“Four hundred years ago, another well-known English guy had an opinion on being alone. John Donne. He thought we were never alone. Of course it was fancier when he said it. No man is an island entire unto himself. Boil down that island talk and he just meant that all anyone needs is someone to step in and let us know we’re not alone. And who’s to say that someone can’t have four legs. Someone to play with, or run around with, or just hang out.”- Meredith Grey, Grey’s Anatomy

I had the most relaxing weekend. And now it is Monday and I am ready to start work on this sales training manual for Yogafox. But I thought I would write this first. Because for the first time in a long time, I’m working a solid 3rd step. That is, I’m taking suggestions again, under the premise that G*d speaks through other people. I’ve finally surrendered to the fact that when I steer the ship, it bows to the Siren’s call and wrecks right into the rocks.

I made two more amends this weekend, and worked 10 and 11. I’m sure that has a part to play in my current- yes- serenity. That elusive word has found it’s way into my soul somehow, and I have to admit it’s from following other’s advice, advice that I fought to not take, but I’m done fighting.

This morning I woke up happy, ready to face my week, full of gratitude that I have work to do, and that it can all be done by laptop. I was not thinking of this last week when I was procrastinating and barely getting anything done- about how amazing it is that I am currently contracted to write things for money- which is all I ever dreamed of when I was in college and even high school, and never quite believed possible. I also start training for a part-time waitressing gig in Boca tomorrow- I just got the call while writing this- it will get me out of the house and experiencing life, and we all know art does not exist in a vacuum. I also predict it will be AWESOME for my humility.

What else do I attribute to my sudden turnaround? I’ve been to a meeting every day since I last posted. I’ve been reaching out and spending time with female friends. And I’ve been keeping my word. And in the spirit of honesty, it doesn’t hurt that I finally refilled my RX for my sleep meds. I’m still not a good sleeper at 7 months.

Nico and I have spent some quality bonding time as well over the weekend. Being home more is so good for our relationship- since he is of limited understanding, it must really suck for him when I waltz out the door, not to return for many hours. I’ve been making up for it.

I’m alone in the house right now but I’m not in the least bit lonely. In fact, I’m finally alright with me. I’m not such a bad person to hang out with.

One of my sober sisters once said to me, when I first got out of treatment- “When are you going to choose you?”

The answer is- right now.

Last night I laid in bed, not able to sleep thinking that I’m going to write a really positive blog post. You know, that I reached the impasse and realized I’ve come as far on this road that I can go, that it’s time to turn right or left and blaze another trail. I was gonna lie.  Even though that statement is true, it would be a lie to spin it all bright and shiny. Because I am sad readers. Real fucking sad.  It rained all day and it rained in my soul and then all the tears I’ve been pushing down for so long came raging out in a hot torrent.

Today is Tisha B’Av- a day of mourning for the Jewish people. Reform Jew that I am, I never even knew this holiday existed until recently. It is a day of fasting, where temples were burned and all manner of tragedy has befallen the Jewish people.  Today is also the day that I got the word that my marriage is just a court date and some signatures away from being officially over. I initiated the end of it.  But somehow, that doesn’t make it feel any better.

I didn’t stand there on May 5, 2006 and say “Till Rehab Do Us Part.” Like every addict,  I never imagined the places our addictions would take us.  I certainly never thought it would end like this. And it’s not just because this marks another epic failure in my attempt to do life.  It’s because I really truly loved this man, truly believed in the covenant of marriage and all that happily ever after, and now, as it says in the documents I’ve signed, “The marriage between the two parties is irretrievably broken.”

It wasn’t working. I’ve never been alone, never supported myself, never put my needs first. Blah Blah blah. It hurts.

The sadness has broken through all of the distraction-procrastination-excuses. Here it is. Bleeding and huge and raw as my nose after a long week of excess.

The paradoxical thing is, the tears are a huge relief. I don’t have to waste all that energy pretending everything is okay, pretending that I have moved on, pretending with you or anyone. I was getting so tired of the charade.

I know what comes after the rain. I just have to let it rain a while to get there.

When we were using, we had a million excuses. I say we and not I because you know you did too.  Something it’s easy to forget that the abscence of drugs and alcohol in our lives does not necessarily make us well people.  And much like my post on procrastination, sometimes it’s worse in sobriety- because our biggest excuse is taken right off the table.

In treatment, they called it “Rationalization, Justification, and Intellectualization.” And I do love me some treatment words. But in the end, it’s all just excuses.  Excuses and cowardice. Taking the easier, softer way. Because that has always worked out so well in the past.  We can’t just say we don’t want to do something, or didn’t do something because we just didn’t care enough to do the right thing. There has to be an excuse.

For me, excusing my own behavior is an attempt to run from discomfort.  Which is what I’ve been doing since I’m a child.  I get sad lately when I’m in the house at night. I’ve been exceedingly lonely. So I go out. I go out with people that either mean nothing to me, or I mean nothing to them, and I spend money I don’t have. I oversleep. I talk about writing far more than I write. I have reached a recovery impasse.

And all this time, in this codependent mess I’ve been swirling around in, I rarely stop to think about what I really need or want.   All is forfeited to the almighty G*d of outside validation.

The excuse I hate the most, the one that makes my skin crawl and my stomach turn, the cop-out of all cop-outs, is true for me right now more than ever.  “I really need to focus on myself and my recovery”. I’ve used it, I’ve heard it, it makes me want to puke up the red velvet cupcake I just ate.

But I do need to put on my big girl pants, and spend some time with myself. I, with no hint of irony (OK maybe a little), actually need to “focus on myself and my recovery.”  I can make excuses all day long; we’ve established that I kindof rock at that, but in the end, I’m the only one that loses.  And I’ve been losing long enough.

Somewhere in the Big Book of A.A., it says something like this; there came a time where alcohol  (and/or insert  your drug here) was no longer working. Okay, it doesn’t say insert your drug here but I do.  So yesterday and early this morning I was in a funky mood. And not in a get up and dance kinda way, in an existential melancholy kinda way.  Last night I threw myself a pity party, left the house all dark, curled up with Nico and a calzone and bad reality TV ( really the worst reality TV show EVER- NYC Prep and then Miami Social which is only made bearable by Hardy) and signed in and out of facebook more times than is necessary for a week.

I’ve been out of treatment long enough now that all these ways of distracting myself from reality just aren’t working anymore- I am used to having TV, cellphone, internet. It doesn’t feel like I am breaking out of prison to go somewhere without having a pass signed by my therapist.  I can drink monsters and redbulls as much as I please ( which is all too much, but that’s another subject altogether)

I am starting to take these little freedoms for granted, even having Nico…And that is a dangerous place for any addict or alcoholic to be.  I am noticing the fine line between enjoyable things and just distracting myself, just procrastinating moving forward and the neverending job of self-improvement. Yeah, I’d rather crackout on facebook. But there comes a time when there are just no new notifications, no quiz I feel like taking, and no one on chat I want to talk to. And that, my friend, is just ugly.

It was no great revelation that to improve how I feel I need only do two things. Write the article I was assigned months ago ( over 700 word count at this writing, most from today) and get my ass to a freakin’ meeting. I haven’t been to one since thurs. Strong program, right?

The funny thing is, instead of feeling bad about not doing my work, I am feeling better as I do it. And I knew that I would and yet I continued to prolong the inevitable anyway. Because I’m damn good at it.  This article I’m writing- I already know the story, I just have to extract it. But I had to take a break and purge these thoughts, because writing begets more writing…. My favorite thing of all about what I do when I’m not distracting or procrastinating- the writing of something new.

How do you distract yourself???

I’ve realized that I don’t need drugs and alcohol to be lazy, to procrastinate, don’t (a huge shock) need them to sit around all day and BS on the computer and watch The Office for hours on end. I don’t need coke to be a bitch (or to clean apparently), to be inconsiderate, or wildly impulsive. All those things come  as easy as breathing. The behaviors I blamed on drugs were always there, merely exacerbated by the substances.

Just as in the first month or two of sobriety, it was a struggle to not think about ingesting chemicals multiple times a day and stay in treatment, today it is a struggle to do the right thing. I could lie; I could say I’m this amazing person now who does what she is supposed to do like putting one foot in front of the other, but that’s more old behavior. I don’t like following Doctor’s orders. I have to force myself, as I tend to hold onto things that no longer work for me long past their expiration dates. For 14 years I was working toward being all these things I couldn’t stand, but that got me what I thought I wanted. And then I pulled the e-brake, struggled to regain control of the vehicle, and charted another course. Staying on said course requires effort, a very dirty word to the old me.

I am reminded of something Dumbledore said in the first Harry Potter novel. “There are two paths you can go by in life. One is easy. And that is it’s only reward.” The rewards of the other path are immense.  Today I have a relationship with my Dad that I haven’t had since childhood. I enjoy spending time alone. I am a great Mom to Nico; he can lick my face anytime and I don’t have to worry that what is on my face will send him into convulsions. I have amazing friends, new and old, and most of all; I am a good friend. I could go on and on, but you know, talking about how great I am is kindof something I work on not doing today. This program works. And this weekend my Mom comes to visit. It will be the first time she has seen me sober since I was a preteen. I can’t freakin’ wait.

And with that, innernets, I’m off to start my day. It’s  beautiful out there. And it’s a beautiful day in my heart.

This year July 4th took on a new meaning. Not only was I celebrating America’s birthday, a day ( like many others) traditionally marked by not even the slightest attempt to control the amount of drugs and alcohol I ingested, I was celebrating my own independance.  This year, I am free from addiction.  Free from the anxiety in my and dis-ease in my soul that had me constantly seeking to change the way I felt through chemical relief.

This year, I went to a bbq where I ate and didn’t throw up on my shoes. I danced, but not in a way where I upset the host’s wife (true story circa 2008). Where I didn’t run to the bathroom every 20 minutes. Where I laughed, and danced, and made new friends, and it was all real. And I sat at the beach and watched the fireworks with my roommates and remember every moment.

In treatment they said that SOBER stands for “Son of a bitch, everything is real.”  But sometimes, I am learning, it can stand for “So overwhelmingly beautiful, everything is real.” And that is something that can never be found in a bag or a bottle.  Today I pick up my six month chip. I can hardly believe it’s been half of a year -  when it used to be impossible to go six hours, six minutes without ingesting some chemical in my body to make me feel what I thought was okay.

Happy Independance Day America. And happy independance day to me.

Beautiful Baby Bathing Suit Contest at City Stage 4:30 pm.

What the fuck! I was wondering if I was the only one out there who found this vaguely disturbing, but one of my roommate’s concurred.  I can only imagine the planning committee, the meeting where this was decided. I mean, people voted on a baby swimsuit contest… Someone actually thought that would be a fabulous idea…Some truly are sicker than others.

Maybe this sounds harsh, but that’s fucking pathetic. You wonder why I won’t go back? Why no matter what happens or how good that joint smells or wine looks; no matter if you offer me an ounce of pure columbian cocaine with enough xanax and percs to back it up there’s no way I will cave? It’s simple.

I’m vindictive like that. One of the greatest pleasures in my life is proving everyone wrong.

And this week I pick up my six months.

Tiger and I attended a pretty solid meeting tonight @Lion’s Club in Boca.  I heard a lot of quote-worthy things about this recovery thing we do.  The best part of all had to be the self-proclaimed Gary Revolution.  Wearing a bright green t-shirt that stated “Proud to be Awesome”, Gary pointed at me at least 7 x during the meeting to loudly state he liked me. That was worth blogging about right there.  Gary left his prepaid cell on during the meeting ( I know what they look like b/c I had one for a few weeks before I could pay my old bill myself) and took two phone calls, as he walked outside. This is such an AA don’t- for those who aren’t familiar, in the beginning of the meeting it is asked that all phones be turned to silent as not to disturb anyone reading, speaking, or sharing.  Then when the speaker finished, he was first raising his hand to share. He began to tell a story that had absolutely nothing to do with what was spoken about, or really anything much at all really, wildly gesticulating and including phrases such as “And then a few years later I was at Publix” and “But this story is NOT done yet!”  In short, it took a while.  When he was done, he got up and went around trying to get people to give him daps and high fives. Few were receptive.  Then Gary walked to one side of the room, then the other.  Then he walked out again, clearly not interested in anything but his own delusions of grandeur.  As funny as it was, it was also kindof sad.  This is what they call wet brain, an unfortunate state of crazy that results from too much drinking for far too long. One of the symptoms is confabulation- telling and believing things that have no basis in reality, such as Gary’s claim at one point that he had 23 years clean and 26 at another.  Scary stuff.

By the Way….

We jetted out of the meeting to get to another (NA) at Boca Pines at 8:30 and also because Tiger parked in the middle of the parking lot making the aisle to get out not quite large enough to get out.  We’re driving west, and she is being super excited over this new cd she made, replaying the song “By the Way” by Jenna Dray over and over with the windows down when we pass a cop.  We did the whole, oh shit what’s the speed limit routine and because I have never gotten pulled over in sobriety, I made a move to hide my drugs before I remembered I didn’t have any.  When the cop came over ( after a five minute should I pull over here? or here? routine) He asked the same question they always ask – Do you know why I pulled you over?  Because my music is too loud? She asks giggling….

Um, actually yes that was why he pulled us over, even though Tiger still seems to think the real reason is because we’re cute and he was bored.  Apparently in Palm Beach County, one’s music must not be loud enough to hear more than 25 feet or 2 car lengths away.  Seriously. Nico, We’re not in Miami anymore!  She managed to get away with only a warning, but her general sassiness made it real touch and go for a minute there. So yes, in PBC, you can get pulled over for that. Sober.

But Gary Revolution likes me.  And I found where I can buy his T-shirt here. And I just might.

They say nothing happens in G*d’s world by mistake.   Some days that is harder to believe than others. Days like today.  I woke up this morning thinking about my beautiful friend Angie.  She came into treatment only a few days after me and we were instantly friends.  We had so many ups and downs along the way- we went through the wars together, after all, and some days it was easier to look at each others’ faults than our own.  We grew up together, laughed and cried and experienced our first happy times sober either of us could remember since childhood.  In short, we became the very best of friends.

Angie had given birth to a premature baby right before she came in, and he was extremely ill.  Born opiate dependent ( on doctor’s advice to go on methadone rather than withdraw) and four months too soon, Jacob’s life was a struggle from day one.  I could always tell how he was doing based on her mood.  Except sometimes, when she would get so sad that the nurses and his father could hold her and she was in a treatment center.  There were pictures of Jacob everywhere, even glued onto her treatment notebook.   All Angie wanted was to be a good mom.  Jacob went through some scary times in treatment, undergoing surgery, coming off and going back on oxygen, and he kept fighting.  He’s a little warrior, I kept telling her, he’s holding on for you.

When Angie left after three months to go to a halfway house across the coast so she could be near him, and he was finally released from the hospital, I at least thought his struggles were in the past.  Then a few weeks ago I spoke with her.  He had contracted pnuemonia, and neither mother nor baby were doing very well.  I had no doubt that he would be okay, no doubt that G*d could not possibly take him away from her after all she had been through to be there for him. I told her I would pray for him, and reminded her what we were taught- don’t pick up ( a drink or drug) no matter what.  And yet when I called Angie this morning, having not spoken to her in a few weeks, I got the news.  Jacob didn’t make it.

I’m still in shock a bit, she told me. I kindof feel numb.  I asked her if she needed me to come out there, not knowing how I would get there.  I asked her if she was going to be okay in terms of her sobriety.  She didn’t surprise me when she said yes.  Jacob was a warrior after all.  He got it from his Mama.

We go through some tough things in sobriety.  I thought divorce was difficult. But nothing compares to the loss of a baby.  However, Jacob’s life was not in vain.  Because he saved his mothers.  He got her sober.

Thank you little warrior. Know that you are very loved.