Misery Would Love to Keep Me Company

Apologizing; admitting my mistakes; being honest about the part I played in precipitating and perpetuating a bad situation is humbling. I have had to bare my soul to such an extent that, at times, it feels as though I've flayed it open, tearing out pieces to hold up in my outstretched hands as offerings to those I have wronged. By accepting responsibility for my ill-conceived actions and acknowledging the pain I have caused others, I in effect cut them out- like the rotten bits of fruit, I cut them out. Empty holes like fresh wounds gouged out where the rotten bits used to be. It is uncomfortable for me to be vulnerable. At first it feels like a weakness, but I have to remind myself that it is the right thing to do.  I have to remember that in time all those little holes will heal allowing something better and healthier to grow in the space they once occupied. I must remember that this is a necessary process if I want to welcome and keep serenity in my life. I kept the company of misery for a long time; we know each other very well. I understand that by not going through the process of personal inventory and humbly asking for forgiveness, when it is apparent that I do so, I will once again invite misery to eat at my table and sleep in my bed.

Recovery is showing me the stark reality of what actually happened when I used alcohol as a way to deal with undesirable circumstances and as a way to avoid acknowledging my vulnerability. Using alcohol as a solution was the real weakness. By drinking, I moved away from my humility and my humanity and closer to arrogance and fear. Alcohol helped me to cultivate contempt, plant seeds of fear, and reap the devastating consequences of my ignorance.

Turning It Over

Turning it over, i.e. how to not make a bad situation worse by trying to fix it or control it or by over thinking something so much you go into emotional overload and systematic breakdown; acceptance of something not liked.

Not being in control. Accepting and not trying to change something I don't like. I have to admit: those are toughies for me to overcome. I'm just now beginning to realize the true extent of my need to control and the lengths that I have taken in attempts to get my way. It was a shocking discovery to look at that defect and see it for what it was- what I was. I have always described myself as: nice, kind, honest, unselfish- to name a few. But in recovery, and through sobriety, I now know that the methods I employed to control were: dishonest, cruel, selfish, and superficial. I have come to believe that the only way to change damaging, self-defeating behaviors is to be honest about who I allowed myself to be. Turning it over is an important tool that helps me stay grounded in the reality of what I can and cannot control. It also helps to prevent me from becoming the person I turn into when I try change or control something or someone other than myself.

When I drank, turning it over amounted to turning over thoughts of whatever I was upset about over and over. It amounted to obsessing about situations that were out of my control. I would let all those thoughts churn up in my mind until they were caught up in an unstoppable frenzy. I drove myself to the brink of emotional insanity and my solution, then, was to pick up a drink (well, probably more like 10 or 12 drinks). What a terrible thing to do- add fuel to the fire. That's what drinking did. How I had convinced myself otherwise for all of those years is truly beyond my comprehension at this point.

I'm Not A Loner

I've had a people phobia for a long time. I used to describe myself as a loner. I had convinced myself that being alone was a preference; a choice a made for myself: I choose to be ALONE. If I maintained the thought that I just liked being alone, I would not have to face the fact that I was uncomfortable with me which caused me to be uncomfortable around other people. Really, I was afraid of being around people- it was an actual anxiety inducing fear. Throughout a large part of my twenties I had a stutter. I would become so nervous during a conversation, even a normal, no thrill kind of chat with someone I knew, that I would stutter and mix up my words. The humiliation I felt was incapaciting, so much so that I shyed away from talking very much, especially to new people. It was easier to isolate than it was to feel dejected.

So Serious

I shared at a meeting last night. I don't particularly like to share, but I do it because I know it is instrumental to the success of my recovery. It's part of that, 'going to any lenghts' stuff. Doing things that take me over the edge of my comfort zone and challenge my old thinking patterns is what helps my progress in my recovery.

So I shared. And I when I started out, I wanted to speak with a lightness in the way I was communicating. I don't want to be so damn serious, but that's how it ends up coming out. I listen as some of the old-timers speak about their experiences: they do it with a calmness, a sense of humor; they have a lightness and matter of fact way of sharing. I can't seem to do that. The awareness of how I was living, what I was putting myself through, needlessly, and what I put others through is still so excruciatingly painful. I was miserable beyond words.

When I think back, especially over the last three years of my drinking, a huge, tight ball of sadness bounces in the pit of my stomach. It's still so fresh, like an open wound that hasn't yet scabbed over. During my drinking career and into the first month or so of my sobriety, I remember thinking- it wasn't that bad. But, oh my God, yes it was that bad. Now that I have a way of life to compare it to, to hold it up against, I can see it for what it was and it was much more than bad- it was horrendously tragic.

Maybe one day, I will be able to talk about my experiences without having to be so serious and grave. But maybe, too, the seriousness is good for me. It is a way of keeping it fresh and acknowledging just how bad it really. I am so grateful that I don't have to live that way anymore.

Journaling from May (6 months)

I was looking through some stuff I had written previously and came across this kind of musing I did shortly after my six month mark. I thought it might be a good posting as it has some details on my history. I thought about editing it, but came to the conclusion it might be best left as is. I also had doubt of posting, as I do about any posting, because of my tendency to be overwhelmingly self-critical; thankfully, I am making some progress in that area.

May 7, 2012

I will always be an alcoholic, but I don’t have to be a drunk. There are times when it seems overwhelming difficult to make the choice not to be a drunk, but today I am aware that I DO have a choice. Being sober for six months doesn’t sound like a whole lot of time and compared to the time I spent wasting my life being wasted, it isn’t a whole lot of time; however, it has been enough time to show me that I have a choice, that I am not hopeless, that my life can be meaningful, and that even though I had somehow convinced myself otherwise, I am worthy of happiness.

For years I had a wish for a better life. I wished to respect myself. I wished respect from others. I wished to have confidence. I wished to be successful. I wished to be healthy in mind and body. I wished to have nurturing relationships. I wished that I had the ability to love myself. I tried in so many ways and tried to employ so many methods as attempts to bring my wishes into solid form. I drove myself crazy; desperately reaching, grasping, and running in circles to change what I saw as broken and flawed within myself. I could only get so far before my negative behaviors, traits, and characteristics regained control and I would find myself in similar situations with similar circumstances reacting in the same way even though I wanted to react differently. I felt like such a useless failure. I hated myself. I hated that I couldn’t fix myself. I hated that I saw myself repeating the same thing over and over without the ability to prevent it or stop it from happening again. My wishes to be whole seemed unobtainable: an absolute impossibility. With each failed attempt, my self-hatred and hopelessness progressed and so did my alcoholism.

Blessed

I am so unbelievably blessed.

There are moments when that acknowledgement rises to my awareness with such magnitude and force that it just about takes my breath away.

The awareness brings with it a sense of peace and calmness that vibrates from within. I can feel its presence in every fiber of my being. It is truly a transcending experience for me. It is the feeling I was wanting when I picked up a drink. It is the one that eluded me; the one that drinking moved me further and further away from.

In sobriety, I haven't so much as reached for it, as I did when I was drinking, as much as I have made space for it. I am allowing a place for it to reside; a place that didn't exist when I was drinking. I am able to open the door of my life and welcome it as an honor guest. It isn't always amplified, but it does linger in the background just inside my consciousness and it is more amazing than I could have ever guessed.

It is something you must experience for yourself, but if you want it, if you are gentle and have patience, if you have faith and believe, then it will happen.

Time is Not Passing Me By

It is August and I thought about something that had happened by in January. When I look back over the last nine months I become keenly aware of the time that has passed. It seems like such a long stretch and I can focus on each month, one at a time, and make a mental list of situations that transpired, events I participated in, conversations I've had, and other general happenings.

When I was drinking, when I think back to that time, months and years are a blur. When I try to focus on something that happened at a particular time, it seems to be tied to drinking. Three days, three weeks, three years- it was all the same. Time was irrelevant to me back then. I didn't keep track of it; possibly because I was either drunk or hungover and it turned into something not so memorable. Oh, I was drunk that night. Oh, I missed out on that because I had a hangover.

I love my life right now. I am actually living it where before I was merely existing. I was drinking (or getting high) and that is what mattered. I cannot believe all of the time I wasted being wasted. As a friend in the rooms says, "Everyday was the same. Everyday ended the same way. Nothing new was going to happen. Nothing exciting or wonderful was going to happen to me as long as I was drinking."