I'm too tired to fight. I give up. Not "surrender," notice, but I give up. I realize that I'm always in a defensive mode, I am always prepared for a fight, I frame what's happening in my life as a "me versus just-about-anyone" scenario. And today, just feeling sooooooo tired, and walking two happy girls down the street before I hit the gym, I decided to give up. "Made a decision." I thought about it and went, OK, I'm making the decision. I'm tired of fighting. I'll believe all this shit instead of rummaging around in my box of problems and challenges.
So here it is: I can tick off the "Uh-hunh" box for Powerless over alcohol. Life unmanageable. Came to believe that a Power greater than me, which includes the TTC, pickle jars, wind, and my cat, could restore me to sanity. (I will note here that the power i'm holding out hope for is a practising and practical faith in buddhism, which has no deity, yo). AND made a decision, to turn my will and life over to... Hey Siddharta, you there? Didn't think so. But that still works.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
that certain recovery program
Two and a half months back in.
My heart is not in it but my head tells me to keep going. I asked someone to be my temporary sponsor two weeks ago, and she told me to start writing about this. About my "recovery." I told her I don't write unless I'm getting paid. I resisted. One of the few things I can resist, I suppose - being told what to do, even if it might be good for me. The fact is, I'm fucking lazy, and I just want Recovery to come to me nice and easy like it did the first time i came in some fifteen, sixteen years ago.
But Recovery is not cooperating.
I am staying sober one day at a time (argh! a slogan!) and if I wasn't on anti-depressants I don't think that particular rubric would work, but the memory of that last horrible horrible hangover, courtesy of Celexa, keeps me out of trouble for now. I think about having a drink nearly every day. I think about calling the dealer a couple times a week. I don't do these things. I go to meetings and bitch about how hard it is and I actually call my temporary sponsor almost daily, which is something I never did in the past when I was a shining example of sobriety, and I am aware that I am aware of the need to work at this because it is not just coming to me this time. If I don't want to fuck up my life completely, I'm actually going to have to work at this.
And powerlift a shitload of disbelief.
My heart is not in it but my head tells me to keep going. I asked someone to be my temporary sponsor two weeks ago, and she told me to start writing about this. About my "recovery." I told her I don't write unless I'm getting paid. I resisted. One of the few things I can resist, I suppose - being told what to do, even if it might be good for me. The fact is, I'm fucking lazy, and I just want Recovery to come to me nice and easy like it did the first time i came in some fifteen, sixteen years ago.
But Recovery is not cooperating.
I am staying sober one day at a time (argh! a slogan!) and if I wasn't on anti-depressants I don't think that particular rubric would work, but the memory of that last horrible horrible hangover, courtesy of Celexa, keeps me out of trouble for now. I think about having a drink nearly every day. I think about calling the dealer a couple times a week. I don't do these things. I go to meetings and bitch about how hard it is and I actually call my temporary sponsor almost daily, which is something I never did in the past when I was a shining example of sobriety, and I am aware that I am aware of the need to work at this because it is not just coming to me this time. If I don't want to fuck up my life completely, I'm actually going to have to work at this.
And powerlift a shitload of disbelief.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)