I hear people say, "I didn't have a drinking problem, I had a behavior problem." Once they took the drink away they had to deal with all of the underlying causes. I can relate to that. Drinking masked the boredom, the anxiousness, the insecurities, and a whole myriad of other restless states- it didn't really take them away; rather, it was the easiest way I knew to cover them up, sweep them under my rug of consciousness for an evening or a day.I didn't know that in order to be happy and to feel a part of this world I would need to deal with those issues- I would need to deal with all of my angst in an effective way. No one knows what they don't know and I did not know how to deal or cope with myself. I see now that drinking to blot and numb was like having a broken leg and putting a cast on my arm.
Now, in sobriety, I'm having to learn how to deal and (sigh) it's a process and not always an easy or comfortable. In fact, it can be pretty damned uncomfortable. Sometimes, (like right now!) I have to sit with a bad case of the fuck it's and what's the use anyway's. Times when I irritable, restless, and discontent and completely unmotivated. Times when I have no idea what the hell to do with myself, but some how there is this sense of faith that I will be able to figure it out without having to drink. That maybe the crux of how I continue to stay sober when I'm having the kind of day that would have had me drinking before noon. That sense of faith, no matter how small, endures and grows like a living thing deep down at soul level. It's a voice of reason that I can hear over the melee of my own crazy thoughts. It tells me to pause, to take a breath, and everything will be okay, you will get through this. I cannot tell you how unbelievably thankful I am for that voice of faith and reasoning; that voice of sanity echoing in my head.
I can become a little resentful at that voice however, because I know it represents the truth- it's just a moment or a day- and I will get through it. But sometimes, for me, getting through it means resigning myself to sit with it and feel it. It means forcing myself to get up and go through the motions even if I'm scowling and pissy and could care less about anything or anyone. It also means finding a way to be okay with not feeling great, with not doing much of anything, with being bored. It means forcing myself to meet my commitments and keep my promises; to do my best to stay present. My tendency, my normal behavior, is to hide, isolate, to blow everyone off and feel sorry for myself. I have to address those tendencies by doing something different than what I'm used to which can be exhausting and frustrating because I really just want to give up; but that voice pushes me on; that faith carries me through- it truly does. And, I'm better for it.
I have found a way to accept whatever it is I am going through even when I don't like it. I have found a way to trust and to have faith that whatever it is I am feeling today isn't going to last forever- it may linger for awhile, but it's not forever. I don't have to check out. I don't have to resort to self-sabotage because I'm feeling bored or anxious or insecure. I don't have to make a bad situation worse...and for me, that in itself is a miracle and proof enough that it works.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Friday, September 20, 2013
Ideas of Grandeur
When I drank, I would experience a false elevation of self. I felt smart and intelligent; full of self-righteousness. I would have all of these grandiose ideas about me, my life, and my future. I felt on top of the world- nothing was out of my reach and there was nothing I could not do.
Then I would wake up (well, come to) the next morning and all of those thoughts and feelings I had been so sure of, so wrapped up in, were replaced with something much less ambitious and desirable. Whatever interminable view I had of myself the night before became a huge brick dropped into the sea. Ker plunk! All the way down to the bottom; as though it had never existed at all. I would wake up feeling physically and emotionally sick. Distraught. My thoughts crying out- Oh no, no, no! I’ve done it again! The guilt. The remorse. Memories of the night before slowly coming back in jagged bits and; all broken up, trying to piece them together: excruciatingly painful. I was in a perpetual state of mental anguish; and I’m not sure what became more agonizing for me- the ability to remember or the realization that I could not recall events that had taken place just a few hours before.
I tried to act as if- as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if it wasn’t that bad. So what? So what. But acting as if wasn’t enough to stop the twisting and turning in my head and the wrenching in my gut; the only thing I knew to quiet anxiety, the panic, the rising self-hatred, the sense of self-betrayal was to drink.
Craziness.
Total insanity.
But I did not know what I didn’t know. I did not know of any other way, did not know any other way to get relief and alcohol obliterated the reality that was my way of life. Alcohol relieved me of myself and that is what I needed. I needed to put thoughts of who I was away; hide them; extinguish them and alcohol, lots of alcohol, did that for me.
The craziest thing is- alcohol was perpetuating that burning need to escape myself.
The burden of the sickness that is alcoholism is so heavy. It is so unbelievably heavy and it is absolutely relentless in its efforts to distort itself. It becomes this living, breathing thing so horrific because you don’t want to live with it and yet you are terrified at the thought of living without it. That was me and I was suffocating, so helpless in escaping its grip and yet afraid that it might let go.
Every day. Every. Single. Day. I wake up in gratitude to not feel that way. So thankful to no longer wake up to that old way of life, that old way of living I had settled for. So grateful that I don’t wake up consumed with fear thinking, “Oh no! What have I done?!” So thankful to not wake up to the burden of my disease weighing me down; baring down on me like a ton of bricks.
I’m astonished when I look back at what I forced myself, and the people that cared about me, to endure. I am dumbfounded to recall that I once didn’t think “it” was that bad. Because it was bad: it was a horrible, terrible thing. I thought that I was free, but have come to understand that I was nothing more than a compliant prisoner, a puppet.
I don’t feel like that today and haven’t for some time. I don’t feel a need to escape myself today. Today, I wake up in the moment, tethered to reality, looking forward to what the day may bring. That, to me, is such a gift- a miracle all in itself- everything else is extra.
Then I would wake up (well, come to) the next morning and all of those thoughts and feelings I had been so sure of, so wrapped up in, were replaced with something much less ambitious and desirable. Whatever interminable view I had of myself the night before became a huge brick dropped into the sea. Ker plunk! All the way down to the bottom; as though it had never existed at all. I would wake up feeling physically and emotionally sick. Distraught. My thoughts crying out- Oh no, no, no! I’ve done it again! The guilt. The remorse. Memories of the night before slowly coming back in jagged bits and; all broken up, trying to piece them together: excruciatingly painful. I was in a perpetual state of mental anguish; and I’m not sure what became more agonizing for me- the ability to remember or the realization that I could not recall events that had taken place just a few hours before.
I tried to act as if- as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if it wasn’t that bad. So what? So what. But acting as if wasn’t enough to stop the twisting and turning in my head and the wrenching in my gut; the only thing I knew to quiet anxiety, the panic, the rising self-hatred, the sense of self-betrayal was to drink.
Craziness.
Total insanity.
But I did not know what I didn’t know. I did not know of any other way, did not know any other way to get relief and alcohol obliterated the reality that was my way of life. Alcohol relieved me of myself and that is what I needed. I needed to put thoughts of who I was away; hide them; extinguish them and alcohol, lots of alcohol, did that for me.
The craziest thing is- alcohol was perpetuating that burning need to escape myself.
The burden of the sickness that is alcoholism is so heavy. It is so unbelievably heavy and it is absolutely relentless in its efforts to distort itself. It becomes this living, breathing thing so horrific because you don’t want to live with it and yet you are terrified at the thought of living without it. That was me and I was suffocating, so helpless in escaping its grip and yet afraid that it might let go.
Every day. Every. Single. Day. I wake up in gratitude to not feel that way. So thankful to no longer wake up to that old way of life, that old way of living I had settled for. So grateful that I don’t wake up consumed with fear thinking, “Oh no! What have I done?!” So thankful to not wake up to the burden of my disease weighing me down; baring down on me like a ton of bricks.
I’m astonished when I look back at what I forced myself, and the people that cared about me, to endure. I am dumbfounded to recall that I once didn’t think “it” was that bad. Because it was bad: it was a horrible, terrible thing. I thought that I was free, but have come to understand that I was nothing more than a compliant prisoner, a puppet.
I don’t feel like that today and haven’t for some time. I don’t feel a need to escape myself today. Today, I wake up in the moment, tethered to reality, looking forward to what the day may bring. That, to me, is such a gift- a miracle all in itself- everything else is extra.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Came to Believe
Last night, a newcomer shared about their difficulty with, 'the God thing'. I can relate to that. I had always considered myself spiritual- I couldn't help but believe that there was some kind of force 'out there' that was mysterious and divine. It was something that I didn't think could be contained or defined by the human race and I was very turned off on organized religions that not only attempted to define this power, but insisted that their sect was versed in what this force was, wanted, and expected; and nothing could exist outside of their understanding.
When I came into the rooms I was deaf to the part that said, "...as we (or as I) understood him (or her or it)". Yeah, I totally ignored that part and instead instantly jumped to the conclusion that I was being told to believe in some other persons understanding. I cringed every time the word God was invoked at a meeting.
But...but...but...I wanted to stay sober and forced myself to internalize the quip, "take what you need and leave the rest".
If I wanted other people to respect my stance on God, should I not be willing to respect theirs, too? (principals not personalities)
I did, however, come to believe that a power greater than myself could return me to sanity and that greater power was the rooms and the people in them. Those meetings and the other alcoholics sharing their experience, strength, and hope were (and are) an extremely powerful force that not only keeps me sober, but shows me how to live a fuller life as a sober alcoholic.
There is no doubt, whatsoever, that those rooms kept me sober and attending meetings is how I maintain my sobriety and they keep me from disappearing into the void of my disease.
I was told to, 'fake until you make it' and thankfully I was willing to do that. Eventually, my pride and ego calmed down enough that I allowed myself to begin to nurture a connection to a power of my understanding. Sometimes, I call this power God out of convenience, but truly, who am I as a mere mortal to attempt any kind of conviction that I know what that power consists of. All I know is that the relationship I have been working on is a great source of comfort and serenity. And that by building this relationship is, in turn, helping me to build a relationship with myself and others: something I have never been able to do before.
And, too, the more comfortable I am in my own beliefs the more tolerant I am towards others. I don't have to convince anyone that my belief is the one or the true form of the divine. The relationship I have with my higher power is my own personal understanding- it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks or understands.
I am sober today. I have peace of mind today. I am able to find serenity in the most chaotic and disturbing circumstances. And, I firmly believe that I am who I am today because I had an openness and a willingness forgo previous perceptions and seek a power greater than myself to my own understanding.
I was speaking to the newcomer after the meeting and I tried to relate my own experience about being uncomfortable with the God thing and using the group as my higher power and how I was told to just fake it until you make it. She responded that she couldn't fake it, just wouldn't be able to fake it. I was silent, but I thought with regret and compassion- that she just might have some more drinking to do.
When I came into the rooms I was deaf to the part that said, "...as we (or as I) understood him (or her or it)". Yeah, I totally ignored that part and instead instantly jumped to the conclusion that I was being told to believe in some other persons understanding. I cringed every time the word God was invoked at a meeting.
But...but...but...I wanted to stay sober and forced myself to internalize the quip, "take what you need and leave the rest".
If I wanted other people to respect my stance on God, should I not be willing to respect theirs, too? (principals not personalities)
I did, however, come to believe that a power greater than myself could return me to sanity and that greater power was the rooms and the people in them. Those meetings and the other alcoholics sharing their experience, strength, and hope were (and are) an extremely powerful force that not only keeps me sober, but shows me how to live a fuller life as a sober alcoholic.
There is no doubt, whatsoever, that those rooms kept me sober and attending meetings is how I maintain my sobriety and they keep me from disappearing into the void of my disease.
I was told to, 'fake until you make it' and thankfully I was willing to do that. Eventually, my pride and ego calmed down enough that I allowed myself to begin to nurture a connection to a power of my understanding. Sometimes, I call this power God out of convenience, but truly, who am I as a mere mortal to attempt any kind of conviction that I know what that power consists of. All I know is that the relationship I have been working on is a great source of comfort and serenity. And that by building this relationship is, in turn, helping me to build a relationship with myself and others: something I have never been able to do before.
And, too, the more comfortable I am in my own beliefs the more tolerant I am towards others. I don't have to convince anyone that my belief is the one or the true form of the divine. The relationship I have with my higher power is my own personal understanding- it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks or understands.
I am sober today. I have peace of mind today. I am able to find serenity in the most chaotic and disturbing circumstances. And, I firmly believe that I am who I am today because I had an openness and a willingness forgo previous perceptions and seek a power greater than myself to my own understanding.
I was speaking to the newcomer after the meeting and I tried to relate my own experience about being uncomfortable with the God thing and using the group as my higher power and how I was told to just fake it until you make it. She responded that she couldn't fake it, just wouldn't be able to fake it. I was silent, but I thought with regret and compassion- that she just might have some more drinking to do.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
My Program Works for Me
I work the 12 step program as started by Bill W under the name of Alcoholics Anonymous. I don't like to mention on this blog because I believe in the principals and traditions of attraction not promotion and maintaning anonimity at the level of press, radio, and films. However, I have attended countless meetings in the last few months where relapse has been the topic of discussion. I have also had a few friends that I have made in the rooms that have relapsed and have come back. Some of these people are beginning to suffer chronic relapses- once a week, once a month and so on.
Inside every discussion about relapsing is the phrase- "I wasn't working the program." This reason was the common thread woven into the fabric of the pain, shame, devastation, and regret that these people mentioned as they described their experiences of going out and picking up.
AA has taught me to listen. For the first time in my life I am gaining wisdom from listening to the experiences of others. For the first time in my life I am doing my best to opt out of having to learn everything the hard way.
I cannot afford to not believe in this program.
Every day.
Every.
Single.
Day.
I am given examples of how this program works in my life. Of how it is changing my life for the better. Once I surrendered to the suggestions; once I relinquished control and stopped running on the self-will indulged on alcoholic thinking; once I let go of doing it my way- the program gave me living examples of why sobriety is the best choice for me.
God, I do not want to go back to that life. The thought of what would happen if I picked up makes me cringe. It would be no different than knowingly pressing my hand down on a hot stove. Pressing down hard until my flesh melted and I screamed and flailed with indescribable pain.
That's where I was when I came into AA. I was screaming inside with an indescribable pain of which I believed there was no escape from. It was a misery I thought was all my own. That no one could know the pain and torture of my existence. That no one could understand what I was going through, what I was putting myself through, and the terrible and embarrassing things I was doing. No one could help me or save me from myself.
That's where I was and it was MY WAY that got me there.
I'd hate to think where I might be right now if I was still doing it my way. I could have certainly sunk a little lower. I could have figured out first hand just how deep hell really is. But, you know, I really don't need to know that fun fact. I can live the rest of my life without finding that out. And, if I work my program, if I learn to practice the principals in all my affairs I believe that I will be able to live the rest of my life without having to find out just how far down hell really goes.
In doing it in a way that is not my own I have stayed sober for 15 months. I think my way used to get me about 15 hours!
But, I had to be desperate to try another way. I had to be desperate to surrender. I had to get the point of AA or death in order to shut up and listen. To shut up and stop acting like a defiant three year old who thinks they know everything!
Someone today mentioned that AA was a substitution for drinking. I like that analogy.
Drinking was exhausting- it was useless. Drinking for me was like driving a car with three flat tires- sure I was on the road, but how far was I really going to get? Where the hell was I going? And surely, there is a better, more effective way to travel.
I know what works for me today and I know what I have to do for it to continue working.
Inside every discussion about relapsing is the phrase- "I wasn't working the program." This reason was the common thread woven into the fabric of the pain, shame, devastation, and regret that these people mentioned as they described their experiences of going out and picking up.
AA has taught me to listen. For the first time in my life I am gaining wisdom from listening to the experiences of others. For the first time in my life I am doing my best to opt out of having to learn everything the hard way.
I cannot afford to not believe in this program.
Every day.
Every.
Single.
Day.
I am given examples of how this program works in my life. Of how it is changing my life for the better. Once I surrendered to the suggestions; once I relinquished control and stopped running on the self-will indulged on alcoholic thinking; once I let go of doing it my way- the program gave me living examples of why sobriety is the best choice for me.
God, I do not want to go back to that life. The thought of what would happen if I picked up makes me cringe. It would be no different than knowingly pressing my hand down on a hot stove. Pressing down hard until my flesh melted and I screamed and flailed with indescribable pain.
That's where I was when I came into AA. I was screaming inside with an indescribable pain of which I believed there was no escape from. It was a misery I thought was all my own. That no one could know the pain and torture of my existence. That no one could understand what I was going through, what I was putting myself through, and the terrible and embarrassing things I was doing. No one could help me or save me from myself.
That's where I was and it was MY WAY that got me there.
I'd hate to think where I might be right now if I was still doing it my way. I could have certainly sunk a little lower. I could have figured out first hand just how deep hell really is. But, you know, I really don't need to know that fun fact. I can live the rest of my life without finding that out. And, if I work my program, if I learn to practice the principals in all my affairs I believe that I will be able to live the rest of my life without having to find out just how far down hell really goes.
In doing it in a way that is not my own I have stayed sober for 15 months. I think my way used to get me about 15 hours!
But, I had to be desperate to try another way. I had to be desperate to surrender. I had to get the point of AA or death in order to shut up and listen. To shut up and stop acting like a defiant three year old who thinks they know everything!
Someone today mentioned that AA was a substitution for drinking. I like that analogy.
Drinking was exhausting- it was useless. Drinking for me was like driving a car with three flat tires- sure I was on the road, but how far was I really going to get? Where the hell was I going? And surely, there is a better, more effective way to travel.
I know what works for me today and I know what I have to do for it to continue working.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Another Sober Sunday Morning
I find that my gratitude for sobriety surfaces during the most mundane moments. It blossoms and blooms into my thoughts not at the peak of moments filled with excitement, but mostly while I'm going through the very average and very unexciting motions of the day in and the day out.
It happened this morning as I was brushing my teeth.
Suddenly, the thought, "I am sooo glad I'm sober", floated through my head like a balloon and I grasped the end of its string and pulled it down close.
I'm so glad I don't have to wake up and deal with the effects of a hangover.
I'm so thankful to not wake up with the hammering in my head, the churning in my stomach, and the dirty, rotten, stink taste in my mouth.
I'm so glad I can brush my teeth without gagging. (and to think I always thought it was the toothpaste!)
I'm so thankful I'm not sitting here at 10:30 in the morning hating myself. I'm not sitting here consumed with regret and shame and remorse for the night before. I'm not sitting here struggling with the thoughts of never doing that again and just a few more to get me straight alternating through my head. I'm not sitting here bargaining with myself or making promises I know damn well I can't keep.
I'm just so grateful not to have to deal with that shit anymore!
I'm so grateful not to FEEL like shit anymore!
I'm so grateful to have a choice not to feel that way because for a long time I didn't think I had a choice. I felt following through on the choice of not drinking was hopeless and my solution to that hopelessness was to drink some more.
I remember countless Sunday mornings (or afternoons it would have been) feeling this dirty, scumminess under my skin. Like there was this layer of grime and filth trapped in my body that no amount of soap and scrubbing could touch or eliminate. How I hated that feeling. I could separated myself from it. I couldn't shake it off. I would shower and rinse and splash water on my face in futile attempts make it go away. Even now I'm repulsed just thinking of it, thinking how gross it was and how gross I felt while it was happening. The only thing that would keep the awareness of it at bay was to drink until I was consumed by the feeling of drunkenness and to continue drinking until I passed out later that day. Which, of course, would result in my feeling much the same way all over again. The same day, the same shitty feelings all over again.
Thank GOD I don't have to feel that way again. Thank GOD there is another way and can choose to take it. Thank GOD for AA.
It happened this morning as I was brushing my teeth.
Suddenly, the thought, "I am sooo glad I'm sober", floated through my head like a balloon and I grasped the end of its string and pulled it down close.
I'm so glad I don't have to wake up and deal with the effects of a hangover.
I'm so thankful to not wake up with the hammering in my head, the churning in my stomach, and the dirty, rotten, stink taste in my mouth.
I'm so glad I can brush my teeth without gagging. (and to think I always thought it was the toothpaste!)
I'm so thankful I'm not sitting here at 10:30 in the morning hating myself. I'm not sitting here consumed with regret and shame and remorse for the night before. I'm not sitting here struggling with the thoughts of never doing that again and just a few more to get me straight alternating through my head. I'm not sitting here bargaining with myself or making promises I know damn well I can't keep.
I'm just so grateful not to have to deal with that shit anymore!
I'm so grateful not to FEEL like shit anymore!
I'm so grateful to have a choice not to feel that way because for a long time I didn't think I had a choice. I felt following through on the choice of not drinking was hopeless and my solution to that hopelessness was to drink some more.
I remember countless Sunday mornings (or afternoons it would have been) feeling this dirty, scumminess under my skin. Like there was this layer of grime and filth trapped in my body that no amount of soap and scrubbing could touch or eliminate. How I hated that feeling. I could separated myself from it. I couldn't shake it off. I would shower and rinse and splash water on my face in futile attempts make it go away. Even now I'm repulsed just thinking of it, thinking how gross it was and how gross I felt while it was happening. The only thing that would keep the awareness of it at bay was to drink until I was consumed by the feeling of drunkenness and to continue drinking until I passed out later that day. Which, of course, would result in my feeling much the same way all over again. The same day, the same shitty feelings all over again.
Thank GOD I don't have to feel that way again. Thank GOD there is another way and can choose to take it. Thank GOD for AA.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Sobriety Isn't Free. And It Ain't Easy Either!
The last 14 months have been awesome. I love my life. I love my sobriety.
It took my alcoholism many years to bring me to my knees. The progression of demoralization and destruction was so slow that it was almost invisible. I was shocked when I hit bottom- how did this happen?! How did I fall so far so fast?! I was surprised when I reached the end of my rope- I didn't remember sliding down that far. All of a sudden I was losing my grip; my fingers were slipping and I didn't think I possessed the strength to shimmy back up.
But it wasn't sudden.
I didn't just happen to find myself in that place as though I had been transported by some futuristic time warp.
It wasn't a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It was a destination I had set out for long ago. I had missed the sign that said, "HELL- 5 Miles", 6 miles before, that's all. I didn't realize I had arrived- "Oh, I'm here. And look, the welcoming committee has brought out pretty blue and white flashing lights...just for me!"
What took several years to destroy, amazingly, only took several months to begin to see the efforts of rebuilding through the program.
Really- It. Is. Amazing. (period!)
All of the promises are manifesting in my life- they are coming true.
I repeat, I love my life and I love my sobriety- those two loves work in tandem. I cannot have one without the other.
I am filled with gratitude. Impossibilities are now possible options and opportunities. Good things I thought would never happen are happening. There is fulfillment where there was once only infinite emptiness. There is healing, there is serenity and peace and joy and satisfaction; openness and light were there used to be the complete opposite of all of those things.
I've been through Hell and I like this place so much better!
With all that said, there is still that little voice- it tugs like a three year old trying to get mom's attention...how 'bout a drink? And, maybe a voice isn't quite the correct way to describe what rolls through my head sometimes. It's more like something pulling from within my body and my mind finally becomes receptive to a strange and heavy stimulation that is firing off at the cellular level. It wants a drink. Craves it, yearns for it, desires it.
Now what?
I have to make a choice. I have to work my program. I have to WORK!
Someone, an old-timer with 20+ years, shared at tonight's meeting that, "It's so easy to stay sober. It's harder to go out and drink. Staying sober is the easy way."
Really?
It took my alcoholism many years to bring me to my knees. The progression of demoralization and destruction was so slow that it was almost invisible. I was shocked when I hit bottom- how did this happen?! How did I fall so far so fast?! I was surprised when I reached the end of my rope- I didn't remember sliding down that far. All of a sudden I was losing my grip; my fingers were slipping and I didn't think I possessed the strength to shimmy back up.
But it wasn't sudden.
I didn't just happen to find myself in that place as though I had been transported by some futuristic time warp.
It wasn't a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It was a destination I had set out for long ago. I had missed the sign that said, "HELL- 5 Miles", 6 miles before, that's all. I didn't realize I had arrived- "Oh, I'm here. And look, the welcoming committee has brought out pretty blue and white flashing lights...just for me!"
What took several years to destroy, amazingly, only took several months to begin to see the efforts of rebuilding through the program.
Really- It. Is. Amazing. (period!)
All of the promises are manifesting in my life- they are coming true.
I repeat, I love my life and I love my sobriety- those two loves work in tandem. I cannot have one without the other.
I am filled with gratitude. Impossibilities are now possible options and opportunities. Good things I thought would never happen are happening. There is fulfillment where there was once only infinite emptiness. There is healing, there is serenity and peace and joy and satisfaction; openness and light were there used to be the complete opposite of all of those things.
I've been through Hell and I like this place so much better!
With all that said, there is still that little voice- it tugs like a three year old trying to get mom's attention...how 'bout a drink? And, maybe a voice isn't quite the correct way to describe what rolls through my head sometimes. It's more like something pulling from within my body and my mind finally becomes receptive to a strange and heavy stimulation that is firing off at the cellular level. It wants a drink. Craves it, yearns for it, desires it.
Now what?
I have to make a choice. I have to work my program. I have to WORK!
Someone, an old-timer with 20+ years, shared at tonight's meeting that, "It's so easy to stay sober. It's harder to go out and drink. Staying sober is the easy way."
Really?
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Wisdom and Patience...Testing 1, 2, 3
Wow- it's been awhile since I made a post.
Wow- I've got so much drama going on.
Wow- I made it through Christmas with the family...sober! I picked up the phone instead of picking up a drink. And I have to say, talking out my problems and frustrations with another alcoholic was sooo much more effective than trying to stuff them, deny them, and drown them out with alcohol. Because the latter was temporary, you know...as soon as I was sober, I had to get drunk all over again to keep those feelings at bay.
After getting home from family time I was so upset. I went from confusion, to hurt, to completely pissed by the time my head hit the pillow. I wanted to go to sleep, but my mind churned until 2 in the morning and I finally drifted off from exhaustion. I kept getting ideas of picking up the phone and calling the person who had been the source of my anger. By the time the clock chimed 12, the phone idea turned to an e-mail idea. I just wanted to blast this person. I wanted my anger to tear through them like sharp daggers. I wanted to verbally rip them apart. Part of my not being able to sleep was from the energy it took to restrain myself from getting out of bed, running to the phone or the laptop and giving in to my desire to give them a very large piece of my mind.
I kept telling myself that those ideas were not the ideal way to handle this situation. Wait until the morning. Call them once you have calmed down and you have your thoughts together. Address it like an adult. Wait until the morning when you can own your feelings by being assertive and not some crazed, emotional despot coming apart at the seams.
And, I did that.
Wow- I've got so much drama going on.
Wow- I made it through Christmas with the family...sober! I picked up the phone instead of picking up a drink. And I have to say, talking out my problems and frustrations with another alcoholic was sooo much more effective than trying to stuff them, deny them, and drown them out with alcohol. Because the latter was temporary, you know...as soon as I was sober, I had to get drunk all over again to keep those feelings at bay.
After getting home from family time I was so upset. I went from confusion, to hurt, to completely pissed by the time my head hit the pillow. I wanted to go to sleep, but my mind churned until 2 in the morning and I finally drifted off from exhaustion. I kept getting ideas of picking up the phone and calling the person who had been the source of my anger. By the time the clock chimed 12, the phone idea turned to an e-mail idea. I just wanted to blast this person. I wanted my anger to tear through them like sharp daggers. I wanted to verbally rip them apart. Part of my not being able to sleep was from the energy it took to restrain myself from getting out of bed, running to the phone or the laptop and giving in to my desire to give them a very large piece of my mind.
I kept telling myself that those ideas were not the ideal way to handle this situation. Wait until the morning. Call them once you have calmed down and you have your thoughts together. Address it like an adult. Wait until the morning when you can own your feelings by being assertive and not some crazed, emotional despot coming apart at the seams.
And, I did that.
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