Living in Recovery

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Wow.  Here we are 4 years after the day I first saw myself clearly enough, and was in enough pain, to do something about my addiction, and my life today bears almost no resemblance to the life I had before.  I am still me, obviously, with all the same flaws and all the same quirks.  I just don’t have to act on them the way I once did.

It has been close, though.  The last week in particular has been difficult beyond my imagining.  The climax was getting my mom “exiled to the hinterlands” (getting her on a plane headed for Minnesota to go to Hazelden) the day before I moved into my new house.  I don’t remember having stress like I’ve had that week since I still used.  My eye was twitching for a week.

After stalling and missing the first plane, mom finally arrived in Minneapolis just in time for the airport to be closed, and I got moved into my home without too much drama.  Only the garage door opener broke and the oven stopped working.

I spent Saturday unpacking and when I was done I went to the supermarket to buy milk.  In this new store one has to walk down the wine aisle to get to the dairy – and I have never wanted wine (and a cigarette if you please) more in four years than I did at that moment.  Fortunately I know what to do now.  And there were people there to be with me.

And like everything else, it passed, and it passed quickly.

Its good to be sober.  Its really good to be sober.

Peace.

Little Pink Houses - and all I did was stay sober

Little Pink Houses - and all I did was stay soberOn November 29th, 2007 is was 10 months and some days sober and in training for a job at McDonald’s; a job which, it turns out, I was barely capable of doing, my brain still healing from the years and years of crystal meth I did.

Ultimately I wasn’t even able to keep that job.  At nearly a year sober I was still so fried that I could barely do anything but focus on my recovery; pray, meditate, write, work with a sponsor, go to meetings, etc.  I imagine that most other people’s stories aren’t like that, even the stories of isolated, gay crystal meth addicts.  I fell down the scale much farther than was necessary for me to be able to see that I was an addict.  I just didn’t have enough motivation to do anything about it.  I had given up and I had no hope that it would ever be better, so why not just stay high.

I imagine that other people’s stories aren’t as extreme as mine, but for me, getting to the place where I could hold down a job was a big deal.  After a year sober I was given a scooter, which helped me get to a better job and hold that.

At 2 years, I got a car.  A really decent car.  Probably the best car I’ve ever had, and certainly the safest and most economical.

That was almost exactly 2 years ago.  In between I’ve held down the same job, maintained the same residence (with a roommate who is out of town 8 months a year), keep the same phone number, buy the business I worked for and manage to not drive it into the ground.  It hasn’t made any money but it has given a decent living to all of us who work there and in this economy that is a minor miracle in itself.

I’m a little less than 2 months away from my 4th sobriety anniversary and a few days longer that 2 years after the purchase of my car, and I have been given the opportunity to buy a house.  Of course I don’t qualify for the home loan on my own, but my parents are very fortunately situated so the financing is taken care of.  Still, honestly, I didn’t believe I’d ever get to own a house.

It’s a cute little mid-century (1959) ranch with 3 bedrooms, one bath, oak floors, a fireplace, on a quarter acre with a stone, wood-burning BBQ, apple trees, plum trees, and roses everywhere.  There are no repairs the house needs.  It has been beautifully maintained.

The only thing I’ve really done perfectly is not drink or use.  I have been awake whenever the idea that “this time will be different” would sneek into my mind and vigilantly dismiss the thought as insane.  I have done the best I can with what is in front of me – much of the time.  I have learned a ton, but never by doing it right the first time.  I have made every possible mistake along the way.

I’m not suggesting at all that if you stay sober for 4 years you’ll get a house.  I am saying that if you stay sober, if you actually fix your life, everything will change.  And even though some things will suck, and some things will hurt, and some things will set you back, your life will change for the better.

I’m mostly okay now.  Most of the time it feels almost like none of it ever happened; like my life in addiction was a bad dream.  Looking back it is almost incomprehensible to me how far I had fallen, how much I suffered, how much effort and pain it took to get through to the other side.  It seems like an almost impossible feat, particularly in light of the fact that the real insanity that gripped me before has never really returned.

I have moments of it.  One shouldn’t think I don’t.  I am as susceptible as any addict or alcoholic to be visited by the “strange mental twist” that is the nature of addiction.  When I catch myself thinking, “When I retire in Italy I am definitely drinking wine,” I also find myself thinking, “It’s a good thing you’re on your way to a meeting.”  When I find myself thinking, as I often do, that there is no such thing as God; that believing in “God”  is as ridiculous as believing is Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or a magical kitten that lives in a tea-pot on the dark side of the moon, I also find myself thinking that not believing in those things should not keep me from having faith that there is in fact a “Great Reality” beyond my understanding, which has helped me stay sober and which I experience at times as “a new life, a new freedom, and a new happiness.”  Again then I find the desire and the willingness to stay on this path. Read the rest of this entry »

Someone who knows me; who knows me well.  Someone who has seen the progression of my addiction from its very beginning.  Someone who purports to be sober.

I couldn’t believe it.  The other thing I couldn’t believe is how appealing it sounded.  But I’ve been down that road before and I wasn’t about to take it again so I politely declined.  But, okay, here is the sneaky part of the obsession; after I had declined I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  Thinking things like, “was he setting me up?”  “If I wasn’t still on probation would I have taken it?”  “Do I really believe that marijuana affects me the same way as or would lead me back to other drugs, or have I managed to maintain a real first step?  Have I admitted and accepted as true my utter defeat?”

“I’ve heard it said and I’ve said myself that all artwork is in some way a “self-portrait”. I spent many years operating from this premise, telling my own story, working through the timeline of my life from adolescent angst, through the trauma of being female, to my new experience of adolescent angst in my own children. My artistic production laid bare the story of my life…and then I was tired of me.”    – Sue Latta (sculptor and friend)

Totally.

I have strung together a few hundred ordinary days together sober now and they all start up pretty much the same, at pretty much the same time.  I do pretty much the same things, usually in the same order.  I often eat the same thing for breakfast.  I feed the cats.  On work days I leave the house anywhere between 6:30 and 7:30.  I take the garbage out to the street on Friday mornings.

Last night I was out till nearly 12 and had hoped, when I went to bed around 1 that I would sleep in a couple of hours.  That wasn’t the case.  Just like every other day I found myself awake at 6, wishing today that I could go back to sleep.  When I realized that wasn’t going to happen I drove to Starbucks and ordered a Venti sugar-free vanilla soy latte from they man with the beautiful shoulders and kind eyes, the one that hangs out at the drive-thru window to talk to me even when he has work to do.  In spite of going to a meeting that is way past my bedtime and socializing far too long afterward, today started in a quietly beautiful and ordinary way.

Days in my old life never began quietly or beautifully.  There was one in particular that I was remembering as I drove east into the sunrise from Starbucks to my house.  I had a job at the mall and my shift started at 10 AM.  I had been high for several consecutive days and was at the point where I was so tired that my body would just shut down even though I was high and trying to get higher.  I’m not sure exactly what time I slipped into unconsciousness.  When I awoke the clock read 9:30.  I panicked.  Most mornings began with panic but this one, even for me, was off the chart.  I ran through the shower as quickly as I could, pulled on an un-ironed shirt and flew out the door.  9:52.  I was going to be late, but not that late.  Enough to get in trouble but not enough to get fired.  I jumped in my car and went blasting west toward the freeway.  I had just gotten on the freeway when I realized that the sun was coming up in the wrong direction.

My panic deepened.  Was I half a day early or was I half a day late?

I guess if I got to have my way with it I would have gotten a little more sleep last night, but having things my way is nothing compared with having serenity and peace of mind.

It is impossible to live in this world being true to oneself and not hurt other people sometimes.  Sucks, but it’s true.  Since I’ve been sober it hasn’t been the case that I am “almost always in collision” with others, but it does happen.  The Big Book mentions “collision” once referring to living on the basis of self-will, and collision is mentioned 2 more times in the 12×12; first in Step 4, where it talks about a collision of our instincts, and then again in Step 8, when it defines “harm” as being “the result of instincts in collision, which cause physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual damage to people.”

Figuring out whether one owes an amends for being true to oneself is a dicey mental activity.  Were my actions really the CAUSE of physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual damage, or was the damage already there, waiting to be brought to light.  I don’t think The Great Reality is that I am to be unhappy that others might be spared pain.  In fact, I think if I had spared another inevitable pain by setting aside my own happiness all that would happen is that I would grow resentful and end up creating real harm.

I got an email yesterday from someone whom I like, or liked, a great deal; whom I had hoped might be companion material.  I spent some time with him last summer and visited him last Thanksgiving.  I think he’s a really interesting, intelligent guy but ultimately he didn’t spark my interest.  Walking away from that with as much kindness as I knew how to give was incredibly difficult.  I hadn’t prepared myself for the possibility that walking away was going to set into motion the reliving of so much old pain within myself, but it did and I ended up seeking outside help for it.  Outside help on issues like that is a great thing to avail oneself of.  I go to 12 step meetings for my sobriety and while the program may be a “design for living” it certainly doesn’t address everything.

Anyway, yesterday I got an email from this guy and it was signed, “The Idiot”.

What, exactly, am I supposed to do with that?  I feel like perhaps I didn’t walk away with as much love and kindness as I perhaps might have, but I also feel like this person is saying I made them feel like an idiot; that a year later they still feel like an idiot and that they blame me for that and I don’t appreciate being the target of someone self-deprecating attempt at (unsuccessfully) causing guilt. Rather I’m angry and I want to retaliate.  My M.O. has always been to run away and I want to run. I suppose I could write inventory on it but I’d rather just file the whole thing under “Your Problem” and cut the thing off even though it means losing someone whom I had considered to be a treasured friend.

Living by the principles has taught me how to be a friend.  Perhaps it may teach me how to stop being a friend, too.

My body has been a challenge from the moment I got sober.  Things bother me that I would never have noticed before.  And I don’t know if it is that I’ve totally damaged myself from my years of crystal meth use or if I’m just some kind of unluckily predisposed to illness kind of being.

Early in recovery it was respiratory stuff; bronchitis, sinusitis, that sort of thing.  It didn’t help that I was still a smoker.  Getting through the first winter sober required several rounds of antibiotics.

The second winter sober required several rounds of antibiotics, too, but I guess they didn’t do much good if I ran around with pneumonia for 3 or 4 months, eventually needing a couple of major surgeries to get me better.  I don’t know how better I got.  I still have pain from the surgery.  I look at my back and side and I feel like Frankenstein.  And all that time, those 2 months of recovery, laying in bed, taking vicoden (as prescribed – but so what, that shit is hard to do when you’re “sober”) losing faith, losing hope, losing “conscious contact”.  All of that is normal, I’m told, for anyone in recovery going through what I went through.  But it’s been a year and some months later and I’m OK.  I don’t have the Burning Bush kind of Higher Power that baptized me into recovery.  It’s quieter now.  I have to look for it.  I miss the Burning Bush – but what I have now is OK.

I have convinced myself that my head is OK – but my body says otherwise.  A week ago last Saturday the skin on my leg became really sensitive, but there was no rash; nothing to indicate that something was wrong.  I thought maybe it was the length of my shorts rubbing that part of my leg or maybe my new detergent wan to blame.

Last Saturday I woke up with a full-on, huge case of shingles that was spreading before my eyes.  I went to the doctor immediately and I started taking medication to stop it within hours, which I guess is a good thing.  It continued to spread, in spite of the medication.  It seems to finally be calming down.

It makes me wonder, am I really the same as I was before I had half my lung hacked out?  Am I still so completely unaware of my mental and physical state that things like this happen.  I thought when I straightened out spiritually I was supposed to straighten out physically and mentally.

I thought I had been taking pretty good care of myself; three meals a day, going to bed at a decent hour, etc.  I thought that I was handling beautifully the pressure I’ve been under at work.  Then my body tells me what’s really going on.

I know that I must be recovering from my drug addiction because when I was using I might not have even seen a doctor.  This could have been much worse than it was.  Like that terrible relationship I almost got in to, I recognize when something is wrong now and I take action.  I put “first things first”.  The first thing to do when you can actually see the blisters forming is go to the damn doctor.  I guess that is what progress looks like.  One of the differences between me on drugs and me sober is that I see a doctor when I need to.

Maybe – just maybe – God is doing for me what I cannot or will not do for myself; slowing me down.

By the way, don’t get shingles if you don’t have to.  This hurts like a . . .

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