Monday, August 17, 2009

4 Months and Counting

It occurred to me last week, and this wasn't all to difficult to realize, that my six-month mark is the day after my birthday. That means every six months I will have a birthday - my actual day and that which AA celebrates as a year of sobriety.

Last Wednesday was my 4-month mark, which unfortunately, like the month before, went by without any fanfare. I'm not talking ticker-tape as a necessity, but for the past couple months there have been preoccupying thoughts at this certain time, and I didn't even think about it until the next night at my weekly meeting (I really like this meeting because even though there are about 275 attendees, I feel much more centered, at peace, and alone than at any of the smaller meetings I attend.)

Perhaps ironically, perhaps not, after writing a friend to say that overall things seemed just fine (on the night I completely forgot was significant) is when life decided to remind me how rough things really are. Thursday was pushing an emotional boulder up an active Vesuvius and all day was spent knowing that there was nothing I could do to escape the pain. Without alcohol there is no easy escape, as artificial and temporary that means would offer. There is no escape anymore, and rightly not. Life is not to escape, but to experience, not matter how unbearable it may seem at that moment. By Friday morning, it became akin to walking on a broken ankle, alone and far from help. You can't do damn thing but move forward. Jolts were surging through my body, winces and grimaces, pangs of loneliness and deep, deep breaths. I am fortunate enough in life to know myself well enough, especially now, to recognize this is only temporary, and at times beautiful. The beauty I found was in the fact that no matter how heavy my heart became, it never felt sunk, beaten, or empty. I could feel that in all of these moments of weakness there was something holding me still, keeping my heart in my chest and air in my lungs. I could feel this comfort wrapped around me and inside me, to keep a modicum of strength till it blew over. I would like to think this was my own personal power, and perhaps in the grander scheme it really was, but deep down I know it is the higher power I surrendered to four months ago. At work later that day I received two pieces of news that turned everything around. I passed the test.

I've always felt that God does not exist externally but is there within us every second, and that praying to the heavens is neglecting this idea because we do not give ourselves enough credit. It is experiences such as last week that bolster this opinion, that when we're in the really rough spots, when we feel the most alone and hungry, when the pain can be almost crippling, we find the power to not only move forward but look forward and know that in simply holding on, and accepting the sadness as real, it will work its course. It also reminded me that no matter how bad things seem, I can always remember that I walked out of the most frightening situation of my life on April 12th, 2009...and that's why don't like to forget those dates!

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Perpetually Perplexed (this is going to ramble)

It's now in the fourth week of not knowing what the hell to say. It's very frustrating to have so much going on in my mind and absolutely nothing feels like cooperating. I can't believe this blog has remained inactive for so long. Everyday has been the same..."Let's write something tonight, anything will do, right?" You'd think.

Lately it has felt like simply existing. When considering the options that's not such a bad thing, but life has always been about dynamism, in many different directions. Perhaps this is what the Buddhists know, water over the stones. Mindfulness. Befriending both pain and pleasure. Perhaps this is a hint of the serenity I've been meditating on everyday for months. I was talking with a troubled friend recently and I told her that I don't tend to run with emotions anymore. The high peaks and dark valleys don't really exist anymore. The need to curb my anxiety with drinking certainly doesn't exist anymore. I tried to explain that the depression that she and I both experience can only affect us the way it does if we give it something on which to hold, energy on which to feed, a soul on which to step. Hearing someone speak of accepting pain with open arms sounds at first mad and quite ridiculous. Hey, it sounds the same after about the hundredth time, but eventually, and when you least expect, it begins to make a lot of sense. Just like when I was happy, but not ecstatic, about getting into school, I was upset, yet not devastated, when finding out yesterday that my financial aid is suspended because of the amount of time it took me to get back to school. I simply found what I needed to do and when. Not much and on Monday. Staying focused and calm, feeling the blood in your veins, the air in your lungs, hearing and seeing just what is there and nothing more.

I've also been thinking a lot of "hope". I use it in everyday conversation, but lately it feels very likely wrong. For an optimistic word, it sure does carry an amazing amount of uncertainty. It seems so open-ended, so left up to chance and nothing more. If we grasp onto hope we must unfortunately take hopelessness as well. Personally, I've had enough of hopelessness, so there must be something other than hope. Faith outweighs hope, right? I'll try that for a while. Faith is belief in action. Faith requires action. I have beliefs, and I can actually visualize results of my faith. With hope, I cannot. Hope doesn't exactly necessitate action or thought or willingness. With paper and pencil you can say either "I hope I will draw a circle" or "I have faith that with deliberation and accuracy I will draw a circle." More work, better results.

This leads to the concept of "more" (I warned you this would ramble). People have always asked me why I keep such an minimalist approach to life. Very few clothes, very little furniture, very few words (in public, at least!) Thinking back on this, the explanation has been that there is less burden this way, less connection to the material, less holding me to any place or time. I've never kept anything I've written or drawn. I've no photos or letters. This was quite intentional, and I now consider it to be mental preparation for where I am now. Starting from scratch with the world, spending copious amounts of time on my own, staring down fears with no means of escape. It seems lonely and difficult, but I've never been more thankful for what I have, as little as that is, and the people in my life, as few as they may be. I don't ask life for more because it will come without asking when life is ready. It's not a reward for good behavior, it's just the way it is.

Live by faith and be thankful for that and those in my life. Pretty basic.

I'm done rambling. It's late and I don't even really remember what just happened.

Thanks for reading. Good night.