Remembering the Lizard Puzzle

Remembering the Lizard Puzzle

There was an exercise we did in rehab that I remember bringing me great insight.  I actually had many epiphanies over the weeks there which was incredible but this one made so much sense to me that I remind myself of it often when I start to drift into negative thinking.  It wasn't the same for everyone because I think perspective plays a much larger part in our lives than we think but my perspective this last time around was to get as much out of the experience as I could.
The relapse unit spent the day off site at a camp ground.  It was a log cabin with a fire place and couches.  We spent the day hiking, meeting and having lunch there.  One of the exercises began with each person being handed a piece of paper with instructions on it.  We were told to read the instructions, not share them with anyone and begin the activity as a group, but do so without talking.  I am going to give away at least my part of it and I am sorry if you end up having to do this in therapy one day, but bear with me.  We were given a floor puzzle to put together.  It was a series of interlocking lizard pieces that went together in a very specific manner.  My instructions were to pick one piece from the pile, place it in the puzzle and then not let anyone else move it.
So there is a group of maybe 15 of us, all with different instructions trying to put this puzzle together, we aren't allowed to talk and there are many ways to put the puzzle together but only one right way... Oh yes and we are all alcoholics and addicts withdrawing from our drugs of choice!  Lovely.
We managed to stay quiet for a few minutes, but then one person here would try and speak  then another over there would mutter under his breath.  One lady announced she was tired and sat down.  After a few minutes one guy blew up and stated that he thought this was all bullshit before he stormed outside for a cigarette and then there is me in the middle staunchly holding my piece in place forcing everyone else to build the puzzle around me.  They were huffing and glaring and generally shooting daggers in my general direction.  I have to tell you, I was nervous, shaking, sweating and upset.  Then is the middle of all this discomfort a lightbulb went off inside my head.  THIS was EXACTLY how I felt growing up in my family  THIS was EXACTLY how I felt at family gatherings as an adult.  I am simply not good at family dynamics.
What I came to realize while sitting in the middle of the woods in a log cabin with my finger on a blue lizard puzzle piece, was that I am terribly co-dependent.  I could not relax if I thought someone else was uncomfortable.  If someone was upset, I was upset; if someone was unhappy, I was unhappy; and conversely, if someone was happy I MIGHT allow myself to be happy, but all the stars would have to be aligned first.
Let me tell you, this is not a good way to live.  You are doomed from the start if your emotions are tied to what you perceive are the intentions and emotions of another.  You have to consider always what your perception of your own emotions is, you have to consider always what your intentions are.  Co-dependency at this masters level is a seemingly selfless outlook but it is actually truly self-centered.  I would spend all my time worried about why someone was upset.  Invariably I found a way to make it all my fault.  I had done something, I hadn't done something, I had said something, I hadn't said something.  I was a ping ping ball of guilt, shame and blame all inside my own head without knowing all the facts or even asking.  I crushed myself down daily with all of this and guess what... It just simply wasn't all about me.
Now I TRY to not go down this rabbit hole anymore, but it IS my default I am finding that I often have to repeat this mantra in my head over and over when I am with family and friends and all is not honky dory. If I think I am about to turn into Alice in Wonderland... I says ah to myself, "remember the lizard puzzle, remember the lizard puzzle..."  After all during the exercise, I had done my part, I knew the truth of the words on my piece of paper and others' reactions to the game were more a reflection on them than they were on me.
My therapist says that if someone has to be upset that he chooses you.  I get that and I can appreciate the sentiment. I don't really want to be quite that cut throat, but perhaps if someone is going to be upset, I don't have to join them if I can help it.  His point to me the other day was, say you are with a friend and they do something that bothers you.  You can either sit and fester over it with them having no idea that what they have done upsets you, or you can talk to them about it and maybe clear the air or at the very least you share the discomfort and don't own it alone.  There is a saying in my 12 step program that I love which is, "Hanging onto a resentment is like taking rat poison and expecting the other person to die."
I try now to say when things are uneven or shaky between myself and another person that they are free to talk to me about it.  I don't accept so much what a third party says about how they feel.  If someone has a problem with me I hope they will tell me themselves.  I never thought I would feel that way mind you.  I looked in the past at confrontation as Armageddon.  Now I can recognize that it might not be fun, but confrontation is not going to break me.  It never was I just didn't understand that I am far stronger than I gave myself credit for.  I have faced Armageddon on the day that Liam died in my arms and I am still standing, though on fawn's legs for now, but standing nonetheless.

Blue Plate Special

Blue Plate Special

This past week saw the first death among the associates of my mommy mafia.  She was a neighbor and friend, a mother and grandmother, a teacher and optimist of the first order.  She has been taken too quickly by cancer and suffered greatly in the past five months without ever having the chance to recover.
Frank is particularly broken up by her passing.  She taught him in high school and made it one of her missions at the time to ensure that he made it through her class unscathed.  For much of his high school career he was a reluctant academic.  He has a mind that races ahead of the task at hand and was the poster boy of bucking authority as a teen.  From what I understand from hearing the stories from that time, this woman would march over on the weekends to make sure he was doing his homework, often sitting him at her own kitchen table to ensure he stayed on task.
She had many crosses to bear throughout her life, as we all do, but saw the world as full of sunshine rather than grayness.  She lost her father when she was only a baby, but honored him and his veteran status throughout her life.  She organized memorials for and reunions of members of the 10th Mountain Division he had fought with in World War II.  She raised her kids with love and laughter and lived her own romance with her husband of 48 years.
For me personally, she was one of the women who embraced me unconditionally when I became a part of Frank's life.  She was worried about me when I felled myself to my addiction and she checked on me often.  She was always offering to take me with her to the gym, or bringing me extra soup she had made, passing on her hand-me-downs and generally trying to lift me up.
During the past few months she was very ill and she wasn't up for seeing people.  This was unusual for her because she was a social butterfly to the nth degree.  Frank was able to visit with her the day before she died and I know that was a great comfort to him.
The afternoon that she passed at home with her husband and her children, Frank and I were planning to get together for dinner.  He texted me to let me know she was gone and I went over straight away.  He was at a loss for what to do so we did what most people do in that situation, we ordered food for the family.  I don't know why that seems like the go to action when someone passes, but bereavement food is a balm both for the those whom have lost the loved one and those who care about them.  We feel useless so we feed them.  I was able to sit outside with her husband while he ate and let him talk.  I asked him to tell me how they had met many years ago and he got quite misty eyed and told me their love story and I was honored to hear it.
After attending the wake on Friday and the funeral mass on Saturday, I have come to realize that I see death a little differently now that I have suspended my contempt for religion, for God and for spirituality.  I was not sad at the funeral, not because I won't miss this beautiful soul, not that I won't worry about her loved ones and feel sorrow for the hollowness they now know, but because I honestly believe for the first time that she is in a better place.  I know that when Liam died, it was easier for me to think that he was in a better place and I tried to fully believe it then.  I could almost get there, but blocked out the fullness of the possibility with my fear that I was wrong.  I now can say from my heart that I don't fear for those who have died.  I think this woman suffered in life, but now is on a different plane where human suffering has ended.  I don't know what it is like for her now, but I am confident that she is safe.
As I sat in the Catholic Church near our house and listened to the glory of the ceremony, I could not help but smile.  I had started to picture in my mind that this associate of mine was at Joe's Diner.  She was sitting at a booth in the back with her dad, getting to know him after all this time and Joe had just delivered a blue plate special to her table for her to enjoy.

There Is Freedom In Discipline

There is Freedom in Discipline

If you are following this blog about my journey into healing, you will have now noticed that I have come out of the closet in a rather spectacular fashion.  I am flamingly in recovery, wearing a neon pink, sequined top of self discovery and a long feather boa of good intent.  I have heard from many that what I am writing about; my flaws and and my past shame, has been a help and a few are asking for my advice.
I am uncomfortable yet to state definitively that what I am doing should be emulated.  I don't for example urge people to tell everyone in their world that they are in recovery.  I have been lucky that no one has turned their back on me (that I am aware of) but I think for some it could be a dangerous endeavor.  My new job is not one where I could really be threatened with dismissal for my past, but other careers would not be conducive to such openness, like doctors or pilots for example.  Some of the people I now work with already know that I am an alcoholic as I managed to keep my mouth shut on the subject for a whopping three days.  It came up in a political discussion that one of my co-workers was having, largely with himself where he actually said that he thought people with addiction should be penalized and he didn't buy the concept that it is a disease... Well I just could not stay quiet on that one.  He said something along the lines of, "what do you say to that miss liberal?"  You can imagine the bend the conversation took from there.   Let me state that I really like this man.  I am fine that he does not see things the way I do, but I did tell him that I was an alcoholic and I was one of the faces of addiction and that I could assure him that is it a physical and spiritual disease of the mind and body.  He was pretty quiet after that, but actually really cool about it... at least to my face.  Another co-worker involved in the conversation approached me later to tell me that her father and her daughter's father had both died from the result of what their own addictions had done to their bodies and told me she thought I was brave for being honest.
Now it worked out well. But it could have gone horribly wrong.  Both my marriage counselor and my own therapist were aghast that I had said something so soon after starting this new job.  In their experience and opinion I had been rash.  I have come to see their advice as just that, advice I can chose to take or not.  For example my own therapist urged me months ago to get a lawyer when dealing with Frank.  I obviously did not listen and aren't we all glad that I didn't?  He admits now that I made the right choice.  I don't disregard everything they say, but I ask myself (and Joe) what makes sense to the true me.  Will I be able to sleep at night if I do such and such?  Will I need to make amends for something if I do it?  I am getting better at using my inner compass and there are things I am doing that are making it easier for me to read my personal GPS.  I don't have to hear her say,  "re-calculating" nearly as often as I used to.
I get up early now.  Earlier than I did before I fell to pieces.  I am up at 5:30 in the morning most days.  I write in my journal which entails asking myself a series of questions about the previous day.  Questions like, what was the hardest part of the day, who brightened that day, what are my goals for the coming day etc...  I note the weather and the headlines and I note something that strikes me from whichever daily reflection book I chose to read that day.  I read the same passage from my 12 step book that my sponsor requires and I do it to set the right tone for the day.  It is a passage that talks about asking yourself a series of questions about your actions and encourages prayer and meditation.  Then I say an actual prayer and do some writing before getting ready and going to work.  I attend my home group meeting every Friday night which necessitates me driving over an hour one way.  I go to other meetings over the weekend and sometimes during the week if I feel I need the fellowship.
There are other things I do now that I never did before.  I look people in the eye, I offer them my undivided attention as much as possible and I listen much more than I ever did.  I tell the truth first to myself and then to others.  I also take the time to reflect on why someone might be doing something that may rub me the wrong way.  If I can turn it around and remove my ego from the scenario then I can usually find a reason to empathize with them and walk away hoping they are able to feel better about themselves.  I am in no way good at these things all the time.  I am not always patient, I am not always empathetic, I am not always able to be honest with myself straight away.  I am not always able to remove the ego that has acted as my armor for so long, but I am trying and that makes all the difference.
I will continue to do these things and others that keep me free from going back down the tunnel of self destruction I have fallen into repeatedly in the past.  So if you are asking me for advice, all I can really say is that there is a certain amount a freedom in discipline.  You find what is working for you and you keep doing it.  I am like the schizophrenic patient who begins a regime of medication and when feeling better decides they no longer need it only to fall back into the darkness of their disease.  If I stop taking my spiritual medicine, I will be sick of heart in short order and will repeat the insanity of my addictive past.

The Great Equalizer

The Great Equalizer

 

I used to think I was open-minded and accepting.  After addiction hit and I staggered into recovery, I realized I wasn't as accepting as I had thought.  I have found a new level of openness in my life since rehab.  I now try very hard not to look at the outside of someone and allow them to reveal themselves to me through actions and speech.  I try to listen to their story and let go of as many pre-conceived notions as I can.

In August 2012 I entered my first rehab at a relatively famous facility in New England.  I spent five days in detox being closely monitored as I my shaking and sweating waned.  Alcohol is one of the most dangerous drugs to detox from as people can seize from the withdrawal.  It is not the most physically challenging, but it is one of the most dangerous.  In any case my body may have begun to heal, but my mind and emotions were no where near yet even under repair. I cried constantly and I was deeply afraid.  Afraid of what I had done, afraid of where I was, afraid or what came next, afraid of myself.

I was moved from detox to the women's house for the next 28 days.  I went to a group therapy session before I had met any of the other women in the house and was told that I would be rooming with Claire (her name has been changed for the purpose of this article).  Someone else said, "Oh, isn't she the one who just came out of jail?"  Further into the conversation I learned that Claire had not only come to rehab directly from prison, but that she was also a heroin addict.

Well if I had been scared before, this information thrust me to a new level of dread and apprehension.  What I found later when I entered our room, was a rather severe looking young woman with tattoos and darkly dyed gothesque hair.  Then she opened her mouth and started talking and my preconceptions started to melt away.  She turned out to be a sweet, thoughtful young woman just trying to get over her feelings of displacement, inadequacy and rejected individuality.  She is one of the most intelligent people I know, thinks deeply and is remarkably creative.  She is also hysterically funny.  We had significant conversations at night and began rising together and enjoying the quiet early morning hours before the chaos of all the house's clashing female hormones got into full swing for the day.  We also giggled a LOT.

We had embarked on a friendship that is still going today.  I was forced into a situation I know I would never have had without being brought to my knees by addiction.  My feelings about heroin users was arrogant.  I thought for some reason that being an alcoholic was somehow better than being a heroin user and that is a notion held by many other alcoholics and addicts.  Unfortunately even among others in recovery IV drug users are often discriminated against by their own kind.  I shake my head at it now, but it took getting to know Claire to realize that I had a long way to go to become the welcoming person I thought I had been.  After all alcohol is a drug and a drug is a drug is a drug...

Another young woman in the house was Marilyn (again her name has been changed).  I forget what her drug of choice was, but there were many in her repertoire.  She was a bubbly, funny, sweet lady who had been led down a dark and dangerous path.  She had most recently been a stripper and I suspect it brought her to actions she wished it hadn't.  For all that, she had an innocence about her that made me want to mother her. 

She remains one of my favorite people from the house.  She is doing so well now.  She has a toddler and a healthy relationship with a man who sees her as her and not her past.  She is in school and working her way to a degree in the field of health and I could not be more proud to know her and watch her blossom. 

If you had told me a few years ago that I would befriend a recently jailed heroin addict and a stripper I would have laughed at you.  The fact remains that unlike people, addiction does not discriminate.  It does not care about your race, gender, sexual identity, socio-economic class or level of education.  Addiction will embrace anyone with the open arms of empty promises and sweet convincing lies. 

No longer do I feel that there is much of a gulf between me and people who have been incarcerated.  As they say, "but for the Grace of God go I."  I believe in that concept deeply now because I know how this disease takes over your moral compass and passes you into a Bermuda Triangle of lost values, lack of self esteem and abdication of responsibilities.  It is honestly a miracle that I was not arrested for drunk driving and NO ONE can control themselves in a black out, if you think you can, you have some serious denial issues to work on.

Now I listen to people first and assess later.  I ask to hear their stories and open my heart as well as my ears before deciding how to view them.  Even when I find someone to be difficult to deal with, I remind myself that we all have stories and not everyone has been blessed with the chance at self reflection that I have.  I honestly believe that we all have good somewhere inside us but more often than not when we do something we regret it is because we have blocked ourselves from letting that good out.  Drugs will block all that out.  Drugs will make your innate goodness seem like a foggy distant memory, like a word on the tip of your tongue, you know you know it, but you just can't quite access it.

We all want acceptance and to be seen for who we really are.  We aren't all that different from each other, not really. I have a new respect for people with tattoos and I secretly really want one myself (I even know what I would get!). It took Claire and Marilyn to show me that if you don't want to be judged, then don't judge others.  More often than not you will be pleasantly surprised by what you find if you look someone in the eye and really search for the person inside.  In the act of searching for understanding of others, you will find something out about yourself as well and in that process bring yourself to further accept the you that is you.

Gallows Humor

Gallows Humor

I had decided to write about this before the news broke of Robin Williams' suicide.  Humor holds a significant place in my life and it has even during my darkest hours.  In high school I was voted funniest senior girl.  I learned early on that making people laugh was something that I could do relatively easily.  I look at the world from an angle that shows it to be gloriously ridiculous and laughter is a celebration of that.  But humor was also a salve for me, a way to deal with what I was going through at home and who doesn't prefer laughter over tears?
Laughing is so good for the soul.  It brings people together and it is a large part of coping and healing, or at least it should be.  If you saw Robin Williams in "Patch Adams" you will be familiar with the story of the doctor he depicted.  Even this doctor knew the power of humor.  It can be the greatest thing, but like everything there needs to be a balance.  Most funny people know that it can also serve as a mask, shielding your true self from the world.  It is a defense mechanism, but if you rely too heavily on it, you can get lost in your own private world of pain and forget who you are as a whole.  There is a long list of comedians who have suffered from depression and/or addiction who are no longer with us.  Williams, Tony Hancock (if you are unfamiliar with this British actor from the 50's and 60's, do yourself a favor and check him out on you tube), Chris Farley,  John Belushi and Peter Sellers are but a few.  In reality probably just as many regular people suffer, but we are talking today about humor and it's importance.
You would not think there was much to laugh about during the time that Liam was in the hospital, but I remember having some serious belly laughs during that time.  We were all so exhausted and full of adrenaline and fear that when something out of the ordinary happened we would often fall apart giggling.
Liam was too weak to breast feed so I was pumping for him every two hours when I was awake.  The hospital had breast pump rooms with these industrial pumps, really they were milking machines.  I would head out to these rooms at intervals throughout the day.  My sister-in-law had my five-month-old niece at the time and decided to join me one day.  I got her all hooked up and turned on the machine and I think her eyes nearly popped out of her head with the force of the industrial pump.  If that was not funny enough I set myself up and turned my pump on, only to quickly realize that I forgot to attach the bottle and breast milk went shooting across the room.  I nearly wet myself with laughter.
During this same period of time, Frank was undergoing chemo and we thought we were as low as we could get.  We left Liam in the hospital one day in the loving hands of my mother-in-law and headed out to a joint therapy appointment.  It was an unusually warm day for October and we were driving with the windows down.  Here we were, baby in critical care and Frank with cancer and as we drove, a rock kicked up from the street and flew into the car hitting Frank in the head.  He wasn't hurt, but we were apoplectic with laughter.  Thinking, "Really God?"  God, or whatever divine creative connectivity that exists out there is pretty damned funny.  He/she/it created us after all.
We also laughed daily in the hospital parking lot as the hospital was undergoing construction and the tickets were different colors for different times of day.  We had to get them validated and then got different colored tickets and none of it made sense.  To cap it all off the parking attendants were often from Ethiopia which is neither here nor there other than the fact that there was a serious language barrier and getting out of the garage was always a comedy of errors that had us in fits by the time we were able to drive home.
My addiction is still too raw for family members to find much funny about it, but we do have a new member of the family because if it.  In 2011 before my swan dive had begun it's ugly descent, Frank and I attended a charity event.  During the event I was happy to down as much of the wine as I could throughout the night.  At some point during the live auction they brought out a Golden Retriever puppy to bid for.  Not the picture of the puppy mind you, not a flier about the puppy, but the actual puppy.  They passed her around from table to table and once I got my hands on her, I was unstoppable.  I got into a bidding war with a tableful of gay men and I won definitively... I woke up the next morning and turned to Frank asking groggily, "Did, I buy a puppy last night?"  We named her Biscuit despite my assertion that she should have been called Chardonnay.  She isn't the smartest dog, I think she only has two brain cells and they are often fighting each other in there, but she delights us with her love and goofy sock fetish.  Frank and the kids look after her now because my apartment won't allow dogs, but I miss her like the rest of my family.
It is ironic to me that I was often approached by friends on Facebook and encouraged to write because my posts are often so funny.  Now I am writing, but in a way I never expected.  I am writing about the other side of myself so we all have a full picture of who I am.  Frank had often said that my Facebook persona was not true as I was only telling people about the funny side of our lives even during the darkest moments of my addiction.  I didn't understand that at the time, but now I do.  He has always intrinsically known this about me, about life.  I remember that when we first met so many years ago in boarding school he told me, "You know you don't have to make me laugh to be my friend."  I was utterly terrified when he said that because I didn't know at the time who I was without humor.  But now I can bravely look at all of myself and not run screaming from the mirror.
I hope we can all see our whole stories, examining the darkness, but also allowing the light in.  I don't think you can appreciate joy if you haven't met and acknowledged sorrow along your journey.

"Laughter is the tonic, the relief, the surcease for pain." Charlie Chaplin

Embracing the Wreckage

Embracing the Wreckage

I'm sad tonight and struggling not to feel sorry for myself.  Over the past couple of months I have had levels of serenity that I had only dreamed of in my past life, but today I am feeling sorry for myself.  I guess I can't get it right all the time and I have to learn to be kind to myself along the way and allow feelings of sorrow, frustration and remorse be explored before I can rise above them again.  Tonight I am missing my former existence, missing the chaos of my crazy, loving extended family, missing little voices needing my help with something small and missing the man of my life.
So let's explore the main reason that I am where I am.  Let's explore the other side to my former existence.  Let's talk some more about addiction.  I stumbled across a new word the other day that struck me as nearly prefect.  Ataxia.  Ataxia is the loss of the ability to control the movements your body makes.  It is a neurological disease that has nothing to do with addiction, but it made me think of it none-the-less.  There is no way to adequately explain what happens when your mind turns on you, when your useage of alcohol (or other drugs) switches from recreational to addictive.  It feels like your have a split personality, like you are looking down on someone else moving your body and doing things that you would never have dreamt of doing before; literally it feels like an out-of-body experience.  You begin to think naturally of things normally absurd.
In the throws of my addiction when we lived in Annapolis, I would drop my kids off at school and go directly to the liquor store to buy a bottle of chilled white wine.  Bear in mind that this was at 8:00 in the morning.  I would then head to McDonald's and buy a large Sprite.  I would park the car, dump out the Sprite, pull a corkscrew out of my purse, open the bottle, fill the large soda cup (a bottle of wine fits perfectly in a large soda cup from McDonald's, only an alcoholic would figure that out) and then I would throw the bottle away in the dumpster.  Once this elaborate piece of theatre was over, I would head to the grocery store to get the shopping done because I simply could not get through the process without the wine. It sickens me to relay that to you now, but at the time it made perfect sense to me.
During this period of time, my behavior was understandably erratic and therefore I returned to therapy and began seeing a psychiatrist.  I went to one therapist who asked me about my drinking and told me that I needed to go to rehab, I dropped her the next day because I could not face the idea of telling anyone that I was and on an even baser level, it would mean that I would have to stop drinking.  I started with a new therapist and merely touched on my drinking and lied to both her and my psychiatrist.  I had myself half-convinced that all my craziness had nothing to do with my drinking.  I showed up for some of those sessions carrying a coffee thermos full of alcohol and when the subject of my drinking came up, I looked her in the eye and told her that it was completely under control.  How she didn't smell it on me is a mystery to this day.
Toward the very end, it got so bad that I would awake in the middle of the night sweating, gagging and shaking and would have to drink to make it through the rest of the night.  I would then set my alarm to get up at 5:00 in the morning in order to have a few whiskeys before the kids got up so that I would be able to make them breakfast without my hands shaking, which only worked half of the time.  The lunacy of it all was overwhelming.  I gave in one morning and told Frank that I was actually having a breakdown.  I lay in the guest room crying, gagging, sweating and shaking.  He got the kids to school and came home asking if he should take me to the hospital.  I told him I thought I needed to go to a psychiatric hospital and that is exactly where  I went.  I checked myself in for five days, was strip searched and committed.  Only half of my brain knew this was alcohol related, but that half reasoned that I would dry out on the psych ward.  It reasoned that people would think less of an alcoholic than a mental patient.  I dangerously told none of the doctors there that I was having the DTs.  I found out in rehab later that it is more serious to detox from alcohol than most other drugs as you can seize.
I did dry out and came home only to drink again four days later.  You can't tell me that isn't some level of insanity.  Reading what I have just written I can't imagine that I (or anyone for that matter) would ever want to be there again, yet I have relapsed since embarking on recovery more than once.  If I have a drink now, all bets are off, I will trip the neurotransmitters in my brain that don't exist in people without this problem.  I will turn into Mrs. Hyde.
I wrote in my story for the kids that my red dragon tells me lies.  It does, it is like the red devil in cartoons sitting on my shoulder that calls to me and says it will make everything better.  It tells me I can be normal again and drink like other people.  It whitewashes the past and tries to allow me to feel it really wasn't that bad after all and offers sweet oblivion from the mayhem in my head.  That is why I write about this.  That is why I am laying it all on the table.  I know that what I write about is shocking, it disgusts me, but I have to embrace the wreckage of my past in order to learn from it.  If I don't examine it over and over, I will start to listen to the red dragon again, worse, I will start to believe its lies.  I am so scared of returning to this former state of bottom-of-the-pond existence, that I risk losing the respect of others.  Today it is worth that risk in order to retain respect for myself.

The Supremes Had A Point

The Supremes Had A Point

Being an alcoholic, I have many obvious flaws.  I am also co-dependent to the extreme and there is much work I need do on both issues.  I used to say with pride that when someone else was in pain, I felt it as well.  Now I see that as less of a badge of honor than a character flaw.  I don't mean that I wish no longer to empathize with others, just that I want to do so in a healthier way.
With my vulnerability has come awareness of other people's pain.  That could go pear shaped on me if I decide to take that on my own shoulders.  Thus far it has been a lesson in acknowledgement rather than taking on the water of other people's wakes.
I am a "yes" person.  If you ask me to do something I default to "absolutely!"  Underneath I am thinking about the consequences and wether or not I really want to do this thing that you ask, but before I process all of this, I just agree.  I take the hit if it is something that will hurt me, not blaming you for it, but blaming myself for lack of insight and strength.  I excuse others automatically and constantly take one for the team.  Then what happens is that I get angry, sad and resentful and these emotions come out sideways in passive aggression, depression and addictive acting out.  It occurs to me now, that perhaps I need to change my definition of "the team."
Perhaps I need to consider myself as the MVP.  In rehab they tell you over and over that you have to put your recovery first above all else.  Above family, children, finances, history, others... Everything.  The example often used is that when you are on a plane and there is a drop in cabin pressure you are told to put the oxygen mask on yourself first before helping others because if you can't breath, you are no use to anyone.  So I am trying desperately to do that.  It is hard on the others players on my team, but I have to keep doing it.
I don't like setting boundaries.  I find it distasteful and impolite.  I see what I want others to do and know inherently.  I see the line drawn and think that since it is so obvious to me it should be to others as well.  To me these lines are as clear and obvious as flashing neon signs, but I have to realize that not everyone sees them as I do, not everyone is in Vegas with me!  I have to learn to be firm in a gentle manner.  Saying "no" does not make me an uncaring person, it makes me self-aware.  In the past I have felt the pain of others and now I need to be aware of my own and make sure I no longer fall on my own sword.  If people don't like that, then frankly it says more about them than it does about me.
So as the Supremes sang, I am learning to say "stop" in the name of love for myself.