shydawg
01-27-2009, 01:21 AM
Not waiting to exhale
I'm clean today. Some days it isn't easy to stay that way—not because I want to get high and have a good time; rather, it's because I want to die or just numb out for a few hours.*
I had nine years clean at one point, until one lonely, isolated night I succumbed to the desire to self-destruct and picked up a box of tranquilizers that had been prescribed for someone else. Now I have eighteen months clean. And unlike the first time I got clean, I didn't have withdrawals, I had shame instead. And also unlike the first time, there has been no significant reduction in the number of times through any given day that I just want to die.*
Now this isn't a new thing in my life. In fact, from early childhood to early 1987, it was the one consistent norm in my life. Everything else could change; my partners, my sexuality, my drugs, my address, my accent, my name, and my friends; but this was consistent. Through it all, at least once every day (and more frequently, all day), I just wanted to die.*
I learned so much about myself in those first nine years—first, that I was an all-around addict and that I could use caffeine and sugar as mood-changing substances as easily as I had used drugs, so I had to cut those out.*
Then I noticed (well, actually, my sponsor and my Higher Power noticed first, and called it to my attention) that I was being compulsive in service, i.e., member of four home groups; a service position at each; area service responsibilities, two subcommittees, phoneline roster, seven sponsees, etc. So I had to swear off (well, all except the phoneline and the sponsees) until I learned how to be moderate. But still, I believe that the people who get this program are the ones who do some kind of service in their first two years clean. It helps build a sense of belonging. I just overdid it a little.*
My daughter saw less of me than she did when I was out using drugs. And my partner—well, that might have been part of the reason why I did so much service. That way I didn't have to notice how messed up our relationship was. So that's when I started to see that my methods of relating to people didn't work very well for anyone; least of all for me.*
Some people in NA think the word codependency is a dirty word. I don't. The way I see it, it's just another defect of character that needs to be sweated over, prayed about, and hopefully, learned to live without.
It seems to have a few layers. Just as I think I've got its measure, it pops up somewhere else, with roots deeper in my psyche than I thought my psyche went! I've heard others share the same kind of difficulties with some of their defects, so I know I'm no orphan here. I just keep plugging away at it, one day at a time.*
Well then, at five years, just as I thought my life was starting to take shape (I'd ended that relationship, was holding my service down to one title only, working full time, studying nights), my Higher Power deemed I was ready for another curve ball.*
I started to have sensations, emotions, and memories I'd never had before. Turns out there was a very good reason why I always found out, subsequently, that all my closest NA friends were incest survivors. Obvious, really; they were my kind of people, literally. I was one myself.*
Well, I ignored it for a while. "I'll just get through this semester, then I'll look at it," or, "I'll just get my scores up to get into the university," or, "I'll just wait until I'm off the nicotine patches first." But you know how these things are when you ignore them; they just creep into every area of your life!*
Then one of my dear friends died of this disease. And with her story, it's really hard to say whether it was an accident or suicide. She had six years clean once. So I got counseling and started this new voyage of self-exploration. And it got harder.*
How could I get a handle on this one? What do I abstain from, one day at a time? What defect do I ask to have removed? My childhood? How do I handle family gatherings with my abuser when I feel terrified and nauseated? How do I deal with the shame?*
I dropped out of the university (it didn't help) and formed a relationship with a woman I adore (very fulfilling, but the shame and terror were still there). I quit work. I moved. I quit service. I took up smoking again and ultimately, in the dead of night, I picked up because I still wanted to die.*
Since then, I've moved again. I have no more contact with my family. My partner is as supportive as she can be, and I still feel suicidal on a regular basis. Somehow I have to find a way to work the steps on this one. Oh, there's counseling and groups, and I do them, but the only thing that's ever really made a difference in my life is the Twelve Steps of NA.*
So I look back and reexamine: What did I do in 1987 that I didn't do in 1995 that I still haven't done in 1996? And the answer comes.*
When I had three months clean in 1987, I started writing a Fourth Step. I did that because I was asking questions like "How do you know when you're ready for the Fourth Step?" and "How do you know when you've really got the Third Step?" And this old-timer pulled me aside after a meeting and said, "I knew I was really working the third when I started on my fourth, 'cause it sure as hell wasn't my will to do a fearless and searching moral inventory. Go to it," he said, "you don't have to wait for a sign. You don't have to wait to exhale."
Oh God, I'm crying; that must be it. I'm gonna have to write an inventory, and include everything that happened to me, what I did with it, and how it's still messing up my life. The whole idea fills me with horror. That's the real reason I haven't done it yet. I've had all the signs I'm likely to get. I'll need guidance and help and support on this one. My home group doesn't know what they're in for, but I have my answer. As often happens, I've found my answer through sharing my story and my pain. It's time to take up my pen (still mightier than the sword) and fight on. I hope my words help someone else as much as it has helped me to share them. Thank you for letting me share. Ros R, Australia
I'm clean today. Some days it isn't easy to stay that way—not because I want to get high and have a good time; rather, it's because I want to die or just numb out for a few hours.*
I had nine years clean at one point, until one lonely, isolated night I succumbed to the desire to self-destruct and picked up a box of tranquilizers that had been prescribed for someone else. Now I have eighteen months clean. And unlike the first time I got clean, I didn't have withdrawals, I had shame instead. And also unlike the first time, there has been no significant reduction in the number of times through any given day that I just want to die.*
Now this isn't a new thing in my life. In fact, from early childhood to early 1987, it was the one consistent norm in my life. Everything else could change; my partners, my sexuality, my drugs, my address, my accent, my name, and my friends; but this was consistent. Through it all, at least once every day (and more frequently, all day), I just wanted to die.*
I learned so much about myself in those first nine years—first, that I was an all-around addict and that I could use caffeine and sugar as mood-changing substances as easily as I had used drugs, so I had to cut those out.*
Then I noticed (well, actually, my sponsor and my Higher Power noticed first, and called it to my attention) that I was being compulsive in service, i.e., member of four home groups; a service position at each; area service responsibilities, two subcommittees, phoneline roster, seven sponsees, etc. So I had to swear off (well, all except the phoneline and the sponsees) until I learned how to be moderate. But still, I believe that the people who get this program are the ones who do some kind of service in their first two years clean. It helps build a sense of belonging. I just overdid it a little.*
My daughter saw less of me than she did when I was out using drugs. And my partner—well, that might have been part of the reason why I did so much service. That way I didn't have to notice how messed up our relationship was. So that's when I started to see that my methods of relating to people didn't work very well for anyone; least of all for me.*
Some people in NA think the word codependency is a dirty word. I don't. The way I see it, it's just another defect of character that needs to be sweated over, prayed about, and hopefully, learned to live without.
It seems to have a few layers. Just as I think I've got its measure, it pops up somewhere else, with roots deeper in my psyche than I thought my psyche went! I've heard others share the same kind of difficulties with some of their defects, so I know I'm no orphan here. I just keep plugging away at it, one day at a time.*
Well then, at five years, just as I thought my life was starting to take shape (I'd ended that relationship, was holding my service down to one title only, working full time, studying nights), my Higher Power deemed I was ready for another curve ball.*
I started to have sensations, emotions, and memories I'd never had before. Turns out there was a very good reason why I always found out, subsequently, that all my closest NA friends were incest survivors. Obvious, really; they were my kind of people, literally. I was one myself.*
Well, I ignored it for a while. "I'll just get through this semester, then I'll look at it," or, "I'll just get my scores up to get into the university," or, "I'll just wait until I'm off the nicotine patches first." But you know how these things are when you ignore them; they just creep into every area of your life!*
Then one of my dear friends died of this disease. And with her story, it's really hard to say whether it was an accident or suicide. She had six years clean once. So I got counseling and started this new voyage of self-exploration. And it got harder.*
How could I get a handle on this one? What do I abstain from, one day at a time? What defect do I ask to have removed? My childhood? How do I handle family gatherings with my abuser when I feel terrified and nauseated? How do I deal with the shame?*
I dropped out of the university (it didn't help) and formed a relationship with a woman I adore (very fulfilling, but the shame and terror were still there). I quit work. I moved. I quit service. I took up smoking again and ultimately, in the dead of night, I picked up because I still wanted to die.*
Since then, I've moved again. I have no more contact with my family. My partner is as supportive as she can be, and I still feel suicidal on a regular basis. Somehow I have to find a way to work the steps on this one. Oh, there's counseling and groups, and I do them, but the only thing that's ever really made a difference in my life is the Twelve Steps of NA.*
So I look back and reexamine: What did I do in 1987 that I didn't do in 1995 that I still haven't done in 1996? And the answer comes.*
When I had three months clean in 1987, I started writing a Fourth Step. I did that because I was asking questions like "How do you know when you're ready for the Fourth Step?" and "How do you know when you've really got the Third Step?" And this old-timer pulled me aside after a meeting and said, "I knew I was really working the third when I started on my fourth, 'cause it sure as hell wasn't my will to do a fearless and searching moral inventory. Go to it," he said, "you don't have to wait for a sign. You don't have to wait to exhale."
Oh God, I'm crying; that must be it. I'm gonna have to write an inventory, and include everything that happened to me, what I did with it, and how it's still messing up my life. The whole idea fills me with horror. That's the real reason I haven't done it yet. I've had all the signs I'm likely to get. I'll need guidance and help and support on this one. My home group doesn't know what they're in for, but I have my answer. As often happens, I've found my answer through sharing my story and my pain. It's time to take up my pen (still mightier than the sword) and fight on. I hope my words help someone else as much as it has helped me to share them. Thank you for letting me share. Ros R, Australia