Gratitude

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I love to listen to NPR.  In fact my clock radio and my car radio have been tuned exclusively to NPR for decades.  Today’s episode of Science Friday really captured me though, which is weird because it was about economics.  Well, not economics exactly; neuroeconomics, a combination of neuroscience, economics, and psychology to study how people make decisions. It looks at the role of the brain when we evaluate decisions, categorize risks and rewards, and interact with each other.  You can listen to the episode here, and if you have a scientific bent it is really worth the listen.

The research they discuss is related to human decision making, specifically as making decisions relates to the economy.  The study of economics has always held that people people know what they want and are able to optimize their choices, based on their options, even when decisions are very complicated or ambiguous.  Neuroeconomics, on the other hand, suggests that “people have some normal limits on what they can compute on greed and on will-power.”  “People have an automatic tendency based on strong drives, at the motivational system, to choose actions that have been associated with good outcomes in the past and to avoid those that have had negative outcomes.  That is of course an adaptive thing to do. ”

As an addict, I know that contrary what economic theory would have us believe, my actual behavior has often been in conflict with what will actually achieve the best outcome.  Furthermore, though I am intellectually capable of understanding the probable results of a decision, that understanding, at times, is insufficient to cause me to choose differently.  I am quite incapable, at times, of recalling with sufficient force, the suffering and humiliation of even a week or a month ago.  In economic terms, each behavior has an outcome that can be valued.   I know, from my own experience that while I may appear completely normal at times, even for extended periods of time, I am sometimes quite incapable of choosing the right option or of placing the correct outcome on the correct behavior.  In effect, the disease of addiction is a pathology of valuation.

The disease resides in my mind; specifically in the part of my brain where decisions are made, and it causes me to make terrible decisions sometimes.  I’ve learned that I get better results when I ask for help, when I am open to suggestions from others and when I pause before acting.  This has been particularly helpful over the last month when I have been possessed with the idea that I can have a drink and be fine.

It seems crazy for me to even be saying that I’m symptomatic, but for awhile recently I have been.  The only thing that I’ve been able to really cling to is the empirical evidence of my own experience and the research of the good people at Harvard University, and of course the company and support of other addicts who have had experiences like mine.  I may think that I can drink now and then – and that is what it is to be an addict.  We think ridiculous things, and in the absence of a full knowledge of our condition and a higher power (even if it is only the group) we make what seems to be a rational decision to drink or use in spite of the fact that everyone else can see what a horrible choice it is.

I’m grateful that I don’t have to act on that thought today.  I’m grateful that I have enough evidence to combat it.  And I’m grateful that there are people around me who love me, with whom I can be truthful, and who support me while I wait for the little insane idea to pass.

I have grown to really love reading Last Chance on the Stairway, a recovery blog written by a cat who’s “experience closely mirrors” my own; not just his experience in his addiction, but especially his experiences in the first part of recovery.  Every new experience is so amazing, and experiencing living again is so clear and so bright.  Over each obstacle lies a new epiphany – the sudden revelation of the Great Reality.  I really loved that time in my recovery, and I really love seeing others go through a similar experience.

“It gets more difficult every day to remember the feeling of how much pain I was in then. I remember the insanity of the actions I was taking at that time—how reclusive I had become, how sad, my fits of rage, crying on the interstate—but it gets more difficult to recall the feelings.,” he writes on the occasion of his 9 month milestone.  He’s right.  With effort, I can still recall the events, but the feelings are much dimmer.  I feel them again when I look back at posts from the first year, so I’m really, really grateful that I had the intuitive thought that I should spill my guts the way I did.  Without having done that I might easily lose many of the most valuable lessons I learned in that time.

In my first year sober I was hardly employable.  I had a really hard time keeping track of time.  To some extent I still do, but having my schedule as clear as it was in those months I had the chance to go to tons of meetings.  Tons of them.  I had the chance to see my sponsor virtually every day.  I had time to read the book and do step work and I was motivated to do this thing and as a result I felt connected to the program and to my HP in a profound way.

As I became able to take care of myself again, as I lost that time to a job and school, that ardent feeling of connection subsided somewhat.  We always say to each other when trouble comes, “this too shall pass.”  The truth is that even the good things pass, too.  The more I’ve missed it and tried to grab on to it again, the more I’ve tried to pull it tightly around me, the more elusive it has become.

Today I find I feel closer to it when I let it go somewhat; when I wear it “like a loose garment.”  I sense it’s power when I feel it brush my skin, and I feel it slip through my fingers when I try to grab onto it.  My sponsor is fond of saying that this isn’t a program of make-make-make, it’s a program of let-let-let.  I stand a better chance of letting myself experience serenity when I let myself shut off the television, let myself breathe, let myself have time, let myself be present.  I’ve realized that I can be as connected as I let myself be.

Today I let myself observe the journey of another addict, much like myself, and it brought me great joy.

Namaste

Well, I’ll tell you what, I’d better darn well figure it out because the bottomless well of self-pity that life has been as I’ve been detoxing off the days and days I spent on morphine and as I try to heal will kill me unless I change my glasses and look at what I’m grateful for.

  1. Tonight 10 people I know from the program loved me enough to come over to my house and bring a meeting to me.  I haven’t been able to get out to one in like 3 weeks.   I’ve tried recently, but folding chairs kill me and I’m not that strong yet.
  2. My dad came up from Las Vegas for the afternoon and let me cry on his shoulder and helped me regain some perspective, told me that when my brother-in-law, the doctor, first saw the x-ray and I was going into surgery how afraid they were that they were going to lose me and how my family, scattered across the country, cared enough to pray for me.
  3. That I’ve somehow found myself surrounded by people, near and far, who have placed me in their prayers as well, and who are open to seeing opportunities and answers in the world around them (especially you, Bobbie).
  4. I can walk around 3 blocks today and I could only walk around 1 block 4 days ago.
  5. I was reminded how much I am now like the day I came through the doors of the program – and how much being willing to do whatever needs to be done will work for me again.
  6. I will for sure be able to use this experience to show others how my Higher Power carried me through yet another situation I couldn’t have handled on my own.  The last time I had 2 years sober I got meningitis and after a similar time in the hospital on similar painkillers I relapsed into active crystal meth use.  This time I was willing to ask for help.
  7. I do not have cancer.
  8. I do not have emphysema.
  9. I do not have HIV.
  10. I may not have health insurance, and I may be paying off the $40K bill for this for a long time, but I got the care I needed when I needed it.  There are countries where this might have only cost me a few hundred dollars, but there are also countries where I would not have lived through this.
  11. People have cared enough to keep my phone turned on, my car payment made, food in my fridge, and been available to walk around the blocks with me (just in case).
  12. It is taking longer to get better than I would have ever guessed, but I am finally able to tell that I AM getting better.

There – it’s a short list, but it’s a start.

I learned to stop.

I learned to pay attention to her needs.

I learned to be present.

I learned that I am capable of unreserved and unconditional love.

I think the reason we have pets is that they heighten our humanity.  Having Gracie in my life certainly restored some of my humanity.  I am incredibly fortunate to have had her in my life.  I will miss the time we spent together every night, rubbing her face and talking to each other.  I will miss being followed around the house.  I will miss her lying on my chest at night or on my thigh while I  am writing.  But I am so grateful for the time we shared and for the lessons she taught me.

Joe hasn’t been home in 3 days now, but he’s been seen and he’s terrible.  He’s every horrible thing you can imagine about someone who has relapsed on heroin (or other heavy narcotics).  His phone is dead so he can’t call anyone.  Jake gave him my number but he refuses to call because he’s still angry with me.  I guess he hates hearing the truth.  He also told Jake that he’s going to keep using “just one more day” before he asks for help.

How many times have I said that?  I’ve said that every day for years at a time.

I also see that I’ve been pretty codependent with my relationship with Joe.  I’ve been possessed by the delusion that I have something to offer him that will rescue him and that it’s my job to save him.  I got it today that I can’t save him, and that it’s not my job to save him.  I also recognized that it may have been impossible for me to be very other centered considering how sick I’ve been for so long.  (I’m hearing now that I’m not the only one who has had this particular horrible stomach virus and that the fact that it took nearly two weeks to be rid of is par for the disease’s course.)  Being that sick for that long didn’t leave me with much, and I may personally have failed Joe, but by the same token, the program didn’t fail Joe.  Joe failed the program.

In spite of all that I’ve made it, sort of, through just one more day without cigarettes.  That is not a completely honest statement.  I smoked half a cigarette this morning.  The smoking cessation literature that I’ve read has made a careful delineation between what they called a “slip” and a “relapse”.  This morning I had a slip.  I’m back on task.  I have renewed commitment.  I’m aware that I made a choice to smoke that cigarette, and I know why I made that choice, and I know how I’m going to handle that situation, which I am sure I’ll face again, the next time I face it.

Another of my sponsees came over this morning to do his 5th step.  He had been as thorough as he is capable of being right now.  I told him to go home, open up his book to the instructions for the 6th and 7th steps, and to do that, then give me a call.  Two hours later he showed back up at my house with tears in his eyes and reported what the experience had been like for him.  Everything he described was exactly what the experience was like for me.

And at that moment, I got it that this isn’t about me.  I may fall back into serious selfishness because of illness or because I have fallen prey to the delusion that I can save someone.  But I cannot save anyone, not even myself.  All I can do is be willing to do whatever I need to do to nurture my recovery and to show up for those who ask for help the same way people showed up for me when I was ready to ask for help.

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.

After taking a coin for my 2nd year sober (today) in a meeting tonight I was surprised to hear descriptions of me as I was during the first part of my recovery.  My first sponsor’s wife said that she had been scared of me.  “Don’t let that freak in my house,” she had told him.  He’s not sober today and she has less than 60 days.  I’m not judging.  I”m just saying.

The book talks about the desperation of a drowning man.  I guess desperate people probably seem a bit crazy, and if I was anything I was desperate. Read the rest of this entry »

I feel kind of petty for making a fuss over my upcoming AA birthday.  Two years is nothing.  I went Saturday to the celebration of someone’s quinquagenary in recovery.  Fifty years is a whole lot of “one day at a time”.  If you’ve eveer been afraid that no one will show up at your funeral, stick around and stay active in 12 step recovery for awhile.

If you’ve never been to a big conference or convention or a big sobriety anniversary celebration then you may have never experienced participating in a “sobriety countdown.”  Typically everyone already knows who has been sober the longest in the crowd.  Easily the case at this party as, to my knowledge, no one in Boise, Idaho has been sober longer than “Big” Barry W.  So the countdown starts at 50.  Then they ask for anyone who has been sober 49 years to stand.  48?  47?  Someone stood at 46 years and was counted. 45? 44? For every year 43 and lower at least one person, and usually more, stood up.  As the years got lower more people stood and more people stood till they had to start asking people to stay standing so they could get them counted.  Read the rest of this entry »

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