Another Chance

Everyone has asked, pleaded, and outright begged for another chance at some time or another. Screwing up is just part of the human experience. In my experience, addicts seem to have cornered the market when it comes to needing yet another chance. Those who have never witnessed addiction (personally or second-hand) can easily assume the addict lacks willpower, that if only she just made up her mind she could quit. I used to be one of those people. I scoffed at the notion that addiction was a legitimate disease. I used to believe that those people could stop, they just didn't want to.

God, I was so wrong. Humble pie, with or without the crow, is never easily consumed no matter how cold or warm it is.

They tell you in rehab that addiction is cycle of being unable to use (i.e., consume your drug of choice) but unable to stop. That circular reasoning can drive anyone mad: I need to stop, but I can't stop but I need to stop, but I really can't stop. Repeat that a couple thousand times a day and you get the picture. It is a cycle of insanity that the addict is powerless to break.

I recently read about "the gift of desperation". One doesn't think of desperation as a gift, but for the addict it really is. I remember that "Aha!" moment where I reached that place of desperation. It was my second night in a state-funded detox facility. I had been placed there on a psychiatric hold for losing my shit the night of my 29th birthday...the same night my mother, sister, and brother-in-law did an intervention. Needless to say, I didn't respond favorably as I ended up in a place called Lakeview Mental Health covered in dried blood and a myriad of bruises from handcuffs and my brother-in-law's (very effective) headlock. Not my finest moment.

[Side note: For the record, I think interventions can be very effective. However they can just as easily backfire and get ugly for the simple reason there isn't much reasoning to be had with a strung-out addict.]

My second night while at Lakeview I spoke on the phone with my mother. I was so, so sick. I was still fooling myself into believing I had a stomach bug. Um, hello? I was in full-blown withdrawal and sicker than a dog. While on the phone with my mom, I suddenly felt ill. With no time to make it to a bathroom I vomited right there in the hallway. There I was, laying on a dirty floor, a pool of vomit next to me. When I told one of the techs I threw up, he pointed me to the towels and instructed me to clean it up.

That was my "aha" moment. I hadn't showered in four days. I was wearing dirty clothes. My head was pounding and I was so sick I couldn't even keep anti-nausea medication down. And in the midst of all that, I was mopping up my own vomit in the dirty hallway of mental health facility that I couldn't leave. 

It was at that moment I became desperate. The scales began to crumble. I started to see what I had become, and I didn't like it. I was desperate.

What a gift that moment, that feeling, really was. I had finally reached a place where I was willing to try ANYTHING to get better. In retrospect, I am so thankful I had that moment. Little did I know at the time, but that moment became the fulcrum for my recovery. It hurt enough to elicit a desire for real change. It was my gift of desperation.

I never have thought this at that time, but I am thankful my detox experience was painful. I am thankful it was so awful. Some things need to be grim and scary and painful. Kicking an opiate habit needs to hurt.

That gift of desperation has enabled me to not only beg for another chance from those I love, it gave me the strength to stick to my recovery and stay sober. It has kept me honest and, most importantly, it has enabled my loved ones to begin to trust me again.

Desperation is a gift for the recovering addict.

The Ripple Effect

They tell you in rehab that your addiction will have lasting effects on everyone you love. You believe them, but you also feel so dedicated to changing your behaviors you can't help but hope your loved ones will see the change in you and forgive.

Sometimes that happens. Sometimes it doesn't.

They tell you that in an effort to "clean up your side of the street" you must own your shit and apologize for whatever part of the mess is yours. They also tell you that it's not your job (as the recovering addict) to help clean up the other person's side of the street. Again, you understand what that means, but sometimes you can't help but try to take on your loved one's problems out of the guilt and shame you feel.

When they tell you not to do that, believe them. You have enough shit on your side of the street, for heaven's sake don't go looking for more. I know from experience you end up making a bigger mess of things.

After I got clean I apologized to those I hurt the most: my parents, my sister, and her husband. I was living with my sister and her family when my addiction reached its boiling point. They forgave me. In fact, at first I didn't lose anyone I loved because of my problem. I was relieved. But just as recovery is a process, so is forgiveness.

Two months after I got clean, it became apparent my sister was resentful, bitter, and angry towards me. I can't blame her - I did terrible things under her roof. But her unwillingness to let things go and forgive (which she has the right to do), drove her to seek her pound of flesh from me. As a result I have lost my relationship with her.

I wish I could say it ended there, but sadly her bitterness has spilled over. She is now aiming her anger towards our mother and has nearly destroyed that relationship too. While I know I can't try to sweep her side of the street, I still feel guilty and shameful that the ripples my addiction caused are reaching my parents' relationship with my sister. My parents, especially my mom, are paying a price for my sins. They could very well pay a higher price than me considering they may not get to see their grandchildren if my sister chooses to sever ties with our parents.

They don't deserve that. They have stood by me, supported me, cheered me on, believed in me, and most shockingly they have begun to trust me again.

It's true what they say about the lasting effects addiction has on the loved ones. That is one of the most painful parts of my recovery right now: seeing with fresh eyes the damage, destruction, and chaos I caused.

I am owning my shit, each and every disgusting turd. But it kills me to watch the ones I love the most have to own it too.

Living Amends

I donated blood today. I've never done that before. Not that I hadn't tried...I was always rejected for one of the following reasons: I was underweight (god, how I wish I still had that problem), I'd recently taken antibiotics, or I'd had something pierced in the previous 12 months.

After that, any time I could've given blood, I had too much stuff in my system. Like opiates.

Giving blood today was one of my ways to make a living amend.  The past 10 months I've been rather busy taking anything and everything I can from basically anyone. Moving past that time in my life is taking time, but today - on a whim - I decided to give back.

I wanted to give a part of myself to someone I didn't know. For the first time in awhile, I've actually been healthy enough for someone to want a part of me.  It was exciting. I can't believe I was so elated over getting harpooned in the arm and drained of about a 10th of my blood.

I hope my time of only taking is over. This small thing - insignificant to everyone but me - is one of my milestones. A beautiful, bloody (okay not really, but it sounds cool) milestone.

Oh, and today is 65 days.

I want to go back

I found a bunch of old photos last weekend. Pictures of my sister and I when we were kids, pictures of me as a teenager, pictures of our family from years and years ago. Looking at those photos, I so desperately want to go back. I want to go back to those days as a carefree kid. I want to go back to my teenage years and be nicer to my parents.

I want to go back to August 2nd, 1999, the day before a good friend of mine was killed in a car accident, just to tell her how much she meant to me.

I would go back  to when we lived in Hawaii when I was eight year old just to experience my family the way it used to be. The way I used to be. Free. Content. Happy.

I would go  back to my years as a teenager and make better choices. I would cherish my time as a kid, I would be more grateful to my parents who sacrificed so much to give my sister and I a good life.

I just want to go back to being that gawky, skinny kid I used to be and for just one day be her again. Back when life was simple. Back when I didn't have to worry about things like bills and working at a job I hate.

I don't want to be me. I don't want to be here. Some days it takes all that's in me to get out of bed. Some days I don't even  want to live. I feel like I'm living a lie. I'm going through the motions...for what?

I want to go back.

21 Things I've Learned In The Past 3 Weeks.

1. I often take things way too personally.

2. My tolerance (read: gag-factor) for all things disgusting (read: cat vomit, poopy diapers) is decreasing the older I get.

3. If/when I have children, said tolerance level will make for an interesting year. Or twelve.

4. Infidelity is never justified. It's just not. If you don't like it, leave. If you feel obligated to stay, then shut up and make it work.

6. I get bored quickly when shopping for furniture.

7. Shopping with my mom is never a dull experience.

8. Item 6 + item 7 = 4 fantabulous hours with mom at Nebraska Furniture Mart.

9. I heart my new couch. And my awesome leather rug. (Will try to get a picture. It's so cool.)

10. Having a child get super-excited at your arrival, run, and leap into your arms is one of the best feelings ever. And a true hug from said child includes his legs wrapped around you middle.

11. I think we should hug like that more often. But, you know, in a non-sexual way.

12. Dentists aren't always scary. Especially when they prescribe ativan and percocet.

13. I really hate grocery shopping.

14. Without self-tanner, my skin would forever be the color of peeled chicken. (What can I say, I'm Scot-Irish.)

15. Ice cream makes everything better.

16. I do not like clutter.

17. But somehow I'm okay with a messy bathroom.

18. I love living alone. In fact, I like it so much I worry if I'll be okay with "sharing" things like the closet and the bed if I ever get married.

19. I am always amazed at the confidence my friends have in me. They often have more confidence in my abilities than I do. I'm not sure that's the way it should be.

20. Sometimes people are wrong. That's ok. Rumor has it I've been wrong a time or two. Though this rumor has yet to be confirmed.

21. When it's 108 degrees and 99% humidity, the air is so thick it must be chewed before inhaling.

Unconditional

We were having dinner. He had come to the city to help me hang some pictures and set braces for curtain rods. I had promised dinner and we needed to pick up some hooks. Panera was conveniently on the way.

He told me he wanted nothing more than for me to be happy. I quickly looked down at my soup to hide the quick tears that filled my eyes.

How do explain to your father you don't feel like you deserve happiness?

I blinked away tears and looked him in the eyes. "Nothing would bring me more joy than to see you be happy," he said.

" I know, Dad." Happiness is about a million miles away. I'll settle for "not miserable".

"You know your mother and I love you. You are such a  blessing to us. You've made us so proud."

"I know. I love you guys too." It was all I could to not cry into my soup in the middle of the restaurant.

"We just want to see you happy."

"Me too, Dad."

I don't understand how I ended up with my parents. They are wonderful people. One of the few bright spots in my life. I don't deserve them or their unconditional love. I don't understand why they love me so much or do so much for me.

A text from my father later that night said "Enjoyed the evening. I always enjoy spending time with you."

Me too, Dad. I always feel better when I spend time with you.

Always.

Yeah, Me Too...

Have you ever had something troubling you and you wanted to talk about it with someone, but you really wanted them to ask? Which means you basically expect that person to have mind-reading super powers because how the crap are they supposed to know when you've got something on your mind.

Ever started crying and can't for the life of you pin point the reason why?

Do you wonder if other people put up with you and suffer your company simply because they're too nice to tell you to go away?

Do you sometimes wonder if certain people would still be your friend even if you weren't useful or interesting to them anymore?

Have you ever claimed you're not bothered by what others say about you, but secretly you ARE bothered?

Have you ever felt something shift in a relationship and suddenly everything's different? You know it's different and yet you can't figure out why it happened or how to fix it. Have you ever been too afraid to mention it to the other person?

Have you ever scoffed at or made fun of the very thing you secretly want the most? Or been ashamed to admit that thing you so desperately want is the one thing you can't seem to have?

Have you ever wanted to slap someone for complaining about their life when what they have is the very thing you desperately want for yourself?

Have you ever felt ashamed for not being content with what you have? (see above.)

Have you ever been disgusted with another person's actions, only to realize you've done that very same thing?

Have you ever come to a place where you just want to give up? As if everything you do and say is wrong?

Have you ever felt invisible?

Have you ever been so desperate for a change or to feel alive that you've done something incredibly stupid and/or dangerous?

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