Why?! Because... Friday.

    I did some really grown up shit today. Some shit that most people take for granted. I paid my phone bill. On time. I paid my car insurance. On time. I paid two weeks of rent to line it up with my pay schedule. I have a pay schedule! And then I did something that my entire being and all that I am will that I me for some day. I emailed the child support supporters with my job information so they can start garnishing my check so Bella has what she needs. I was supposed to start paying last July. This is the first time I have been able to report income. Since last July. 

That same day, the day that I had worked for for two plus years, hours and hours of intense work to make myself a whole functioning member, entity, human, recovering addict, mother fighting for a chance to be in my daughter’s life, less than 10 hours later, the disease told me to drink. I have a friend that says says the disease is quite the fucker because it sounds exactly like her in her head. But she knows it’s not her. And even though it has taken me years to figure out that concept, I can still be duped by my own head. The disease of addiction is cunning, baffling and powerful. It doesn’t fuck around. 

This idea came to me in the middle of a gd meeting! I live in a sober living home. I get kicked out if I drink. I knew my roommate was out for the night. And right smack dab in the middle of one of those A meetings, my brain said, let’s drink. No, my brain said, I want to drink. It will be easy. I can drink a little, just enough. I have a headache from a cold. I have a room to myself. I have a bathroom close enough. IT WILL BE FUN AND RELAXING! And I won’t get caught. I have had severe substance use disorder for 20 years. In that entire time, I have never once drank a little, or even just enough. Addiction is a disease that tells you you do not have a disease and once I put a substance into my body, I physically CANNOT stop drinking. But in the middle of a meeting, my brain is gonna say, I want a drink. It will be fun. It will relax me. It will help my headache. I will go to sleep in my safe sober living house and wake up and go to another meeting tomorrow. 

What it sure as hell doesn’t tell me is that someone will smell alcohol on me. I will have 59 minutes to leave my safe haven of grace. I will have nowhere to go and will attempt to impose on loved ones, many of whom are also recovering addicts. After gathering a few minimal items getting no sympathy from my house mates that I just put in danger, I will drive the streets, get more booze, maybe find a shitty motel because I have that job now, remember? I’ll be fine, says brain. By the end of the night I will be lucky to be making it to the toilet to puke, if I found a place with a toilet. I will have given away my home. I will have given away myself. I will be right back where I have been hundreds of times. All in the blink of an eye that looked away from the road for one second. 

But that didn’t happen today. I decided I wanted to keep living. I don’t want to die. I wanna see my little girl again. I want to see my mother, grandmother, and girlfriend again. I want to finish that college degree. I want to help others live too. I want to be a part of society, not a rejected helpless hopeless drunk. Not to-fucking-day. And that’s all I have to do. To-day. One day. No. Matter. What. At times it seems so simple. And then I can’t breathe. And I can’t move. And I think you cannot live without a drink. I don’t know how! My skin doesn’t fit. The self hates rises in my chest. All my work is tossed to the wayside. I can’t live. I don’t know how. 

But that didn’t happen today. 

I decided, god decided, in that same meeting that I was going to run home and tell my roommates what I was thinking and feeling. I was going to reach out. This is new. I drove past easily 10-20 liquor stores not noticing one. I arrived home to an almost empty house. The murder that lives in my head said, see I could have gotten away with it. God lovingly mentioned to that murder that I didn’t need their help. I walked to my room, pulled out my journal and wrote a similar story to the one you are reading now. I made a gratitude list. I spoke with the love of my life, told her my scary story with pride. And then I went to bed. 

You see the amazing part about this story is that this is a very common occurrence for me. This is just a day in the life of an addict. And I often DO NOT make it through situations like this. My work continues. For the rest of my life. But just for today, no matter what, I am sober as fuck. #loveholly

Healing thoughts and setting intentions

Today I let my thoughts be healing. I do not have to run from myself or my emotions. I am learning from my resentments and anger. I face it, look it in the eye, and then let that shit go. I ask god to handle fear for me. And then I let that shit go. Over and over and over. Misery: force gratitude. What am I grateful for this minute? Deprivation: abundance. Poor me? No. I am blessed and honored by my own presence at a bear minimum! What a gift! Poor me nothin’. I am enough. I am right where I am meant to be. So is everyone else. Don’t rush. Let go of the past. Set good intentions for the future. Feelings are feelings. Thoughts come and go. Acceptance is a practice. Discomfort will pass. So will pleasure. Needs will be met. Not on my time, but god’s time. Worry about others? They have their own higher power and that is not me. Dissatisfied with another’s participation in my world? They have their own HP and that is not me. Today I will keep my thoughts in love. I will set the intention to love self and others. My head is a dangerous neighborhood and I don’t go there alone. Today I have healing thoughts. I pause and pray. I suit and show. I accept and release. 

88 days throwback to rehab 58 days

Today I chose courage over comfort all fucking day. Yesterday was hard. Very hard. I want my Angie. Yesterday I thought, phew!, Thank God tomorrow is a different day. Due to optimism it never crossed my mind that today might be harder than yesterday. Well, it was. We watched A Beautiful Mind with Russell Crowe and Jennifer Conley this morning and it was very heavy. I cried from my soul as I sat feeling that whole movie. I was able to draw heartbreaking parallels. Courage over comfort. At times especially when my defenses are down, or maybe my armor isn’t quite battle ready, or I am trying to walk through something or feel something, just being around others is hard. I kept up my efforts all afternoon despite difficult conversations. I did not get defensive. I did not offload my hurt, and I didn’t take all the blame. I walked through the conversation. Courage/comfort. On my way home (to rehab!), boom, the thought occurred to me that I should sneak booze in tonight. Kill these feelings. It’s too hard. I won’t mention this to anyone. I’ll be safe in rehab. Wrong. I went to a meeting, and spoke on it. I called my sponsor. I spoke on it. I cried like 5 to 8 times today. I talked through or along or into everything. I did everything I was supposed to do if I want to stay sober. I prayed. God, please help. I cannot do this. I journaled. I had a terrible headache with tears and I faced my thoughts. I did not lash out. I did not seek outside comfort at all! It’s an inside job, I told myself. So I just felt it all. I don’t feel better at 8:30 PM but I did not drink. Courage/comfort. The isms of the ic. I will pray more. My defense must come from a higher power. Amen.

74 days love, dammit!

It has never been a non-Christian that reminds me why I refuse to call myself a Christian; it’s always a Christian. A sermon on marriage today reveals continued institutionalized homophobia, transphobia, polyphobia, anything that is not a man and a woman in a straight binary marriage -phobia. The frustrating part is that it is dressed up in praise and worship of an institutional god that is also preached to be love. I had this conversation with god when I was in the ninth grade. God is love. God loves love. I’m not the youngest or most progressive among my peers, so my opinions may be lacking, but I try. I am human. I fall short. Its okay.

To each their own but god is love. God wants me to be happy. God doesn’t make it difficult the path for those who seek him. He says get your asses over here and love. Better yet, stay where you are, I’ll meet you there! You don’t have to be a certain way or say a certain thing. The greatest good — that’s god. It’s not about a man and a woman. We are constantly redefining what humanity is. Does god want to impede that? Hell no. Be you. Do you. Love yourself. Love and be loved. Do no harm.

Cisgendered heterosexual’s, cisgendered homosexuals, queers, trans, bisexuals, transitioning folk, sapiosexuals, polysexuals, asexuals, pansexuals, omnisexuals, gray A, kinksters, and I’m sure I missing someone or saying something wrong, but you! I mean you. You, too. Get out and love and be loved. You are worthy. Belong. Stop fitting in. Give your fear to love (god). Don’t be scared because of love (god). A wife does not submit to her husband unless it’s a sex game and there’s a safe word. TeeHee. Come together as equals and love. Put god in the middle. A loving caring god, not a list god with rules and fears and don’ts. Be free. Love freely. Give every scrap of love that you have away. You’ll receive so much back that you will never run on empty. Accept people. Accept love. Do no harm. The greatest of these is love.

If there is a heaven, do you think you are going to walk up to a pearly white gate and god’s gonna say, “Can’t sit here. You divorced an emotionally abusive ass-hat spouse,” or “Sorry, no homos allowed in heaven.” How about, “I loved your dedication to your family for 25 human years, but you chose to leave incompatibility in lieu of becoming your true self and we simply cannot have that in heaven.” “You made a human mistake in marrying the wrong person, but you should have stayed tied to that dead weight and when you died I could have received you into my heaven.” Do you really think god would say such things? Not my god. We’re destroying our children by divorcing?! Can you hear yourself? What about a childhood of anger and abuse, or silence and abandonment? This is good for the kiddos?

Pastor said today that he prayed for more young people to be in church the next time this preaching comes up. I pray for them to run the hell away and save themselves from this confusion. Save yourself. Love yourself -- no matter what. Do not judge another. Who are you? Not god, that’s who. Your opinion is simply that. Everyone has one. Spread peace, connectedness, love, joy,belonging: keep the rest to yourself. I cannot believe we are still teaching discrimination in the name of god. I bet she’s pissed.

But again, who the hell am i to say. Everyone is different. To each their own. I have a metric fuck ton of mistakes in my past. I’m proud of myself today. Proud of me, for me. It breaks my heart when someone of some kind of authority teaches and preaches discrimination, especially in the name of god. Sorry. I choose freedom.

Writer’s note: The irony of me telling you the keep your bigoted opinions to yourself while I vulnerably and irreverently express mine is not lost on me. Ah, freedom.

The 69th day of a new creation

This up-and-down of early recovery feels insane. Key word: feels. I think it’s no wonder addicts relapse. This feels uncomfortable and off kilter. I want to go back to the misery; what I know. I want to be alone in my own living room drinking and depressed in the middle of a pity party for one. What a fucked up disease this is that my head tells me that. Just quit, it says. Then no one can tell me what to do. What kind of illusion is that? Depression says pour more depressant in me to get relief. I know cognitively in my head this is all wrong. I know I must take the next right indicated action. Right now that means writing this. Not “listening” to my head. Follow directions of the spiritual guides in my life, in my heart. And tell my head to shut the fuck up. When I drink, I am at the mercy of a broken society with broken humans running it. I am not judging; I am one of those broken humans, a spiritual reflective one. A beginning thinker. God, give me one little thing at a time. I trust you.

Miracles are instantaneous and, well, miraculous. I have asked for help and it is here. It is here in the form of IKEA furniture with no instructions, but here nonetheless. So some days will be rough. And acceptance is the answer. Do not run. Face the day with God‘s hand in mine. Look to mothers for help. Mary, god’s mom, Diana, my mother, grandmother, Angie, spiritually guided women, and women in recovery. Really see them, love. Every day is a miracle. Today I will be grateful for that miracle no matter how hard and confusing it appears to be. My eyes are new. My heart is young. I am as vulnerable as a child learning to self sooth. Help me reach out to my mothers. Help me invest time in myself. The cravings will come. So will spiritual answers. Hardwork and sharp vigilance. Diligence. Patience. Consistency. Obvious results, steps backwards, and plateaus will all come and end with continued consistent work. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, but always. Keep working, love. Frustration may just be a crux. That is exactly where God is. I am already doing better than yesterday. Effort. There is hope. Why settle for just a piece of sky?

This is surrender

Don’t worry, mom, I have myself safely wrapped in bubble wrap. The room is padded and the lesbian toolbelt is stocked. The disease is pissed and pummeling me. I am used to fighting back. This has not worked for years and years. I am trying surrender. Let me tell you what this feels like. It feels like  am in a fetal position getting kicked about. Now since this has never actually happened to me, I feel unqualified to describe it like this. But again, I am not sure I have ever surrendered instead of fighting. So unqualified seems to fit. It’s uncomfortable to say the least. I am away from home and I want some comfort. “I want my Angie!” Thank god for god, extendo-rehab, spiritual beings including myself, chocolate, respect for the disease, spoken word, technology, love, emotions, tears, safety, long hair, belonging, music, and that bass. I choose life. I choose courage. And I get to choose again tomorrow. #loveholly

It is time

I discovered Anne Lamott this weekend. Holy shit. Lamott's book, Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy, knocked my socks off. I had to read the first chapter three times to get it amidst distraction, and then continue on with a dictionary by my side. It was my favorite kind of growth: spiritual and intellectual, combined. I have been blowing through books in the last two months. I am almost finished with the Twilight series; Harry Potter is next, and no, I have not seen any of the movies yet. I have always wanted to be better read than I am. God seems to have lit a fire under my butt so I am running with it. Guess what came along with the fire to read?

Hello! It's been a minute. The last Isms of the Ic blog that I wrote was on September 28th, 2014. I have not gone back and read what it was about, so if you get there before me, don't spoil it! This goes for the Twilight books and the Harry Potter stuff as well.

I started this blog November 29th, 2012. I think I had been sober, for the first real time, for about 6 months. I have since written two other blogs, but fallen off of everything after my daughter's first year of life. Isabella Moon was born on Friday the 13th of March, 2015. She's four now. I do not see her. I live in Wichita at Women's Recovery Center. I am in long-term treatment for Severe Substance Use Disorder and Chronic Depression. Things have been rough for about three years. I am so happy and proud to be coming out of the worst time of my life. I am honored to be able to name it as the worst time in my life! I had no idea what was happening until 2019 started rolling in. I knew that I had lost my family; wife and child. I knew that I had not been sober for any amount of time for several years. I knew I was divorced. I knew I wasn't allowed to see my kiddo. I knew that I had never stopped trying to recover from my hopeless state of mind and body, but I also knew that it was progressing and was out to kill me. So I gave up. I thought I gave up in November 2017. But, no. Every time I tried to give up, I meant it. Things had gotten so bad that drastic change had to take place.

So here I am. I am happy, sober, and finally focused on myself so that I do not die. I don't want to die. And not only do I want to live, but I want to live well. Today I have been sober 54 days. Not just dry, but in recovery. I have learned more than ever about my chronic, progressive, fatal disease, and I am on one more adventure to own my story with pride and honor. I am on fire for life and recovery. I am still wrapping my head around what it took to get me here.

I can, however, tell you two things: 1.) I have never loved myself like this. It truly is an inside job and I love myself today. At 39 and 3/4, it's hard to fathom that this is new. I can tell it's new because it feels weird as shit. 2.) I will write and publish a book someday. I don't know how I know this, but I do. My mother has been pushing it for years. Okay, Mom!  It's so fucking good to be here. Stay tuned.

#loveholly