Yesterday morning, I discovered that I haven't been doing my workout correctly for the past several years.
I'd been using the wrong target heart rate, a rate lower than what my actual target should be. So, I've been getting some benefit from my workout (anything is always better than nothing), but not as much as I could've been, and not as much as I thought I was. I could've been losing more weight, building more muscle, and doing it faster.
I also discovered that I need to adjust the methods I'm using to work out. I've been working out solely on the elliptical, with the goal of losing a certain amount of weight that way before going back to trying to incorporate weights into my routine. But I found out that the anaerobic activity of lifting weights actually helps to increase metabolism more effectively than aerobic activity alone, and so along with building muscle mass, it can also help you lose weight faster. So, sometime in the next couple of weeks, I think I'm going to start trying to incorporate weights back into my routine.
But this morning I just tried out my new target heart rate on the elliptical, and wow! Instant improvement of about 75%. I burned a ton more calories than I normally do, and I ran almost twice as far as I used to (virtually, of course), managing 3.5 miles in forty-five minutes.
And now I feel awesome. I have that delicious, relaxed, rubbery exhaustion in my limbs, and I feel ready to do anything, like I could take on the whole world.
Goes a long way towards making up for the seemingly endless series of humiliations I suffered in the game last night. More on that tomorrow...
Friday, May 18, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Hunger Pains...
I'm still hungry all the time. And it's really starting to get on my nerves.
I don't know what's causing this, but it started just after I stopped drinking, so I would imagine it must have something to do with that. But is it a biochemical reaction? Meaning, is it my body's autonomic response to being suddenly deprived of the ethyl alcohol it had grown accustomed to? Or is it a behavioral response? Is it just my head trying to fill the "Pleasure Yourself" gap left behind when I stopped drinking, with some new, more readily accessible form of pleasure? I have no idea.
I've heard that a lot of people develop an insatiable sweet-tooth when they quit drinking, because their body is craving the sugar that they used to get from the alcohol. (Our bodies metabolize alcohol into sugar.) But that's not what I'm experiencing. My problem is that I simply never stop feeling like I want to eat. Normally, I would only get that feeling when I needed to eat. And then, once I'd eaten, that feeling would go away, until the next time I needed to eat again. But now, I can eat until I am bloated and feeling sick from the amount of food in my stomach, and I still have that feeling of "I want to eat." It just never turns off! And it's so fucking annoying! It's like when you feel like you have to pee, even though your bladder is empty. It's just this really unpleasant, uncomfortable feeling that will not go away, and that you cannot do anything about.
And I really, really just want it to stop.
I'm so tired of constantly fighting with myself to keep from over-eating. I'm so tired of constantly wrestling with this phantom craving. Every night it's the same thing. As soon as I finish dinner, I want something sweet. So, I eat a little dessert, and then as soon as I finish that, I want something salty-crunchy. If I give in to that craving and eat something salty-crunchy (whole-wheat tortilla chips and 100-calorie packs of cheez-its are my current drugs of choice), then as soon as I finish that, I want something sweet again. And if I give in to that, then I want something salty-crunchy/savory again. And that just keeps going on and on forever until I end up passing out face-first into a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels.
I'm currently working out and doing my best to eat as healthy as possible, in an attempt to lose some weight. And I am losing weight, but much more slowly than I'd like. And this shit is not making it any easier.
I've been trying to come up with ways to either satisfy and/or curb this craving that do not involve adding a bunch more calories to my daily intake. Number one on the list is drinking lots and lots of water. And I mean, to the point where I start to feel full. That helps some, but not much, because the whole point of that trick is to curb your appetite by making your body feel full; and, of course, my whole problem is that my body is not currently responding correctly to that feeling. And then there's the further drawback of having my day constantly and repeatedly interrupted by the painfully urgent need to piss violently. I've thought about lo-to-no-cal snacks like rice cakes, but in the midst of these cravings, I can't bring myself to eat something completely tasteless that I am already well-aware I will not enjoy. Still, I've found a couple of brands that are mildly tolerable, and I'm planning to try really hard to make them work. I bought some lo-cal, high-protein jerky, as well, to try and help with the savory cravings. The trick there is to just chew and chew and chew and chew and chew and chew until either it eventually turns to liquid in your mouth, or you feel like your jaw is going to fall off. That way you get to spend a lot of time eating and enjoying the pleasure of tasting the salty/savory thing you're craving, but overall you don't actually eat that much food, or take in a lot of calories. The sore jaw helps to put a damper on the desire to eat more, as well. And at work, I've been having mid-afternoon Chai Lattes to try and help with my after-lunch cravings. That seems to be working out ok. It's not helping my need-to-pee-every-fifteen-minutes problem very much, though.
And there's one solution I've been trying out this week that is a little naughty.
I stopped smoking cigarettes over ten years ago. And I cannot stand cigars. But every Fall and Winter for the past six or seven years, pretty much as soon as the weather starts to turn cold, I smoke a pipe. I really enjoy a good pipe during the cold half of the year. I love the sweet, rich flavor of the tobacco. I love its aromatic smell. I love the ritual of loading, packing, tamping, lighting - everything has to be just right in order for it to work proper, but when it is, and when it does, oh, sweet ambrosia! I even love the anachronism of it. My grandfather smoked a pipe. It just has this old, retro, even ancient feel to it, and I enjoy feeling like a part of that tradition. And since I don't inhale pipe smoke, I don't have to worry as much about bronchial damage, emphysema, lung cancer, or even nicotine addiction, the way I did with cigarettes. And since I indulge in it so rarely (even at the height of my smoking during that half of the year, I will smoke, at most, two pipes a day), I don't really have to worry about it much, at all. It is a rather safe, and pleasurable, indulgence I can allow myself. Especially compared to all of my other indulgences, which are so many times more harmful and dangerous.
So, it occurred to me, perhaps an after-dinner smoke would fill the void left behind by the absence of my customary after-dinner drink. And, perhaps also help curb my appetite for my after-dinner snack - and my after-after-dinner snack, and my after-after-after-dinner snack - that is currently replacing my after-dinner drink. I know, it's still not the healthiest solution in the world, but tasting (not inhaling) a little tobacco smoke is a lot less unhealthy than drinking, or over-eating. So, I'll take what I can get. (And everyone needs some sort of vice, don't they? What's life without at least a little indulgence?) But the problem is, as soon as the weather starts to warm up, I immediately lose all interest in smoking a pipe. I don't know what it is, but it has been that way every single year since the very first. It's not something I'm trying to do, intentionally. That's just the way it works for me, for some reason. I always want to smoke a pipe during the cold half of the year, and I only want to smoke a pipe during the cold half of the year.
But on Sunday, I found a solution to this problem. There's a brand of small "cigars" (or "cigarillos," which is a rather annoying word) that are filled with pipe tobacco. It's not the greatest pipe tobacco I've ever had, but it still tastes sweet, and smells nice, and it's infinitely better than cigar tobacco. (I would rather eat old sushi than smoke a cigar. Ugh!) So every night so far this week I've smoked at least part of one of these "cigars" after dinner. And I've enjoyed them alright, but not as much as my pipes. And they've seemed to help with the cravings a little, but not as much as I'd hoped. I'd hoped that they would come close to putting an end to the cravings, but I've found that just a little while after putting out the "cigar," I'm hungry again. Still, the whole time I'm smoking, I don't want to eat. And the cravings are a lot easier to resist for a while after the smoke. So, all-in-all, one "cigar" seems to equal about an hour or so of not snacking. So, it's not as much as I wanted, but it's not nothing, either. We'll see how it goes. I'm glad to have something enjoyable to do for now that seems to help at least a little, but I could also see myself getting bored with this very soon.
Alright, that's enough for now. I'm starting to get hungry.
Time for my Chai Latte.
I don't know what's causing this, but it started just after I stopped drinking, so I would imagine it must have something to do with that. But is it a biochemical reaction? Meaning, is it my body's autonomic response to being suddenly deprived of the ethyl alcohol it had grown accustomed to? Or is it a behavioral response? Is it just my head trying to fill the "Pleasure Yourself" gap left behind when I stopped drinking, with some new, more readily accessible form of pleasure? I have no idea.
I've heard that a lot of people develop an insatiable sweet-tooth when they quit drinking, because their body is craving the sugar that they used to get from the alcohol. (Our bodies metabolize alcohol into sugar.) But that's not what I'm experiencing. My problem is that I simply never stop feeling like I want to eat. Normally, I would only get that feeling when I needed to eat. And then, once I'd eaten, that feeling would go away, until the next time I needed to eat again. But now, I can eat until I am bloated and feeling sick from the amount of food in my stomach, and I still have that feeling of "I want to eat." It just never turns off! And it's so fucking annoying! It's like when you feel like you have to pee, even though your bladder is empty. It's just this really unpleasant, uncomfortable feeling that will not go away, and that you cannot do anything about.
And I really, really just want it to stop.
I'm so tired of constantly fighting with myself to keep from over-eating. I'm so tired of constantly wrestling with this phantom craving. Every night it's the same thing. As soon as I finish dinner, I want something sweet. So, I eat a little dessert, and then as soon as I finish that, I want something salty-crunchy. If I give in to that craving and eat something salty-crunchy (whole-wheat tortilla chips and 100-calorie packs of cheez-its are my current drugs of choice), then as soon as I finish that, I want something sweet again. And if I give in to that, then I want something salty-crunchy/savory again. And that just keeps going on and on forever until I end up passing out face-first into a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels.
I'm currently working out and doing my best to eat as healthy as possible, in an attempt to lose some weight. And I am losing weight, but much more slowly than I'd like. And this shit is not making it any easier.
I've been trying to come up with ways to either satisfy and/or curb this craving that do not involve adding a bunch more calories to my daily intake. Number one on the list is drinking lots and lots of water. And I mean, to the point where I start to feel full. That helps some, but not much, because the whole point of that trick is to curb your appetite by making your body feel full; and, of course, my whole problem is that my body is not currently responding correctly to that feeling. And then there's the further drawback of having my day constantly and repeatedly interrupted by the painfully urgent need to piss violently. I've thought about lo-to-no-cal snacks like rice cakes, but in the midst of these cravings, I can't bring myself to eat something completely tasteless that I am already well-aware I will not enjoy. Still, I've found a couple of brands that are mildly tolerable, and I'm planning to try really hard to make them work. I bought some lo-cal, high-protein jerky, as well, to try and help with the savory cravings. The trick there is to just chew and chew and chew and chew and chew and chew until either it eventually turns to liquid in your mouth, or you feel like your jaw is going to fall off. That way you get to spend a lot of time eating and enjoying the pleasure of tasting the salty/savory thing you're craving, but overall you don't actually eat that much food, or take in a lot of calories. The sore jaw helps to put a damper on the desire to eat more, as well. And at work, I've been having mid-afternoon Chai Lattes to try and help with my after-lunch cravings. That seems to be working out ok. It's not helping my need-to-pee-every-fifteen-minutes problem very much, though.
And there's one solution I've been trying out this week that is a little naughty.
I stopped smoking cigarettes over ten years ago. And I cannot stand cigars. But every Fall and Winter for the past six or seven years, pretty much as soon as the weather starts to turn cold, I smoke a pipe. I really enjoy a good pipe during the cold half of the year. I love the sweet, rich flavor of the tobacco. I love its aromatic smell. I love the ritual of loading, packing, tamping, lighting - everything has to be just right in order for it to work proper, but when it is, and when it does, oh, sweet ambrosia! I even love the anachronism of it. My grandfather smoked a pipe. It just has this old, retro, even ancient feel to it, and I enjoy feeling like a part of that tradition. And since I don't inhale pipe smoke, I don't have to worry as much about bronchial damage, emphysema, lung cancer, or even nicotine addiction, the way I did with cigarettes. And since I indulge in it so rarely (even at the height of my smoking during that half of the year, I will smoke, at most, two pipes a day), I don't really have to worry about it much, at all. It is a rather safe, and pleasurable, indulgence I can allow myself. Especially compared to all of my other indulgences, which are so many times more harmful and dangerous.
So, it occurred to me, perhaps an after-dinner smoke would fill the void left behind by the absence of my customary after-dinner drink. And, perhaps also help curb my appetite for my after-dinner snack - and my after-after-dinner snack, and my after-after-after-dinner snack - that is currently replacing my after-dinner drink. I know, it's still not the healthiest solution in the world, but tasting (not inhaling) a little tobacco smoke is a lot less unhealthy than drinking, or over-eating. So, I'll take what I can get. (And everyone needs some sort of vice, don't they? What's life without at least a little indulgence?) But the problem is, as soon as the weather starts to warm up, I immediately lose all interest in smoking a pipe. I don't know what it is, but it has been that way every single year since the very first. It's not something I'm trying to do, intentionally. That's just the way it works for me, for some reason. I always want to smoke a pipe during the cold half of the year, and I only want to smoke a pipe during the cold half of the year.
But on Sunday, I found a solution to this problem. There's a brand of small "cigars" (or "cigarillos," which is a rather annoying word) that are filled with pipe tobacco. It's not the greatest pipe tobacco I've ever had, but it still tastes sweet, and smells nice, and it's infinitely better than cigar tobacco. (I would rather eat old sushi than smoke a cigar. Ugh!) So every night so far this week I've smoked at least part of one of these "cigars" after dinner. And I've enjoyed them alright, but not as much as my pipes. And they've seemed to help with the cravings a little, but not as much as I'd hoped. I'd hoped that they would come close to putting an end to the cravings, but I've found that just a little while after putting out the "cigar," I'm hungry again. Still, the whole time I'm smoking, I don't want to eat. And the cravings are a lot easier to resist for a while after the smoke. So, all-in-all, one "cigar" seems to equal about an hour or so of not snacking. So, it's not as much as I wanted, but it's not nothing, either. We'll see how it goes. I'm glad to have something enjoyable to do for now that seems to help at least a little, but I could also see myself getting bored with this very soon.
Alright, that's enough for now. I'm starting to get hungry.
Time for my Chai Latte.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
SMART Observations...
I went to my first SMART Recovery meeting last night.
I'm going to reserve judgement until I've attended a few more (I try to never make decisions based solely on first impressions), but here are a few observations I had last night.
I was sad that they didn't have coffee. Not that I would've had any that late at night, anyways. It's just that, I started drinking coffee at AA meetings when I was a kid, and I've never had coffee I enjoyed quite as much as those first styrofoam cups full of burned, generic-brand, tooth-achingly sweet non-dairy creamer off-white java. And I guess part of me was looking forward to revisiting that experience, without even realizing it.
They also didn't have any donuts, which was an equivalent bummer.
The people I saw there reminded me very much of the people I remember from AA meetings: old, sad, tired-looking people, complaining about how difficult their lives are. And I believe them. Every one of them looked rode-hard-and-put-away-wet. You could almost read the toll their addiction has taken on them on their faces, and in their posture.
It surprised me, though, how little discussion of addiction or recovery there actually was! No horror stories of rock-bottom moments, no woeful tales of lives and fortunes lost to the demon Addiction. Mainly, everyone just bitched about what was going wrong in their life that week; their work, their friends, their families (in-laws and children were a repeated theme). A couple of them actually had some positive developments to report, but they were still about work/school/kids. People would mention once in a while how the issue they were discussing was related to their addiction in some manner - such as saying, in the middle of a long rant about in-laws, that they used to drink in order to deal with being around them, and that now that they're not drinking, they don't want to be around them at all - but the other 99% of the discussion would be about the in-laws, not about how the in-laws make them want to drink, or how they are dealing with the not-drinking. One person's story was exclusively about their struggle to avoid online gaming, but that was the one and only addiction-and-recovery themed discussion of the evening.
It also surprised me how few of them there were. Only a handful, compared to the dozens of people I used to see at a typical AA meeting. A typical AA meeting wouldn't have even fit in the tiny little room we met in.
The back wall of the room was covered, oddly, with all these pro-drinking bumper stickers, that said things like "Some people call it a six-pack; I call it a support group" and "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy" and "BEER: helping ugly people have sex since 1800" and so on. There were others that were worse that I can't remember right now. They struck me as really out of place in this context, and I couldn't tell if they were meant to be funny, or ironic, or what?
"I hope you're still as pretty when I'm sober."
"God made pot; Man made beer. Who do you trust more?"
Towards the end they passed a hat to collect donations. And I couldn't help but wonder, What's that for? They obviously aren't spending it on coffee and donuts.
They asked me to introduce myself at the very end, with about two minutes left before the end of the meeting. I wasn't really comfortable with it at that point, but I also didn't feel right refusing, after having just sat there and listened to all of their stories for the past ninety minutes. But with the meeting almost over, I felt a lot of pressure to hurry up and get it out ASAP so that I didn't keep these people late. So, I stumbled and fumbled, trying to quickly deliver as condensed a version as possible of what I believe my problem is, and why I had come to SMART. I got a couple of encouraging comments at the end, but I honestly wasn't even listening. I just wanted to get out of there and go home.
I didn't feel comfortable there at all. These people obviously know each other well, and I'm a stranger suddenly plunked down right in the middle of their intimate and familiar conversation. And the reverse was true, as well - it didn't make me feel very good to be revealing intimate details about myself and my own life to a room full of complete strangers. What if one or more of them are complete assholes, whom I would never spend a minute trying to converse with in any other situation? Do I have to pretend that I like these people? Or worse, that I care about them? And I didn't even share anything really personal, either. Just some basic details of how I ended up there, and not AA. So, how much worse will it be next week, when I have to start telling them my story? I feel like it's going to make my skin crawl to have to open up and get deeply personal with these poor, sad strangers.
But, maybe that's part of the point. I'm already doing all the expressing of a group therapy session here, with this blog, but let's face it - there's a comfortable safety in being hidden behind a computer screen. Fuck, this isn't even my real name. (Though, to be fair, that has more to do with feeling a need to protect other people in my life that I care about - mainly my family - than any desire I may have to be anonymous.) So maybe there's a lesson to be learned from being able to say these things out-loud, face-to-face, to a group of people. Or, maybe not. Or maybe I'm entirely wrong, and it won't even feel uncomfortable after a couple of meetings, because we won't feel like such strangers anymore. I don't know.
And I don't know what to expect. But I've committed to going to at least a few meetings before I make any decisions. So, I guess I'm gonna find out.
So far, I'm neither encouraged nor discouraged. I don't see this becoming something I'll suddenly feel like I absolutely need in order to continue with my recovery, but who knows? Stranger things have happened, I guess. Right now, my only hope is simply that I won't hate it. I would be happy if it was just a place that I felt I could go in those rare moments when I feel like I need help. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I feel perfectly comfortable doing this on my own. In fact, I'd prefer it that way, quite honestly. But every once in a while, there's a situation where I do need help. Where I suddenly, out of nowhere, feel an overwhelming desire to use, that I cannot talk myself out of. Where I don't know what the proper response is, or how to react. Where I don't know what's going on or what to do about it. Times like my relapse a couple of weeks ago, and the depression and uncertainty that followed. Because, in those moments, right now, I don't have anyone I can turn to and ask for help. So, it'd be nice if this group could fill that role for me. But I don't know if it can, yet. We'll just have to wait and see.
At the end, when everyone was filing out of the tiny little room into the parking lot, the other new guy who was also there for the first time (I wasn't the only one!) yelled out, to no one in particular, "Where's Happy Hour?!"
Really, new guy?!
Really?
I'm going to reserve judgement until I've attended a few more (I try to never make decisions based solely on first impressions), but here are a few observations I had last night.
I was sad that they didn't have coffee. Not that I would've had any that late at night, anyways. It's just that, I started drinking coffee at AA meetings when I was a kid, and I've never had coffee I enjoyed quite as much as those first styrofoam cups full of burned, generic-brand, tooth-achingly sweet non-dairy creamer off-white java. And I guess part of me was looking forward to revisiting that experience, without even realizing it.
They also didn't have any donuts, which was an equivalent bummer.
The people I saw there reminded me very much of the people I remember from AA meetings: old, sad, tired-looking people, complaining about how difficult their lives are. And I believe them. Every one of them looked rode-hard-and-put-away-wet. You could almost read the toll their addiction has taken on them on their faces, and in their posture.
It surprised me, though, how little discussion of addiction or recovery there actually was! No horror stories of rock-bottom moments, no woeful tales of lives and fortunes lost to the demon Addiction. Mainly, everyone just bitched about what was going wrong in their life that week; their work, their friends, their families (in-laws and children were a repeated theme). A couple of them actually had some positive developments to report, but they were still about work/school/kids. People would mention once in a while how the issue they were discussing was related to their addiction in some manner - such as saying, in the middle of a long rant about in-laws, that they used to drink in order to deal with being around them, and that now that they're not drinking, they don't want to be around them at all - but the other 99% of the discussion would be about the in-laws, not about how the in-laws make them want to drink, or how they are dealing with the not-drinking. One person's story was exclusively about their struggle to avoid online gaming, but that was the one and only addiction-and-recovery themed discussion of the evening.
It also surprised me how few of them there were. Only a handful, compared to the dozens of people I used to see at a typical AA meeting. A typical AA meeting wouldn't have even fit in the tiny little room we met in.
The back wall of the room was covered, oddly, with all these pro-drinking bumper stickers, that said things like "Some people call it a six-pack; I call it a support group" and "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy" and "BEER: helping ugly people have sex since 1800" and so on. There were others that were worse that I can't remember right now. They struck me as really out of place in this context, and I couldn't tell if they were meant to be funny, or ironic, or what?
"I hope you're still as pretty when I'm sober."
"God made pot; Man made beer. Who do you trust more?"
Towards the end they passed a hat to collect donations. And I couldn't help but wonder, What's that for? They obviously aren't spending it on coffee and donuts.
They asked me to introduce myself at the very end, with about two minutes left before the end of the meeting. I wasn't really comfortable with it at that point, but I also didn't feel right refusing, after having just sat there and listened to all of their stories for the past ninety minutes. But with the meeting almost over, I felt a lot of pressure to hurry up and get it out ASAP so that I didn't keep these people late. So, I stumbled and fumbled, trying to quickly deliver as condensed a version as possible of what I believe my problem is, and why I had come to SMART. I got a couple of encouraging comments at the end, but I honestly wasn't even listening. I just wanted to get out of there and go home.
I didn't feel comfortable there at all. These people obviously know each other well, and I'm a stranger suddenly plunked down right in the middle of their intimate and familiar conversation. And the reverse was true, as well - it didn't make me feel very good to be revealing intimate details about myself and my own life to a room full of complete strangers. What if one or more of them are complete assholes, whom I would never spend a minute trying to converse with in any other situation? Do I have to pretend that I like these people? Or worse, that I care about them? And I didn't even share anything really personal, either. Just some basic details of how I ended up there, and not AA. So, how much worse will it be next week, when I have to start telling them my story? I feel like it's going to make my skin crawl to have to open up and get deeply personal with these poor, sad strangers.
But, maybe that's part of the point. I'm already doing all the expressing of a group therapy session here, with this blog, but let's face it - there's a comfortable safety in being hidden behind a computer screen. Fuck, this isn't even my real name. (Though, to be fair, that has more to do with feeling a need to protect other people in my life that I care about - mainly my family - than any desire I may have to be anonymous.) So maybe there's a lesson to be learned from being able to say these things out-loud, face-to-face, to a group of people. Or, maybe not. Or maybe I'm entirely wrong, and it won't even feel uncomfortable after a couple of meetings, because we won't feel like such strangers anymore. I don't know.
And I don't know what to expect. But I've committed to going to at least a few meetings before I make any decisions. So, I guess I'm gonna find out.
So far, I'm neither encouraged nor discouraged. I don't see this becoming something I'll suddenly feel like I absolutely need in order to continue with my recovery, but who knows? Stranger things have happened, I guess. Right now, my only hope is simply that I won't hate it. I would be happy if it was just a place that I felt I could go in those rare moments when I feel like I need help. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I feel perfectly comfortable doing this on my own. In fact, I'd prefer it that way, quite honestly. But every once in a while, there's a situation where I do need help. Where I suddenly, out of nowhere, feel an overwhelming desire to use, that I cannot talk myself out of. Where I don't know what the proper response is, or how to react. Where I don't know what's going on or what to do about it. Times like my relapse a couple of weeks ago, and the depression and uncertainty that followed. Because, in those moments, right now, I don't have anyone I can turn to and ask for help. So, it'd be nice if this group could fill that role for me. But I don't know if it can, yet. We'll just have to wait and see.
At the end, when everyone was filing out of the tiny little room into the parking lot, the other new guy who was also there for the first time (I wasn't the only one!) yelled out, to no one in particular, "Where's Happy Hour?!"
Really, new guy?!
Really?
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Witness...
As the weeks have turned into months, I've been discovering even more reasons to love my new commute.
When I describe it as a "backroad through farm country," that is not poetic exaggeration. The road snakes past dozens of farms of every variety. Dairy farms, horse farms, plow-plant-harvest farms, even more than one llama farm. And as the season has slowly turned, I've been able to glimpse the changes occurring on some of the farms as I make my way past them every day. I've started noticing that several of the cowherds now include a calf or two. And I've watched the fields progress from dirt, to rows of dirt piles, to green lawns, to fields of waving shoots. I'm enjoying the game of trying to guess what each of the plants in the various fields are from their early sproutings. Most of them look like wheat to my uneducated eyes, but it's definitely possible that they could be some other grain, and it's even conceivable that some of them could be corn. I'll find out soon enough. I'm looking forward to that more that I'd like to admit, honestly.
I'm struck by how much I'm enjoying the opportunity to be a silent witness to this progress of biology. And I'm reminded of the swallows from last Spring.
We really don't want birds nesting around our building, but because of the beautiful garden with its variety of trees and bushes and flowers and its never-ending source of water in the form of a bubbling fountain, wild animals of every variety are naturally attracted to it. So, every year we come up with new remedies to stop birds from nesting in the places they nested the year before, and every year they find ever more ingenious ways to outwit us. Last Spring, when they couldn't find any place else to do it, a pair of swallows simply built a nest directly onto a vertical brick wall in our building's entryway, eight feet above the ground. Just to be clear, the nest was not resting on anything - it was simply glued directly onto a brick wall, by means of some unknown adhesive. I was so delighted by the sheer audacious tenacity of this, that I didn't even mind being outwitted by a bird. (And honestly, I wouldn't have minded, regardless. I love it when nature reminds me that we don't know half as much as we think we do.)
But even better than this, was that every day I got to walk past these nesting birds at least twice. And so I was given regular glimpses into their lives. I noticed when one of them (presumably the mother) was in the nest every time I walked by, where before it had usually been empty. I remember the day shortly thereafter when I first heard the cacophony of tweets echoing from the nest, and looked up to see the horrendously ugly faces of several new-born chicks squawking at me hungrily. After that, I was fortunate enough to get to see their parents feeding them a time or two. And over the course of the next several weeks, I watched those chicks grow faster than I ever thought possible, until suddenly they were full-grown birds, indistinguishable from their parents.
I remember the day I came home from work, and passing out of the entryway and into our garden, one of the birds flew directly at me, veering off what seemed mere inches from my face. At first I was upset, wondering why this parent-bird was attacking me. What could I possibly have done to threaten them, just walking by as I've done so many times before? Following the flight of the bird up above the garden, I saw several of them swooping and diving in odd arcs, occasionally diving right at each other, often narrowly missing other objects in their path. And they weren't going very high, either, tending to stay within the confines of the courtyard. It was all very odd behavior that I hadn't seen before. But then I noticed that the nest was empty. And with that, I finally realized that these were the new birds, not their parents. They must've just learned to fly! Probably that very day. When that bird flew at my face it wasn't attacking me, it was a near-miss on toddler-wings. It was probably just as freaked out by the experience as I was! And now they were playing in the air above me, testing their new power and freedom, feeling the wind in their feathers for the very first time. You could see they were still trying to figure it all out - still hadn't quite got the hang of it all, still afraid of going too high, or too far from home. I had to just stop and watch for a while. It was so beautiful.
Then, as Spring turned into Summer, I watched as the parents flew off, leaving their adolescents behind forever. I watched the remaining birds grow until they could no longer fit in the nest. Once they were too big, they perched on a nearby video camera on the opposite wall of the entryway. The sibling-birds stayed there for weeks, too timid to leave home just yet, wanting to stay together, in the only world they'd ever known, for as long they could. But, eventually, they disappeared. First one, then another, then the rest all at once. Looking for food, perhaps? Or maybe a mate? Or maybe they were just driven by an innate need to explore, or to start flying North as the season wore on. I'll never know exactly. But I remember experiencing a very peculiar melancholy when I first noticed they had gone. I was sad to see them go, I would honestly miss them - but I was also so excited and amazed at the cycle they were a part of, and that I had been so unbelievably fortunate to have been able to witness so much of it, from start to finish.
I remember those swallows, every time some old codger on the condo board complains about all the bird shit in the entryway, and suggests some new way to drive out the "nuisance." All I can think is, what's a little bird poop, compared to an experience like that? Getting to be a direct witness to the cycle of our biology? Being reminded of how alike we all are, how similar all of Life is? Being given a direct insight into your place in our World? Being fortunate enough to catch a glimpse, just for a moment, of a microcosm of the grand pattern on display throughout the entire Universe? Being able to remember, for a time, just how absolutely fucking amazing Life is? In the face of all that, who cares about something as trivial as a little bird shit?
I can feel the beginnings of something similar to my experience with the swallows in these peaceful moments on my commute. I can feel the swallows, every time I see the fields have grown a little more, every time I notice a new calf I've never seen before, bounding after its mother on spindle-legs. But this cycle is slower, and will last longer. It will last until I see the fields barren and covered in snow, and until the snow thaws, and the fields are plowed again. I catch these glimpses every day, and I string them all together in my memory, like an old flip-book penny arcade, and I feel as if I'm watching the cycle of Life on Earth in time-lapse, like Nature's breath - inhale, cold and lifeless - exhale, warm, vibrant growth - and on and on and on - as if I'm watching the planets spin round and around our star, as if I can feel the rotation of the Milky Way itself spinning off into the void, as if that longing in my heart is the tugging weight from the black hole at its center, around which we are all spinning, spinning, spinning...
And I am suddenly so still.
When I describe it as a "backroad through farm country," that is not poetic exaggeration. The road snakes past dozens of farms of every variety. Dairy farms, horse farms, plow-plant-harvest farms, even more than one llama farm. And as the season has slowly turned, I've been able to glimpse the changes occurring on some of the farms as I make my way past them every day. I've started noticing that several of the cowherds now include a calf or two. And I've watched the fields progress from dirt, to rows of dirt piles, to green lawns, to fields of waving shoots. I'm enjoying the game of trying to guess what each of the plants in the various fields are from their early sproutings. Most of them look like wheat to my uneducated eyes, but it's definitely possible that they could be some other grain, and it's even conceivable that some of them could be corn. I'll find out soon enough. I'm looking forward to that more that I'd like to admit, honestly.
I'm struck by how much I'm enjoying the opportunity to be a silent witness to this progress of biology. And I'm reminded of the swallows from last Spring.
We really don't want birds nesting around our building, but because of the beautiful garden with its variety of trees and bushes and flowers and its never-ending source of water in the form of a bubbling fountain, wild animals of every variety are naturally attracted to it. So, every year we come up with new remedies to stop birds from nesting in the places they nested the year before, and every year they find ever more ingenious ways to outwit us. Last Spring, when they couldn't find any place else to do it, a pair of swallows simply built a nest directly onto a vertical brick wall in our building's entryway, eight feet above the ground. Just to be clear, the nest was not resting on anything - it was simply glued directly onto a brick wall, by means of some unknown adhesive. I was so delighted by the sheer audacious tenacity of this, that I didn't even mind being outwitted by a bird. (And honestly, I wouldn't have minded, regardless. I love it when nature reminds me that we don't know half as much as we think we do.)
But even better than this, was that every day I got to walk past these nesting birds at least twice. And so I was given regular glimpses into their lives. I noticed when one of them (presumably the mother) was in the nest every time I walked by, where before it had usually been empty. I remember the day shortly thereafter when I first heard the cacophony of tweets echoing from the nest, and looked up to see the horrendously ugly faces of several new-born chicks squawking at me hungrily. After that, I was fortunate enough to get to see their parents feeding them a time or two. And over the course of the next several weeks, I watched those chicks grow faster than I ever thought possible, until suddenly they were full-grown birds, indistinguishable from their parents.
I remember the day I came home from work, and passing out of the entryway and into our garden, one of the birds flew directly at me, veering off what seemed mere inches from my face. At first I was upset, wondering why this parent-bird was attacking me. What could I possibly have done to threaten them, just walking by as I've done so many times before? Following the flight of the bird up above the garden, I saw several of them swooping and diving in odd arcs, occasionally diving right at each other, often narrowly missing other objects in their path. And they weren't going very high, either, tending to stay within the confines of the courtyard. It was all very odd behavior that I hadn't seen before. But then I noticed that the nest was empty. And with that, I finally realized that these were the new birds, not their parents. They must've just learned to fly! Probably that very day. When that bird flew at my face it wasn't attacking me, it was a near-miss on toddler-wings. It was probably just as freaked out by the experience as I was! And now they were playing in the air above me, testing their new power and freedom, feeling the wind in their feathers for the very first time. You could see they were still trying to figure it all out - still hadn't quite got the hang of it all, still afraid of going too high, or too far from home. I had to just stop and watch for a while. It was so beautiful.
Then, as Spring turned into Summer, I watched as the parents flew off, leaving their adolescents behind forever. I watched the remaining birds grow until they could no longer fit in the nest. Once they were too big, they perched on a nearby video camera on the opposite wall of the entryway. The sibling-birds stayed there for weeks, too timid to leave home just yet, wanting to stay together, in the only world they'd ever known, for as long they could. But, eventually, they disappeared. First one, then another, then the rest all at once. Looking for food, perhaps? Or maybe a mate? Or maybe they were just driven by an innate need to explore, or to start flying North as the season wore on. I'll never know exactly. But I remember experiencing a very peculiar melancholy when I first noticed they had gone. I was sad to see them go, I would honestly miss them - but I was also so excited and amazed at the cycle they were a part of, and that I had been so unbelievably fortunate to have been able to witness so much of it, from start to finish.
I remember those swallows, every time some old codger on the condo board complains about all the bird shit in the entryway, and suggests some new way to drive out the "nuisance." All I can think is, what's a little bird poop, compared to an experience like that? Getting to be a direct witness to the cycle of our biology? Being reminded of how alike we all are, how similar all of Life is? Being given a direct insight into your place in our World? Being fortunate enough to catch a glimpse, just for a moment, of a microcosm of the grand pattern on display throughout the entire Universe? Being able to remember, for a time, just how absolutely fucking amazing Life is? In the face of all that, who cares about something as trivial as a little bird shit?
I can feel the beginnings of something similar to my experience with the swallows in these peaceful moments on my commute. I can feel the swallows, every time I see the fields have grown a little more, every time I notice a new calf I've never seen before, bounding after its mother on spindle-legs. But this cycle is slower, and will last longer. It will last until I see the fields barren and covered in snow, and until the snow thaws, and the fields are plowed again. I catch these glimpses every day, and I string them all together in my memory, like an old flip-book penny arcade, and I feel as if I'm watching the cycle of Life on Earth in time-lapse, like Nature's breath - inhale, cold and lifeless - exhale, warm, vibrant growth - and on and on and on - as if I'm watching the planets spin round and around our star, as if I can feel the rotation of the Milky Way itself spinning off into the void, as if that longing in my heart is the tugging weight from the black hole at its center, around which we are all spinning, spinning, spinning...
And I am suddenly so still.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Status Report...
I'm feeling much better now.
Last week I started taking some herbal supplements. Sunnaswort (aka St. John's Wort) for mood, Ginseng for energy, and Ginkgo Biloba for focus. And I started feeling better almost immediately. Which could be due to the herbs, or could just be the placebo effect, or could be due to the fact that my depressed period was simply coming to an end all on its own by that point anyways. But, regardless of why, I've definitely been feeling better lately.
I've been much more relaxed and happy. Still not quite the happy-go-lucky, go-with-the-flow of the pink cloud, but still a significant improvement over the last couple of weeks. No more getting angry or upset about little things and then not being able to let them go. I managed to get in both my mathematics lessons and a meditation session this weekend, and really enjoyed them all. More to the point, I found myself excitedly looking forward to them, like I had been up until Walpurgisnacht. I was worried I might've lost that.
And the sluggishness and lack-of-motivation are gone now, as well. The last few days I've woken refreshed and ready to go, rather than feeling like I still needed several more hours of sleep. It's been no trouble to make it into the gym on time the last several mornings, either. I even managed to stay up late on Saturday night into Sunday morning playing my new video game, without feeling tired and drained the next day. And I even managed to get a little bit of work done this weekend. (Not as much as I'd like, but it's a start.)
So, we'll see how the rest of the week goes, but I'm optimistic. Things seem to be improving.
Will me luck.
Last week I started taking some herbal supplements. Sunnaswort (aka St. John's Wort) for mood, Ginseng for energy, and Ginkgo Biloba for focus. And I started feeling better almost immediately. Which could be due to the herbs, or could just be the placebo effect, or could be due to the fact that my depressed period was simply coming to an end all on its own by that point anyways. But, regardless of why, I've definitely been feeling better lately.
I've been much more relaxed and happy. Still not quite the happy-go-lucky, go-with-the-flow of the pink cloud, but still a significant improvement over the last couple of weeks. No more getting angry or upset about little things and then not being able to let them go. I managed to get in both my mathematics lessons and a meditation session this weekend, and really enjoyed them all. More to the point, I found myself excitedly looking forward to them, like I had been up until Walpurgisnacht. I was worried I might've lost that.
And the sluggishness and lack-of-motivation are gone now, as well. The last few days I've woken refreshed and ready to go, rather than feeling like I still needed several more hours of sleep. It's been no trouble to make it into the gym on time the last several mornings, either. I even managed to stay up late on Saturday night into Sunday morning playing my new video game, without feeling tired and drained the next day. And I even managed to get a little bit of work done this weekend. (Not as much as I'd like, but it's a start.)
So, we'll see how the rest of the week goes, but I'm optimistic. Things seem to be improving.
Will me luck.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Hope and Regret, part 3...
On the heels of all of these thoughts on my addiction and
recovery and sobriety, I started thinking about how I feel about my
history of using. And I feel a need to state here, strongly and
clearly, and in no uncertain terms, that I have no regrets
about my past behavior. None. If I could do it all over again, I
wouldn't do it any differently. Even the very worst moments, where I
hurt myself badly or scared myself half-to-death or nearly died, I'm
still grateful for. Because each and every one of them taught me
valuable lessons that I wouldn't have learned any other way, and I have
in each instance become a better person for having learned them.
And those scary moments were few and far between. The vast majority of the years I spent drunk and high, I laughed my ass off and just had a wonderful time. I learned a lot about myself through those experiences, and I feel lucky and privileged to have had the chance to spend so much of my life feeling happy and stimulated and satisfied. I've had a great run of it up to this point. But it's just becoming a little old, a little stale, a little tired. And so am I. After all these years, it's taking more and more of a toll on me than it ever has before, right as I'm getting less and less out of it than I used to. And as I get older, and my priorities for what I want out of life shift from more immediate pleasures to bigger-and-better things, it's just becoming less and less worth it for me to keep going like this.
And I always knew that it would have to end one day. And I always knew there would be a price to pay for all those years of self-indulgence. And I always knew that this was that price. And I always knew that one day I would pay it. And now that this day seems to finally be coming around, I am paying it. Gladly.
But I'm still glad I did it, too.
And I wouldn't change a thing.
And those scary moments were few and far between. The vast majority of the years I spent drunk and high, I laughed my ass off and just had a wonderful time. I learned a lot about myself through those experiences, and I feel lucky and privileged to have had the chance to spend so much of my life feeling happy and stimulated and satisfied. I've had a great run of it up to this point. But it's just becoming a little old, a little stale, a little tired. And so am I. After all these years, it's taking more and more of a toll on me than it ever has before, right as I'm getting less and less out of it than I used to. And as I get older, and my priorities for what I want out of life shift from more immediate pleasures to bigger-and-better things, it's just becoming less and less worth it for me to keep going like this.
And I always knew that it would have to end one day. And I always knew there would be a price to pay for all those years of self-indulgence. And I always knew that this was that price. And I always knew that one day I would pay it. And now that this day seems to finally be coming around, I am paying it. Gladly.
But I'm still glad I did it, too.
And I wouldn't change a thing.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Hope and Regret, part 2...
And speaking of breaking the cycle, the 2nd, and possibly most, important thing
I learned in my session this week, was the existence of an organization
called SMART Recovery.
I've considered going to AA or NA meetings before, but having some past experience with them and knowing the gist of what they're like and how they work, I've never really felt like they would be a good fit for me. The central core of the X-Anonymous twelve-step programs starts with two things: 1) submit your will to a Higher Power, and 2) admit that you are powerless over your addiction. The rest of the program builds off of those two ideas, so if you can't do those, then the rest of the program isn't going to be much help for you, either. And neither of those ideas really work for me. More to the point, they're basically the exact opposite of what I feel I need in order to get and stay sober.
I don't believe in a sentient being that controls the Universe, so the entire concept of "Higher Power" would be difficult for me right from the start. I could use Tao, but that wouldn't really work, either. Because Tao is not a sentient force, it's just a pattern. It's the pattern of Nature seen throughout the Universe. It is the Set of All Things. It is the Universe, and everything it in, and everything outside of it (if there is anything outside of it) and the motion of all things that repeats in the same way from the spinning of galaxies down to the spinning of electrons. It is the cyclical pattern of motion that is all creations, that spurs all nothings to become some-things. So, it's not really a Power, and it's not really Higher, either, since there is nothing that is not Tao. And how would I "submit my will" to it, exactly? How can I submit to something that I'm already a part of, merely by virtue of my existence? And then there's just the whole idea of submitting my Will, at all, which I'm not real keen on.
Which actually ties in with the 2nd step, admitting that you're powerless over your addiction. Submitting my Will, admitting I am powerless... these are not things that I've ever been good at. In fact, I have spent the majority of my adult life strengthening my Will, to the point that I was able to convince myself that I can actually bend Reality to it. "Powerless" is not something I ever want to feel, or believe I should ever have to feel. And more to the point, it's not something I believe I am.
I'm not powerless over my addiction. That fact is self-evident. If I were powerless, then I would've ended up deranged and out-of-control, like my mother, or her mother before her. Or like one of those poor, pathetic people on Intervention, who are incapable of caring about anything beyond their drug use. I have never been like that. Throughout my entire history of using, I have always carefully monitored myself, my cravings, the amount of my intake; constantly limiting the amount I use to "just enough;" never letting myself use as much as I really want; dialing back my use whenever the cravings started to become more intense; etc. I used always knowing that I was an addict, and that I was walking a fine line between having fun and losing it all, and always on the lookout for signs that it was getting out-of-hand. (That's one of the reasons I'm actually feeling kind of done with all of it at this point. That kind of constant self-intervention takes a lot out of you, and it's getting to the point that getting high is no longer worth the effort it takes to maintain anymore.) In my entire history, I've only ever let myself use with abandon, to my heart's content, a couple of times. And every one of those times, things quickly got out of hand, and I scared the shit out myself, and ended up getting my shit together in a new and better way as a result. And even at my worst, even when I've hurt myself badly with liver damage and ulcers and near-overdoses, I've still never been even half as bad as my mother, or my grandmother, or the sick souls on TV, or any of the people whose stories I heard in those church basements as a child. So, if I have to start that program by admitting that I am powerless over my addiction, then I have to base that entire program on a lie. And what is the point in that?
And, honestly, if we're really "powerless," then what are we even doing in recovery? If we were truly powerless over our addictions, then wouldn't we be out getting drunk and high right now? For me, my sense of my own power, my sense of my internal strength, my strength of Will, is exactly what I've used to keep from going off the deep end my whole life, and exactly what I've relied on to get sober. So why on Earth would I want to just abandon that?? The whole idea just seems completely counter-productive to me.
And adding to all that the fact that my mother used to take me with her to AA and NA meetings when I was a kid, and that she left one of those meetings and went straight to the hotel room where she took her life, it would be a significant understatement to say that I have some emotional baggage associated with those programs. And if I went, the only reason I'd be going would be to try to get and stay sober. I really wouldn't want to also have to work through a bunch of my childhood mommy-issues at the same time. So, for all of these reasons, I've never really considered the X-Anonymous twelve-step groups to be a valid option for me in my recovery.
So I always assumed I would just have to do this on my own. I thought that the X-A groups were the only ones out there, and since those wouldn't work for me, then it must be up to just me doing the work, and the best help I could hope for would be the occasional 1-on-1 counseling session. And I was ok with that, honestly. But then my counselor tells me about this other recovery group called SMART Recovery.
They're basically an alternative to the twelve-steppers, that emphasizes scientific methods of recovery (constantly evolving as the science of recovery evolves; none of that watered-down, psuedo-JudeoChristian psychology "Higher Power" bullshit), self-empowerment as the main recovery tool (as opposed to submitting your Will and pretending to be powerless - more pseudo-JudeoChristian nonsense; and none of this Will-undermining "my addiction is a disease and I am sick and I will always be sick" crap, either), and recognizing that there is no one right way to become sober that will work for everyone - that everyone is unique and different and that each individual has their own best method of recovery - and so the key to recovery is finding your personal method and working it (which is completely in-line with the way I have lived the entire rest of my life; SMART Recovery is to traditional recovery what Chaos Magick is to traditional Western occultism - find what works best for you, and use it). They try to get at the root of addictive behavior itself and deal with that, using modern Cognitive Behavior Therapy methods, rather than focusing on the particular substance or thing one is addicted to. (SMART stands for "Self-Management And Recovery Training".) As such, they aren't just for alcoholics or drug-users, but accept any kind of addict at all. A meeting could include people ranging from alcoholics, to drug-users, to sex addicts, or gambling addicts, or hoarders, or anyone else who would fall under the category of "I'm exhibiting compulsive behavior that I would like to stop."
I was astounded that I'd never heard of this before. They sound perfectly tailored for me. I found out there's a meeting in my area, and I'm going to attend my first one next week. I'm going to try to reserve judgement, though. In my experience, things that sound too-good-to-be-true usually are. And while the base description sounds fantastic, some of the material I've found on their website absolutely screams "MOTIVATIONAL SEMINAR," and that could be a big turn-off for me. So, I'm going to keep my expectations low, attend a few of the meetings, and get a sense of what they're really like. It'd be nice if they turned out to be even half as great as they sound, and it'd be nice if I could actually get some extra help from them. But it would be just that - extra. So if they turn out to be not-quite-right for me, then oh, well. I still have no problem doing all of this on my own.
And no reason to believe that I can't.
concluded in part three tomorrow...
I've considered going to AA or NA meetings before, but having some past experience with them and knowing the gist of what they're like and how they work, I've never really felt like they would be a good fit for me. The central core of the X-Anonymous twelve-step programs starts with two things: 1) submit your will to a Higher Power, and 2) admit that you are powerless over your addiction. The rest of the program builds off of those two ideas, so if you can't do those, then the rest of the program isn't going to be much help for you, either. And neither of those ideas really work for me. More to the point, they're basically the exact opposite of what I feel I need in order to get and stay sober.
I don't believe in a sentient being that controls the Universe, so the entire concept of "Higher Power" would be difficult for me right from the start. I could use Tao, but that wouldn't really work, either. Because Tao is not a sentient force, it's just a pattern. It's the pattern of Nature seen throughout the Universe. It is the Set of All Things. It is the Universe, and everything it in, and everything outside of it (if there is anything outside of it) and the motion of all things that repeats in the same way from the spinning of galaxies down to the spinning of electrons. It is the cyclical pattern of motion that is all creations, that spurs all nothings to become some-things. So, it's not really a Power, and it's not really Higher, either, since there is nothing that is not Tao. And how would I "submit my will" to it, exactly? How can I submit to something that I'm already a part of, merely by virtue of my existence? And then there's just the whole idea of submitting my Will, at all, which I'm not real keen on.
Which actually ties in with the 2nd step, admitting that you're powerless over your addiction. Submitting my Will, admitting I am powerless... these are not things that I've ever been good at. In fact, I have spent the majority of my adult life strengthening my Will, to the point that I was able to convince myself that I can actually bend Reality to it. "Powerless" is not something I ever want to feel, or believe I should ever have to feel. And more to the point, it's not something I believe I am.
I'm not powerless over my addiction. That fact is self-evident. If I were powerless, then I would've ended up deranged and out-of-control, like my mother, or her mother before her. Or like one of those poor, pathetic people on Intervention, who are incapable of caring about anything beyond their drug use. I have never been like that. Throughout my entire history of using, I have always carefully monitored myself, my cravings, the amount of my intake; constantly limiting the amount I use to "just enough;" never letting myself use as much as I really want; dialing back my use whenever the cravings started to become more intense; etc. I used always knowing that I was an addict, and that I was walking a fine line between having fun and losing it all, and always on the lookout for signs that it was getting out-of-hand. (That's one of the reasons I'm actually feeling kind of done with all of it at this point. That kind of constant self-intervention takes a lot out of you, and it's getting to the point that getting high is no longer worth the effort it takes to maintain anymore.) In my entire history, I've only ever let myself use with abandon, to my heart's content, a couple of times. And every one of those times, things quickly got out of hand, and I scared the shit out myself, and ended up getting my shit together in a new and better way as a result. And even at my worst, even when I've hurt myself badly with liver damage and ulcers and near-overdoses, I've still never been even half as bad as my mother, or my grandmother, or the sick souls on TV, or any of the people whose stories I heard in those church basements as a child. So, if I have to start that program by admitting that I am powerless over my addiction, then I have to base that entire program on a lie. And what is the point in that?
And, honestly, if we're really "powerless," then what are we even doing in recovery? If we were truly powerless over our addictions, then wouldn't we be out getting drunk and high right now? For me, my sense of my own power, my sense of my internal strength, my strength of Will, is exactly what I've used to keep from going off the deep end my whole life, and exactly what I've relied on to get sober. So why on Earth would I want to just abandon that?? The whole idea just seems completely counter-productive to me.
And adding to all that the fact that my mother used to take me with her to AA and NA meetings when I was a kid, and that she left one of those meetings and went straight to the hotel room where she took her life, it would be a significant understatement to say that I have some emotional baggage associated with those programs. And if I went, the only reason I'd be going would be to try to get and stay sober. I really wouldn't want to also have to work through a bunch of my childhood mommy-issues at the same time. So, for all of these reasons, I've never really considered the X-Anonymous twelve-step groups to be a valid option for me in my recovery.
So I always assumed I would just have to do this on my own. I thought that the X-A groups were the only ones out there, and since those wouldn't work for me, then it must be up to just me doing the work, and the best help I could hope for would be the occasional 1-on-1 counseling session. And I was ok with that, honestly. But then my counselor tells me about this other recovery group called SMART Recovery.
They're basically an alternative to the twelve-steppers, that emphasizes scientific methods of recovery (constantly evolving as the science of recovery evolves; none of that watered-down, psuedo-JudeoChristian psychology "Higher Power" bullshit), self-empowerment as the main recovery tool (as opposed to submitting your Will and pretending to be powerless - more pseudo-JudeoChristian nonsense; and none of this Will-undermining "my addiction is a disease and I am sick and I will always be sick" crap, either), and recognizing that there is no one right way to become sober that will work for everyone - that everyone is unique and different and that each individual has their own best method of recovery - and so the key to recovery is finding your personal method and working it (which is completely in-line with the way I have lived the entire rest of my life; SMART Recovery is to traditional recovery what Chaos Magick is to traditional Western occultism - find what works best for you, and use it). They try to get at the root of addictive behavior itself and deal with that, using modern Cognitive Behavior Therapy methods, rather than focusing on the particular substance or thing one is addicted to. (SMART stands for "Self-Management And Recovery Training".) As such, they aren't just for alcoholics or drug-users, but accept any kind of addict at all. A meeting could include people ranging from alcoholics, to drug-users, to sex addicts, or gambling addicts, or hoarders, or anyone else who would fall under the category of "I'm exhibiting compulsive behavior that I would like to stop."
I was astounded that I'd never heard of this before. They sound perfectly tailored for me. I found out there's a meeting in my area, and I'm going to attend my first one next week. I'm going to try to reserve judgement, though. In my experience, things that sound too-good-to-be-true usually are. And while the base description sounds fantastic, some of the material I've found on their website absolutely screams "MOTIVATIONAL SEMINAR," and that could be a big turn-off for me. So, I'm going to keep my expectations low, attend a few of the meetings, and get a sense of what they're really like. It'd be nice if they turned out to be even half as great as they sound, and it'd be nice if I could actually get some extra help from them. But it would be just that - extra. So if they turn out to be not-quite-right for me, then oh, well. I still have no problem doing all of this on my own.
And no reason to believe that I can't.
concluded in part three tomorrow...
Friday, May 11, 2012
Hope and Regret, part 1...
(When I originally wrote this piece, it turned out to be a lot longer than I'd anticipated, and it just seemed like way too much to include in one posting. So, I've decided to break it up into three parts.)
I learned at least two really important things at my counseling session this week.
First of all, I was reminded of something that I had previously known, but apparently forgotten. That this thing I'm going through right now, this period of depression and low-energy/motivation, is a really common psycho-emotional/bio-chemical reaction in addicts, in response to a relapse. It's almost textbook. Basically, once you've sobered up a bit, then the crash from even just a little bit of use is much more pronounced, and much more noticeable. (It's always there, really - it's just that when you're getting high all the time, it's a lot harder to notice it.) And so that's what's happening with me right now.
I've learned that lesson before. I used to know this. So I kind of felt like an idiot for somehow managing to forget it. But I was also very glad to be made aware of it again. Oddly, it made me feel better somehow to know that this was a common phenomena, that many other people have gone, and are going, through it, that it's been studied and cataloged. Made me less sad about giving up what I'd lost.
Speaking of which, I was reminded of something about that, as well. That period of time in early sobriety, where life is beautiful and being clean just feels so good and everything comes so easily and naturally - that period that just ended for me after Walpurgisnacht, what I've been calling my "state of grace" - in recovery-speak, that period is called "the pink cloud." Also common, also well-studied and cataloged by men in white coats.
And also another trap. At least for me, anyways. Because, when I think about it, I realize that the pink cloud is just another high. I can see the pattern in my behavior so clearly now. I use until I get bored with it, or until it becomes so much less fun than it once was that it's no longer worth the price I'm paying for it in terms of health, energy, etc. Then I sober up and ride the pink cloud for all it's worth for as long as I can. And then as soon as that wears off, as soon as that becomes so much less fun than it once was that it's no longer worth the price I'm paying for it in terms of effort and sacrifice, then I start using again. And round and round we go on the merry-go-round of rotating knives. Basically, I've been cycling back and forth between being high on drugs, and being high on life. But no matter what, I've always been high.
So, that's what I'm trying to work on now. Breaking that cycle. And not just learning how to live a life without using, but learning how to live my life, truly sober - meaning not high on anything at all, completely regardless of whether that thing is seen as a positive or negative influence. Figuring out how to live my life completely down to earth. (And figuring out what "down to earth" even means for me.)
Takin' it back to formula.
continued in part two tomorrow...
I learned at least two really important things at my counseling session this week.
First of all, I was reminded of something that I had previously known, but apparently forgotten. That this thing I'm going through right now, this period of depression and low-energy/motivation, is a really common psycho-emotional/bio-chemical reaction in addicts, in response to a relapse. It's almost textbook. Basically, once you've sobered up a bit, then the crash from even just a little bit of use is much more pronounced, and much more noticeable. (It's always there, really - it's just that when you're getting high all the time, it's a lot harder to notice it.) And so that's what's happening with me right now.
I've learned that lesson before. I used to know this. So I kind of felt like an idiot for somehow managing to forget it. But I was also very glad to be made aware of it again. Oddly, it made me feel better somehow to know that this was a common phenomena, that many other people have gone, and are going, through it, that it's been studied and cataloged. Made me less sad about giving up what I'd lost.
Speaking of which, I was reminded of something about that, as well. That period of time in early sobriety, where life is beautiful and being clean just feels so good and everything comes so easily and naturally - that period that just ended for me after Walpurgisnacht, what I've been calling my "state of grace" - in recovery-speak, that period is called "the pink cloud." Also common, also well-studied and cataloged by men in white coats.
And also another trap. At least for me, anyways. Because, when I think about it, I realize that the pink cloud is just another high. I can see the pattern in my behavior so clearly now. I use until I get bored with it, or until it becomes so much less fun than it once was that it's no longer worth the price I'm paying for it in terms of health, energy, etc. Then I sober up and ride the pink cloud for all it's worth for as long as I can. And then as soon as that wears off, as soon as that becomes so much less fun than it once was that it's no longer worth the price I'm paying for it in terms of effort and sacrifice, then I start using again. And round and round we go on the merry-go-round of rotating knives. Basically, I've been cycling back and forth between being high on drugs, and being high on life. But no matter what, I've always been high.
So, that's what I'm trying to work on now. Breaking that cycle. And not just learning how to live a life without using, but learning how to live my life, truly sober - meaning not high on anything at all, completely regardless of whether that thing is seen as a positive or negative influence. Figuring out how to live my life completely down to earth. (And figuring out what "down to earth" even means for me.)
Takin' it back to formula.
continued in part two tomorrow...
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Kickball - Week 3...
Played against the team that's won the championship every year so far. Seems like they somehow managed to get every single athlete at my company on their team. I smell fix.
-not a single ball came anywhere near me; I could've taken a nap out there. I almost did.
-pop-fly, out
badly as that first game, though
getting in better shape, but I managed to not hurt myself this week. Thank gods for small
favors? (And ibuprofen.)
POSITION:
-Right Field, again (had my best practice by far, but still got stuck in Bumfuck, Nowhere)-not a single ball came anywhere near me; I could've taken a nap out there. I almost did.
AT THE PLATE:
-base hit (managed to get to 2nd base before we got our 3rd out)-pop-fly, out
FINAL:
-thought we had a chance until the 2nd-to-last inning, then they crushed us; still didn't lose asbadly as that first game, though
INJURIES:
-I don't know if it's because this game was so boring compared to the last two, or if I'm justgetting in better shape, but I managed to not hurt myself this week. Thank gods for small
favors? (And ibuprofen.)
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Waah...
Finally managed to make it out the door early enough this morning to get in a workout, but never actually got to work out.
I've discovered the one major flaw in my otherwise pleasant new backroad commute: accidents. On the highway, when there's an accident, it slows everything down considerably. But even if you're going much more slowly, you are still, at least, going. But on the backroad, being a mere two-lane, when there's an accident, it shuts down the entire road. On previous occasions, that has meant a sudden, unexpected detour, sending me off to gods-know-where, to try and find my way around the accident and back to my backroad, without having any clue as to where I am, or how to get where I'm going. This morning, however, it meant simply sitting in my car for forty-five minutes, not moving, listening to the radio, and watching my average miles-per-gallon tick-tick-tick steadily downwards.
In hindsight, I know that I should've spent that time enjoying the lovely scenery and the beautiful day, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to sit still and take it all in. After all, there was nothing I could do about it, so what was the point in being upset? But, honestly, that never even occurred to me. At the time, all I could think about were my plans and expectations once again being totally screwed up by random chance. It's becoming apparent that one of the many things I seem to have lost since Walpurgisnacht, is that relaxed, easy-going outlook. I keep finding myself getting more upset than I used to, more quickly and easily than I used to, and for longer stretches of time. And this is all very comfortable and familiar to me, because it's who I've been for most of my life. And while I always knew that my recently acquired state-of-grace wouldn't last forever, I thought it would last longer than it did, and that it would gradually taper off. I didn't anticipate the possibility that I would bring it to a sudden, and untimely, end.
I don't like this person I am right now very much. I like the person I've been the past few months a lot more. I'm very sad to see that person go. And even more so to know that it was my fault.
But, whatever, never mind, can't beat myself up about that. Need to try to keep moving forward, and looking on the bright side, if I'm to have any hope at all of getting that version of my Self back again. So, anyways, by the time I actually made it to the office, I no longer had time to get in a workout. But I still needed to clean myself up, as I was in my gym clothes and hadn't bothered to fix my bedhead this morning. (As mentioned previously, I'm going to work out and take a shower anyways, so why should I give a shit if I'm dressed nicely or if my hair is presentable?) So instead of a workout, I got to enjoy simply going down to the locker room, taking a quick shower, getting cleaned up and dressed, and then coming straight back to my office to start working.
And this was the part of the day I was actually looking forward to and expecting to go well. The rest of my schedule for the day looks to be no fun at all. So, here's hoping that I'm just as wrong with all of those expectations, as well, and the rest of my day turns out to be fun and exciting.
But even if not, then oh, well. There's always tomorrow.
Oh, wait. Tomorrow's kickball.
So, there's always Friday.
I've discovered the one major flaw in my otherwise pleasant new backroad commute: accidents. On the highway, when there's an accident, it slows everything down considerably. But even if you're going much more slowly, you are still, at least, going. But on the backroad, being a mere two-lane, when there's an accident, it shuts down the entire road. On previous occasions, that has meant a sudden, unexpected detour, sending me off to gods-know-where, to try and find my way around the accident and back to my backroad, without having any clue as to where I am, or how to get where I'm going. This morning, however, it meant simply sitting in my car for forty-five minutes, not moving, listening to the radio, and watching my average miles-per-gallon tick-tick-tick steadily downwards.
In hindsight, I know that I should've spent that time enjoying the lovely scenery and the beautiful day, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to sit still and take it all in. After all, there was nothing I could do about it, so what was the point in being upset? But, honestly, that never even occurred to me. At the time, all I could think about were my plans and expectations once again being totally screwed up by random chance. It's becoming apparent that one of the many things I seem to have lost since Walpurgisnacht, is that relaxed, easy-going outlook. I keep finding myself getting more upset than I used to, more quickly and easily than I used to, and for longer stretches of time. And this is all very comfortable and familiar to me, because it's who I've been for most of my life. And while I always knew that my recently acquired state-of-grace wouldn't last forever, I thought it would last longer than it did, and that it would gradually taper off. I didn't anticipate the possibility that I would bring it to a sudden, and untimely, end.
I don't like this person I am right now very much. I like the person I've been the past few months a lot more. I'm very sad to see that person go. And even more so to know that it was my fault.
But, whatever, never mind, can't beat myself up about that. Need to try to keep moving forward, and looking on the bright side, if I'm to have any hope at all of getting that version of my Self back again. So, anyways, by the time I actually made it to the office, I no longer had time to get in a workout. But I still needed to clean myself up, as I was in my gym clothes and hadn't bothered to fix my bedhead this morning. (As mentioned previously, I'm going to work out and take a shower anyways, so why should I give a shit if I'm dressed nicely or if my hair is presentable?) So instead of a workout, I got to enjoy simply going down to the locker room, taking a quick shower, getting cleaned up and dressed, and then coming straight back to my office to start working.
And this was the part of the day I was actually looking forward to and expecting to go well. The rest of my schedule for the day looks to be no fun at all. So, here's hoping that I'm just as wrong with all of those expectations, as well, and the rest of my day turns out to be fun and exciting.
But even if not, then oh, well. There's always tomorrow.
Oh, wait. Tomorrow's kickball.
So, there's always Friday.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Letting Go With The Flow...
Still really tired. Still no energy or motivation.
At least I made it to work today. Never made it to the gym, though.
Tomorrow's going to be a long day. I have a lot of work to do, and I have to leave early to make my addiction therapy session. And then I have a condo board meeting when I get home.
I'm trying not to worry about things I can't control. I'm trying not to think about it. I'm trying to just keep my head down and barrel forward and get it over and done with.
And I'm trying to follow Rule #32. I'll be home with Her in just an hour or so. I know I'll be able to find something in that to feel good about.
ADDENDUM: what's the Brightside here? I need to find the Brightside.
At least I made it to work today. Never made it to the gym, though.
Tomorrow's going to be a long day. I have a lot of work to do, and I have to leave early to make my addiction therapy session. And then I have a condo board meeting when I get home.
I'm trying not to worry about things I can't control. I'm trying not to think about it. I'm trying to just keep my head down and barrel forward and get it over and done with.
And I'm trying to follow Rule #32. I'll be home with Her in just an hour or so. I know I'll be able to find something in that to feel good about.
ADDENDUM: what's the Brightside here? I need to find the Brightside.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Down The Energy Drain...
I'm worried that I might've fucked things up for myself.
Ever since Walpurgisnacht, I've felt different. Little to no energy, or drive. No desire to do any of the things I've been getting so much joy and satisfaction out of recently: I don't want to do my mathematics lessons, I don't want to meditate, I don't want to work out, I don't want to read, I don't want to clean the house or run errands, I don't want to write in this blog, and so on. All I've wanted to do is watch TV, play video games, and sleep. And get high. My desire to get high has been a lot stronger since that night. I guess that's to be expected. But I honestly didn't expect such a drastic change in the rest of my personality, though. I guess that was pretty naive of me.
It's not just that I've felt differently since then. It's that I've felt exactly the way I usually feel when I'm using. The sleeping all the time, and the lack of drive to do anything productive that requires energy, are exactly how I usually feel when I'm using. In fact, I'm only realizing it now, but it all comes down to energy. When I'm using, I'm always tired, so anything that requires an expenditure of energy seems like too much work. So I end up not wanting to do anything that seems at all like work, and all I want to do is sit around and stimulate myself with TV and video games, and the occasional bath. But when I'm sober, I have a lot more energy, and so I can do all these things I want to do, and they feel almost effortless, and in the end I still have energy to spare. So, right now, I'm suffering from the same lack of energy and drive that I get when I'm using, but I don't even have the pleasure of using to offset the crappiness of feeling like a useless slug.
I'm really worried about this. I mean, on one hand, I've been through this before. On the other hand, this was exactly what I was trying to avoid. I know that I can change my behavior, I can stop fucking around and go back to doing all the healthy and productive things I was doing before Walpurgisnacht. So, it's not my actions that I'm worried about. (Those just make me feel stupid and weak.) No, my big fear is that even if I start doing all those healthy, productive things again, I won't feel the same way about them anymore.
I'm worried that I won't feel excited about them anymore. That I won't find the same joy in them anymore. That they'll just continue to feel like work, like something I have to do because I know I'm supposed to, instead of just being the things I want to do, the way they used to be. I'm worried that I won't get my energy back. I'm worried that I fucked myself up permanently. I'm worried that they'll never feel effortless that way again.
I'm worried that I'm going through this now, and a lot sooner than I anticipated.
I'm really worried, and I feel really ashamed, but I don't think there's any point in allowing myself to feel either of those things. If given the opportunity to do things differently, I wouldn't. I'd still celebrate Walpurgisnacht in the same way, because that experience taught me valuable lessons I wouldn't have learned any other way. Including this lesson here. I need to know what all the negative and unpleasant consequences of using again are, in order to keep me from using next time. If I didn't know - if I wondered, "what would happen if I just had a little?" - then I'm more likely to give in to that temptation. But now I know the price I will have to pay if I do that, and that's a big deterrent.
And I don't think there's any point in worrying about it, either. Not yet, anyways. Maybe I'll be able to get that energy and that enthusiasm for these productive activities back again. Maybe I won't. But the only way to determine that will be to get up and do them, and keep doing them for a while. Then see how I feel in a couple of weeks. Then deal with whatever I'm feeling then. But there's no point in worrying about it now, because there's no way to know what to expect. It could go either way.
Still, I can't shake the feeling that I've lost something really special. And that I won't ever find it again. And I keep finding myself feeling really sad about that.
But, for now, I'm just going to try not to think about that. I don't see that I have much choice.
Just get up, and do the work.
And keep doing it.
And hope it stops feeling like work.
Ever since Walpurgisnacht, I've felt different. Little to no energy, or drive. No desire to do any of the things I've been getting so much joy and satisfaction out of recently: I don't want to do my mathematics lessons, I don't want to meditate, I don't want to work out, I don't want to read, I don't want to clean the house or run errands, I don't want to write in this blog, and so on. All I've wanted to do is watch TV, play video games, and sleep. And get high. My desire to get high has been a lot stronger since that night. I guess that's to be expected. But I honestly didn't expect such a drastic change in the rest of my personality, though. I guess that was pretty naive of me.
It's not just that I've felt differently since then. It's that I've felt exactly the way I usually feel when I'm using. The sleeping all the time, and the lack of drive to do anything productive that requires energy, are exactly how I usually feel when I'm using. In fact, I'm only realizing it now, but it all comes down to energy. When I'm using, I'm always tired, so anything that requires an expenditure of energy seems like too much work. So I end up not wanting to do anything that seems at all like work, and all I want to do is sit around and stimulate myself with TV and video games, and the occasional bath. But when I'm sober, I have a lot more energy, and so I can do all these things I want to do, and they feel almost effortless, and in the end I still have energy to spare. So, right now, I'm suffering from the same lack of energy and drive that I get when I'm using, but I don't even have the pleasure of using to offset the crappiness of feeling like a useless slug.
I'm really worried about this. I mean, on one hand, I've been through this before. On the other hand, this was exactly what I was trying to avoid. I know that I can change my behavior, I can stop fucking around and go back to doing all the healthy and productive things I was doing before Walpurgisnacht. So, it's not my actions that I'm worried about. (Those just make me feel stupid and weak.) No, my big fear is that even if I start doing all those healthy, productive things again, I won't feel the same way about them anymore.
I'm worried that I won't feel excited about them anymore. That I won't find the same joy in them anymore. That they'll just continue to feel like work, like something I have to do because I know I'm supposed to, instead of just being the things I want to do, the way they used to be. I'm worried that I won't get my energy back. I'm worried that I fucked myself up permanently. I'm worried that they'll never feel effortless that way again.
I'm worried that I'm going through this now, and a lot sooner than I anticipated.
I'm really worried, and I feel really ashamed, but I don't think there's any point in allowing myself to feel either of those things. If given the opportunity to do things differently, I wouldn't. I'd still celebrate Walpurgisnacht in the same way, because that experience taught me valuable lessons I wouldn't have learned any other way. Including this lesson here. I need to know what all the negative and unpleasant consequences of using again are, in order to keep me from using next time. If I didn't know - if I wondered, "what would happen if I just had a little?" - then I'm more likely to give in to that temptation. But now I know the price I will have to pay if I do that, and that's a big deterrent.
And I don't think there's any point in worrying about it, either. Not yet, anyways. Maybe I'll be able to get that energy and that enthusiasm for these productive activities back again. Maybe I won't. But the only way to determine that will be to get up and do them, and keep doing them for a while. Then see how I feel in a couple of weeks. Then deal with whatever I'm feeling then. But there's no point in worrying about it now, because there's no way to know what to expect. It could go either way.
Still, I can't shake the feeling that I've lost something really special. And that I won't ever find it again. And I keep finding myself feeling really sad about that.
But, for now, I'm just going to try not to think about that. I don't see that I have much choice.
Just get up, and do the work.
And keep doing it.
And hope it stops feeling like work.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Damn, That Slope Sure Is Slippery...
I think I fell off the wagon last night.
No, that's not right. I know I fell off the wagon last night. Just hard to say it, is all.
She and I and her friend went out to our bar. I had my first non-alcoholic beer. I assumed that would be safe. It was even recommended to me as an option by my chemical dependency therapist. But the weirdest thing happened.
I got a little drunk!
There's this feeling you get when you first take a drink. It's more emotional and perceptual than physical; not like getting high. It's just this feeling of suddenly being happier, more relaxed, more interested in what other people are saying, feeling more outgoing and talkative. And it's an immediate reaction - you can feel it after just a few sips. And it's more pronounced and obvious for alcoholics like myself. Anyone can notice it, but it's really, really obvious to us.
And halfway through my first supposedly non-alcoholic beer, I felt it, clear as day. It must've been the Placebo Effect, there's no other explanation for it. After that one, I had two more, and thankfully, the feeling never went any further than that, but still, that was enough. Even just the beginning of the feeling of getting drunk was apparently enough to trigger me.
After we left the bar, my leg was really killing me. So I decided to take a pain pill. It's hard to say how much of that was legitimate and how much of it was just my desire to continue the feeling of getting high that had started with the near-beer. Yeah, my leg hurt really badly, but I probably could've suffered through it if I really wanted to. And there's no mistaking that I really did want very badly to get high right then. More so than I have in recent memory, actually. So, if I'm honest, I'd have to say that the sore leg was probably just a convenient excuse.
We got home, I took my pill, and the girls went back out again to hit another bar. I plopped down on the couch and started playing video games. It took almost two hours for the pill to kick in, but when it did, it felt like a long, low-intensity, sustained orgasm. Less than thirty minutes later, I took another one. And then I started drinking an energy drink, so that I wouldn't pass out and could stay up and enjoy the pleasure of the pills all night long. This is one of my favorites of my old ways to masturbate myself to death. I call it my "poor man's speedball."
In the span of three hours, I had gone from comfortably sober, to neck-deep in the exact same hole I almost died in just two months ago.
And I didn't even feel guilty about it. I enjoyed every second of it, playing my game and feeling so fantastic, until I finally started to nod off around 3 a.m.
And I still don't feel guilty about it, which I think is even scarier. I feel responsible, to be sure, but not guilty. I feel like I did this to myself, but somehow, I also feel like it was an honest mistake. (WTF??) I had no way of knowing that drinking a motherfucking non-alcoholic beer could possibly affect me in a way that was so unbelievably similar to drinking an actual beer. Yes, I totally let my guard down, and ended up fucking myself because of it, but I really don't think I could've possibly known that I needed to have my guard up in that situation. I mean, it's non-alcoholic beer, for fuck's sake! Its entire purpose is for alcoholics to be able to drink it safely! How could I have possibly known?! Yes, it's still my fault for taking it much, much further after that. But that's how addiction works. Addicts aren't like "normal" people. An addict can't just have a little taste and then simply walk away. That's what makes them an addict. And last night, I had a little taste, without realizing it until it was too late, and I wasn't at all prepared for it. And then I couldn't walk away.
I feel like I should be beating myself up about this. Feeling like a failure. But I know that's a trap. You let yourself feel like a failure, or get down on yourself too much for not being perfect, and then it's just a short step to saying, "Fuck it, why even bother?" Addicts relapse. That's just a fact. And believe it or not, the healthy response to relapse is to accept it, dust yourself off, and climb back on the wagon, resolved to hang on tighter next time. Accept responsibility, yes - but don't hate on yourself for not being perfect. Just try again, and try harder.
Learn the lesson and keep going.
I ended up not being able to sleep at all last night. And I mean that literally and sincerely - I laid in bed, awake, and gloriously high, for six hours, and did not fall asleep for even a moment. Whether from the pills or the energy drink, I can't say. It could be either. But I'm choosing to interpret it as my penance. And I'm accepting it gladly, and with humility. (I hope so, anyways. I'm trying.)
And I know one thing for certain: I'll never take non-alcoholic beer lightly again.
No, that's not right. I know I fell off the wagon last night. Just hard to say it, is all.
She and I and her friend went out to our bar. I had my first non-alcoholic beer. I assumed that would be safe. It was even recommended to me as an option by my chemical dependency therapist. But the weirdest thing happened.
I got a little drunk!
There's this feeling you get when you first take a drink. It's more emotional and perceptual than physical; not like getting high. It's just this feeling of suddenly being happier, more relaxed, more interested in what other people are saying, feeling more outgoing and talkative. And it's an immediate reaction - you can feel it after just a few sips. And it's more pronounced and obvious for alcoholics like myself. Anyone can notice it, but it's really, really obvious to us.
And halfway through my first supposedly non-alcoholic beer, I felt it, clear as day. It must've been the Placebo Effect, there's no other explanation for it. After that one, I had two more, and thankfully, the feeling never went any further than that, but still, that was enough. Even just the beginning of the feeling of getting drunk was apparently enough to trigger me.
After we left the bar, my leg was really killing me. So I decided to take a pain pill. It's hard to say how much of that was legitimate and how much of it was just my desire to continue the feeling of getting high that had started with the near-beer. Yeah, my leg hurt really badly, but I probably could've suffered through it if I really wanted to. And there's no mistaking that I really did want very badly to get high right then. More so than I have in recent memory, actually. So, if I'm honest, I'd have to say that the sore leg was probably just a convenient excuse.
We got home, I took my pill, and the girls went back out again to hit another bar. I plopped down on the couch and started playing video games. It took almost two hours for the pill to kick in, but when it did, it felt like a long, low-intensity, sustained orgasm. Less than thirty minutes later, I took another one. And then I started drinking an energy drink, so that I wouldn't pass out and could stay up and enjoy the pleasure of the pills all night long. This is one of my favorites of my old ways to masturbate myself to death. I call it my "poor man's speedball."
In the span of three hours, I had gone from comfortably sober, to neck-deep in the exact same hole I almost died in just two months ago.
And I didn't even feel guilty about it. I enjoyed every second of it, playing my game and feeling so fantastic, until I finally started to nod off around 3 a.m.
And I still don't feel guilty about it, which I think is even scarier. I feel responsible, to be sure, but not guilty. I feel like I did this to myself, but somehow, I also feel like it was an honest mistake. (WTF??) I had no way of knowing that drinking a motherfucking non-alcoholic beer could possibly affect me in a way that was so unbelievably similar to drinking an actual beer. Yes, I totally let my guard down, and ended up fucking myself because of it, but I really don't think I could've possibly known that I needed to have my guard up in that situation. I mean, it's non-alcoholic beer, for fuck's sake! Its entire purpose is for alcoholics to be able to drink it safely! How could I have possibly known?! Yes, it's still my fault for taking it much, much further after that. But that's how addiction works. Addicts aren't like "normal" people. An addict can't just have a little taste and then simply walk away. That's what makes them an addict. And last night, I had a little taste, without realizing it until it was too late, and I wasn't at all prepared for it. And then I couldn't walk away.
I feel like I should be beating myself up about this. Feeling like a failure. But I know that's a trap. You let yourself feel like a failure, or get down on yourself too much for not being perfect, and then it's just a short step to saying, "Fuck it, why even bother?" Addicts relapse. That's just a fact. And believe it or not, the healthy response to relapse is to accept it, dust yourself off, and climb back on the wagon, resolved to hang on tighter next time. Accept responsibility, yes - but don't hate on yourself for not being perfect. Just try again, and try harder.
Learn the lesson and keep going.
I ended up not being able to sleep at all last night. And I mean that literally and sincerely - I laid in bed, awake, and gloriously high, for six hours, and did not fall asleep for even a moment. Whether from the pills or the energy drink, I can't say. It could be either. But I'm choosing to interpret it as my penance. And I'm accepting it gladly, and with humility. (I hope so, anyways. I'm trying.)
And I know one thing for certain: I'll never take non-alcoholic beer lightly again.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Post Title Here...
Now is my time to write.
I've got another hour or two left at work, and nothing to do. And when I get home I will be busy with other things. So, now is my time to write. But I don't feel anything to write about just now.
I've got a list of twenty ideas for things to write about. Ideas or topics I want to explore, funny or poignant or interesting stories from my life I want to tell, that kind of thing. All there for an occasion just such as this, where I need to write, but I'm uninspired, or out of ideas. But I look at that list, and I'm still not feeling anything. Sure, there are things on there that I could write about. But if I don't feel inspired to write about them at that moment, if I don't feel a need or a pull to tell this-story-right-here-right-now, then I don't want to write it. I want to do a good job telling these stories, and writing these essays. They mean something to me, and I don't want to just toss off something mediocre simply because I couldn't come up with a better idea at the time. That feels like a waste. So, even though I've saved these ideas for times just like this, I'm finding that I can't actually use them for times like this.
Ok, so, what else, then? I guess I have no choice but to do what I'm doing now - basically writing out the internal monologue I'm experiencing regarding the process I'm currently going through. Not quite stream-of-conciousness, but still a think-it-then-write-it kind of situation.
Wow. Thrillsville.
So, what else?
My boss and I have been limping around the office like Jerry's Kids all day today. But at least he's got an excuse - he's fifteen years older than I am, and he played a double-header last night! I, on the other hand, nearly break my hip just trying to run to first base. I guess that's what fifteen years of sitting on your ass getting stoned will get you.
She's going out with one her girlfriends tonight. (Actually, to be truthful, her only girlfriend. But that's ok - it's still one more friend than I've got.) They're going to hit some bars and get drunk and try to enjoy themselves while fending off the drunk old men who see them as An Opportunity. Afterwards, her friend will be spending the night at our place. Which will be weird for me, because it means I will have to wear pants.
I'm looking forward to having some time alone tonight, actually. I've enjoyed having Her home lately, no doubt about that. But I must admit I've also missed the little pieces of time to myself that I used to get each week. So, having a few hours to be home by myself will be nice. I plan to spend the time playing video games. While not wearing pants.
Reading all of this, it strikes me as sounding really pathetic and lonely and sad. So let me just clarify that I'm not in any way upset right now. Not at all. I feel fine. Not great, but perfectly alright. Not jumping off the walls with excitement or anything, but I'm not depressed or upset at all, either. Just killing some time until I can go home for the weekend. Just calling it like I see it. Just my usual brand of casually brutal honesty. (Focused inward, as is so often the case. She thinks I'm too hard on her sometimes, and I often wonder if she has any idea how much harder I always am on myself.)
On a brighter note, we're going to see The Avengers tomorrow night. In IMAX 3D. Something I've been excited about, to an unhealthy degree, for literally years. We went to see Thor and Captain America almost entirely because we considered them to be essentially prequels to The Avengers. Afterwards, we're going to go out to a late dinner somewhere and geek out over the movie we've just seen. Which is still one of my all-time favorite things in the world to do with Her. And I'm going to order a Shirley Temple, and try to enjoy feeling ten years-old again.
Shouldn't be that hard, if I'm honest. I barely feel post-pubescent as it is.
Maybe she'll let me kiss her when I take her home after dinner.
And maybe, just maybe, if I'm really, really lucky, she'll let me touch her boobies.
A boy can dream...
I've got another hour or two left at work, and nothing to do. And when I get home I will be busy with other things. So, now is my time to write. But I don't feel anything to write about just now.
I've got a list of twenty ideas for things to write about. Ideas or topics I want to explore, funny or poignant or interesting stories from my life I want to tell, that kind of thing. All there for an occasion just such as this, where I need to write, but I'm uninspired, or out of ideas. But I look at that list, and I'm still not feeling anything. Sure, there are things on there that I could write about. But if I don't feel inspired to write about them at that moment, if I don't feel a need or a pull to tell this-story-right-here-right-now, then I don't want to write it. I want to do a good job telling these stories, and writing these essays. They mean something to me, and I don't want to just toss off something mediocre simply because I couldn't come up with a better idea at the time. That feels like a waste. So, even though I've saved these ideas for times just like this, I'm finding that I can't actually use them for times like this.
Ok, so, what else, then? I guess I have no choice but to do what I'm doing now - basically writing out the internal monologue I'm experiencing regarding the process I'm currently going through. Not quite stream-of-conciousness, but still a think-it-then-write-it kind of situation.
Wow. Thrillsville.
So, what else?
My boss and I have been limping around the office like Jerry's Kids all day today. But at least he's got an excuse - he's fifteen years older than I am, and he played a double-header last night! I, on the other hand, nearly break my hip just trying to run to first base. I guess that's what fifteen years of sitting on your ass getting stoned will get you.
She's going out with one her girlfriends tonight. (Actually, to be truthful, her only girlfriend. But that's ok - it's still one more friend than I've got.) They're going to hit some bars and get drunk and try to enjoy themselves while fending off the drunk old men who see them as An Opportunity. Afterwards, her friend will be spending the night at our place. Which will be weird for me, because it means I will have to wear pants.
I'm looking forward to having some time alone tonight, actually. I've enjoyed having Her home lately, no doubt about that. But I must admit I've also missed the little pieces of time to myself that I used to get each week. So, having a few hours to be home by myself will be nice. I plan to spend the time playing video games. While not wearing pants.
Reading all of this, it strikes me as sounding really pathetic and lonely and sad. So let me just clarify that I'm not in any way upset right now. Not at all. I feel fine. Not great, but perfectly alright. Not jumping off the walls with excitement or anything, but I'm not depressed or upset at all, either. Just killing some time until I can go home for the weekend. Just calling it like I see it. Just my usual brand of casually brutal honesty. (Focused inward, as is so often the case. She thinks I'm too hard on her sometimes, and I often wonder if she has any idea how much harder I always am on myself.)
On a brighter note, we're going to see The Avengers tomorrow night. In IMAX 3D. Something I've been excited about, to an unhealthy degree, for literally years. We went to see Thor and Captain America almost entirely because we considered them to be essentially prequels to The Avengers. Afterwards, we're going to go out to a late dinner somewhere and geek out over the movie we've just seen. Which is still one of my all-time favorite things in the world to do with Her. And I'm going to order a Shirley Temple, and try to enjoy feeling ten years-old again.
Shouldn't be that hard, if I'm honest. I barely feel post-pubescent as it is.
Maybe she'll let me kiss her when I take her home after dinner.
And maybe, just maybe, if I'm really, really lucky, she'll let me touch her boobies.
A boy can dream...
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Kickball - Week 2...
Had a lot more players on both teams this week. Thought that would make more of a difference than it actually did.
field again)
-my boss kicked a pop-fly straight to me, and I totally could've caught it, if it hadn't been falling
directly out of the Sun. I was so blinded, I couldn't judge the distance between myself and the
ball in the slightest. As a result, I completely missed it, the ball hit the ground in front of me,
and then bounced over my head. The guy who was playing "Actual" Left Field had to get it for
me. As a result of my error, my boss got a standing double, and eventually scored.
-base hit (made it to third base on the next two kicks, but then we got our 3rd out to end the
inning just as I was running home; so I got to hurt myself running all the bases, but never
actually got to score a run.)
happened.
-shin splints
-sore hip joint
-pulled thigh muscle (back of the thigh, above the knee - is this the hamstring?)
POSITION:
-"Other" Left Field (so many players, we had to double up in the field; at least I wasn't Rightfield again)
-my boss kicked a pop-fly straight to me, and I totally could've caught it, if it hadn't been falling
directly out of the Sun. I was so blinded, I couldn't judge the distance between myself and the
ball in the slightest. As a result, I completely missed it, the ball hit the ground in front of me,
and then bounced over my head. The guy who was playing "Actual" Left Field had to get it for
me. As a result of my error, my boss got a standing double, and eventually scored.
AT THE PLATE:
-pop-fly, out-base hit (made it to third base on the next two kicks, but then we got our 3rd out to end the
inning just as I was running home; so I got to hurt myself running all the bases, but never
actually got to score a run.)
FINAL:
-we actually won - and by more than we lost last week! I'm still not entirely sure how thathappened.
INJURIES:
-My entire right leg is basically fucked:-shin splints
-sore hip joint
-pulled thigh muscle (back of the thigh, above the knee - is this the hamstring?)
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Holiday Post...
Finally missed a post.
I took May Day off from all responsibility. Just wanted to relax and enjoy ourselves, and not have to worry about doing anything other than what we wanted. And yesterday was one of those days where writing something felt more like an obligation than anything else, so I took the day off. Kinda sad for the loss of my perfect record, but other than that I don't feel bad about it. We'll see if it turns out to be the beginning of a downward slide, though.
Walpurgisnacht went well. We had a fun time, and we had it together, which was really nice. But there was nothing profound or life-changing about the experience, sadly. Well, maybe there was one thing.
I kept getting this feeling throughout the night. This feeling that this was my last trip. Or, one of the last, at least. I just kept feeling, "I'm done. I've done this. It's fun and everything, but I'm not getting anything out of it anymore. It's become more work than it's worth. I've put this tool to good use throughout my life, and it's helped me a great deal. Helped me to become the person I am today. But I don't think I have any use for this tool anymore. I think it has served its purpose, and it's time for me to do other things."
Maybe that's why I felt so strongly that I had to do it this one last time, even though it seemed so counter-indicated. And regardless, maybe it'd be healthy for me to think of it that way.
I can't wait to see what this next year brings.
I took May Day off from all responsibility. Just wanted to relax and enjoy ourselves, and not have to worry about doing anything other than what we wanted. And yesterday was one of those days where writing something felt more like an obligation than anything else, so I took the day off. Kinda sad for the loss of my perfect record, but other than that I don't feel bad about it. We'll see if it turns out to be the beginning of a downward slide, though.
Walpurgisnacht went well. We had a fun time, and we had it together, which was really nice. But there was nothing profound or life-changing about the experience, sadly. Well, maybe there was one thing.
I kept getting this feeling throughout the night. This feeling that this was my last trip. Or, one of the last, at least. I just kept feeling, "I'm done. I've done this. It's fun and everything, but I'm not getting anything out of it anymore. It's become more work than it's worth. I've put this tool to good use throughout my life, and it's helped me a great deal. Helped me to become the person I am today. But I don't think I have any use for this tool anymore. I think it has served its purpose, and it's time for me to do other things."
Maybe that's why I felt so strongly that I had to do it this one last time, even though it seemed so counter-indicated. And regardless, maybe it'd be healthy for me to think of it that way.
I can't wait to see what this next year brings.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Göd Hexennacht...
Walpurgisnacht begins at Sunset. And I have to say, I'm a little nervous.
Maybe "nervous" isn't the right word. Maybe "anxious" would describe it better. I know that "worried" isn't correct. Because it's not that I'm concerned that anything bad will happen. It's just that I don't know what to expect. I know that something big will happen, and that I will be very different tomorrow than I am today, but I don't have a clear idea how, exactly. And that fear of the unknown, combined with the anticipation of the event itself, always gives me a bit of a "butterflies in the tummy" feeling beforehand. It's also a feeling of exhilaration, which is, of course, almost indistinguishable from anxiety. I guess we sometimes refer to this feeling as "nerves" or "jitters."
I'm also a bit more excited than usual this time around, because there are some bigger things going on this year than usual. This night will mark the beginning of a year-long period of monasticism and self-sacrifice for me. And while I'm looking forward to that, it's also a scary thing to face on some levels. What if I have a horrible year because of this decision? What if it's too hard? What if it's too painful? What if I fail?
But there's joy to balance that out, as well. An unexpected benefit of Her recent unemployment, is that she is now free to celebrate with me tonight. Which, I have to admit, I think I'm looking forward to more than anything else. Things have been weird, and kind of difficult, and distant, and more than a little unpleasant between us for a while now. I've changed a lot, suddenly and drastically, in the past couple of months. And that's a hard thing to adjust to - when your partner is suddenly such a completely different person. And especially so if adjusting doesn't happen to be one of your strong suits. I imagine she must feel pretty lonely right now. And the particular ways in which I've changed haven't exactly made me easier to live with, either. Though maybe "easy" isn't the right word. I don't know. I definitely don't think I'm as much fun as a I used to be, that's for sure.
So, I'm finding that I'm really, really excited about sharing this experience with her tonight. Excited by the possibility of re-connecting with her in some way, in any way, beyond the merely superficial mechanics of our cohabitation. Of sharing ourselves, again, in a poignant and reflective space, in a true and meaningful way. I know that we will both be happier after tonight. And I have the expectation that we will be happier in a specific way, but I'm also aware that isn't necessarily true - it could go either way. But whether the experience brings us closer together, or drives us further apart, I know that we will both feel better about our selves, and about each other.
Will us Luck. Göd Hexennacht and Happy May to you all. Be safe tonight.
We'll see you on the other side.
Maybe "nervous" isn't the right word. Maybe "anxious" would describe it better. I know that "worried" isn't correct. Because it's not that I'm concerned that anything bad will happen. It's just that I don't know what to expect. I know that something big will happen, and that I will be very different tomorrow than I am today, but I don't have a clear idea how, exactly. And that fear of the unknown, combined with the anticipation of the event itself, always gives me a bit of a "butterflies in the tummy" feeling beforehand. It's also a feeling of exhilaration, which is, of course, almost indistinguishable from anxiety. I guess we sometimes refer to this feeling as "nerves" or "jitters."
I'm also a bit more excited than usual this time around, because there are some bigger things going on this year than usual. This night will mark the beginning of a year-long period of monasticism and self-sacrifice for me. And while I'm looking forward to that, it's also a scary thing to face on some levels. What if I have a horrible year because of this decision? What if it's too hard? What if it's too painful? What if I fail?
But there's joy to balance that out, as well. An unexpected benefit of Her recent unemployment, is that she is now free to celebrate with me tonight. Which, I have to admit, I think I'm looking forward to more than anything else. Things have been weird, and kind of difficult, and distant, and more than a little unpleasant between us for a while now. I've changed a lot, suddenly and drastically, in the past couple of months. And that's a hard thing to adjust to - when your partner is suddenly such a completely different person. And especially so if adjusting doesn't happen to be one of your strong suits. I imagine she must feel pretty lonely right now. And the particular ways in which I've changed haven't exactly made me easier to live with, either. Though maybe "easy" isn't the right word. I don't know. I definitely don't think I'm as much fun as a I used to be, that's for sure.
So, I'm finding that I'm really, really excited about sharing this experience with her tonight. Excited by the possibility of re-connecting with her in some way, in any way, beyond the merely superficial mechanics of our cohabitation. Of sharing ourselves, again, in a poignant and reflective space, in a true and meaningful way. I know that we will both be happier after tonight. And I have the expectation that we will be happier in a specific way, but I'm also aware that isn't necessarily true - it could go either way. But whether the experience brings us closer together, or drives us further apart, I know that we will both feel better about our selves, and about each other.
Will us Luck. Göd Hexennacht and Happy May to you all. Be safe tonight.
We'll see you on the other side.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Sunday Meditation...
Been real busy this week, for so many different reasons, so haven't had a lot of time to meditate.
The one time I did, it didn't go well. And then I was out running errands all day yesterday and barely had any time at home at all. So I definitely wanted to take advantage of the opportunity today. It's beautiful outside, and we have all of our windows open, letting in the sunlight, and a crisp, fragrant Spring breeze. Just being home is almost meditative right now.
But, still, I felt myself getting lazy. I just wanted to watch TV. Maybe play some video games, or take a bath and read. I didn't get a chance to do my mathematics lesson this morning like I usually do, and part of me was telling myself that my time would be better spent on that, or some other more stimulating activity than simply sitting and breathing. But nonetheless, I pushed all of those thoughts aside. I could feel inside of myself, a sense of being out of balance. I've been busy doing and thinking a lot lately, really getting lost in my head. Somewhere inside, I could tell that what I needed right now was to give that part of me a break, and let my heart and my gut take over for a while. I could feel that sense of flow inside of me, pulling me towards my cushions, and my altar, and a brief period of peace.
As always, I'm glad I followed my Tao. It was just what I needed.
What I realize as I observe this, is the Tao of Listening Inside.
In every situation, we already know what to do. Even when we don't. The answer to every question is already inside of us. When we don't know what to do, it is only because there is too much noise in the way. If we can only learn to be quiet, and listen, then we will hear - and we will know.
In stillness and peace, the Path becomes clear. And so we can choose to follow it.
The one time I did, it didn't go well. And then I was out running errands all day yesterday and barely had any time at home at all. So I definitely wanted to take advantage of the opportunity today. It's beautiful outside, and we have all of our windows open, letting in the sunlight, and a crisp, fragrant Spring breeze. Just being home is almost meditative right now.
But, still, I felt myself getting lazy. I just wanted to watch TV. Maybe play some video games, or take a bath and read. I didn't get a chance to do my mathematics lesson this morning like I usually do, and part of me was telling myself that my time would be better spent on that, or some other more stimulating activity than simply sitting and breathing. But nonetheless, I pushed all of those thoughts aside. I could feel inside of myself, a sense of being out of balance. I've been busy doing and thinking a lot lately, really getting lost in my head. Somewhere inside, I could tell that what I needed right now was to give that part of me a break, and let my heart and my gut take over for a while. I could feel that sense of flow inside of me, pulling me towards my cushions, and my altar, and a brief period of peace.
As always, I'm glad I followed my Tao. It was just what I needed.
What I realize as I observe this, is the Tao of Listening Inside.
In every situation, we already know what to do. Even when we don't. The answer to every question is already inside of us. When we don't know what to do, it is only because there is too much noise in the way. If we can only learn to be quiet, and listen, then we will hear - and we will know.
In stillness and peace, the Path becomes clear. And so we can choose to follow it.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Rule #32...
We finally have our internet back.
And I managed to get a post up today! It's not much, but, still, I managed not to miss a day. And that's something.
Woo-hoo!
And I managed to get a post up today! It's not much, but, still, I managed not to miss a day. And that's something.
Woo-hoo!
Friday, April 27, 2012
Kickball - Week 1...
Played our season opener last night against the #2 ranked team in the league.
-only action I saw was a ball that bounced over the short-stop's head. Once I got the ball, I
couldn't throw it far enough to get it all the way to home plate to stop the incoming run.
-base hit (next kicker got tagged out to end the inning, so I never made it to 2nd base)
-shin splints
-sore hip joint
-sore quad muscles
POSITION:
-Right Field (of course - I wanted catcher, but they gave that to the 60 year-old guy with a limp)-only action I saw was a ball that bounced over the short-stop's head. Once I got the ball, I
couldn't throw it far enough to get it all the way to home plate to stop the incoming run.
AT THE PLATE:
-pop-fly, out-base hit (next kicker got tagged out to end the inning, so I never made it to 2nd base)
FINAL:
-we lost, badly - it was like the Bad News Bears out there, y'allINJURIES:
-pulled back muscle-shin splints
-sore hip joint
-sore quad muscles
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