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.

Brother Love's Travelling Salvation Show

About a year ago, I stumbled upon a blog that provided me with contact information for the sister of my Junior High School Choir Director. I learned of his death in the 1990’s from another member of that choir who I had recently discovered through Facebook. (The ultimate social network for reconnection and receiving WAY too much information about your friends, for sure!) The blog(A Death a Day: Fatal Insomnia | Michael Corke) was essentially a chronicle of rare diseases and those they affected. Some of the subjects were famous, some not. This particular disease is called Fatal Familial Insomnia. It is a rare, unforgiving disease about which little is known. MC was my current age when he passed away and knowing this made me think of my own unforgiving disease.

It was an exciting time for me. I had just moved out of the recovery home after 14 months, was working in my chosen profession, developing new friendships, and reconnecting with friends from my past. I was spreading my wings. I have reevaluated many of those reconnections and most of them have fallen by the wayside. The only thing we shared was space in school. After that, there was nothing. Only a select few have remained a part of my life today, though some from a distance.

When I contacted JCM, though many years had passed since MC’s death, I felt transported back to a simpler time in my life. A time that brings me as many pleasant memories as it does painful ones. (Remember, I was a teen.) However, my interactions with MC were all positive and when I read in that blog how FFI had changed MC’s personality, I felt a profound sadness. I felt the need to reach out to JCM to provide her with whatever comfort I could in the form of happy memories. MC had an eclectic taste in music (I mean, really strange stuff for the 13 year old I was at the time---but I can still remember every word of many of those crazy songs) and he encouraged me to step out of the shadows I had been hiding behind. This is the way I wanted JCM to remember him. When the initial excitement faded, our email communications slowed down and eventually ceased. Her email yesterday got me thinking about my motives during that period of my life last year. Not my motive with her, but the others.

My pursuit of acceptance led me to contact many of the people I did last year. Most were only popular names I could remember, some were those with whom I had real relationships. Or as real as they can be at that age. After the initial reintroductions, there was nothing left to talk about. Superficiality returned and I again felt rejected and less-than. I made the decision to sever those ties. It felt very much like I was chasing a ghost. I was looking for external validation that I am not the same person I used to be or that somehow I could change the past by showing exactly how "evolved" I now am. The more friends I had, the more I felt the old me slipping back. The me that longed for approval. The me that was not quite accepting of who I am.

For many alcoholics, the story is the same. We were awkward children who knew there was something inherently different about us. We were either unpopular for a variety of reasons, or popular for the wrong reasons. I am the former. I was a redhead in a blonde world, I wore hand-me-downs from different generations, and my parents were fairly strict and overprotective. I don't blame these things for my alcholoism but I still I carry the effects of the circumstances of my childhood with me today. It’s something I can’t change. I can only change whether I let them continue to have a negative impact.

I still have a lot of work to do on my journey. I still have reconnections I’ve made that I just can’t seem to let go. I need to examine what keeps me in relationships that are unfulfilling or unhealthy. They are very much like the lamp I keep in the corner, even though it no longer works. A silent hope remains that one day it WILL. I need to move forward remembering that the past is the past. I left it there for a reason.

As for JCM, though she and I are connected through her brother, I sense deep down that this is a new friendship that will grow over time. I don't feel a need to prove my worth with her. In that way, she is very much like her brother. She accepts me for who I am. She understands the devastating effects of progressive family diseases. FFI is one. Alcoholism is another.

(*Note* People do die from lack of sleep. Please consider this when counseling a newcomer who is suffering from insomnia. The chances of FFI are slim, however, it is a falsehood to believe it doesn't happen. For some reason, I find this pertinent to the beliefs about the disease of alcoholism that existed just a short time ago. Lecture over.)

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Can you repeat that please?

I had the fabulous, unexpected pleasure to Skype with my son today. I love Skype! It gives me the opportunity to actually see my son, his facial expressions, and his hand gestures. He’s very expressive and has a sense of humor that just doesn’t stop. At times it takes my breath away how much he resembles his father. I said this to him once. I will not repeat that mistake, at least until he has time to heal his own wounds.

As it often happens, we talk about some very unlikely things for a mother and son. I feel tremendously blessed that we have such diversity in our talks, especially considering where our relationship was just a short time ago. When I replay our conversations in my head later, frequently I am flabbergasted by the depths we reach. He is as curious about my recovery as I am about his new Navy endeavor. Few topics are off limits.

Today, I talked to him about a series of dreams I have been having this week about his father. The subject matter was sensitive, and since he was in his room with his shipmates, he decided to put his earphones on for privacy. (Good move, son.) The dreams all have a theme so getting to the heart of the matter was simple enough. I did not offer graphic detail, but he is familiar enough with the symbolism in the dreams and how those things were (are) significant to both (all) of us. Before he spoke, he lowered his chin and stared directly into the webcam. Immediately I felt tears sting my eyes when he voiced his response.

“Have you talked to your sponsor about this?”

There have been many times, like this, where my pride in this young man is overwhelming. He has attended meetings with me, discussed attending meetings as support for me with his superior officer, educated shipmates about the “disease” of alcoholism not being about choice, but about what alcohol does for (and to) a person. When did this happen? When did he cross that line of contempt for me and what I had done to our family, to understanding the basic tools of my survival? When did he become a champion for the cause of alcoholism as a disease and not a moral issue?

I don’t think I will pursue the answers to these (and many more) questions. This is definitely a gift from God. I will merely say a prayer of thanks.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.