Vicarious Rising

The Final Frontier

Tomorrow begins National Novel Writing Month and I've decided to go for it. I signed up on the website nanowrimo.org back in September and have been trying to jazz myself up for the task. So, now on the eve of the event, I am scared shitless.

Great.

The idea is to write 50,000 words by the end of the month, and the goal is quantity not quality. That ought to be a breeze because I can gab about most anything for a long time and be lousy at it without even taking a breath. Ought to be. Except I feel like I am mentally hyperventilating and my brain is a blank.

In terms of my life, my recovery, everything has been wonderful. But I have been falling way short on the biggest dream, which is to be a novelist. I've been happily coasting along with being satisfied with everything else in my life (nothing wrong with that), but the writing has been on the backburner. Primarily because I am a chicken shit.

So, the chicken is going to shit and get off the pot. I hope some of the production isn't complete offal, and in the least, I find some relief in knowing that I have moved on to the next phase.

Great Equalizer

Last night I was doing my usual nightowl thing and I decided to watch an episode of Celebrity Rehab with Dr Drew. I didn't watch last season, but i'd read some reviews about this season that said it was less sensationalistic than realistic. Hoo boy, was that ever true.

While the facility was likely nicer than most by quite a lot, I thought the patients and Dr Drew himself were very similar to my own experience in rehab. I didn't recognize about half the celebs, but one doesn't have to be famous to have an overbloated sense of entitlement. The fear, denial, loss, anger was all too real. I had trouble watching parts. And OMG is there anything left of Gary Busey?

These people are definitely at their bottom, or at least some bottom. A few, like the model chick (who is all dudded out and looks like she may be looking for a job while getting off her drug habit -- there were a few gals like her in my rehab. Most of them partook in the forbidden romance thing. Tsk.), may not realize they are scraping the floor. But I didn't think they seemed glamourous. I thought they were very sad and uncomfortably familiar.

I hope people to get more awareness about what rehab can be like from programs like this, assuming it continues to be like what I saw. I'm tired of the image of celebrity spa vacations-as-rehab being seen as a chic rite of passage. I want the real damage addiction does revealed and the deep down dirty work, and the positive results, needed for change to be portrayed. It isn't a game or a holiday from life. Rehab is serious work if you dig in.

Choppy Waters

This weekend I returned to the scene of the crime, or rather the scene of my salvation. I chose to celebrate my third anniversary of sobriety by making a pilgrimage to the town where I went to rehab and attended AA meetings for my first six weeks of not drinking.

I've returned here for several other milestones, but I missed coming here last year. It was great seeing some of the same local faces. Some of them even remembered me. They don't do a big celebration meeting, but they do ask how you stayed sober. I basically said that my journey had started there in that town and I felt a lot of gratitude for their meetings and fir how I started changing my life. I thanked them fir being so welcoming to everyone who passed through the rehab, that it meant a lot to me and I have had a terrific three years.

The photo is a
view from my father-in-law's place where we stayed over. My sister-in-law's yellow lab that my son adores has cancer. We don't know how bad the diagnosis is yet, but we're hoping it was caught early. The doggie and my son met each other as a puppy and a two-year-old, and my son claims he is her daddy. When they are together, it is the kind of relationship between pet and child you'd hope for. He even dotes on cleaning her smelly ears out on a daily basis. My sister-in-law lent us the dog for the night so they could spend some quality time together, just in case she gets bad news from the vet on Monday. We live about 3 hours away from each other, and although my son gets to see the dog for extended periods of time, especially in the summer and Christmas, it is not nearly enough for Spike.

Today my son and his baby girl took a long walk on the beach. She even swam a bit. They cuddled on the sofa. He wants to save all of her shedded fur. He left his favorite pillow behind for her to sleep on.

I don't know how I am going to be able to stand watching my son go through the grief of losing this dog. I really hope we get good news tomorrow.

To Thine Own Self Be True

Just Say No to Anesthesia

I spent the day in New Jersey hanging out in my dentist's chair again. I'm embarrassed at the amount of work I've had to get done this year. I could buy a small car for the cost of the work. I allegedly have "bad saliva", meaning that it is conducive to cavities. Sadly, the only stretch of time in my life when I was seeing the dentist that I was not having tooth problems was when I was drinking heavily. The alcoholic made it inhospitable for the bacteria in my mouth. At the time, my dentist told me to keep up doing what I was doing because my teeth looked so good. I gladly complied.

Now, I'd rather have to sit through the dental nightmare than the tremors from alcohol withdrawal. Getting your teeth cleaned when you can't hold your jaw still because of tremors was almost enough to keep me from seeing the dentist at all. I just can't wait until the whole wretched mess of current work is finished. I have two more crowns and an implant to go.

I did get to watch a movie while the doc drilled away at my teeth, but I still had some free time to turn over things in my head. And I've really still been bothered by what I will call "the chilling effect" that I am experiencing on my blog. In journalism terms, the chilling effect is a way of discouraging reporters from reporting the truth or in depth because of certain consequences, usually legal. In my case, I am concerned about hurting people's feeling or having them cut me off.

I have a two fold desire to be accepted for who I am and to actually be allowed to be who I am. Which means I am often going to say what I believe and not couch it in niceties. But I want you to still respect me in the morning. If I think some of your actions are, well, dumb, I'll say so. But I would not say I am judging the person. I am, however, judging the action. There is a difference, but I don't think some people see it. I think those people are having trouble with accepting that they are stuck in a bad situation by their own choice, so they kill the messenger.

Of course, no one asked me to be the messenger, now did they?

I am feeling out of sorts about the whole situation. I've had at least two people, one I don't care so much about and one I do, take me off their blog rolls. The latter accused me of judging her and using the "you" instead of "I" statements and said I'd been mean to her friend (the former - who I never named in my blog, mind you, but, yes, I suppose you could read what I wrote as mean, but it was primarily talking about what bothered me and my issues, but I suppose that could look like splitting hairs to some). I wrote a little note to the latter blogger apologizing for making her feel bad and for offending her, concluding with saying she needn't write back because there was no point prolonging a distasteful discourse with me. When I wrote that, I didn't expect to hear anything. Yet, weirdly, these three days later, I feel kind of miffed I didn't hear anything back. Is that hypocritical? Immature, probably. Because I am sitting here thinking: "hey, you, don't you think you've judged me? All I've said is that I think you should be treated better and you're allowing yourself to be a doormat. And for that I get shunned? WTF?"

But, again, this just shows me that I still have not learned entirely from my experience with my sister, that just because someone is lamenting the poor state of their life doesn't mean they want it to be fixed. Or especially want advice from me on how to fix it. Or even self-esteem boosters that say you are worth more. I still don't understand this mindset, this wanting to stay in misery. Or maybe I do. It is an addiction of its own. You take all the crap just for the few and far between good highs. But those euphoric highs get further away until you are chasing a dream and there is nothing left of yourself.

I think what I need to do is figure out who the people are that do "get" me and stay away from those who don't. At least until I get a better solution. I really appreciate the comments... and if anyone thought differently, like that I am a pain, I welcome those too. I can handle the truth. Trust me, there is nothing anyone out there can say that could trump things that have already been said to me.

I also need to get over my pique about the bloggers who have excommunicated me. Live and let live and, oh, whatever. So, I'll play reindeer games with people who like me, 'kay? *insert self-pitying sniffle here*

When I was in middle school, this girl Julie told some of my friends she hated me. Back then, I was extremely shy and never had had so much as a verbal exchange with Julie. Julie never told anyone why she hated me, and I was left feeling horrible about what I did to offend her. I think I feel like that now. After all these years, I still remember Julie's full name and how upset I was that I never knew what it was that made her hate me. I'd feel better if I had a reason, if someone could have supplied a clue.

I know I want honesty in my life from others, so I will treat people like I wish to be treated. I don't want people telling me what they think I want to hear or just say whatever seems the kindest thing. I don't want to be like I was walking out of the dentist's office today, with my fat, numb lip, drooling on myself because I've been novocained from reality.

Trust in Me?

My last post got me thinking about my trust issues a little more. I know they have changed in the last three years, but I'm not certain all of the changes have been positive. That lay-it-all-bare trust I had with my friend Allen is dead, never to be ressurrected. At least not in that incarnation if I have anything to say about it. Furthermore, I am concerned I am shutting myself off from the possibility of that sort of trust and love (albeit not to be confused with romantic love, as I did when my early sobriety emotions were so raw and unfamiliar).

On the one hand, I feel I am open and truthful as I've ever been. Particularly with myself. On the other hand, I feel a distinct separateness from people, like I am able to to keep from being hurt by words or judgements of others because I have self esteem. Is that trust in myself in lieu of trust for others? I'm not sure that is what I ought to be striving for.

Too much pondering for one night. I'm glad I don't need to have all the answers right now. They will come if I pay attention to how I feel.

Honest to a Fault

Its been awhile since I've talked to the guy I used to consider my greatest friend, the person I trusted most with my warts and all. I don't miss what became the ugly unravelling of our friendship. I also don't miss the half-assed attempt he made at trying to repair the relationship, which primarily consisted of asking superficial questions that he didn't even bother trying to remember how I answered.

What I do miss is the man I imagined he was. Which is rather pathetic since he was a figment of my imagination. I suppose I could make lemonade out of the whole 16 year debacle by noting that he filled a role that I sorely needed filled. The fact that he was not my knight in shining armor doesn't figure. He did make me feel safe and cared for when no one else did. It was real to me then. Maybe that's all that matters, that I needed a beautiful lie to believe in people once I escaped my childhood.

The deal breaker in our friendship turned out to be his dishonesty and inability to face the truth. From the start, he knew I valued trust above all things, but as I got more sober, the more cracks appeared in our friendship. And rather than talk them out, he would stonewall me. He would twist around everything I said to make me feel irrational and bitchy. Hardly a gallant. I laid out my feelings and rather than be a friend and work to try not to hurt me, he prolonged things in such a way to keep me hanging on in limbo, alternately encouraging my crush and never completely dismissing it.

I was definitely in the wrong so far as my riotous emotions went, but the man I thought I knew would have treated me with respect and affection. But definitively clear about our relationship. Instead, he acted like the playboy asshole that everyone else saw him as. He enjoyed my adoration. I was a goddamn fool.

I'm not so much walking down memory lane because I'm bemoaning my broken friendship. But I have been thinking about my forthrightness and wondering if it needs to be toned down somehow. I have a tendency to say what I mean, and in my mind what I have to say is without malice. But I've noticed some people get very defensive, sometimes in a nasty, unproductive way, in reaction.

I get this need to speak straight from the fact that my family never communicated anything, leading to all sorts of horrible results and feuds and hurt feelings. I feel like getting things out in the open is a good starting point and that a lot of times pussyfooting around issues is not very productive. I tend to be solutions oriented, which is often a boon for someone trying to live a recovery program.

The hitch, however, is that I realize many people don't want to hear what I have to say. They either flat out disagree, find it offensive, are threatened by it or it doesn't support their values and goals. For instance, I only recently realized my sister didn't want my help with pulling together a more solid legal custody case against her ex-husband. What she wanted from me was to cluck and exclaim what a jerk he was, how great a mom she is, and throw a few "oh my gods" in for good measure. You see, I was focused on alleviating the painful situation, hopefully to her benefit. She wanted to live in the problem and the drama for a bit more. Once I figured that out, I felt much less stressed and responsible for my sister constantly being in a kerfluffled state. The downside is that she and I have a much less authentic relationship.

Now I've blundered here and there in the blog world, saying what's on my mind, trying to find my voice and be real. But I am learning this isn't what everyone wants. My quandry is how do I adjust? Do I believe I've been a bull in a china shop, slamming my opinions and judgements without discernment? Or are some people overly sensitive, perhaps because there is a ring of truth in my words? Are my opinions odious? Does it matter if my opinions are odious -- should I feel free to express them as I wish? Why do I feel like I want to give people what they want and help make them get better too? Is there a happy medium?

The thing that bothers me the most, however, is that my instinctual reaction is to shut myself the fuck up. Speaking my mind just gets me into trouble, that critical voice sneers at me. But I sure as heck don't want to be one of those 12 step program idiots that proclaim: "If you want what I have, you will do what I do, blah blah blah blah, I'm little miss perfect recovery." (Personally, I think most of those people are smug and don't give off all that happy a vibe. It's like they are trying to convince themselves of their joyfulness too. Hey, maybe the more people follow them, the more they believe what they are doing is the right way.)

There's got to be a happy balance between kiss-ass doormat and judgemental bitch. Isn't there?

Stuffing is for Turkeys

I would apologize for parading out a Thanksgiving metaphor before Halloween has even commenced, but I'm not really sorry and I also love turkey dinner any time of year. I think cranberry sauce (especially the whole berry kind) is one of the greatest creations ever.

Living about four miles from the town center, we almost seem like we are in the boonies here. Just a hop, skip and a jump away are tons of local farms. Our town's one police horse makes his home at a little barn down the street from us. There are wildflowers proliferating in the fields down at the bottom of our hill.  We will be planting more wildflowers on our own property come spring. One tree halfway up our driveway is a 50 foot tall hollow stump that some honeybees have made their home. We're going to do what we can to help them out with pollen.

We've also noted some frighteningly large bands of wild turkeys passing through on a few occasions. These creatures are huge, ugly and mean. I heard about one gang of these buggers in New Jersey that made their stomping grounds at a convent and chased off anyone daring to step foot outside. Some poor law enforcement dude got sent out to clear them, was attacked and he shot at them, killing some, and he got in trouble with the animal lovers for unnecessary force. I don't know. I hate guns, but if I were attacked by a gaggle of turkeys as big as a golden retriever, I'd probably use whatever I had to keep the things away.

For your viewing pleasure, I put in a couple more pictures of my yard from different vantage points. I wanted to save them, as the leaves are quickly turning brown and falling now. I also have a picture of all the piles of stone carted in last week. The contractors have been busy at work installing our walkways, front and back steps and patio. I'm not sure they'll be done fast enough before it gets too cold for me to actually plant any shrubs. But that's alright. I'll roll with whatever comes.

If you've never checked out the British magazine "Psychologies," you may want to peruse a copy of it in your local Barnes & Noble or Borders magazine rack. It's an interesting take on better living and it is less professionally minded and more regular person oriented.

I read an article in a back issue (11/07) titled "Finding Redemption" by Marina Carriacuzino that was primarily about learning to be forgiven and accepting forgiveness for yourself. But I also saw in it a message of not holding in bad feelings, whether these be guilt or anger or grief. The article quoted Hugh Valentine, a priest from London, who says that the role of a counselor or confessor has long helped people move on in life when otherwise emotions would be supressed and cause the person to become stuck in life. "Whatever is not acknowledged cannot be healed," Valentine said. "More pointedly, whatever is not acknowledged will almost certainly become destructive."

As someone who repressed pretty much all her emotions, I say Father Valentine has got it right. Pretending the emotions are not there does not make them disappear. Wishing or willing them away doesn't do it either. They just sit inside you, pissed for not being addressed and then acting out in anyway possible, like a child, looking for needed attention. Any attention is better than no attention, I suppose is the protocol for these emotions. Which is why I really get concerned when people take the parts of the AA book that say addicts and alcoholics should not be angry quite literally. I don't think it is healthy, and reality is much more likely that they are angry even if they tell themselves they are not or that they have no right to it or whatever balderdash they tell themselves to avoid the truth about their feelings.

But I think some people are chasing nirvana, not an authentic life. There is a difference. True, I like things to be relatively smooth and without a lot of drama, but I don't want a flatlined life. I want to experience everything. The good things are so much better when contrasted with the bad. Being numb and silent was like being a wraith. I like the pride I feel in myself when I am able to get through difficult situations like an honest to god grownup. Challenges make life interesting. I am so glad I am not hiding and scared anymore. Well, I'm still sometimes scared, but not so much it holds me back from living.

Almost Paradise

I have a great fondness for the movies of the 80s. It seems to me there were a lot of goofy/fun coming of age films that still occupy a warm spot in my heart. I don't think my son is as fortunate to have such awesome flicks as Back to the Future, Ghostbusters, Ferris Bueller, Risky Business, or any of the early John Hughes films with killer soundtracks to relate to his own
teen years. These fims and the many more like them are like footnotes in my own life, setting the tone, and just snippets of dialogue or a piece of a song brings back nostalgia, mostly in a good way.

If I were my kid, I would not want to recall my young life based on reality TV, Gossip Girl or ... are there any teen movies that are even remotely iconic or worth remembering lately?

I don't know how I got off on this tangent, but the post today is an ode to Footloose. Does anyone else remember that guy at the prom who seemed kind of shy in the Clark Kent way, then his date whipped off his glasses and pulled him out to dance? And he was smokin'? Me and my girlfriends almost all swooned out of our theater seats as his baby blues and crooked smile.

The attached photo has nothing to do with adolescence or movies or sexy dancing supermen. It is simply the view looking out into my backyard. That gives me warm fuzzies too.

It's My Fault, It's Always Been My Fault

A post by Lou of Brokenhearted Mom bit me in the ass today, hence the self-serving and pitying title of today's post. She wrote about meeting a young addict in recovery who had never considered the pain he caused his family whilst in the throes of his addiction. Lou thought to herself that all the boy's poor family did was worry about his health and state of mind and pray he would pull through. That they would forgive and forget anything should he just stay sober and clean.

My first thought upon reading this post was, "what the fuck is the matter with this young man?" My experience wasn't this blissful ignorance of my impact on my family. My parents made it very clear to me what a sacrifice and pain I was for them. I lived quite terrified of displeasing them, although I managed to displease them a lot despite my straight arrow behavior. I learned to be quiet because I never did manage to get myself to conform my thinking or get my agreement with their views to reach my eyes. Silence and hiding out in my room, making as few ripples as possible was how I survived. I operated on do no harm. It worked a good deal of the time.

I also was not an addict or alcoholic during this time. I never broke curfew, never got detention. I did get a couple C's on my report card, but nothing that made my overall average a C (don't ask about the D in driver's ed, though, lmao). I came home directly from school, did not pass go, did not collect $200 or much of a social life for that matter.

My life could be best characterized as walking on eggshells. So, it is hard for me to look back and say I was not cogniscent of how my behavior affected my family. Especially since they liked to point it out to me whenever possible.

But if I look into when I became an active alcoholic, my parents and siblings were not really in my life. I was self-medicating for a number of reasons that I have already mentioned. I cannot say I was not aware of the impact it might be having on my husband and child. But if you ask either one of them, either then or now, I think they would honestly say I wasn't wrapped up in my own world. In fact, in many ways I was able to be more available when I drank than I was without because some of the social reservations I had been encumbered with fell away with those first few glasses of wine. When asked by an addiction counselor about how my personality changed when I drank, my husband was slightly perplexed. The only thing he could tell her was that I got a little louder, but otherwise was the same person. I don't think she believed him. But it is what happened. Alcohol was a key. A key I can throw away now, but a key nonetheless.

So, what was it about Lou's post that disturbed me? It was this lingering question about my affect on those that I love. I would be more than happy and encouraging should my son want to go to Ala-Teen or my husband wish to go to Al-Anon. I actually wanted my sister to go to Al-Anon as well, but she decided that she was cool with me and didn't need it. I've also talked to people I am close to who have known other alcoholics besides me that became interested in Al-Anon partly for their own recovery purposes based on how much AA improved my life. But not because of how I negatively impacted them.

And then there are my parents. While I really wanted them to come to my rehab to talk with me and the counselors there (they refused, saying it would be "awkward") so they could learn about my addiction and how they could help me, I really get all squiggly thinking about them going to Al-Anon. Because all I see is them using it as a club to beat into me how I ravaged our home life when I was young, to hurt me now, after I have been able to establish some separation and peace from their view of our family life and reality. I am afraid they will turn me back into that frightened kid again, using the very principles that aided me to get well to mold me back into submission. This is disconcerting to me. I felt like I had come so far. To realize that I am spooked by the idea of them going into what I would call a faux-recovery shows just how vulnerable I still am.

Sometimes when I read posts by codependents or by people who love addicts and they talk about generalizations and stereotypes about us and how we wreak havoc in lives, I want to crawl back under the rock I came out of. This is obviously my issue to contend with, but I think I've always had this sense that I was responsible for all the bad stuff (the good stuff was seredipity, of course). I am still sorting out what is truly my fault and what was never mine. I don't dispute that I was selfish in my addiction. What I do question is whether every alcoholic can be bucketed into a household shattering role. It would be akin to labeling all parents of addicts as lousy and negligent, something I don't believe and what many loved ones of addicts would find offensive.

In terms of a "faux" recovery using Al-Anon or the like, I am strictly talking about my parents here, who are very manipulative and employers of the gaslight method. It took me a long time to realize I wasn't crazy, and an even longer time to figure out how to be around them without getting angry about the crazy stuff they say. I almost feel like I am an Al-Anon'er. Certainly my parents never gave (and even now give) a thought to what they say and do and how it might hurt me or anyone else.

And reality is, I can't imagine either one of my parents setting foot into an Al-Anon or any other 12 Step room unless it were court ordered because I think they are both terrified of discovering the truth. I believe they fear people would see through them, and they will not expose themselves to that possibility.

Therefore, if I am to be the person I say I want to be, I should be able to expose myself to the possibility of being exposed to the truth. I should not fear whatever may come from my parents. Whether it be truth, lie or something in between. In my heart I will know what is real because I am working on myself. And that is all the difference.