Last week, I was really inspired to write about acknowledging the recovering addict's accomplishments, rather than only remembering them for their failures in addiction. I knew then there would be another post similar to the first, because that's how my mind works. It's a pain in the ass sometimes, because I'll barely get one thought or idea verbalized (most of the time, not even that far) when another one comes crashing in, clamoring for attention. My husband's the same way. He's called me (hands-free, of course) on his drive home from work because he's had a brilliant idea out of nowhere, and he knows that if it isn't written down somewhere, it will be, "Poof!" Gone! Give us both a little caffeine, and we'll go in circles for hours together.
Now where was I? Oh yeah. Addicts. (See what I mean?) As previously mentioned, I'm passionate about supporting those in "recovery." I personally prefer to refer to this particular stage of my disease as "remission." "Recovery," to me, means I'm getting better. While I understand that my body and mind are indeed recuperating from the effects of my "drug of choice (alcohol)," my disease is only in remission. It's always there, just as ugly, and just waiting for the next go-round. It should scare you to know that addiction is considered a progressive and aggressive disease. It doesn't matter how many years of sobriety you have under your belt; all it takes is just one moment of over-confidence, or one case of the, "eff-its," and not only are you in exactly the same shape you were in before you quit, you are quickly on your way to the next circle of hell. (Notice I didn't say, "One moment of weakness?" That's because it's not a weakness. It's a disease. Which brings me to...) Recently, I posted a video on Facebook of a town hall meeting in which Governor Chris Christie delivers a passionate plea to America to rethink views on addiction and treatment. While I do not agree with Mr. Christie's politics, this speech was absolutely spot on. He suggests that we should actually be proactive with regards to helping someone who's struggling with addiction, instead of waiting for them to screw up and then punishing them. Truly a refreshing perspective and approach. But here's why I don't think we're quite ready for it just yet: Anonymity. Alcoholics Anonymous has saved countless lives, and it's basic formula for recovery has spawned dozens of other "Anonymous" support groups. Finding yourself addicted to one or more of the Seven Deadly Sins? Don't worry. There's a support group's shoulder somewhere for you to rest your weary head upon. And while these support groups might not be the answer to every addict's question, they certainly do provide you with a place to begin finding some footing in your new world. It's also a great place to learn that you're really not alone. So, if that's true, and it's really okay to admit I have a problem, why do I have to be so secretive about it? Why are we so ashamed of our disease that we don't even share our last names? Do we feel the same when it's another, more socially accepted, life-threatening illness? Not so much. So how in the hell do I find the courage to admit that I'm all of those things that my culture has defined an addict to be? Much like so many of you, I was raised to believe that addicts are weak, untrustworthy, lying and selfish creatures. The lowest of the low. And when our addictions are in an active phase, that's a very accurate description. But while it's said that the first step is admitting that you have a problem, I'm not sure that's entirely true. Inside my head, I knew for a very long time that I had lost control. Part of the reason it took me so long to seek assistance was the shame. The shame of admitting that I was defeated, again, and no better than any of my pre-conceived notions of an addict. I am that addict. I have hit bottom, and continued to dig, always praying it would be the last, last time. Always hoping for a different outcome, even though I always seemed to do exactly the same thing every time. Not exactly something I want to share at the Thanksgiving table with members of my family who (mostly) know and love me, let alone with a room full of people I don't know who won't even be divulging their last names. I mean, I know why so many people feel that personal anonymity is of utmost priority. And I am completely respectful when it comes to others' privacy as well. I just wish we didn't have to be so very afraid of coming out of the medicine chest to finally seek the help we need. Guys, let's get this figured out! People are dying. For every addict able to "get a bed" in a treatment facility, there are literally thousands more out there dying while they're waiting for a bed of their own. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, sisters, brothers. Best friends. Husbands and wives. This disease doesn't discriminate when selecting it's next victim. And sadly, there just aren't enough beds and isn't enough money to help everyone out there. (Don't worry, I didn't hire Sara McLachlin to sing a mournful tune in the background.) What I would like to ask of you, if you've come this far, is to try to think twice before assuming those fighting this fight are simply weak people who've made bad choices. There's so much more to us than that (isn't there with everyone?). A lot of us are just scared to death to be honest not only with ourselves, or with complete strangers, but with the people around us we consider to be our loved ones. What if I throw it all out there on the line, only to have you decide that I'm just not worth the heartache? I can suggest at least something to those of you who live with or are affected personally by someone with an addiction. There are also support groups for folks walking in your moccasins that can help you navigate through this unwelcome territory. I can get you all kinds of information on the subject; just leave me a message, and I can help you find something close to you. Sometimes just knowing you're not alone can actually be an even bigger relief than admitting you have a problem. Personally, I'm no longer concerned about my own anonymity. This doesn't mean I'm going to include the part about being an alcoholic on my resume`. But a really nice guy once told me, "You know you should have been dead at least 100 times!" And he is absolutely correct. I can see that now. I'm one of the lucky ones who's survived. Not everyone makes it out to write a clever blog, and I've known far too many who've either surrendered, or been defeated by this monster. This ravenous, toothy beast with as many different sets of teeth as there are addictions to be had. This is a fight I've fought for many years, and will continue to fight as long as I have breath...my personal monster has some BIG ol' teeth! So, have a good week, friends. Be nice to a stranger, be nice to someone you love, and remember to be nice to yourself, too. Try to remember that everyone walks a different path and wears different moccasins than you. Basically, just be a good human. Much love and Bright Blessings to you! Tammi-
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Warning:
You might learn more about me than you already know by reading this post. Something's been eating away at me for a few days now, enough so that I don't seem to be able to focus my thoughts specifically on much else. It's actually a two-parter, and I really hope you'll stay long enough to read both pieces when each is complete; I am passionate about this subject and I hope to provide a different viewpoint than what is typically the accepted truth. So, without further ado, here I go. Don't say I didn't warn you. Those of you who know me personally know that I've more than struggled with the disease of alcoholism. It has kicked my ass more than once, and quite frankly, destroyed a lot of very important pieces in my life that I'm still working to rebuild. If you've known me for any length of time, personally, you know that this is not behavior that I would exhibit in my right mind. But if you know anything about addiction, you also know that addicts tend to reorganize their priorities until the only thing that matters is the next high. Most often, there is no malice-aforethought. We don't plan to hurt anyone, but when you feed that monster, there is nearly always collateral damage. It's unavoidable. We're drowning in guilt and shame with our very lives in the balance, and yet we refuse every life preserver thrown our way. Here's what prompted my subconscious to begin examining how we, as a society, view and approach addictions and those afflicted with them. I was enjoying a wonderful conversation just the other day, catching up with a friend I hadn't seen in a few years. She shared that some of her loved ones were battling addiction, and it seemed as though this was a fairly new experience for her. This is a good thing, because it's taken this long for it to finally creep into her life. We talked about one of her friends in particular (not by name, of course) who struggled with addiction. "She's got addiction problems. She's been sober for 2 years now, buuuut..." This was the phrase that struck me, and it also made me a little sad. Sad because rather than using her friend's lengthy sobriety as a point of reference for her, she was initially remembered for her active addiction. I was also saddened that my friend's only real point of reference for this disease was likely learned while growing up in a world that remains largely uneducated on the subject. Medically it's known to be a life-threatening and potentially deadly, incurable (yet manageable) disease. Our bodies simply do not react the same as a normal person's body does once certain chemicals are introduced. It's simple as that, at least scientifically. Now, I get it. I was raised the same way, with the same stereotypical views of addiction. Addicts are weak, selfish, thoughtless, immoral, ignorant asses wasting their lives and ruining everyone else's. Guess what? That's actually a pretty accurate description. But it's not who we started out as or ever wanted to be. Did you know me before this monster began gnawing away at me? I don't think there are many people who did that would choose any of those previously mentioned adjectives to describe me then. At least not all of the time (I am human). If you've only known me in sobriety, hopefully you wouldn't use any of these terms either. (Also, if you've only known me as a drunk, please allow me to reintroduce myself :-).) One of the hardest things for me to negotiate in sobriety has been my perception of others' opinions of me. It pains me deeply when I see others looking at me differently because of my disease. It hurts when someone I respect so openly expects me to fail because of previous history. Are there failures in my history? Several. Could I fail again? That's always a possibility. I'd love nothing better than to say, "I'm cured! I'll never fall into that downward spiral again!" I simply cannot, however, afford to be arrogant (or is it naïve?) any longer. My hope is that maybe the next time you encounter someone in your life who is fighting any stage of this battle that you will remember to think twice before looking down your nose at them, or before immediately assuming you know their story. I promise that you don't. Some of the most caring, gifted and intelligent people I have ever met fight for their lives against this disease every day of their lives; many of them volunteer nearly all their free time educating and encouraging others through their personal experiences. Super scary monsters, right? I've gone on about this enough, I suppose. But I'd like to leave you with this phrase: "There, but for the grace of God, go I." Count your blessings, and remember the things that you're grateful for every day. Because you really never know where life is going to lead you, and you never know (even if you think you do) what life has in store for you. That man or woman, living under that bridge, really could be you, or someone you love. Think about that the next time you're about to assume anything about anyone. Lying here in my comfy m/hotel bed, and still wide awake so early this morning, I am finally unwinding from what I can only describe as the single most intense manic spike in my recent history. If you were to check the ridiculosity scale (that's my word, but feel free to use it...I'm trying to get it to go viral), you wouldn't have found me; I was way off of that chart. It felt as though one of those "Chinese Flower" fireworks were buzzing around inside my chest. It's fizzled a bit, but not quite enough to let me sleep yet. Probably "Halloween II," isn't helping either. It's not scary, But I sure love Jamie Lee Curtis.
This little manic episode really showed me a whole different perspective of myself. Let me explain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up... Myhusband and I don't drink anymore. It's not that we think we're better than you, or that we don't enjoy it. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The difference between me and you (hopefully!) is that once I decide to indulge, my "off switch" disappears completely. So it's just better to stay away from it altogether. Now, while I don't really have as strong of an urge to cave as I did in the beginning, it's still there. Nagging me in the background like a spoiled teenager, pissed off when she can't get her way. But today marks 95 days without a drink, and for that, I am thankful. So pipe down there, Little Missy who lives in the back of my brain...I won this round. Being "dry" doesn't mean you can't hang out with your friends anymore. That's one of the cool things about playing at being an adult: you don't have to worry so much about "peer pressure." But it does mean that you have to relearn how to be social (if you feel the need), and since alcohol was always my great social equalizer (at least it was in MY head), I'm scared to death that I will once again be that timid little girl in the corner who doesn't fit. And that's when the layers begin to increase exponentially. As I mentioned earlier, I was already in a heightened state of ridiculosity. We hadn't planned on ending up where we did, but we don't get to see our friends very often, and they wanted to hear me sing tonight. First stab of panic hits, but okay. Let's do this. I won't lie; I had a pretty strong urge to give in, but it was soon over-powered by overwhelming feelings of guilt, inferiority and even inadequacy. Guilt, because we were only there for me to sing and it was taking forever for my turn in the rotation, because I couldn't be as "fun" and silly as everyone else, because I couldn't make up my mind what to sing (it's important to sing the right thing to inspire the crowd, right?). Inferior and inadequate because maybe I missed a note or two, because I'm not built as well as the slutty lederhosen girl, or even the slutty Mutant Ninja Turtle girl for that matter. Inferior because I'm not, well, I'm just not. All of these insecurities collide in my mind, which is already threatening to implode, and then suddenly, there's a slight shift. I think it happened when slutty Ninja Turtle (whom I don't know) began channeling Miley Cyrus and twerkin' her turtley arse on everyone within a one mile radius. I took a deep breath and realized (quite naturally, go figure) that all of those fears and worries were pure crap. Crap I tell ya'. All of those things that I'm "not?" Honestly? I would be lying if I said those things don't bother me. Of course they do, I'm human. And I also won't lie to you or myself by trying to convince either of us I've learned my lesson, and won't overreact in the future. Odds are that I will. I don't enjoy it. But I do hope that I learn and internalize at least a little bit of whatever lesson the next near-eruption has to teach me. Well, looky there. It's after 6 am. I suppose I should at least catch a nap. If Halloween is your thing, have a safe and happy one. If Samhain is more your spirit, then Bright Blessings to you. To all the rest of you, have a great weekend. Don't forget to turn your clocks back before you go to bed tonight! (Unless you don't have to, you lucky schmuck!) Tammi- In my last post, I shared some of my "secret-y-est" hang-ups, and how exhausting it can be to negotiate with my internal terrorist. I'm not gonna lie; it was a bit of a relief to, well, just blurt it all out, and admit to the world that I have issues. Actually more like a whole subscription, but we'll save that for another post.
There were a couple of surprising things I learned after posting, "The Onion Psyche." First of all, it turns out I'm not the only one who struggles with that particular, ahem, "disorder," or whatever it's called. I was surprised to hear from many of my friends that they, too, hear all of the same panicky and self-deprecating internal voices that I hear. Of interest to me, in particular, was that the majority of these friends were female. This is not, by any means, meant as a sexist stab; I know many males capable of being just as neurotic as I. But it did make me wonder, "Why such a difference? And that kind of brought me to another surprising realization: my husband truly doesn't understand just how many layers this particular onion has to peel. When he read my post, he was simply astounded. He had absolutely no idea that every decision or social interaction is (for me) subject to many different layers of doubt and uncertainty. And I, after having spent the past 5+ years of my life with this wonderful man, just assumed that he knew all along just how unbalanced I really am, and that he loves me anyway. Well, the, "loves me anyway," part is absolutely true, but I think the poor guy really only knew about the tip of the ice-berg. I'm a pretty lucky girl. I decided to be aware this weekend. And I decided to share a little more of my personal ice-berg with my husband. Really just to obtain his reaction, but there were some great conversations. And I think now he's a bit more aware of how many different directions my brain goes based on just a single question or situation. During one of our, "bus-talks," The Onion quickly latched-on to something said in complete innocence. He must have learned something more about me from the last post, because he said, "You're doin' that Onion thing again, aren't you?" And he was right, I was. I explained to him how just how invasive the roots of my onion can become. We were waiting for a bus Saturday evening, and there was a fine mist of rain just beginning to dampen the pavement. A memory of my first years living in Washington state brought a big old, onion-eatin' grin to my face. It was another perfect example of my pungent affliction... See, I moved to Washington State from the Mojave desert in California. It was extremely hot there, and also, it rained very seldom. There were very few occasions requiring the use of windshield wipers. As I became acclimated to my new locale, I found myself grappling with a new dilemma: What was the perfect speed for the windshield wipers? I didn't want to look like I was a complete novice, so I couldn't run the wipers too fast. It might look like I was afraid to drive in the rain. If I ran them too slow, though, something even more ridiculous happened: I became irritated with myself for not being cool enough to drive with my wipers on low. And then down the "rabbit-hole" I'd go. I'm learning to become more situationally aware, and when I catch myself boring through layer after layer, I tell myself to knock my crap off, and just take a question, comment or situation at face value. Redirecting a conditioned-response is no small feat, but like so many other challenges, at least for me, it must be conquered one little piece at a time. Or is that one little layer at a time? In my last post, I used the term, "Onion Psyche." It's just a term I use when referring to the way my mind tends to process various situations and decisions. I got to thinking that it might be a good idea to explain what I mean by that term, especially since it's the basis of thought for this blog. I did a quick search to ensure that I wasn't inadvertently stealing someone else's terminology. Looks like I'm okay, so here we go.
I tend to overthink most things. If you know me, you know that just trying to decide a good time for an event, completing a shopping list, even just opening mail frequently leaves me mentally paralyzed. But it's not because of laziness or irresponsibility. It's because of the onion. It may be a form of OCD, I don't know. But let me try to explain. Let's pick a subject. Any subject. Well, any that would require my participation. Since there's a pizza commercial on the television right now, let's use that as an example. Let's say my husband and I are just starting to engage in the nightly, "What's for dinner?" skirmish. A commercial begins to air on the television, which immediately prompts my better half to ask, "How 'bout pizza?" Now, I have zero desire for pizza as a first choice for dinner. Zero. I can make exceptions, but if you have your heart set on pizza, please do not base your decision on my response to your suggestion. You will be disappointed. But it's not my aversion to pizza that's in question here; it's the journey and it's many u-turns, detours and adjustments that is so very exhausting. You start with (very nonchalantly, I might add), "Man, I'm hungry. That pizza on TV looks really good. Wanna order a meat-lover's pizza?" And although not visibly, I panic. I'd love to just say, "Sure!" and worry no more. But that's not a thing for me. There are several "sub-decisions" that must be made before making the final call (which usually ends up being the same thing anyway...but I still have to go through all of the steps just in case there might be another possibility that we've missed). These are not just decisions about pepperoni quantities and cheese layers. This is how it feels for someone like me (assuming there are others) to make decisions like this (these are all questions and factors to be considered):
You can apply the above thought process to just about any scenario; just replace the pizza dilemma with any other seemingly innocuous situation, and it's the same. Every time. And you can apply my onion psyche theory to so many different aspects of life: appearance, relationships, financial status. Neurosis knows no boundaries, I guess. I've shared this little nugget about me because sometimes it's easier to understand a person's perspective when you understand a little more about the person. Maybe on some level, you can relate to an "Onion Psyche." No? That's okay, too. I'm sure you'll find plenty of material here to entertain or at least intrigue you. Feel free to share with others should you find something in these ramblings that strikes a chord. Suggestions are welcome as well. And on that note, have a wonderful evening. I'll see you again soon. By the way, he loves my cooking, but never cares if I take a night off... Pride. Another tragically over/mis-used word. A revered, nearly holy noun with so much versatility. Webster's definitions vary from basic arrogance to a feeling of happiness upon accomplishment. The Bible doesn't speak very highly of pride either. Of all the things love is, proud certainly isn't one of them. Then there's those seven pesky little deadly sins, one of which is of course, pride. Yet, when we use poor judgement (either maliciously or thoughtlessly), our sense of pride is put into question: "How could Margaret have done such a thing? Has she no pride??"As though if we had more of it, we'd behave better.
I looked up the word, "pride," on the website, "UrbanDictionary.com," to see if current definitions may have evolved. It seems that the modern point of view is more supportive of folks being proud of achievements (Bonus! It doesn't even have to be your achievement...go 'Hawks!!), as long as you don't cross the line to narcissism. Why does any of this matter? Or does it? Yes. It does. If only to me. Why? Because I have reached a point in my journey where I am weary of not only semantics (patients or clients? proud or narcissistic?), but of striving to be on the same page as everyone else. I'm. Just. Not. Let me be clear: this is not some life-affirming, self-aware, spiritually-healing, soul empowering, aura-cleansing cry for attention. It's just me, always trying to learn and re-learn who I am, and which layer of my "onion psyche" I'd like to examine today. One of these layers wants to believe that I'm not the only one with all of these layers (some of you would probably instead call them, "hang-ups"). And yet another layer knows, without a doubt, that I'm the only one who even entertains these neuroses. So, back to pride. I've had lots of time, as of late, to evaluate my beliefs and perceptions of life, not as, "we," know it. Just me. I've devoted entirely too much energy to the superficial upkeep and management of appearances. As a child, I had a few things going for me: I could sin g, really well, for one thing. Beyond that, I was also "blessed" with an above-average intelligence. These were not gifts that were cultivated, rather, abilities that were trotted out to impress the visitors. Combined with the continual, personal turmoil I survived, and so very little guidance, I didn't even know what the word, "pride," meant (not internally anyway), let alone that I was entitled to have some. I just wanted normality, and in my limited experience, that meant being pretty (or at least cute), having cool clothes, perfect teeth, a big house, and the money to do whatever my friends (if I'd had any) and I wanted to do. American dream shit, right there. These were not the "Brady Bunch" adjectives that were synonymous with my youth. It is what it is, and that's a whole 'nutha post. The point is, I did not grow up feeling entitled. I was not egotistical or boastful. I learned my place in the scheme of things early, and learned to stuff away my gifts to avoid any further attention, positive or negative. As an adult, I finally began to understand pride. I had survived. To this day, I don't know if I fully appreciate my scars. But I do know that at some point in my life, I decided I wanted better. I wanted stuff. I still wanted normal. And I thought that meant having the same as everyone else (seeing a common theme, here?). It felt good to finally "have." And at some point, someone found out about those hidden gifts. More pride. It's easy to allow your ego to become over-inflated when you don't have a lot of experience keeping that potential monster in check. This is not an excuse; it is reality. Experience has taught me that pride in material objects and possessions is misplaced. People are the thing. People, cats and dogs. I allowed pride, inattentiveness and selfishness to become my norm, and in doing so, lost sight of the really important stuff. Relationships. Children. Family. Love. I still have pride. I am proud of the people my children and grandchild have become and continue to become. But I am even more grateful for the privilege of being included in their lives. I'm grateful for the opportunities I've been afforded that have ultimately saved my life. I'm grateful for the unconditional love of my husband. And the gift of being alive for one more day. "Things" have become less important, and I've learned to be so much more grateful for the few I've chosen to keep in my life (okay, some of those choices were made for me). Selfish pride keeps us from so many important opportunities: asking for help, admitting wrong-doings, learning from errors. And letting go of some of the material or physical things can often cause you to experience the stages of grief. No shit. That's a thing. At some point, either you stop assigning value to inanimate objects with the assumption that they determine your worth, or resign yourself to feeling ever-so-worthless without that shiny car you used to drive, but could no longer afford. I believe that we should never feel sorry or ashamed for our feelings. Emotions are some of the only pieces of our lives that are legitimately genuine. There is some honest merit to the phrase, "Trust your gut." (How we respond to these emotions, however, may very well be a cause for concern.) I now consciously strive to be aware of the "things" I'm proud of, and the reasons why. Materialistic pride is something I simply no longer have the room to accommodate in my life. I don't know how "sinful" it is to be proud of that shiny car. But I do know that without it, I'm no less me. I have room for more life, and spend (although granted, not entirely by personal choice) a lot less time dwelling on getting more stuff. My husband is now asleep, and quiet snores sneak over to me from his side of the bed. I am so very grateful for him. I tell him as often as I'm able how much I appreciate all that he does and is. And admittedly, I'm proud to say that he is my husband. Not because he is a prized possession. But because someone like him loves someone like me. Have a wonderful night (or day, should that be when you're reading this). I'm making this a regular thing...you've been warned. Bright Blessings - Tammi- |
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