Acceptance

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I’m healing – slowly . . . .

I actually went to work today and stayed for almost 4 hours before the edges of my incisions lit on fire and I had to get home and lie down to take the pressure off them.  Even though the big incision is on my back most of the pain is in the front.  On my skin.  The skin on my back is basically numb, like there are dead areas.  I keep over doing things and having to back off again but all in all I guess I’m getting better.  I can drive and I can get myself to meetings so I’m pretty sure things will be OK.

gracieGracie was just a year old.

She hasn’t been feeling well the last few days.  Her breath has been labored.  She hasn’t been able to eat or drink.  Yesterday she seemed a little better than she did the day before, but this morning she was back to terrible so I took her to the vet.

After the initial exam it was clear that I could easily spend $1K and still not have any idea of what was wrong of if she would even get better.  I’m not made of cash, obviously.  When I got Gracie I understood that there was a very low limit on what I would be willing to spend to keep an animal alive, no matter how much I loved it.

After she was euthanized, the Dr. took a sample from her lungs, which were full of fluid.  He told me that I had made the right choice.  That nothing could have been done for her.

Still.

I went to mom’s house and my step-dad insisted that we give her a proper burial.  So he helped me do that, which was a surprise to me.  And greatly appreciated.

I . . . um . . . I have more feeling for animals than I do people, it seems.

And I really loved that cat.

Well this is my 5th day without smoking cigarettes and it is getting a little easier to navigate.  The cravings that do appear seem to come out of nowhere, but are related to events; finishing a meal, walking out of a meeting, getting out of bed – that sort of thing.  The only place that is a little bit difficult is at work.  Everyone where I work smokes.  We smoke a cigarette and plan the day.  We smoke a cigarette and stratagize.  We smoke a cigarette and train.

I’m still coughing, but I can breath like I don’t remember being able to breathe, and when I cough it feels like a little more space opens up in my lungs.  I have noticed a huge change in my sinuses.  It seems like blood clots and petrified mucus are working their way out of my head.  I am able to breathe naturally through my nose with ease and that is really neat.

The smell of cigarettes is virtually gone from my car and from my clothes and my briefcase.  Can you believe my briefcase smelled like cigarettes?  I no longer go to AA meetings where people smoke and I’m happy about that.

The biggest change is that when I got home Joe was home, wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, with a big stock pot beside his head.

I acted all non-chalant.  “Oh, hey.”

“Hey,” he mumbled in reply.

I went to the kitchen to make some dinner.  Paula, Joe’s mom, stopped by and we had a long, long talk.  She clearly has advanced Al-Anon skills.  I’ve got some writing to do about my own anger, but I don’t feel any sense of obligation to try and rescue him at all.

He’s in the living room watching cop shows, and I have no interest in that, so I’m in my room with my darling cat (who I think isn’t feeling well) and thinking I’ll take a bath here in a minute.  I know he thinks that I’m supposed to entertain him.  He’s said as much.  Too bad.

I also don’t feel like I have any obligation to invite him to or drive him to meetings.  He knows where they are.  He has a bicycle.  I won’t assume any responsibility for his recovery.  No one did that for me.

If he should ASK for help – that would be another story.

I’m glad he’s back.  But if he’s going to be like he’s been then he needs to figure something else out. Our other roommate, Jake, agrees.  His mother agrees.  His ‘failure to launch’ in every area of his life is entirely a product of himself.  Daddy don’t play that.  Daddy’s done.  If he refuses to start acting like a grown up he can find somewhere else to live.  Like his mom pointed out to me this afternoon, Jake and I pay rent here.  We get to dictate the rules.

I’m pissed.  I’ve got huge work to do on this.  It’s one thing to have compassion from a distance and another to have someone poisoning my my space.

I don’t know that I’ve ever been so sick and not been hospitalized.  Without health insurance and without any savings I elected to just ride it out, which, in retrospect, was probably a bad idea.  I haven’t had solid food since Monday, but I am finally keeping fluids down and the exhausting cycle of fevers and chills seems to have (I hope) ended.  Hopefully later today or tomorrow I’ll be able to do some laundry. Clean my room.  Wash my sheets. I’ve puked so much over the last 3 days and I hate puking.  Just hate it. I’ll be so grateful to have this be over.  At the moment I’m keeping down Jell-O,  One of the pups I live with works in a restaurant and came home with a half gallon of it.

That pup knocked on my door this afternoon to express some concern over the well-being of our other roomie, who is clearly (at best) over-medicated.  We just got done having a little chat with him about taking medications that aren’t prescribed to him.  He refuses to see that as a relapse.  The best thing for me to do now is nothing, although if it gets any worse I feel I have an obligation to tell his parents.  If I got to have things my way I’d give him ECT.  Moo ha ha ha ha ha!!!  It’s really a good thing I’m not in charge.

The only real bright spot of my week has been the funeral I attended this evening.  I know that sounds weird.  It was for a woman whom I had only ever heard be referred to as “The Dragon Lady.”  I went to high school with her son, whom I haven’t seen in 20 years.  Scott was the first person I knew who was ‘out’ and okay with it.  I had great admiration for him then.

I came across Scott on facebook and he generously accepted my friend request, so I got to learn a little about his life now; his long-time companion David and their daughter, Maggie, named for Scott’s mother.

One of the reasons I went was to affirm my beleief in the power of love to heal relationships; between my family and me, or between Scott and his mother.  Another reason I went was simply to honor Scott.  My being there was merely a small act of gratitude for showing me that coming out is okay, and more recently showing me that people like us can have meaningful and lasting relationships.

I almost did not go.  I barely had enough strength to shower and try to make some clothes match.  I tried to tell myself that it could be seen as an intrusion.  In the end, the thought crossed my mind that, for whatever reason, today may be the only day I ever get to see Scott and to meet his family.  Not any more reasons to drag them out of Sherman Oaks.  So in the end I went.

And I was surprised by how warmly and how lovingly I was greeted.  I was surprised not to see any of the other people we went to school with, whom he is still in touch with, there.  I was so happy to have a tiny opportunity to simply be there for a distant friend.   And right now it has me thinking about my own health condition, and about the condition of my roommate.  How there is nothing anyone can do for me to make me better faster, and how much I appreciate it that some people just show up for me – ask if I can keep down Jell-O or if I’d like some chicken soup.  And there is nothing I can do for my roommate.  Nothing.

Except be there should he decide to reach out for help.

When I don’t post for awhile it usually means I’m hurting, and not growing.  When I’m hurting and writing I’m finally in the process of growing.  I haven’t posted in awhile and I’ve been hurting for awhile and I’ve been incredibly blocked about getting to the answer.  Even when I got to the answer I found myself without the strength to live up to the ideal.

OGL may as well stand for “One Great Lesson.”  I spent a day trying to figure out how to start the conversation where I say that it isn’t what I’m looking for and never found the right way in.  Instead I put him on a plane for home with both of us carrying the weight of what was unsaid, and I felt like I had been a complete failure as a human being. Read the rest of this entry »

Facebook.  Yep.  Facebook.  I now count Facebook among my addictions.  When I’m at work, I’m at work, and when I’m at school, I’m at school, but the moments in between I’m checking Facebook every 15 minutes.  It makes me feel connected.  Crazy, I know.  Whatever.

Here, at least for the first year or so, I enjoyed a cerain level of anonymity which is so useful if you have a pathological ego.  You can actually really let your existential hair down and, bizarrely, that makes the quality of the work go up because the quality of the work correlates closely with it’s honesty.  And if I knew that anyone that knew me was reading this . . .  Especially at the beginning, when I was hemorrhaging the insanity that my life had been . . .   I couldn’t have done it.  I don’t do it.  Members of my family read this and my actual name is attached to it.

I still feel safer here than I do on the rest of the internet, which is really delusional, but it’s not Facebook, where, to paraphrase the late, great Karen Carpenter, “I’m living out my life on pages with ten thousand people watching.” Read the rest of this entry »

In all honesty the 2 most possible of the three types of relationships that I might have with Dennis are the sponsor/sponsee and roommate/roommate relationships. I’m not so caught up in fantasy as to not realize that once he’s gotten through the steps he’s going to be a different person than he is now.  I’ll be different when I’ve done more work. And seriously, I’ve been free of romantic entanglements for so long now that, while I still have a “happily ever after” fantasy (Jane Austism if you will), I’m not at all sure that I have what it takes to, or even an interest in pursuing that. Read the rest of this entry »

No.

Final answer.

And that’s all I need. While I may (or may not) entertain the suggestions of friends, I do what my sponsor suggests without rebuttal. I’ll question him to learn how to think and hear about his own experience, but I do what he suggests. Period.

And he says, “No.”

Oddly, he’s softer on the dating question.

I think I should start looking for a roommate elsewhere, though.  I’ve lived alone for 6 months now and I hate it. I’m bad at it. And it’s too expensive.

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