When I got sober. I went to meeting daily, worked the 12-steps with women in a step-study. Then I was fixed. Running smooth. Or so I thought.
Now I realize alcoholics are like cars; We need to keep the engine tuned-up or else it breaks down. Sometime we crash because of poor maintenance. A tire might fall off or the brakes could fail.
Usually when this happens we are already heading downhill, so stopping is impossible.
Sometimes the wrecks are fatal.
There are almost always injuries.
Sometimes we hit other people when we crash.
Sometimes, they, or we, never recover from the accident.
We say, "It was an accident. I never meant for it to happen."
Still, we are at fault. We caused it.
We heard the knocks, saw the bald tires, smelled the smoke, but continued to drive anyway.
I'm knocking, smoking and shaking.
I'm pulling over.
Better yet, I'm taking her back into that shop called AA for a complete tune-up, new tires, brakes... the works.
My tools are a little rusty as well... I need some new ones in case I break down in the middle of nowhere.
In my dry-ness, I have been looking for a mechanic, a good strong man, who can make my engine purr.
All it did was sputter even worse.
Alcoholics are a unique model, and we need to be serviced by the manufacturer... a Higher Power.
My new sponsor has worked in the service department for some time, trained by the best, following the instructions of our Designer.
I can't wait to get back on the road... to recovery.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
A Newcomer Again
No, I didn't drink, but I feel like a newcomer again. I went to a meeting tonight with Jane and the girls. Afterward, we went to eat. There were 18 people and a baby at the table. I didn't really know anyone, and I felt a bit awkward. Jane was a bit farther down the table.
I have to remember it took me a few weeks to get to know people when I first got sober - and that was going to up to three meetings a day.
More importantly, it took some time to get to know myself. I need to do that again.
Time to start the steps over. Tonight I was also thinking, maybe it's time to start sponsoring people too.
We help ourselves by helping others.
If I try to wait until I am perfect, I will be waiting forever, because that's never going to happen.
My fog has lifted.
I surrender.
Time to start the cycle of recovery once again.
I have to remember it took me a few weeks to get to know people when I first got sober - and that was going to up to three meetings a day.
More importantly, it took some time to get to know myself. I need to do that again.
Time to start the steps over. Tonight I was also thinking, maybe it's time to start sponsoring people too.
We help ourselves by helping others.
If I try to wait until I am perfect, I will be waiting forever, because that's never going to happen.
My fog has lifted.
I surrender.
Time to start the cycle of recovery once again.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Bad Lola, Good Lola
Last night my friend "E" told me to pray and exercise. I did.
Last night I quietly asked whatever it is I pray to for help and guidance.
Today I rolled out of bed at 1 p.m. and went and got a gym membership. Luckily, the gym I chose is right next to Starbucks. Maybe that was the guidance.
I went to Starbucks, moped, then worked out for about an hour. All the while scanning the gym out of the corner of my eye for a cute guy, or should I say, my next diversion. Bad, Lola, bad.
I know I need a man right now about as much as a fish needs a bicycle, but I can't help it. I want someone! Someone cute! Someone to fill the void! Someone to make me happy, then miserable, as is my new pattern. Bad, Lola, bad.
Luckily, the handful of men at the gym, working out and minding their own business, were all too 'something' (hairy, young, old, normal, stable-looking, etc...) for me.
So my gym-venture turned out to be exactly what it should be: a workout.
After, I went back to Starbucks.
I didn't know it at the time, but that was a pivotal move.
A group of people walked in. A loud group. One woman had a mohawk. Another a sleeved-tattooed arm. Then I heard the tattooed woman talk. Loudly.
I know that voice.
She saw me and came over and gave me a hug. "How have you been?" she said.
It was Jane. She had to tell me her name again. I met her about eight months ago at an AA meeting on the west side of the city, where I was now (I live on the east side). That October night, new in town, new to this city's drunks, I was a bit out of my comfort zone. I wanted my familiar California drunks. The ones that helped me get sober.
Anyhoo, that night they invited me out to eat after the meeting and I went. They were a fun bunch. The usual cross-section of society that would never hang together unless they they met in the rooms of AA. I liked them, but I never went back to that meeting (can't remember where it was or what night it was).
A few weeks ago when the the U.S.S. Foreboding started it's descent, I looked in my phone to see if I had any of their numbers. But I couldn't remember any of their names.
Here they were at Starbucks, getting ready to go to a meeting. As AAers do, they invited me along. My prayer was answered.
During that meeting I started to see how I was slipping away from the foundation that got me to this great part in my life. Listening to the speaker talk about how, at five years sober, thought she had it all down and went back to the bottle, and complete and utter despair. I heard my future.
Looking at Jane, and Erica and the group of women that had welcomed my once, then twice, to join their company, I realized this is where I need to be.
I don't need men right now. I need women, women to talk to that have my same struggles, to be my friends, to laugh with. Good Lola, good.
After, four of us women went to a diner and talked and laughed. No war stories, but talk about the wacky stuff we do and feel as recovering addicts and alcoholics. They too, have great lives, bad impulses and twisted emotional rides.
While the fog is still here, rays of light are stating to shine through. Tonight I will pray again. Tomorrow I will exercise again, and in the evening I will go to another meeting with them.
Tonight I don't feel alone.
Last night I quietly asked whatever it is I pray to for help and guidance.
Today I rolled out of bed at 1 p.m. and went and got a gym membership. Luckily, the gym I chose is right next to Starbucks. Maybe that was the guidance.
I went to Starbucks, moped, then worked out for about an hour. All the while scanning the gym out of the corner of my eye for a cute guy, or should I say, my next diversion. Bad, Lola, bad.
I know I need a man right now about as much as a fish needs a bicycle, but I can't help it. I want someone! Someone cute! Someone to fill the void! Someone to make me happy, then miserable, as is my new pattern. Bad, Lola, bad.
Luckily, the handful of men at the gym, working out and minding their own business, were all too 'something' (hairy, young, old, normal, stable-looking, etc...) for me.
So my gym-venture turned out to be exactly what it should be: a workout.
After, I went back to Starbucks.
I didn't know it at the time, but that was a pivotal move.
A group of people walked in. A loud group. One woman had a mohawk. Another a sleeved-tattooed arm. Then I heard the tattooed woman talk. Loudly.
I know that voice.
She saw me and came over and gave me a hug. "How have you been?" she said.
It was Jane. She had to tell me her name again. I met her about eight months ago at an AA meeting on the west side of the city, where I was now (I live on the east side). That October night, new in town, new to this city's drunks, I was a bit out of my comfort zone. I wanted my familiar California drunks. The ones that helped me get sober.
Anyhoo, that night they invited me out to eat after the meeting and I went. They were a fun bunch. The usual cross-section of society that would never hang together unless they they met in the rooms of AA. I liked them, but I never went back to that meeting (can't remember where it was or what night it was).
A few weeks ago when the the U.S.S. Foreboding started it's descent, I looked in my phone to see if I had any of their numbers. But I couldn't remember any of their names.
Here they were at Starbucks, getting ready to go to a meeting. As AAers do, they invited me along. My prayer was answered.
During that meeting I started to see how I was slipping away from the foundation that got me to this great part in my life. Listening to the speaker talk about how, at five years sober, thought she had it all down and went back to the bottle, and complete and utter despair. I heard my future.
Looking at Jane, and Erica and the group of women that had welcomed my once, then twice, to join their company, I realized this is where I need to be.
I don't need men right now. I need women, women to talk to that have my same struggles, to be my friends, to laugh with. Good Lola, good.
After, four of us women went to a diner and talked and laughed. No war stories, but talk about the wacky stuff we do and feel as recovering addicts and alcoholics. They too, have great lives, bad impulses and twisted emotional rides.
While the fog is still here, rays of light are stating to shine through. Tonight I will pray again. Tomorrow I will exercise again, and in the evening I will go to another meeting with them.
Tonight I don't feel alone.
The Fog
The fog crept in about a week ago.
It's a dark fog. A heavy fog. A dirty fog.
It likes to sit in the top of my stomach.
I haven't been that hungry this past week. I've lost about 5 pounds. That's the silver lining to the empty vortex of depression.
I haven't been in a depression since I sobered up in December of 2009.
Before that, I was in a depression for years, punctuated by bouts of drunken elation. There was a lot of punctuation, I was drunk nearly every night. I picture the punctuation as an exclamation point because it usually ended that was, and not in a good way.
I'm writing because I don't know what else to do, and I write.
I am in a new city with a new job, recently divorced, lost my mom, step-dad and beloved cat all in the last three years.
Some might say I have a reason to be depressed. I don't.
My life is better now than it has ever been. I have a great job. I am a size two (okay four). My hair is long and glowing. I have people who love me. And most important, I am sober..
I am in control of my life, my actions, my words.
But not my feelings.
I sometimes say my happiness is directly correlated to my weight, length and style of my hair and my fake tan.
I have been overweight much of my life and depressed much of my life.
Now the weight is gone and the cloud still looms, so there goes that theory.
This 'depression while sober' crap is all new to me. I have felt flipping spectacular for the last 18 months since I've been in recovery.
Now that I think about it, I have felt too spectacular. I think I have been in a hypo-mania for much of the time. It was a lot of fun. I want it back.
No task to big, no challenge to great; I was great, and I could do it. I was a freaking warrior, a leader, a trailblazer, a manic Joan of Ark.
I got shit done. Deadlines met. Eyebrows waxed. Floors mopped. Cat box cleaned. Cats cleaned.
I kind of knew what was going on. The mania was not continual. I can rapid-cycle, meaning episodes can last a few days or a few months.
I can feel them starting. I like to tell ex-husband #2 (I am friends with both of them) that 'Manic Flight 5150 is ready for departure."
Then I fly, hit some turbulence then either land or crash.
Now I am on a submarine. I'll call it the 'U.S.S. Foreboding.'
It descended real quick, right after a one-week romance with a tattooed yoga instructor. I slept with him and he stopped calling. The sex was awkward. The romance became awkward.
He was my first since my divorce so it was kind of like losing my virginity again. I wasn't falling in love with him or anything like that, but he was meeting my much-needy emotional needs and all of the sudden they were no longer met.
He is not why I am depressed... good riddance. He was the trigger that aided in the eruption on the volcano of gloom, that's been building, crackling and heating up somewhere inside me.
In my drunken days I would get suicidal and cut on myself. Not now. I thought the quicksand was real then. While the sadness, crying, non-stop carnival of negative thoughts, regurgitated regrets, and lava rocks in my stomach felt very, very real... I now know they are not real.
It's some weird chemical thingy going haywire in my brain that jacks-up all my endorphins and makes me feel like shit.
I had a long chat with a new friend tonight - a fellow recovering alcoholic whack-job like myself. He suggested I exercise and pray. I'm not religious, so I will meditate. Tomorrow I am joining a gym.
I was thinking of taking a yoga class, but decided it's a little too soon, if you know what I mean.
It's a dark fog. A heavy fog. A dirty fog.
It likes to sit in the top of my stomach.
I haven't been that hungry this past week. I've lost about 5 pounds. That's the silver lining to the empty vortex of depression.
I haven't been in a depression since I sobered up in December of 2009.
Before that, I was in a depression for years, punctuated by bouts of drunken elation. There was a lot of punctuation, I was drunk nearly every night. I picture the punctuation as an exclamation point because it usually ended that was, and not in a good way.
I'm writing because I don't know what else to do, and I write.
I am in a new city with a new job, recently divorced, lost my mom, step-dad and beloved cat all in the last three years.
Some might say I have a reason to be depressed. I don't.
My life is better now than it has ever been. I have a great job. I am a size two (okay four). My hair is long and glowing. I have people who love me. And most important, I am sober..
I am in control of my life, my actions, my words.
But not my feelings.
I sometimes say my happiness is directly correlated to my weight, length and style of my hair and my fake tan.
I have been overweight much of my life and depressed much of my life.
Now the weight is gone and the cloud still looms, so there goes that theory.
This 'depression while sober' crap is all new to me. I have felt flipping spectacular for the last 18 months since I've been in recovery.
Now that I think about it, I have felt too spectacular. I think I have been in a hypo-mania for much of the time. It was a lot of fun. I want it back.
No task to big, no challenge to great; I was great, and I could do it. I was a freaking warrior, a leader, a trailblazer, a manic Joan of Ark.
I got shit done. Deadlines met. Eyebrows waxed. Floors mopped. Cat box cleaned. Cats cleaned.
I kind of knew what was going on. The mania was not continual. I can rapid-cycle, meaning episodes can last a few days or a few months.
I can feel them starting. I like to tell ex-husband #2 (I am friends with both of them) that 'Manic Flight 5150 is ready for departure."
Then I fly, hit some turbulence then either land or crash.
Now I am on a submarine. I'll call it the 'U.S.S. Foreboding.'
It descended real quick, right after a one-week romance with a tattooed yoga instructor. I slept with him and he stopped calling. The sex was awkward. The romance became awkward.
He was my first since my divorce so it was kind of like losing my virginity again. I wasn't falling in love with him or anything like that, but he was meeting my much-needy emotional needs and all of the sudden they were no longer met.
He is not why I am depressed... good riddance. He was the trigger that aided in the eruption on the volcano of gloom, that's been building, crackling and heating up somewhere inside me.
In my drunken days I would get suicidal and cut on myself. Not now. I thought the quicksand was real then. While the sadness, crying, non-stop carnival of negative thoughts, regurgitated regrets, and lava rocks in my stomach felt very, very real... I now know they are not real.
It's some weird chemical thingy going haywire in my brain that jacks-up all my endorphins and makes me feel like shit.
I had a long chat with a new friend tonight - a fellow recovering alcoholic whack-job like myself. He suggested I exercise and pray. I'm not religious, so I will meditate. Tomorrow I am joining a gym.
I was thinking of taking a yoga class, but decided it's a little too soon, if you know what I mean.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)