, disorder, and backlog. My boss gave me some very explicit instructions on what my priorities should be. I sat down and set to work. Falling right back into the swing of things, it was as if I'd never left. It didn't even feel like I'd had time off--that's how quick it all came back to me. There was plenty to do and I knew I wouldn't be sitting around idle.

As I worked, though, the mood of the environment set in. I began to remember in earnest all the things I had hated about being there. Once again, I was surrounded by people who have given up, to a certain extent resigned themselves to the hopelessness of an unchangeable situation. My job isn't one that requires a lot of brains to do, and I know that I'm looked down on a little for doing it. My political beliefs are very different than the other people in that office. It's kind of a go-capitalism, yeah-money, if-you're-poor-you're-a-lazy-sack-of-shit kind of place. What I'm trying to say is I don't fit in there all that well.

What I find lacking is a sense of compassion. There's no recognition for what seems to me to be an important truth: that not everyone in life is given the same opportunities, and that the pursuit of wealth is not the be-all, end-all of existence. There's some racism, some sexism, and a lot of just plain judging. I kept my head down, focused on my work, and tried not to think about how miserable I really felt.

By the time the end of the day rolled around, I was so glad that it was Friday. My AA homegroup is Friday evenings, a place I love going to because there's such good recovery there. There's a lot of joy, too. The chair tonight was one of the group's regulars and I hadn't heard her story yet. One part of her experience that really resonated was her time trying to die and how she didn't succeed in her attempt. I've never tried to drink myself to death, but I know all about the demoralization of trying to kill myself and failing at it. It's an overwhelming weight of, "fuck, I can't even get this right."

Even so, I was having a hard time at the meeting. Recovery is recovery, and a meeting is a meeting, but alcohol wasn't my drug of choice and I sometimes feel not a part of at an AA meeting. I walked in there feeling less-than from my day at work, and felt even more less-than as the minutes clicked by. Soon enough, I felt the need to leave, so I took off and went to a meeting where I knew they'd be talking about an addiction I could really relate to.

Pulling into the parking lot, I saw my ex-best friend and his girlfriend--my ex-girlfriend--sitting together in his car. The secretary was late and the door locked. The sun was setting on my dark mood. Before I knew it, I hadn't even the strength to go into the room. My room. My homegroup where I'm the flippin' treasurer. The secretary arrived, opened up the door, and I got in my car and left.

I went home and changed clothes. In the bathroom, I looked at my reflection and realized it had been a long time since I told myself, 'I love you.' So I stared back at my own eyes, tearing up with sadness from the day, and said this: "I love you. It's okay. Go do whatever it is you need to do." A few minutes later, I was at a local coffee shop writing this blog. I couldn't sit in a meeting, I couldn't call my sponsor, but I could write. I can share here what I didn't have the strength to say to others' faces: I'm sad.

I'm sad because I hate doing that job, because I hate putting myself inside that cage. I feel trapped. I'd been so happy for a few months. I'd been doing what I loved, making music, writing, working with others. And today felt like such a step backwards. I felt like for the first time in my life my soul had started to truly shine, only to have my sunlight of the spirit covered up. I feel like I had just begun to experience joy and it was snatched away.

I'm sad for some other reasons, too, that aren't appropriate for this space. I'm still trying to trust in God. He's been telling me to have faith. And so I continue on, trying to have faith. Remembering that I'm loved, that I'm cared for and guided. Even if I don't understand, even if I don't want what's happening with my life right now, I'm trying to trust that it's what I need.

Share

"Working Step Nine"

I'm working Step Nine right now, making amends. This time through feels different than the last. I think part of it is I have a deeper level of honesty. I feel a greater willingness, too, to make things right with those I've harmed. Some of my amends in the past were made very grudgingly. This time, I feel a lot more honest regret about things. I'm becoming less stubborn. I'm learning more humility.

Making amends can be a long process. My list isn't obscenely long, but it ain't short neither. Some are easy; some are going to be really hard. There are several that I'm writing letters, and those are the ones I'm working on right now. I write each one, go over it with my sponsor, and follow his suggestions on making changes (if needed). I've sent three off so far, and have actually heard back on one of them.

A lot of people talk about what a freeing experience this step can be. When they make their amends, the other person responds well, and they are overcome with gratitude for God's grace. That hasn't happened for me yet. In fact the one guy I have heard back from responded almost professionally. He said he was glad to hear that I'm sober and he wished me well, but said there wasn't really anything I could do to make up for my past actions. Such is life. I found myself feeling sad about the loss of our friendship, even though it had been years ago. The experience was humbling, but at the same time, I'm glad for it.

A lot of these amends are things I hadn’t had taken care of before, and the reasons why have a lot to do with being unwilling to admit my part. Almost always, even with people who have harmed us, we had a part in what happened. Figuring out what that is can be a difficult, soul-searching process. I remember having a really hard time with it on Step Four, doing my list of resentments. But we always have our part.

I remember an old-timer talking about making amends to the step-father who had molested her. She’d had a lot of anger at him for her whole life. For a long time, the idea of making amends to him was a flat-out impossibility. In time, though, she came to realize that she had had a part in what happened, that she had egged him on, dared him to do worse. She tried to control, and made things worse for herself. In the end, she made amends to his gravestone.

When we talk about this step, we use different metaphors. We say we're cleaning house, or sweeping up our side of the street. We don’t know how the other person will react to us. They might accept our amends or tell us to go fuck ourselves. They might embrace us; they might reject us. We don’t have any control over that. Instead, we do what we can and then leave the rest up to God.

Share

“You’re Special”

When I was out of town a couple weekends back, I went to a meeting. I’ve been to a few meetings now as an out-of-town visitor. It’s a real comfort to sit there in a city I’ve never been in, in a meeting I’ve never been to, and know I’m surrounded by people just like me. The readings are the same. People share about many of the same issues. The newcomers have the same haunted look in their eyes. It’s a real comfort to know that, no matter where I go, there are people trying to get Recovery.

I do get to hear new things, too. The chair that day talked about when he first started working with his sponsor. He was told, “you’re special--you get to start on Step 11”. He was then to go on to Step 12, and only after that did he begin working the steps from the beginning. The chair concluded by saying that this is what he tells his sponsees now: “You’re special--you get to start with Step 11.” At first, this all sounded very strange to me. New and different can sometimes be strange. But the more I thought about it, the more I could see the wisdom of it.

They say Step 11 is the one step you don’t have to wait to start working. Throughout our Recovery, we are always trying to increase our conscious contact with our higher power. There’s nothing wrong with praying--for the health and happiness of those we love, for the strength to do the right thing, for the help we need to stay sober through just one more day. There’s nothing wrong with meditating, either. Listening for that soft, still voice that tells us God’s will for us, gives us direction, shows us the path to walk and the next right action to take is an invaluable practice for everyone at every stage of their Recovery.

Step 12 is all about helping others. We say it’s specifically about sponsorship, but helping others and being of service in general are crucial parts of the program no matter how much time you have. For a newcomer, the words of someone with only six months of clean time can be more relatable than those of someone with five years. To someone new who can’t even put together 24 hours, six months sounds possible; five years doesn’t.

Growing closer to God and helping others, these are two pillars of the program. Starting at Step 11 wasn’t how I began, but I can’t find anything wrong with the suggestion. When it comes right down to it, we should all be working Steps 11 & 12 all the time.

Share

“A Daily Decision”

Sponsorship is said to be one of the most rewarding parts of the program, and as I keep doing it, I discover new truth to that statement. One of the guys I’m working with is actually dealing with a lot of the same issues that I am right now. We’ve talked about how he doesn’t quite get the ‘hope thing’. I told him about the work I had just done on that very subject. We talk a lot about relationships, commiserating about feeling like we’ll never be able to have a successful one. It’s kind of neat how in sync we are sometimes. I get to let him know that he’s not alone in what he’s dealing with. I get to see that for myself. And I get to pass on what I have learned and see how it’s helpful to someone else.

Earlier, he called me up to say how he’s started making a daily decision to work at not being insane. I smiled. I told him I was proud of him and how great it was for him to get to that place. After all, it is the ultimate point of working the program of Recovery.

Being sober is only the beginning. As we accumulate time, the obsession to use falls away. At first, we make a daily decision not to put in. Sometimes, though, people aren’t quite ready to fully give themselves over to the program. Maybe they are unwilling to admit their lives are unmanageable. Maybe they’re still addicted to the chaos and insanity. Some people really struggle with this part of the disease. Maybe they’re still ruled by fear and are unwilling to let go; the only thing they’ve ever known is the insane up and down and even though they hate it, they’re unwilling to let go of it because it’s easier to stay with the devil they know.

As the obsession to use falls away, we start addressing the real issue: the disease. We start finding new ways of being in the world. We learn to think differently, to act differently. Instead of lying, we begin to be rigorously honest. Instead of being afraid, we learn to be hopeful. Instead of trying to control, we start having faith that we are guided.

Recovery is about so much more that just living clean and sober. It’s about learning a way of life that works. The rewards are beyond our wildest dreams, but we have to do the work to get them. It can be frustrating. The pace of change, the apparent lack of progress. And even in sobriety there is an easier, softer way that is tempting. We can switch our drug of choice; we can find a relationship with someone who we think will ‘save us’. We can find any number of ways to avoid doing the hard work we need to do.

If we chose to avoid those things, if instead we choose--each day--to work the program as best we can, that’s when the rewards come. We get out of it what we put into it. If we don’t work it very hard, we don’t get very much Recovery. If we stop working the program, we go back to being insane. We go back to active addiction. We start traveling back down the road that leads to jails, mental institutions, and death.

Fortunately, we are given a choice. It’s not a choice anyone else can make for us. We have to make it for ourselves each day. Do I want to be sober today? Do I want to turn away from insanity today? For me, the answer is still ‘yes’ to both. Thank God.

Share

"A New Sliver"

(This blog is third in a three-part series, "Searching For Hope")

Today and yesterday, I’ve been doing something different. I’ve started the days with some God time. It’s probably the first time in sobriety that I have done so. The Big Book of AA is very clear about starting the day with prayer and meditation, but for some reason this practice hasn't been a part of my program. Going to bed at night, having a chat with my higher power and reviewing the day? That is something I almost always do. When I wake up? Almost never.

Yesterday, my mind was off and running from nearly the moment I woke up. It was swirling with chores and errands to do, colored by irritation at myself with allowing so many things to pile up. I sat outside, having my morning cigarette, and asked for help. Guide me, God. Guide my thoughts. Guide my actions. It’s all unmanageable over here. Amazingly enough, I heard that inner voice: ‘Take care of yourself; do what you need to do, then go be of service.’ Wouldn’t you know it, I felt better? I had a plan, and it wasn’t mine!

It was a pretty powerful thing to receive direction like that from my higher power. There was a peace and a confidence. Yes, there was lots to do, but I knew I’d get through it. I’d do what I could. I ended up making a to-do list with over a dozen items, and managed to do almost every last one of them. When it was done, I contacted some other people in the program to see how they were doing. At the end of the day, I found myself feeling very happy. It had been a good day, and I’d felt myself be carried through it. There was even a moment when I started to get frustrated, but then I heard the inner voice in me again, urging me to press on. With it came the strength to do so.

Step Eleven: Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood him, praying only for knowledge of his will for us and the power to carry that out.

When I talked to my sponsor yesterday, I mentioned all of this to him. Then I asked him what he thought about Hope. We talked about it for a while, actually. He thinks the thing I’ve been missing when it comes to Hope is optimism.

Sometimes I might seem like an optimist, especially when lil’ Joshua pops up. He is definitely one happy-go-lucky kid. It’s one of the ways he covers up how insecure he really feels. But what I’m trying to say is that, while I don’t think of myself as a pessimist, I’m really not an optimist either. There have been too many disappointments. Too many times where my thoughts have been for what I want and I ended up with the disaster that comes from living a self-centered life.

My sponsor says a wish is for something that isn’t possible; Hope is for something that is. But we have to see that something is possible in order to hope for it. We have to believe, have faith. If we just wish for good things to happen, they probably won’t. If we’re just wishing, then we’re still thinking inside that good things aren’t possible. We aren’t being open to them.

If we believe, truly believe, that something is possible, then we have Hope. That’s the optimistic part of it. We are believing, having faith, in what is possible instead of staying stuck in what isn’t. If we have Hope, we are being open-minded.

Letting my higher power take care of me these past two days has given me a new kind of hope. I can see better now that when I turn my life over, when I allow myself to be guided, I am cared for. I asked a question, and the answer was as it has been so many times: trust in God.

Share

"Ruminating"

(This blog is second in a three-part series, "Searching For Hope")

I was feeling scattered, distracted tonight. On my way home, I felt moved to go to a favorite thinking spot. It's a bench with a nice view at the local University. I opened my mind, tried to let my thoughts wander to the things I'm worrying about, and listen for the guidance of my Higher Power. A lot of people talk about listening to a soft, still voice. It isn't like that for me. It's more like thoughts that pop into my mind that I didn't think. Ideas occur to me that don't come from me. I try to relax, be passive, let God move my mind, my perceptions, my senses.

I thought about some things I've been irresponsible about this week. Immediately, the words were in my mind: you'll take care of them tomorrow. I thought about my worries about how I'm handling my personal life. Again, I receive wisdom: let go. And as I type about it now, I receive the reminder that I'm not perfect. I am a work in progress. I am learning. Then I think about hope and I choose to make an admission to myself and to God:

I don't really know much about hope. I feel like Hope has let me down too many times, I don't dare to try hoping again about anything.

Do I hope that I will stay sober the rest of my life? No, I work my program one day at a time and try to trust in God to give me what I need. Do I hope that I'll have a family of my own someday, a loving wife, children? Sort of, but it's more of a wish. And again, if that's what happens, then it does. I'm really proud of this current music project, but do I hope that something will happen with it--that it will get picked up by a record label or some other circumstance which will allow me to continue doing what I love? No, I'll do the footwork there, try to be open to opportunities that present themselves, and trust in God to show me what to do next.

The more I think about hope, the less it makes sense to me. I felt so terrible for so long; I certainly know what it feels like to be hopeless. Today, I'm not hopeless anymore. But I'm also not hopeful, either.

Thinking about being hopeful seems to me like wishing, and wishing is something I try to avoid. It’s too easy for me to fall into the unreal. It’s like I don’t want to wish for something because then I’m not living in the real; I’m not accepting what is. I almost feel like wishing is a waste of my energy. Or that I’m failing at acceptance if I do it. I feel the same way about hope.

I may not be hopeless anymore, but I do seem to be without hope. It isn’t as simple as I don’t want to fall into the trap of wishful thinking; though that is something I’m very rigid with myself on. But having hope is different than having a wish. Hope is a feeling. When you have hope, you feel hopeful.

I remember being new to the program, and having hope it could work for me. I remember having hope that life would improve, and it has beyond anything I could have imagined. I haven’t gotten the high-paying job or the fancy car or anything material. What I’ve gotten instead is some inner peace, some genuine love and understanding from others, and a continually surprising, ongoing learning about myself, who I am and what I’m capable of.

This current round of stepwork I’m doing is focused specifically on relationships. It’s been a journey. I remember working the early steps, admitting how terrible I am at relationships--with women especially--and thinking and writing about how this was something I could turn over to God, too. I wrote on the question of whether I believed God could take care of me on this issue. My response? “I hope so.” Yet, it wasn't an optimistic kind of hope. More like desperate.

I see the words I’m writing here, and am a little saddened by them. Hope isn’t supposed to be depressing.

Thinking tonight on how I don’t really know how to hope, or have forgotten, or won’t let myself, or whatever the deal is there, I looked up. I asked for God’s help. I asked him to help me remember how to Hope.

Share

"A Hole In My Program"

(This blog is first in a three-part series, "Searching For Hope")

So I've just stepped out of a meeting. The discussion topic was Hope. My brain started to do its usual thing where I think about all the things I'll say if get called on to share, then I let go of that and opened my ears up to listen. Sure enough, I got called on and found myself at something of a loss for what to say.

I mentioned how I didn't have much hope when I first came into the rooms, and that when I found some it was just a sliver at first. I agreed with what someone else had said earlier about how their life hadn't been great even before the disease took over. Then I said that I had found hope in the rooms, that I keep finding more, and that that in itself was amazing. I thanked the chair for his service, gave back the rest of my time, and that was it. Literally.

I'm not usually someone who keeps it short, but for some reason I didn't have much to say tonight. And hey that's alright. It might even be good for me to say less for once instead of more. But this is the second time 'hope' has come up as a topic where I didn't have much to contribute. It's got me thinking. Ruminating.

It's not like I don't know anything about hope. The second track on my last CD was called 'Hope'. For that matter, the second track on this current project is called 'Hope Visions'. It's the spiritual principle behind the second step. But for whatever reason, I don't seem to have much to articulate about it in a share. And I can't help but notice that I don't seem to be saying much about it here, either.

My guess in this moment is that I know far more about the other side of the coin--fear. I used to dare to hope, but so much of my program these days is about letting go and trusting God that hope seems almost irrelevant. Maybe I'm afraid to hope because my hopes have been in vain so many times. Or maybe I've found a weak spot in my spiritual practice. Maybe the next right thing is presenting itself.

I think it's time to start spending some time thinking about hope.

Share

“No Time for I’m Sorry”

I’m working Step Nine right now. This step came up in a recent book study meeting and I shared about how I seem to have more people on my amends list this time around than before. When we get into recovery, we don’t automatically become perfect. We still create wreckage. Our lives change, yes, but not instantly. I’m no exception. I’m still not perfect over here.

My sponsor likes to say that the making of amends is an act of apology. When you go to those you have harmed, you admit what you have done and ask what you can do now to make things right. There isn’t time to say, “I’m sorry”. The idea, here, is kind of like ‘of course you’re sorry; that’s why you’re making amends’. Instead of saying it, instead of offering up mere words, you take action. You show that you’re sorry through the act of making amends.

How many of us have apologized over and over, said the ‘sorry’ word until it became meaningless? “I thought you had quit?!” our loved ones accused. “I’m sorry, I will, I promise!” we insisted again and again. And that’s just one small example.

A lot of men (okay, women too) have a hang-up about the ‘sorry’ word. Saying we’re sorry means admitting we were wrong, something we flat-out refuse to do. This is partially a cultural thing, but it’s especially true of those of us who are in active addiction. Even after we get clean and sober, it can still be very difficult. By working the eighth and ninth steps, we get the chance to practice the principles of Love and of Justice. We learn how to admit we were wrong. The experience can be so hard, but anyone who has been through it will tell you the rewards are worth it. It’s not a coincidence that the promises in the AA big book come after Step Nine.

I have an interesting history with the ‘sorry’ word. I wasn’t raised to never say I was sorry. I was actually raised with the exact opposite idea. Growing up, something I heard a lot was that ‘it never hurts to apologize--even when you’re right.’ That may be a good idea in theory, but the addict in me took it to the furthest extreme. Early on, I learned to always apologize for everything. I might as well have hung a ‘sorry I was born’ sign on my chest and walked through life like that.

This was the mindset that I developed. With a total lack of self-confidence, I felt I had to apologize for my very existence. If someone said something that was hurtful to me, or treated me poorly, I apologized to them. It’s pretty hard to develop a healthy self-esteem when you’re always saying you’re sorry to people who have hurt you. Eventually, as I got older and my issues with insecurity ate away at my insides, this habit morphed into a true perversion: I only apologized when I was right, and never ever--ever--when I was actually wrong. Insane.

These days, I’ve a much more balanced approach to the ‘sorry’ word. It can still be hard for me to admit when I’m wrong, and I still sometimes apologize when I don’t need to (especially when insecurity rears its ugly head), but it is so much better than it used to be. Thank God for that progress.

I like the Ninth Step. I like all the steps, really, but this one . . . it’s almost like I get to sidestep the whole saying I’m sorry issue. Making amends is an esteem-building process. I honestly admit to myself what I have done wrong. I honestly admit to the person who I’ve wronged what it is that I did. I offer to do what I can to make things right. Whether they accept my amends or not isn’t the point. If they do, I can make restitution. If they don’t, I can know that I have done all that I could and give it up to God. Either way, by making amends, I get to let go.

Share