NEWSFLASH: I am updating my blog.
March 16, 2008
This past week I put in nearly 40 hours of school volunteering. (Or maybe eleventy hundred. I lost count.) Some at home but most at the school. Does this mean they have officially “gotten” me? Am I now a Stepford? Let’s say no. I did have fun doing it, though. I know. The first step is admitting there is a problem. So really? I don’t really have a “new” post worthy of a Newsflash, but I do have something you may not have read yet. Seeing as I know you don’t all follow me around the ‘net to see what I have to say. And the links in the post? Follow them. Some amazing women writers were quoted. You may find a great new read!
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The past week I have been adrift in volunteer work, a new freelance job, house cleaning and one other thing. What was that? Oh, I remember. Celebrating my eighth year being clean from a painful and life altering drug addiction that nearly took away everything I cherish and love. I’ll be honest. I wanted to find be around at least one person who “got it” and would realize what I was going through on that day. It was a day that I desperately needed to be understood and on familiar ground with another person.
Blogging is much the same way for many people. Some people read blogs as a way to find others that are going through the same life issues, have the same interests or maybe even just because they entertain them. And then we have the bloggers themselves. Those who put themselves right out there in front of the Internet and share to let it all lay bare. Those writers who dig deep into their souls and pull out a part of it and share it. Hoping it connects with someone else. Sometimes hoping someone else will connect with them.
It is not surprising that in this week I found Redsy. As she began her Odyssey to stop drinking she posting these words that so resonated with me that I wept remembering the feelings she described.
I’ve found a place to go every day to talk about my problem with drinking. To listen to others talk about their struggles and fears and recovery. And it is a complete and total miracle. If I’d known how great these meetings would be, I honestly would have stopped all this wine nonsense a long time ago.
But of course I wouldn’t really. Because outside of those wonderful comforting loving meetings, life is once again scary as hell. And this time I’m standing there without my favored weapon. Facing an army of tigers with a pea shooter and one bean, which is how we’re supposed to feel at the beginning (I’m told).
And I feel like the outside layer of my skin (the adult, fake-put-together part) has been taken away and I’m this sea creature –shell-less and shaky–lolling around waiting for sunlight to reach all the long way down to the ocean floor.
I read through her pages and found her four months later with these words:
So it’s been 75 days since my last drink and nearly 4 months since I began this odyssey — to sober up, wake up to my life, start a daily spiritual practice something like worshiping a higher power, something like trying to be a more loving person.
As slowly the cravings, mental and physical subside, replaced by new rituals and people and habits, hope increases. Hope that there is more that I can give, more to experience, and a greater sense of gratitude folded into the dailyness of things.
…
All is not perfect happiness by any stretch, but broken down into 24 hours segments, I can say I haven’t felt this hopeful and resourceful for years and years.
I cheered for her. I wanted to shout to her that I get it and I am so proud of her. I remember hitting each milestone month of being clean and you can damn well bet it is worthy of a celebration. She is now 5 months sober. I am 8 years clean. We are alike and we can both learn from each other. That is the beauty of putting it out there. I don’t know her. But really? I know her.
I also came across a post about loss written by Jenn of Breed ‘Em and Weep that caused me to suck my breath in and hold it as I read it. I cried with the writer as she described her feelings. I felt my own anguish over losses in my own life (though different from hers, losses nevertheless) and I felt her pain as she knew that things would never be the same. I could feel her anguish as she knew the lives of her children would never be the same after this peaceful night of sleep– not knowing.
Tomorrow we will tell the girls about a difficult loss. It is a peculiar thing to sit on the edge of your child’s bed, watching her sleep, knowing that tomorrow you will say something that will stop her heart briefly and force her through a door she would not have chosen herself. Children do not take kindly to loss, and why should they? As adults we can barely stand it, barely have the ability to comprehend the who-was-who-now-isn’t, the what-was-that-now-is-lost.
I watch her dark profile. She is a beautiful girl, as still sometimes in her waking hours as she is right now, asleep. I think, This is her last night of not knowing. Tomorrow we take away the not-knowing.
When I first read the post I didn’t even know what the loss was but it did not matter. I felt it. I felt her loss. I felt the losses in my life. I felt her turmoil as a mother. I remembered that late night knowing I had something to tell my own children that would forever bring them from before to after. From innocence to life-changing. Her ability to open up and share from the bottom of her heart was so universal while still being so personal, you were not only there with her, you were at that place in your own life where you went through your own loss. That is the incredible power of blogging.
You see, when bloggers really open up and share, we find a way to connect, find support and feel as if someone out there gets us. To those of you who bare your souls, thank you. I appreciate and understand how hard that is. I have found bloggers who write about just about everything. They share what they know with people who may need or want to hear it.
I can find bloggers who help me with support for my addiction, the death of my Mom, my stillborn son, and my frustrations and dilemmas in parenting. And when I read the following quote from Mamma Loves, I realized that there is a certain type of blogging that is harder to find.
Mamma Loves called it to the carpet when she wrote:
What I’ve noticed though is that there seems to be one topic that remains fairly off limits (unless addressed anonymously). I understand why. Many people have discussed their reasons for not talking about it. I see this in my real life friendships too.
I just have to ask though…when will we all stop pretending like marriage is easy??
I love that question. I would love more people to just say it. “This marriage thing? Good. Love it. But, damn, it can be hard.” I know many divorced bloggers who will talk all about it. Or bloggers who openly admit they are in a bad marriage. But what about those of us who are in good marriages and are happy? Just something she asked that I thought I bring to the table since we are talking about baring our hearts and souls in blogging.
The bottom line is blogging has power. A mighty strong power. Blogging connects people. We can find others who get where we have been, where we are and where we are going. And that is vital at certain times in our lives. So, bloggers, it is okay to bare your soul. Some of us need it. Most of us admire it. And there are even a few of us who are counting on it.
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Comments are acting wonky so if you try to leave one and it won’t let you, please let me know. You can always email it to me and I will post it for you. No idea what is wrong. Sorry!
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Cross posted on BlogHer
Posted by Jenn @
1:27 pm | |
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Celebrate 8 with an addict
March 6, 2008
Today is my 8th birthday. Oh, sure, I don’t look a day over 6, but trust me on this one. It has been 8 years today that I gathered up every ounce of courage I had and checked into a detox/rehab facility. I had hit rock bottom and knew it was literally do or die time. I wasn’t ready to die.
Eight years clean. Eight years without using drugs to get through a day. Eight years of trying to live life on life’s terms and not my own. Eight years of not giving other people the power to send me right back into a place of using and losing. Eight years of giving my children a drug free mom.
Don’t get me wrong. It isn’t like I hit a perfect number of years and all is well. The urge or knee jerk reaction to find a fix when I am really hurting still pops up. When someone I trust kicks my feet out from under me, I want to use to make myself feel good. I mean, really, who wants to feel anything but good? But life is not all about the good stuff. And as an addict, I have to figure out how to make life work when I am hurting, angry, lonely and sick and tired of life on life’s terms.
Yesterday was hell. My body knew I was jonesing for something but my brain didn’t know why. I would love to say I woke up this morning to birds chirping as I danced my merry way around the house singing as I did my chores. Not even close. I woke up and dreaded facing the day. Any day. I wanted to stay tucked under my covers and be as far away from people as I could be. It didn’t help that once I dropped off the kids it began to rain and become very cold. A perfect day to snuggle up and hermit myself.
But like any good addict, I knew where I needed to be. So, I forced myself to get dressed and get out. Even though it was raining and sleeting and they were calling for more snow and ice, I still made myself go. Where? Where every addict and/or alcoholic should go when they have a day like I had yesterday. And when they need to have a day like I wanted to have today.
I went where I belonged. To a room full of addicts. They applauded my 8 years. Understood my angst. And supported me when I cried for reasons I didn’t understand. When I walked out of that room, I felt better. I was better for having been in that room with a bunch of drunks and druggies. They keep me sane. And clean. For 8 years.
And now? Now I want to celebrate.
EIGHT YEARS, people!
Celebrate with me! What accomplishments are you proud of that you want to share. Toot your own horn here, people. I want to share my celebration with you. Because? I worked damn hard to get here!
Posted by Jenn @
6:18 pm | |
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Jenn and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
March 5, 2008
Ever have one of those days. You know. Those days. The kind where you want to hermit yourself and stay away from anyone and anything? If by chance you do come across another human being you will most likely snap at them or (worse yet) cry?
Nothing could go right today.
I was sad.
I was depressed.
I was hurting.
I was angry.
I was so very lonely yet wanted didn’t want to be with anyone.
Nothing made sense.
I couldn’t sit still but didn’t want to do anything.
I didn’t want to talk but I really wanted someone to listen.
I needed to write but didn’t want to say anything worthwhile.
I wanted to reach out but wanted to be left alone.
I looked at my husband and begged him pathetically through my tears, “Please just help me to not feel things so deeply! I hate it so much. Please. Please I just don’t want to feel.”
None of this made sense to me. Why? I was either crying or angry today. And then I looked at the calendar and it all made sense. It is the experience of being a dry drunk. (Or in my case, a drug-free druggie.) Climbing the walls for an invisible fix that I haven’t had for years. Acting out like a user but not using. It’s the timing.
So I am going with it. I am feeling what I feel. I am riding the wave. I am living it as it comes yet not letting it take me down. Today I will cry if I need to. Laugh when I feel it. Be alone when I need to be. And forgive myself for not reaching out when I so desperately needed to reach out.
Tomorrow? Tomorrow will be better. Experience tells me tomorrow will be good.
It is today that I feel unworthy and risk throwing it all away. And you have no idea how close I came. I am just in that bad of a place tonight.
Tonight I think I am going to go to bed and cry. Because I need to. Because I hate being where I am and know I need to not let it simmer inside. I am going to be angry, hurt and sad. But just for today.
Tomorrow I will share with you the Wonderful, Awesome, So Good, Very Big Day. And why I know it will be a good day.
But tonight, I’m gonna cry.
Posted by Jenn @
9:35 pm | |
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Changes can be slippery
September 30, 2007
After the “Unfortunate Incident of 2006″ (otherwise known as the death of my mother and the follow-up falling apart of my life), I have used this space to write when I hurt, laugh when I need to laugh over the funny, and share when I need to know I am not alone.
A very good friend brought up the fact that I seem jaded after events that took place in the last year or so. You think?
I would have to say the first several months I was too much in shock to see the way things in my life were changing or falling apart. Looking back at that time I still try to come to grips with how I feel about a lot of it. I lost friends, a job and a mentor in that time. Sometimes I become so hurt by all of it, I feel my heart will never be the same. Other times I become so angry it colors how I see other situations in my life.
At some point I think I may have become that cynical person I never liked. That is not me. At least, that is not who I have always been. Friends who have never given me a reason to doubt them are kept at arms length. Have I been burned so badly by those who cut bait and ran when things were so tough in my life that I now fear those who actually stuck with me? I don’t want to be that person that keeps her cards held so closely to her chest that she never lets anyone in. I question some peoples’ motivations. (”Why do you want to know that? Do you really care? What is in it for you if I tell you? Who are you going to tell if I am honest with you?”) I guess I get caught up sometimes in a world of in between. Between trusting what I know and hurting from what I thought I knew.
I admit that in certain areas of my life, I have become jaded. At times so angry I don’t know what to do with myself. Other times I want to just cry and beg for an explanation from those who kicked me while I was down and took off. I am not saying I am innocent in changes that took place. I checked out. I get that. I know that there are “friends” who cannot handle that and there are friends who will still be there after everything is said and done. I have learned and am learning the difference.
I have had to learn that some people do not allow you to change. Do not allow you to break down and come back. Hell, I learned that lesson when I got clean. Some will never see that you are doing better. That you have changed and are not the person before, but still good. I will never try to tell anyone I am the person I was before I became an addict. Just as I can never try to convince anyone that I am the same person that I was before my Mom died. I am not. Life kicking your feet out from under you will change you to the core. Sometimes you are blessed enough to find that when you recover– when you are able to stand up again– you are not standing alone. It is a given that some people won’t be there anymore. That is just how it goes. It sucks, but it is life. So, if I know this, why is it so hard to let go and realize that the weakness lies in them, not me?
But the thing is, all that happened, all the hurt, all the lies are in the past. I cannot fix them, change them or make them go away. Yet, here I sit with my stomach in knots if someone brings it up. I doubt people that perhaps I shouldn’t doubt. Honestly, that part is the part that gets to me the most. I miss the way certain things were in my life. Certain friends I could count on for anything at anytime. Now? I don’t know. I truly don’t know. Is it real? Have we changed from friends to aquaintances now? Is it my fear of being burned again or is the underlying hesitation in the friendship real? I don’t know.
What do I know? I know that for me, as an addict, being in this place is not good for me. It is deadly and dangerous. Right now, I am in a bad place mentally but a good place professionally. In other words, changes are taking place that are both exciting and scary. Thrilling and terrifying. Big enough to be life changing. And yet, I am freaking out…and celebrating (albeit a bit hesitantly until all is said and done) that I am finally moving forward with a dream come true.
I stand on the edge of something big. I look behind to see where I have been and what good it has done for me and what harm it has caused. I look at the big leap and wonder what happens after it. Jumping into new situations with new people is terrifying to me. And I suppose my biggest question is this: How do I hold on to the good things that led me here and at the same time embrace the new things where I am going? Is there room for both? The old ties into the pain, but was not all bad. The new is scary and exhilirating.
Change. It terrifies me. And? It exhilirates me! It is the only thing that anyone can count on. But me? I have that whole love/hate relationship with change. I fear it. It shakes things up and makes me feel as if my life is one huge snow globe. I am powerless to stop things and terrified of where things will land after all of the shake-up is finished. Exciting. Scary. Anticipation. Hesitation. Change.
I am not a fan of song quoting blogs, but when it was emailed to me, I thought–I get that. In a whole new way, I get that. I am not going to quote all of the song, but the part that hit me hard was this:
Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I’m not sure I could.
They say time heals everything,
But I’m still waiting
I know you said
why can’t you just get over it…
It turned my whole world around…
Why can’t I just get over it? I ask myself that everyday.
Why did I write all of this? I have no idea other than the fact that I am in a bad place right now and that bad place takes me there. For just 10 minutes I want to trust that what I see is real. To not be angry or hurt or hesitant. For just 10 minutes I want to feel like I used to before everything– me included– changed. I just want to feel good right now. All I could think about last night was how much I wanted to hit the bottle. For a nice relaxing glass of wine? No. To drink everything away and pretend that I am not in a bad place. If that is not the sound of warning sirens blasting, I don’t know what is.
Sometimes I have to wonder is it my addict mind that takes a bad few days and tangles them all up into all of the bad that has happened in the past year or is that something that other people go through? Do others get burned and move on or does it haunt them later when it comes to new situations? I have no idea. All I do know is that I am in a place where I am struggling just to make it through the day without a slip. And right now, I have no idea who I can talk to about it. No idea where to turn. And that sucks.
Posted by Jenn @
3:26 pm | |
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It may have tried to kill me, but I am WINNING this war!
March 6, 2007
I almost named this entry “Lucky Number 7” but that seems so silly when what I am celebrating is so huge.
Today marks my 7th “birthday” clean and clear of my need for pills…7 years of overcoming this addiction. (I will pause now for high 5’s and a few Wooots!)
Seven years. Approximately 2,557 days. About 61,361 hours. And if you think there are days when those hours don’t count, think again. There are days even now when I just promise myself to get through the next few minutes, then hour, then night and finally I get through the dark time and am soaring again without having slipped. If you remember, the time leading up to this anniversary always makes me wack.
But I did it.
Today marks SEVEN YEARS since I finally hit rock bottom, had no where to turn and let go (finally) and became clean. And you know what? I am damn proud of it, too!
The past year has been hell in my life. (Like I need to tell you that!) The past few months I have been coming out of this horrific fog I have been in for so long and the best way to describe the feeling is to compare it to someone coming out of a coma after a horrible accident. No longer numb and therefore, hurting like hell. A time when you are begging mentally to numb that pain. Somehow. Anyway you can find. I am not ashamed to admit that more than once I have been jonesing for a fix to just not hurt anymore. To just not feel overwhelmed, guilty or not good enough.
But the thing I can celebrate today is that I DID NOT GIVE IN! I won this year. No one can take back these 7 years. And they sure as hell cannot take back the battle that has been this past year.
And I won.
Seven years.
And though I am all about tooting my own horn when it comes to something like this (because it is a really hard thing to do!), I want to hear from you. Yes, YOU. We all have had to face something in our lives that has scared the hell out of us or been a huge challenge that we didn’t think we could get through it. We’ve ALL been there. Let’s celebrate getting through the hell, the fear and the hard times…together!
Share with me. Either here in the comments, email me or blog about it on your own blog and let me know about it. (I want to do a huge celebratory and overcoming entry where we all can celebrate our victories. Who knows? Your accomplishment may be just what someone else needs to read to get through their own tough times.)
Celebrate with me.
I wanna rock this house, baby. Because Seven Years is worth a party, don’t you think?
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Posted by Jenn @
6:14 pm | |
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Thinking things
February 20, 2007
When my Mom got sick–I mean really sick– I sort of checked out. Checked out of my online “life.” Checked out of my personal relationships. Checked out on being a person, really. When she died, it got worse. I was not living. I was existing. Every now and then I would throw myself into something with a passion in hopes that something would ignite, but rarely did it. And when it did, I didn’t last for long. I was moving through life underwater and holding my breath. Hoping I would emerge on my own and soon.
Now, here I sit, over a year later and when I start to feel like I am emerging, I realize that I don’t recognize much around me. In fact, who the hell is this person and what has she done with my life?
I look around my house and wonder if I just woke up as the house-mom to a fraternity after a kegger. Chaos and a smell no one really wants to identify. Where is my clean house? My friends? My social life? What happened to my job? My goals? My dreams? While I am at it, where is the person my husband married and the mother these kids deserve? Hell if I know.
I feel like I have been in a coma all this time and as I emerge, nothing is like it was. Nothing stays the same. Nothing can. But how in the hell do you not become overwhelmed when you are just emerging and not one damn thing in your life is as it was? Not one person is as familiar as you remember. Not one routine feels right. The passion you used to have for something isn’t there anymore. The friends you counted on had to go on with their lives. They couldn’t stay in the same place with you.
And now, as you look around you wish you never emerged. When you were under water or in that mental coma, it didn’t matter. You were untouchable because “fuck you, my mom died and this shit just does not matter!!”
How do you regain your life? How do you recover friendships? Can you? Or do you just replace them? How do you make up for a year–a whole friggin’damn year– of lost time?? Can you? Do you? How do you fix it?
Well, I can tell you that posing those question to an addict will give you far different results than if you place them in front of a normie. A Normie will find a constructive way to fix this. An addict? Well, she will look at you as if you have gone 7 different kinds of crazy and then find a way to numb it. Or at least try to find a way to numb it. When she can’t, she will be bouncing off of the fucking walls trying to make it better. And you know what? You want to know the horrific fun truth in it all? She will NEVER find a way to make it better or right or normal and that will just make her all the more crazy trying to find a way to do so. Amazing fucked up reality, isn’t it? My world and welcome to it, my friend.
I know I have been going through the motions in a lot of ways. In a lot of areas. With a lot of people. And god help me, I don’t know how to reach through the haze, the depths of this drowning water and grab onto someone I can trust to pull me out. Without lectures. Without telling me how to fix things. Without the “I told you so’s” that make it harder than it has to be. How? I swear I don’t know how to do that. How do people get through shit like this and not leave behind them an inordinate amount of destruction? Lord help me there must be way, but hell if I know what it is.
You want to know the truth? I almost wish to have the drowning back. The coma that left me unable to move forward. At least then I was existing and not feeling so overwhelmed with all I need to do to make life right again. Because overwhelmed does not begin to cover it. At all.
For some reason, as I was surfing in the middle of the night rather than sleeping–as I am known to do– I came across Rosie’s blog. Now, there are not a lot of times I really get her, but this time (though she is referring to Britney Spears) it made me laugh and then hit me in the gut.
many moms -
of kids in ur sons class
want to shave their hair off
and get a tattoo
they dont because they cant
noone is there 2 watch the kids
what would the neighbors say
plus
the pta meeting
would be humiliating
on many levels
real life
can save u
sometimes
u have to - no choice
Real life can save you. Hmmmm….I suppose that is truer than I realized. Real life kept me from sinking under the water. Real life kept me from letting go. Real life kept me from giving into the numb I know is there.
Real life has changed. But it has waited for me. I will admit to not really recognizing it and being scared shitless of it, but it is there nevertheless. And, seeing as it pretty much saved me, I owe it to find a way to get to know it again. For real this time. No going through the motions.
It’s like having to get sober all over again. And trust me when I say the first time sucked enough for a lifetime!
Trust me on that one.
[Update: I got an email asking if I turned comments off because I wanted to be left alone. No. I turned comments off because the last thing I want is anyone feeling like they need to make a comment when they really don’t. This is the kind of post where I certainly don’t want anyone to feel the need to “make me feel better.” With comments on, I know some friends will think they should. And really, you don’t have to! That’s all. No leave me alone sign hanging on this door. Just to be clear.]
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Posted by Jenn @
4:26 am | |
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Looks like a sleepless night coming my way
June 8, 2006
It’s late. Or early. I suppose that depends on where you live or your perception on things. For me– as I start this– it is 2:11am. Early? Late? It doesn’t matter. I am not sleeping. Sleep is something that has always been a battle-zone for me. At some point (my Mom used to insist it was in the womb), my body decided that night-time is not for sleeping. It is for creative thoughts. Worrying about life. Rearranging furniture. (That last one used to freak my Dad out when he would wake me up in the morning and not know exactly where my bed would be.) I am just not a good night sleeper.
I used to be so frustrated by this. I would fight with Sleep and beg Sleep to take over for the night. Apparently, Sleep does not like you to sass it or call it nasty names in frustration, as it will then keep you up at least an extra hour or two. So I try to take advantage of the middle of the night silence and the time I have on my hands. Many of my friends can attest to the fact that several emails they receive are time-stamped well after midnight. Blog posts, as well. My book? 75% of it has been written after midnight. (If my agent is reading this, honest…that is GOOD! My morning writes are pure drivel. Trust me.) However, though I extol the virtues of midnight productivity, it is not always easy to be up, alone and thinking. It is the thinking that gets me every time.
I will give you a night in the life.
By 10:00pm, I am yawning. By 10:30, my eyelids are heavy. I grab the opportunity that I believe Sleep must be giving me and race through my nightly rituals in order to be snuggle in bed before the yawns abandon me. There is a sheer bliss of cool sheets and a Down pillow. Trying not to seem like a careless and rushed mistress for Sleep, I usually open a book and begin to read. It is my little way of saying to Sleep, I am here and waiting whenever you are ready. Shortly thereafter, I’m aware of Sleep’s gentle touch and I begin to feel that softness as my eyes slowly begin to close. I turn off the book-light, bookmark my page and set it on the nightstand. I welcome Sleep.
Sleep then says to my eagerly awaiting mind and body, “Not tonight dear, I have a headache.” Just like that any chance of embracing Sleep in the next hour or so is useless. My mind begins to race. Did I lock the door? Is the alarm on? Did I feed the cat? Wait…I don’t have a cat! That makes no sense! Am I crazy? I must be because why else would I think about a cat which reminds me that I need to make an appointment for the dog at the vet. Wonder how much that will be. Which bill is it that is due this week? I really need to find it and pay it. When is it due again? I am wide awake and thinking. Ugh. The thinking.
It has been especially hard lately It is not the door, the bills or the non-existent cat that my mind dwells on. It is my Mom and my final moments with her. Mom and the way I miss her. Mom and the reality–the hard, cold, brutal truth– that she is gone. Forever. Which leads to that heavy weight upon my chest and heart. As bad as those heartbreaking thoughts can be, when Sleep refuses to snuggle and my mind goes to a place my heart does not want to be, there is another voice that resonates throughout my mind. An insistent voice. That is the voice of the addict in pain.
It is in these midnight hours that I am at most risk of a slip. Or a slide. Or a go directly to addict hell. Do not collect $200. Just slip back into your addiction. I will admit it. Even after 6 years, I can jones for a fix with the best of them. My Addict Mind begins to tell me that there is a way to feel better. Just a little pill or two won’t hurt. You know how to get them and you sure as hell know you can get them this late. You’ve done it before.
At this stage of the game, there are no longer thoughts of Sleep or Mom or anything but a fix to make it better. Yet, I know it won’t give in. Not on this night. So I take my betraying, wandering mind back to memories of rehab. What would so-and-so in group tell me to do? That leads me to think about rehab and recovery. Want to know what I picked up in rehab? Smoking. I have since quit. Several times. But when life kicks me down, Sleep eludes me and my Addict Brain betrays me, my mind goes to the almighty smoke. Why? Because I relate it to my recovery. I relate it to getting through the hardest time in my life. I relate it to not using drugs to numb myself. I realize it doesn’t make a lot of sense to most people. I wish my brain was wired differently. But, alas, it is not. So, now that I am fully awake, I miss my Mom, want to drug it up and need a smoke. Can you see why I might possibly be totally pissed off that Sleep is such a fickle companion of mine?
But tonight–and as any addict knows, I can only give you now– I will not slip. I will not smoke. Instead, tonight, I will blog. I will send off emails. I will make lists of things I need to do in the next few days. Tonight I will not neither fight with Sleep nor pretend I don’t want it. I will simply wait for it to come to me. Ready for me this time. Then–and only then–will I be offline.
Because I know what could await me if I don’t. And that is not a price I am willing to pay simply because Sleep won’t have me yet. I can wait. And I will win.
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Posted by Jenn @
2:48 am | |
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HALT A place that sucks to be in!
February 26, 2006
Every year around this time I get a bit wacko. I should see it coming. I should know it is on it’s way and prepare. But do I? Never. You see, I am coming up on my “sobriety birthday” and it always makes me a bit squirrelly. There are some things every recovering addict knows to look for. (Although, rarely do they when they need to!) One of the phrases (or in this case acronym) is HALT. Things to look for that mean you could be on a super icy slope to a slip. In this case, HALT.
Hurting
Angry
Lonely
Tired
Check. Check. Check. Check.
Unless you are an addict, the feeling is so hard to put into words. It is a restlessness. A feeling of being caged in and feeling like you don’t fit into your own skin. An addict who is struggling and jonesing for something to fix it can be an insane wreck. It’s not that I want a fix as in drugs. But a fix as in “fix this feeling now!” Nothing works. There is a searching for the right combination of things to make the restlessness go away. But there truly is nothing that fixes the feeling. You begin to look way back into your using days and remember how the pill took care of the jonesing. But you know that is not an option. Not even close. So you stay restless. You try to fill that feeling with anything and everything that might make you feel less caged in. Destructive things or creative things or even healthy things. None of it really works. The jonesing feeling stays. And gnaws at your gut until you feel it will eat you alive.
Exhibit A: Me.
This year we add on the grief of missing Mom. Add on that my doctor in his infinite wisdom decided to change medication. And then add on my ability to sign up for far more than I can possibly do under the best of circumstances. And there you have it…a caged in, jonesing, pacing, and searching recovering addict who does not fit into her own skin. Both of the meeting places I used to go to have moved. And I have no idea where they are now. Don’t worry. I know better than to go this alone. I won’t. Talking about it and opening it up helps.
There are friends out there who know me well enough to make me allow me to talk about it when I need to. (But I usually don’t.) Or to just rant. (Which I never do about this.) Some of them who will tell me to get my ass back in gear and do something. (To them I get pissy, but listen.) And then there are readers who do the exact same thing. (They are harder to ignore when they pop up in my inbox in all caps!) I am amazed at the number of readers who are in this position or have been in my shoes who without even trying, say just what I need to hear.
I guess I just need to say it out loud. I am feeling a bit screwed up and restless and caged and freaked and lost and lonely and hurting and angry and all of those things that are lethal to staying clean. Maybe if I admit it, I will be safer. Maybe not. But at least now I know that I haven’t kept it a secret. That’s a step toward staying safe, right? Keeping it in will slap my ass right onto that slippery slope. And right now, I just cannot afford to go there. I just can’t.
So I will pace and wander and act like a caged animal, but I won’t use. I won’t use. I won’t use. (But I may sleep a lot. Hard to get in trouble while sleeping!)
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Posted by Jenn @
10:00 am | |
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Meet me in a meeting. We’ll talk.
April 17, 2005
I did it. I finally dragged my sorry butt into a meeting because… well… that is what you do when you are an addict who is going bat-shit crazy. There is nothing more unnatural than a sober alcoholic or a clean addict. It goes against the very fiber of the universe. It’s like being dropped into a foreign land where no one makes sense. Meetings are a way of finding a tour guide to get you through. So, I figured the fact that I was jonesin’ for a fix after FIVE YEARS dammit, perhaps it was time to get my happy ass back where it needed to be.
You see, I was one of those fortunate ones who go through rehab, avoid the slips and relapses and get cured. Cured! Woohoo! Except there is no cure. But of course, I am above all of that program nonsense. I am different. I have been clean for FIVE YEARS, dammit.
Except that all I could think about lately while I have been working on a project is how easy it was to get the pills I needed. How easy it was to fool everyone. How good it felt to not give a rat’s ass about anything because I was so mellow yet flying high enough that I was productive. I of course have been selective enough to forget the fact that I almost lost everything I held dear and nearly killed myself. Who needs those kind of bummer memories?
Well, I do.
So, I crawled back through the doors of a new meeting place. New faces. New surroundings. New smells. (Oh, who am I kidding? All meetings smell like cigarette smoke.) But other than that, it was all new.
Except it wasn’t.
The stories were the same. The desperation was the same. The experience, strength and hope were all the same. It was like coming home.
I was not going to talk. I didn’t need to talk. I was cured, remember. I had FIVE YEARS dammit.
Except I did talk. And it flowed out of me in a way that shocked me more than it did the rest of them. Where was this coming from? Apparently, the work I have been doing has been a lot harder on me than I thought it was. SO very worth it, but tough. I shared with them about it. I shared how I haven’t been to a meeting in short of forever. I shared that I had FIVE YEARS dammit.
Yeah, they said “So what?”, too.
Like I said, it was like coming home. I needed it. I am glad I went. Because sometimes, you just need to grab someone and let them know you are struggling. You need to tell someone that you can’t do it alone. Sometimes, you just need to be with someone who understands where you’ve been and where you are. Sometimes, it really is okay to say help.
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Posted by Jenn @
9:09 pm | |
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High 5 (or not so much high but definitely 5)
March 6, 2005
[I just want to give you fair warning that this is not my typical PG-ish entry. It has harsher than normal language and is not a fluff piece. Just thought I would let you know first so as to not shock you.]
The day I checked into detox was one of the toughest of my life. It took me about 10 seconds after I walked into the “quarters” that I realized I really didn’t want to be there afterall. Of course, having taken just about every pill I could get my hands on before checking in, there wasn’t a chance of my reflexes being alert enough to high-tail it back out of there. I was stuck. I was in a hell of my own choosing. I was there to save my life, but was terrified of what the would entail.
As the counselor went through the orientation questionaire with me -Did she really think I could comprehend anything she was saying?- I looked around the room, trying to take in every detail. My gaze stopped on a very intimidating man about my age. He looked rough.
“What the fuck are you looking at, Miss Suburbia? You think you are better than me in your coordinated Old Navy overalls? You’re shit just like me!”
Okay. This was going to be lots of fun. I began to tremble. It took everything in me not to cry. I knew that if I did, I would never have a chance at gaining any ground here.
That night was long and hellish. I have never been more terrified in my life. I feared for my sanity, my health and my life. Surely, I wouldn’t die here. Would I? I spent that first night sleepless, trembling in fear.
The next day we were forced to follow a very strict schedule. There was no free time or unaccounted for moment in the day. There was no time to yourself. Trust me when I say, they definitely break you down to build you back up. One of the “activities” that you do many times a day is “group.” “Group” is just like it sounds. Groups sessions where all the shit comes out and you are called on it. Sounds fun doesn’t it.
That first group was pretty loud and intense. I was allowed to keep my mouth shut. But that would be the only time I had that option. The entire time I sat there, the man who yelled at me when I first got there kept watching me and glaring. I’ll be honest. He scared me. I kept thinking to myself, “What the hell am I doing here? What have I done?”
Between group and other “fun time activities”, our main source of entertainment and recreation was racing to the “patio” to smoke. Nothing- and I mean nothing- kept the smokers from that patio. I was one of them. It was our “fun” time and our time when the REAL work and REAL group sessions occurred. I honestly opened up more and learned more on that smoking patio than any of the scheduled group sessions. (And I am talking about learning more than just how to chain smoke as fast as possible and how to light your cigarette off of another person’s lit cigarette. Though, those were skills I came to cherish while there.)
So, Mr. Tough guy comes out there. Looks around. Glares at me and tells me he wants to bum one of my cigarettes. I just stare at him. He tells me again. I glare back and reply, “Get your own fucking cigarettes and leave me the hell alone, asshole.” I then turned back to the person I was talking to. My hands were shaking but only the person right beside me noticed.
Mr. Tough Guy stood there. He paused. Then he laughed. “Not bad, Suburbia. Not bad at all.” A truce was made. From then on, he and I were the best of friends and really, really opened up to each other. He became a lifeline to me while I was there.
Amazing how appearances can be deceiving.
Take me for instance. Few people take me for a recovering addict. Why would they? I don’t wear a sign around my neck that announces it. But nevertheless, I am.
Why am I sharing this with you today? Because today is what they refer to in recovery as my “birthday”. Today I am 5 years clean and sober.
I am celebrating. Honestly, I have struggled the past few weeks leading up to today. Something in me fought the idea that I could fight this addiction and beat it for 5 years. The sick part of my brain wanted to sabatoge it so that I could prove there was truth in the lies that I tell myself when I am feeling down or bad about who I am. But I held strong. I forced myself to look at the accomplishment that I had achieved. I had to allow myself to admit that it was hard earned and worth it. I have had to allow myself to not blow it off as “no big deal.” Because, it is a big deal. I did something for myself and my family that was tough. It was hellish. It was- and at times still is- HARD to do.
Today I am celebrating 5 years of being clean and sober from my drug addiction. And I proud of myself.
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Posted by Jenn @
1:40 pm | |
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