These are a few of my favorite things..

Well, the verdict is in: I have an intestinal bug. It has kept me close to the restroom today. More than that, I will spare you.

But I will say that this knowledge has given me a sense of relief. My R.I.D. feelings of the past couple of days are partially because of this “bug”. When I’m feeling crappy, it tends to invade every nook and cranny of my existence. It affects me physically, mentally, and spiritually.

I hate being sick. I haven’t been sick much since I’ve been sober. So being able to say I’m sick without it being a lie or justification is kind of a blessing. And getting through the illness without the aid of simple medications that even other recovering alcoholics take for granted, is always an amazement to me…and it gives me a sense of accomplishment. No Thera-flu, no Sudafed, no cough medicine, no Tylenol PM, no Nyquil. The list is endless. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zoogies. Not even one.

Because of the wreckage of my past, there is a governing body that oversees my recovery. It can be a real PITA sometimes, and it is a very strict program, but…it’s part of my amends to my profession. And when push came to shove, it was the realization that the last thing I had that was evidence of what I had achieved in my life, what I once was, and hoped to be again, could also disappear like ashes in the wind that brought me to my knees. I’m not proud to admit that. I try not to think of why it was that and not losing my husband, my home, my family, but above all…my children, that provided me with the moment of clarity sufficient to change the direction in which I was headed. (I said I try not to. I didn’t say that I don’t or that I haven’t done a load of work with my sponsor surrounding this issue. She makes sure I think about it and put it in proper perspective.)

So I feel like doggie-doo. But I’ll get through it. I always do.

One thing that did help this afternoon was Firstborn. When I was taking a nap, fighting the cramping and cold sweats, she sent me a picture of the lilacs in her room. I saw it on my phone when I awoke. Immediately tears welled up to the brim. She too, was taking a nap and her room was filled with the aroma of lilacs. My favorite flower. I haven’t gotten lilacs from anyone in a very long time. They may have been virtual lilacs, but the fact that they came from her make them better than the real thing.

It’s stuff like this, that when it comes, gets me through some pretty rough self-talk. It does my heart good to know that she thinks of me in a loving way. That we are building our relationship instead of tearing it down, or more appropriately, that she’s letting the wall down. The wall she had to put there for protection against me and my disease.

So even though I’ve been sick and R.I.D., I’ve also been blessed today. And just being able to recognize that and appreciate it as God given makes it a good day.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Don't EVEN go there!

While I was making my bed this morning (something I did NOT do for many years), I knocked over one of the crystal chicks that sit on my bedside table. I bought the set of Mama and 3 chicks for my mother’s collection many years ago to represent me and my 3 children. (Why I did not search for a Papa to add to the set to include my then-husband is an area of my subconscious I have yet to explore.) Once certain items were returned to the original “givers”, Mom’s collections of crystal figurines and Hummels were distributed evenly among her children after she passed away, which is how I have them now. As I righted the chick, my brain was immediately filled with superstition. Which of my chicks was in trouble?

Though my first inclination was to call each of them to find out if they were “okay”, I refrained. (That is what I would have done in years past to bring my “amazing mother’s love and intuition” to their attention. Oh, the drama!) Instead, I pushed the thought out of my mind. I do not like the tremendous pain I feel over their physical absence in my life. I do not like to visit the sad memories of how my active disease led to them moving far away from me to live with their father. I do not like to dwell in the wreckage I have caused in their lives. Yet I know I must.

In working Step 8 and Step 9, I chose originally to start with my children: the 3 people to which I believe I owe my biggest and most difficult amends. I am relying on my Step 4 inventory as an outline for the amends. It is an emotionally overwhelming undertaking to again be assaulted by my own actions. I thought once I did Step 5, I was home free. Sigh. Alas I was wrong. (You old timers can stop laughing at me anytime now. My sponsor has already done so for that statement!) I am reminded of the following quote, taken from page 49 of the 12 & 12: “Pride says ‘You need not pass this way,’ and Fear says, ‘You dare not look!’” In my humble opinion, this goes for Step 8 and Step 9 as well.

My sponsor suggested that I get a few less difficult amends under my belt before attempting amends to my children (WHEW!) and concentrate on remaining a responsible, consistent presence in their lives; even if from a distance. I trust her wisdom and experience though I am impatient and just want it done. Not an alcoholic characteristic at all, is it?

My brain has been busy this week. I am exhausted. But a very good friend, and fellow alcoholic, told me that step work done thoroughly is indeed exhausting. If my level of emotional fatigue is any indication, my work is solid.

Making my bed every morning and righting a chick serve as very important reminders to me.
1. New habits can be learned and enjoyed.
2. Righting things immediately helps to eliminate future chaos and fear. (Sounds suspiciously like Step 10)
3. I am not the person I was a little over 2 years ago that thrived on manufactured drama.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

You can't always get what you want.

I went to my former, almost-roommate's apartment this morning to pick up a piece of mail. (I had changed my address, a little prematurely, and apparently the correction hasn't taken effect yet.) Being the trusting person he is, he messaged me that the key would be available in our pre-arranged location. In hindsight, I should have returned his message to let him know that I was on my way over. (Character defects can sneak up and smack you at the oddest times.) Instead, I arrived, unannounced. Upon entering the apartment, I heard his voice, then saw he was talking on the phone. His distress was obvious, as this kind, gentle man wears his emotions on his sleeve.

Through our brief association, I have come to adore him. We've bonded over CMA chips (of which I am not a fan...early recover story to follow someday), lumpia, stories about butterknives, wonderful dreams of sharing our new home with mutual friends, and then the disappointing blow to our plans. ( "Our plans". Therein lies the root of the problem.) We did what was asked of us by the landlord. We decided that if we are going to live our lives honestly, that is, differently than we have in the past, we would follow direction and not lie or cheat (AKA: manipulate) our way into what we wanted. I would not move in until the "approval" was final. We would leave the results to our Higher Powers and live in acceptance of whatever the outcome would be.

Ah, yes. Acceptance.

As it turns out, my credit is horrible. (Like THAT was a newsflash!) That was the basis for the denial. Funny how things work. I pushed ahead, without any knowledge of the details of my credit report, but imagining it was pretty bad. Talk about denial! (DENIAL=Don't Even Notice I Am Lying) So, my lesson here has been to take care of what's in front of me instead of living in the future. Things like finding a job, concentrating on my program, and performing financial amends. The amazing thing is, that I've looked at my report now, put it on paper, and when it comes down to an actual dollar amount, it's not a scary as I thought. Well...once I have a job, anyway. But that's another story for later.

Then there's the component of my current living situation. Which isn't horrible, in all honesty. What I was doing, in part, was running from one situation, to another without examining what my part in my discomfort here really is. That needs to change. Pronto. I am not a child who cannot stand up for herself. The roommate with which I have difficulty, may resemble my father and my ex-husband in many ways, but he is not them, nor is he responsible for my feelings. I forget who said this, but it certainly fits: "You are not responsible for the programming you picked up in childhood. However, as an adult, you are one hundred percent responsible for fixing it." So, I am resolved to live in the moment and do what's in front of me, today. Open my eyes to the reality. And change what I can about me.

Back to my former, almost-roommate. He too, made peace with the final decision. He began "nesting" and was doing his best to come to terms with the uncertainty he felt about living alone as a sober individual for the first time in a very long time. I was actually envious. While I dream to be living in a place of my own, I am not ready financially or strong enough in my recovery yet. His distress this morning was with his landlord. Apparently, he was served, just moments before I arrived, with a 3-day notice to vacate. He took the bit in his teeth and called the landlord to inquire into the infraction that would bring such a harsh action, only to be told that he was in violation of the lease by having an unauthorized tenant living with him. Oh, brother, did my brain grab this and run with it! See, again we go back to our "plans". Though I stayed in my current situation pending the final decision, I was so certain that this was a done deal, that I had my new (well, new to me) bedroom set delivered to his apartment a couple of days before we got the final "no". Then a week after the blow was delivered, had the bedroom set removed again. All of that activity spurred the resident snitch to phone the landlord. What a mess! My friend is facing eviction, and all I could think about was how I was at fault, or not at fault. Self-centered? You bet. But as I watched my dear friend, who has shown me nothing but kindness and compassion since we met 2 years ago, agonize over this terrible turn of events, I was suddenly mute. I ran some of the AA slogans through my head and decided to not utter a single one. Instead, I listened, hugged him, and left. Hopefully it was what he needed.

I don't know what lies ahead for my former, almost-roommate, nor do I know what lies ahead for me. I do know, however, that we each have grown in our recovery. We got what we needed. And we have grown in our friendship. Now all that's left is to accept it, learn from it, and pass it on.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.