May 10

THE 24 HOUR GOD


Matching a loving God to the horrors of my past has proved impossible for me. Projecting a connection to an all-powerful God of the ever-foreshortening future seems implausible. In today, I see a nurturing God. Not an all purpose God, not a God who serves all. In my life, there is a God I trust today. Each morning, when I wake, it is a pleasant surprise to find a God. Not an expansive God, not a God to fit the continuum, but a nice neat God who fits right in this 24.


Lift your fingers to your scars and feel the gratitude.

*
Box-a-week Tao


I am going through so many changes
surrounding the cleaning out and getting rid of process.
The flat sided panic that I experience
while even attempting the smallest disposal seems impossible.

I would deny it if I didn't have the repetition
of this experiment to prove it as fact.
I have now moved into the part of the illness
where I compulsively clean the things that I have emptied
in order to avoid facing the next step, the next box, the next mess.

This is a two part trap:
Part 1. If cleaning can absorb all the time
I will not be able to do anything else.

Part 2. If I can't keep it clean enough
then I have an excuse to give up
and not empty the next space.

I am trying to keep moving without being mean to myself.
Because mean is worse than mess.

May 9

ROLES


“You don’t have to give up playing God because it was a bad thing to do," said my sponsor in her most gentle voice. “You have to give it up because it doesn’t work. In a world seemingly spinning out of control, you, brave child, stepped up to the plate and took a swing. That is heroic, not demonic, but impractical nevertheless. You have to be your own full-time job even when it feels like there are other jobs left unfilled. You don’t have to run around finding the feet that fit those empty shoes, either. Maybe those empty shoes are just bait for a bad trap. Keep on your journey and I think you will come to a place where the work is being accomplished by a surprising cast of characters. You will be free to stick to the role ahead of you.”


Taste your thoughts carefully and spit out the rancid ones.
*

Out Standing in My Field

Trying to remove expectations is like trying to unseed a field;
it is damn near impossible until something crops up,
though when it does I must act swiftly lest things take root.

Tedious as it is weeding the fields
of unreasonable expectancy saves me from
so much frustration later on.

I don’t recognize it
but expectations are like little dictators forever ruling me,
leaving no room for God or direction,
not to mention flexibility or change.

Tap roots dive for the vein
and my life depends on fleet elimination of unsuitable desire.
I can want. I can strive.
I can not leave expectations to grow in my garden.

May 11

ON-COMING

Anticipation of the approaching traffic consumes. The tiny spec grows and develops into the arriving vehicle. 50 miles per and the rapid succession of the coming and those leaving eats quickly at my heart. The pain seers me. Why are these who travel from the direction of my destination passing me by? For miles and miles, they appear to be greeters. The breeze created by their passing chaps my face and I question my goals. How can so many abandon my objective? But flee it they do. My hunger does not diminish and I press on. Of course if we all went this way, we might tip the globe. Maybe that’s what they fear.


Smile with your eyes, laugh with your hands, rest your heart, ease your mind.

*
Be That Girl


I have tried to protect the investment I made in the past
by selling the soul of my future.
I arrived self-possessed, a winning girl,
but I slid the self from the scene leaving me simply possessed.

I gained everything then lost it a piece at a time
starting with the parts nearest my heart.
I must draw the shards together once more
and mend this lovely crystal.

The art of living is insured by my action
not by grasping at slivers in terror
of what slips from my fingers.

I am what I have inviolate
and all else comes to fruition when I am pleased;
when I am myself.

May 12

MY SOBER HEART


The heart I have today is not the heart I have had all my life. Cells age and are replaced. I slough off what I can no longer use and rejuvenate with fresh layers. My sobriety is the same. Past step work is revamped and approached in innovative ways. Yesterday's prayers are replaced with today’s; today’s meditations will be dispelled by tomorrow’s. The function remains the same but it is constructed with brand new work. Service I render is always for my sobriety but I work to strengthen various quadrants. My heart is not as young as it used to be and vigorous action remakes it new each day. I rebuild my sober heart continually because forever and today I have the mind of an alcoholic.


Time your thinking so it can fire your mind.



*
No Stone Left Behind


An anchor attaches at the lower extremities stabilizing me,
an albatross is the thing weighing me down from the top,
it tips me, throws me to the ground.

I must remember to choose ferrous instruments
over long necked birds.
Often it’s not the amount of drag, but where it’s affixed.

There are so many variables,
so much to think through, yet I often react
and pick up what seems as harmless as a flock of sea gulls

And turns out to be worse than an iron maiden.
Leaving not tern unstoned is bad,
but do I really have the time to do it the other way around?

May 13

QUEEN’S COUNTENANCE


I know the 7 P’s of preparation. I set the table for those I know. The unexpected arrive clothed in time and tradition. They seat themselves at the table with the naked. They become mute. We prattle and pose, rarely glimpsing the goals sitting at the unset seats. What we need to become is far from what we are. I can not even call it other. It is within when we make room and ether when we won’t. I can wait and try but the juice is deep with the pulp. I get myself in line for the future and wait for the clothes offered by my guests. I sit the emperor and rise the queen.


Hear the sweetness in your own voice; taste the salt in your own tears.
*

Madame Alexander


I am, too naïve;
if you show me kindness I will believe you,
follow you, obey you, so, I have rules.

These rules do not protect me,
but they do make a box for me to seal myself inside.
Where I will ship myself, stack myself, hide myself,
well, that I do not know.

I pull the flaps down
and pray not to have to make any real decisions.
I fold my arms and close my mind

Believing I could never adequately open it enough
to safely live in the world outside of this closet.
Here I sit wondering what to write on this label
in order to be left alone

All the while longing for true love
a thing never given to a quivering china doll
shut up in a carton at the bottom of a wardrobe.

May 14

THE LONG VIEW


The long view requires an enduring embrace of the past. It requires a great love of people, the race and individuals. I cannot see what we do and flee. I can own what happened, what happens and what is to come if only so I can ratchet improvement into my own behavior. I can see and feel and change, cringe if I must, but go on. The horizon is there to set the stage. It hangs there long and low. It stands guard for the life there is to live. I will view it and use it as my gauge. Keeping perspective is the key. I know it for what it is and that makes me, me. The short sight and the long view. My open arms hold it all; my sight brings it all into my heart.


Floss between the permanent ideas in your mind.


*
Life Events in Burlap

Two left feet in a gunnysack allows no forward motion
and creates only a windmill that screws us into the ground.
There is more perspective, front and back, more view,
but nothing to do with it, nowhere to go.

We are better off as book ends than this awkward foolish pairing.
You go your way and I go mine works fine if we are cut lose,
if any one person can be free of any other.

You offer to change your perspective if I change mine.
I smile, almost laugh at the idea of two right feet in a gunnysack
and no improvement in sight.

This is not grade school, not field day,
I must turn to you or you to me and nothing else,
no fair is fair, no turn taking.

Because my past is not your future
and your future is not my past.
Face forward on both accounts and then we run the race.

May 15

BRATZLAV


If all the world is a narrow bridge, I must broaden my mind. If all the doors close to the passage of a hallway, I must exit through the window. Never again can I stay and shelter in a small and confining refuge. A womb is a place to come out of; it is never a place of return. I am not to seek over- exposure but I must ever widen the gate. The brave face I show is the gift of a tight world owning me for far too long. Fear is never meant to be larger than life and the world should never collapse around the sweetness of a smile. Today carries us. Tomorrow draws us. The world is a bridge.


Carpet the memories that echo shame in your mind.
*
Underoos



Why is it that I store undies I never wear
in my panty drawer and leave no room for my favorites?
Why is it that I have things in cupboards
that have not seen the light of day in years,
but they are kept as sacred?

I don’t use my storage for me
it is saved for obligation to inherited obsession.
I live on the fringes of the only life I have;

I didn’t question this.
didn’t see it for what it really is.
I don’t live in my skin only my head.
I don’t enjoy today only plan for tomorrow.

After years at this address it is time for me to move in.
The mortgage is more than paid;
it is time to spend my inheritance.

May 16

MAIL


I form my query, fold my mind and mail it off to God with a stamp of approval from my sponsor. The questions sent are of no great interest but the responses are a spellbinding group. What is returned unopened is a wide array. The circuitous route taken by some is a charm of elucidation. I rub my fingertip over the intact seals and marvel at the travels of the wax. I mourn over the defunked gods and their public relations organizations. Slow is my resolve to pore over the replies. I get easily caught in lackings and shy from true contact. The equations embedded in my heart read the letters and sing the notes; these songs are just for me. I know them like my name. I turn the envelope and see how old the postmark is.


Remember your comfort needs a life of its own.
*
Pearly Whites

Reaction is a separation, a polarization;
it cuts you from me and God from we.

Response is a connection, an inclusion;
threading a line from you to me
and stitching God into our pockets.

I realize now that any positive connection
is an instantaneous link to my Higher Power
and can’t help but bring us closer.

Tiny feet carry beauty and kindness;
tiny teeth tear the fabric of the world to bits.

I must let my footwork conduct my life’s work
and seal my lips and reserve the dentistry.

May 17

ALL BETTER NOW


Mother kissed the booboo and I wait for the admonition to take effect. Waiting, I count the problems like telephone poles on a long journey. What will it be like, the world all better? The anticipation nearly breaks me for a while until waiting turns to disbelief. A chill fills the space and 'all better' becomes the cry. My sponsor calls for moderation and lowering my expectation. The child’s ears ring with the promise to be fulfilled. She can not give herself over to a world where a Band-Aid is not a cure-all but only a cover for the slow work of internal healing, scars and all. Sheer survival is not sufficient for the screaming toddler; heartbreak from injustice calls for more than endurance. But, alas, a kiss is all we have.


Time pulls the tide and the tide pulls you; let it.
*


Who Rang?


Examine the instillation of your buttons
as a process of discovery for disabling them.
Pay attention to the wiring but also to the hardware.

Sometimes the advertising is the thing
which keeps alive something better off put to rest.
Many things are rooted in other pots
and have a lifeline from outside of the current host.

All the connections and housing should be explored
as well as what work the mechanism does once pressed.
Is there a gong, tinkling bells?

Does it release the wolves from their den or tiger from his lair?
Information is a tool which never fails to help me
in disassembling the traps and their triggers
I must not shy from the gathering.

May 18

STRONG WORDS


Serious language, deep language, real language helps me by grounding me. I don’t have to be nice for company when I can just tell the truth. I needn’t have guests with virgin ears or unrealistic expectations, and I no longer pander to such foolishness. I know the layered meanings of my words and value the intensity of a large vocabulary. I am not intimidated by prudish co-conspirators who stare down pointed noses at powerful utterances. Weak words make poor boundaries and breed victims. I will not be trapped by niceties; I will speak clearly out of necessity.


Allow your integrity to increase the value of your truth.



*
Martinizing


The price of upkeep scares me, it daunts me even.
I pay the initial cost, I have bitten that bullet
of required outlay; the continued charges for maintenance
push my face in the mud until my ears clog.

Avoiding the need of perpetual responsibility
to things, relationships, life, doesn’t change the reality,
rather it embeds in my skin a slick denial and an indignant retort
to the drycleaners and shoe-shiners of the world.

Waste and want play tag inside a misunderstanding
of what is required of me; of what life requires in general.
I must make quietude, draw a map
and find my way to this psychic change;

Unfortunately all the little voices scream
“Yes, you paid the price to see the show,
but you don’t make enough to stay!”

May 19

URBAN LANDSCAPE


“I am taking this giraffe to the penthouse. Do you suggest the elevator or the stairs?”
“Why do you choose these complicated tasks to fill your days?” asks my sponsor.
“You think this is beyond my abilities?”
“I didn’t say that. I do believe either you or the giraffe is likely to get bent out of shape. But that is only the most obvious of observations.”
“What if I told you being disproportionate is both of our natural states?" I asked.
“I know that, too. My darling little lamb, you may be a contrast to the multitude, but why make it harder? Why not a ranch with cathedral ceilings? Bay doors even?”
“You are taking out the spirit of adventure,” I say.
“Baby, you may have confused frustration with excitement,” says my sponsor.
“Yes, but you have forgotten the view.”


Put three buttons on a shelf.
*


NaCl


I work arithmetic instead of telling you to stop.
I make a light remark and never take a stand
until I have worked the numbers
and believe that the weight of suffering is on my side.

I store in the cellar the salt I found in my wounds
and label it, with names, dates and corresponding critique,
all waiting, hoping, I will never need to disclose them,
but keeping them accounted for just in case things go badly.

I believe there is no chance for error with silence
and no wrong when I have backup in the basement,
but I need to table the salt and risk my reality.

You can’t hurt me worse than I do
when I pour old salt and create new wounds.

May 20

STRETCHING


Stretching is not equivalent to change. Limbering is nice and warms the muscles, body and soul. Over-reaching, over-compensation is trauma; it distorts the symmetry and breeds erroneous thinking. Extension beyond the bounds sets me up for a fall. I misinterpret touching with fingertips with a firm and able grasp. I don’t step forward because I believe I have a hand on things, failing to see how this is different from an embrace. The sinew tears and the fabric of my life is destroyed. I lean forward but I go nowhere.


Open an old letter and read it with a fresh mind.

*
Inspection

My disease paid a discourtesy call on my bourgeoning sobriety.
Peeked in to look for cracks in my foundation,
weaknesses to exploit.

I recognized the patch job I had toyed with
would have made the easiest of targets for this eroding thug.
I am ever so grateful that I cleaned off all the bricks
and made new mortar.

Built on bedrock my re-laid block
will withstand the indignity of the pounding prodding sickness
which used to inhabit this once dilapidated space.

I can keep the villain at bay
and live my cozy life thanks to a true level
and the handsome turn of my trough.

May 21

CHOICE


Growth is my decision. I don’t need conflict or catastrophe to bring me to change. I choose each day come what may, to roll out the refuse. I am not tempted to leave it in to rot just because the sun is shining. Good days are good times to improve. How could integrity be retarded by joy? I am not punished into recovery. I will never accept a Higher Power who set up a system like that and I give wide berth to people who claim their Higher Power did. My bottom may have been an inducement to start but choice keeps me coming back.


Smile in the mirror and look into your eyes.


*
Balustrade

Just because you appeared from the dark
doesn’t make you a wizard.
Just because you make the world safe for mankind
doesn’t make you Hercules,
nor does your power and foresight make you his father.

Your resourcefulness and guile doesn’t make you Ulysses.
And just because you spend so much time
strapped upon that cross doesn’t make you,
well, we all know the rest of that refrain.

Human is what you are whether I see that in you or not.
Human is a blessing even if it feels to me a curse.
I need the superhuman strength you seem to offer
but I must live in the world of what is real.

I want to be stolen away to the safety of your lair
and not live on my feet and fight for my life.
I have to stop wishing to be your captive
and work harder at simply being your friend.

If I can let you down off your pedestal perhaps
I could then climb down off mine.

May 22

SOOT


I diligently work to remove the soot, the residue from the last time I tried to hot wire my brain. When I attempted the short circuit of my safety-thinking, I caught my life on fire and the flames, though brief, were spectacular. Electric fires are very jarring, the burning insulation toxic. It leaves bare, stuttering lines crossing and recrossing. My stable base, the method I once used to keep sane, is shot. All because I wanted to go joy riding in my thoughts. Suspended reality sounds so good but always bursts into flame, leaving me with soot removal as a hobby.


Add all the numbers of your phone number.

*
The Delano’s


Indifference is the backbone of power.
It is a state of faithlessness,
not infidelity but rank apathy,
saving every ounce of ardor for the prize you seek.

I thought I was the prize and I am;
I’m just no longer yours.
Cast aside for the leviathan and the miscreants
I wonder what I could have done to hold your attention

The answer is nothing.
Nothing could be done.
Blinded by the ambition of heroism
the struggle is the goal

No gem no matter its brilliance
can check your drive toward a place in the epic narrative.
Tis the hero’s lament to save every life except your own.

May 24

CLOCKS


When the clock stops, I wind it up or replace the battery. I have to; time doesn’t end because the arms grow slow. The device wears down but the day is not over. Even if my internal metronome is bollixed, the planets keep revolving. I can’t step off the world; it doesn’t stop turning for me. I don’t always have to keep my head up but I must always go on. There is no going back. I can only remember yesterday. I can’t return to it though it’s so close the flowers are still fresh. Sometimes I struggle to keep my hands off of the past. Those are the days I secure my future and wind the clocks.


Create a map to your own happiness.
*


Princess No More

Decent is less obvious than accent
and so it is with dethroning;
those who put you upon the gilt alter with much aplomb
feel no qualm in taking you down
with not as much as a word or a grunt.

The wind has changed and your reign is over,
the poor startled girl is suddenly in the street.
For a scepter is not a club and why fight for a throne,
which is proven to be nothing more than a straight backed chair
once separated from its right relationships.

The horror of unexpected common status
is for the young bride an issue of safety and trust
not of ego or presumption.
Who is she without the Prince, the Knight,
she is Princess No More.

May 24

CELEBRATIONS

“You wore a wrist corsage to the dump?”
“You said to celebrate every activity,” I retorted to my sponsor.
“Yes, by doing them with purpose. Not everything needs to be a production number. Sometimes just showing up is enough. Putting too much energy into preparation can leave you without resources. It’s okay to make an appearance, do the simple act and move on. That is a celebration in its own way. Don’t squander your vitality on the mundane. Do you know what I mean?” asks my sponsor.
“Don’t waste flowers on trash heaps?" I answer.
“Yes, and don’t wipe your bottom with poetry. I mention this in case you get any ideas.”


Put flower petals in your phone book


*
If Garfunkel Was Here

Speak of the dead and paint the living.
Paint them in a good light when you can
and into a corner when you have to.

Read the books of future generations
rather than acting as the arrogant,
who attempt to write these volumes.

Expunge nothing leave it all on view,
but move past it after taking in the implications.
Water flows under the bridge until it collapses
then it carries the bridge away.

So, speak of the dead don’t drown them,
paint the living don’t stain them,
look to the future don’t dictate to it
and let the water run.

May 25

TROJAN PERSON



I feel confused by the difference between love and war. The intensity and rush are too much for my frazzled and betrayed emotions to sort out. I feel like a Trojan person. I have all these children holed up inside and they are waiting for peace and safety so they can come out and sleep. For a time I allowed them to leave for bathroom breaks, one at a time. This was not a workable solution. When these tykes would have a look around, they started to set fires and break hearts. Each child makes life a battleground, fights and claws her way across the living landscape. I must heal my insides from the center of my thoughts, not send fragments of me to blend with the unfamiliar and hostile world. Only when I can stand together with my mind and heart safe within my being will I see a way to make love on my own and leave war alone.


Shuffle your vocabulary.
*


ROUSs

Time passes, I clock it and count it
and use its passage to construct a defense
or accusation depending on my need.

I use the calendar to condemn you
because my feelings do not have sufficient leverage
for my mental calculations.

To prize disappointment from this scene
I watch the water-clock waiting for adequate drops
to lift the flood gate and free me
from your unfulfilled promise and my unrealized hope.

How long is too long to stand in a quagmire?
Why do I feel the need for permission
to leave the quicksand?

May 26

HOME TO HOPE

Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days and I have trouble finding my way home to hope. Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk. Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail. I am lost. Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention. I wander deeper into a dismal wood. How can I chop my way free? Dejection dulls my senses; I am blind to solemn assurance. I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky. Skepticism passes like storm clouds, I may feel the rain for a time; necessity reigns on both sides of every street but still I can crawl into my bed. Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.


Hop right after you put your foot down and you can skip most of your problems.



*
Estranged


After long years I have made my own acquaintance,
friendship is on a far distant shore.
I know who I am and can recognize myself
on the street or in a crowded room.

I have a legitimate sense of wariness
of the afore mentioned persona,
nothing too nasty, just a discomfort.

She is not someone I would bring home,
maybe not even share a meal with
but I can stand her, minus intimacy,
minus any deep empathy.

I feel an awkwardness in acknowledging her,
strange as this might sound.
She is no one to be ashamed of,
not a truly bad actor

Yet the reports say she doesn’t live up to her potential
and I have it on personal authority
that she actually surpasses it on most days
and keeps this a closely held confidence.

And there it is, I know her secrets
but I don’t keep her.
This is what makes me strange and her stranger.

May 27

MEMORIAL DAY


Veteran of the addiction wars, I have scars but few medals. I don’t need a purple heart, mine is black and blue. I don’t keep trophies either, no empty bottles or old syringes. Hostages, I have released them, too. I found often they held me from what my life could be. I wear my defects and wave my flag. I am slowly learning to live in peacetime. The big battles have been won; it is up to me to stop replaying the scenes of engagement. Armistice is a beautiful thing; too bad there is no better way to get to it.


Write the dedication page for your life.
*
Queens: More than a Borough


My drama is bigger than yours.
My drama can kick your drama’s ass.
Well maybe not, but it sure is kicking mine.

Like a rain soaked grave, I stand in this muddy hole,
sides slick, unassailable and count the piles of tragedy ,
all the while knowing it will bury me
not facilitate a climb out.

I attempt to display the face of comedy
and yet the mask can not fool me, my true audience.
I think if I can keep it all up on stage I will be alright,

But then the point of theater is
that everything is carried away
in the minds of all who come and watch.

Silence doesn’t help either
for there is little worse than a bad mime
and doing it well just makes me Lillian Gish.

So, back to Bohemia for isn’t it all a rhapsody,
though it would all be so much better
if Freddy Mercury weren’t dead.

May 28

NETWORKS

Testing my sponsor when I’m hurt is like probing for gas with a lit cigar in my mouth. If I can’t find a way to douse the cheroot before posing my questions it’s guaranteed I will get an explosive response. I need a network; they follow me with sand, snatch from me my burning pacifier and save me from sticking my smoldering end where it doesn’t belong. We all need a little excitement in our lives but I don’t have to become an incendiary device to fill that need. I forget that boring isn’t the same as death; it just feels that way. Some days, distance prevents disaster; a good support system carries me away to face it on another day.


Don’t be afraid to turn the kaleidoscope.

*
RAID !!!


So, you stepped into a hornets nest
and now how am I to respond?
Blame you, no, I don’t think so,

I mean you are the exterminator
and some stings are to be expected,
but this is far beyond even your honed ability
to anticipate wasps.

Cry, running from this ambush?
Again, I decline
I still want you after the war is over,
even if I can not fight by your side.

Protest, I try to refrain,
I never want to make your job harder
but I don’t want to leave the impression
I have no concern, so I walk the fine line.

Standing on the sidelines is harder than you think,
I am helpless and lonely,
not as exciting as your work
and no comfort from this distance.

I must hold my breath
while you provoke the bees.

May 29

POWER


When power arrives, it comes complete with blindfold, mask and lullaby. I am blinded to what effect I have. Others cannot see me, only the unchanging masquerade covering my face. All my fears and apprehensions are soothed by the melody singing in my ear. I am possessed. The hard thump of the bottom reaching up to get me is my sole hope of release. I can’t reason my way back from a trip with power; the isolation is too far-reaching, my senses numbed, my thinking biased. Salvation as a cold smack is the jolt required. Fire takes fire; power takes the same.


Draw your own lines then color out of them.

*
Black & Dedication

The brand of equipment endorsed by my Higher Power
is built so that my hand is clasped inside
lest I feel alone or unaided.

A closed mouth and an open mind work very well
when I can manage either of them
and Step 10 works when I can’t.

I am usually the problem in my life
but I am always the solution.
Others may change and contribute;
I am the one and only one, responsible for my happiness.

Dropping blame from my vocabulary and adding responsibility,
learning to differentiate between what is mine and what is yours;
these tools are keys and they open worlds of possibility to me.

Also they shut out the demons of wrong thinking,
wrong acting and desperation, which used to plague me.
There are still greater tools I yearn for
but like everything I must be patient
and build my muscles to handle the heavier machinery.

May 30

FROZEN STRAWBERRIES


“I have them in the freezer,” I tell my sponsor.
“I’m sure you do. When are you going to take them out and reenact spring?” her retort.
“I don’t want to take them out before I’m ready. I don’t want them to go to waste.”
“Oh, the Excuse Maker, the Staller. Are you going to drag all the old chestnuts out of the closet? I thought you were going to defrost strawberries.”
“Fear, you’re saying fear of strawberries is not a sign of stability?" I ask her.
“Eat the strawberries or not, but it seems to me you didn’t get sober to avoid the sweeter things in life, keeping all your goodness locked up in the deep freeze destined for frost bite.”


Let sunshine climb in your eyes and fall upon your heart.


*
I’m not Brian


I thought life was based on a system of
‘I will suffer and that will exempt you’.
Then I would be horrified when you suffered,
after I had already done so ahead of you.

In an attempt to ease my dismay I would look to see
who had broken the pact, you or me.
Had I not endured sufficiently to protect you?
Had you left the safety of the umbrella of sanctuary?

Panic gives birth to blame
and blame of course births nasty biting things
that run loose and bury in all the tender spots.

Now the goals I tend are to end the breeding
of those sharp and painful beasties,
stop laying my neck upon the alter
and start telling better jokes.

May 31

SPACE


I stand behind the podium and talk about the event horizon, which brought me into these rooms. My audience: other unwitting astronauts whose lives, like mine, were deconstructed by the Black Hole of addiction. Though the time and place may be different, the physics of compulsion and allergy are precise and repetitive. Nodding heads affirm my calculations to be accurate with the vectors and trajectories of their own experience. I conclude, with the gratitude of a reassembled life, and pray, with gravity, for my feet to stay on the ground.


Toast your bread with satisfaction.
*





The Attention Tax


Paying attention is the price exacted for living in this society.
A taxation which is like a leach;
it takes the life force, diverts my brain waves,
claims the water rights to my river of thought.

What is left I use to wash off what I can,
never quite managing to feel clean or clear.
I sit in the mud puddle
still unsure if I understand what just happened;
harboring a dark fear of the wave to come.

June 1

SEASONAL EXPECTATIONS

If I am out of sync with the way the world turns, I can be nothing but disappointed. I arrive with ice skates on the hottest summer day and grieve the loss of spring. I shiver in my sandals and ponder the need for a windshield scraper, the autumn leaves so long past. I must orchestrate my moods and movements with the evolution and revolution about me. I will learn to sing with the doves in the morning and the coyotes, come the moon. I can spin with the stars. I can grow with the grass. I don’t need to counter- balance life. If I learn to bend with the tides, it all comes around again.


If moles can make hills you can move mountains

*
Soul Chiggers


If you can seed apprehension deeply in a generation,
you can reap disillusionment for a hundred years.
Bent foresight twists hindsight.

Admiring ignorance, signs death’s warrant.
Evil splintered to a thousand slivers
burrows under the skin without killing their host.

Death delayed spreads destruction along with melancholy;
a septic contagion if ever there was one.
How do we fight this systemic blight?

It is embedded in the water,
the air, the mind, and try what I might;
I can’t seem to live without any of these.

Chiggers of the soul feed and breed
no matter how I scratch and chew.
I am raw, but still infested.

How do I kill what is in me
without killing the me?

Well I've done it. I've had a drink. Actually. I've had several. So here I am with nothing but excuses for what I've done. There really isn't any reason to offer an explanation. What good would it be?

About a month ago I drank after several years sober. The pain of it, I told myself, is intolerable. I have to laugh at that moment right now. This pain seems so much worse than that pain. What a ridiculous excuse for a human being.

It's funny, even as I struggle to put my fingers to the right keys I'm telling myself "You can quit again right now. Just make the choice." But I don't want to. I want to be special in my pain. Poor me. I want to feel sorry for myself so that I have an excuse to drink again tomorrow. Poor me. Poor Friday. Everything she's feeling is so bad, so horrific, so much worse than anyone could possible care about. I make myself sick. I literally cannot stand myself right now.

A few years ago someone called me "a sick and twisted bitch" and I was so hurt by that. I understood why they felt that way. I was even sorry because I did play a part in their pain. But I never thought they were right. I just understood why they felt the way they did and I was comfortable being accountable for my part in it. Now I think they were right. I am sick and twisted. I feel twisted. At the root. At the very root. How convenient of me. I'm so wounded so I have an excuse to drink and put my well-being in danger. Boo hoo.

Boo fucking hoo.

Well, you're throwing yourself quite the pity party. LOL!!! I totally understand. When my disease is speaking for me, I sound just like you.


First, my name is Julie and I AM an alcoholic and addict.


Second, right now is not the time to try and make sense of what's going on in your brain so I'm not going to go into a long drawn out spew. Nothing right now will help you with what you are feeling. Other than feelings are not facts as I'm sure you've been told over and over and over.


Third, taking away all the judgemental language you are hurling at yourself leads to one small fact. You have a disease. I have the same one. My pleasure neurons don't connect like *normal* people. So I medicate. Why am I saying this? Because you took a drink because it's what people like you and I do. Doesn't make you a bad person or a twisted bitch. You have found an excuse that for the moment helped you fall backwards into your sick, as in injured, thinking.



Do you do meetings? Have a sponser? Might be a good idea???


If you need anything or just feel the need to talk to someone who "gets it" pm me. I will warn you, I'm pretty blunt when it comes to sobriety. For ME it's a life or death thing. I will help you through what I can but I will always be brutally honest.


Please take care,
julie

June 2

MYTHIC ADULT


My mythic adult is seen by the crowds around me; never is the charade exposed. Close inspection has been suspended so we can keep each other’s secrets. Circulating through the crowd, these children are impoverished from carrying this load of pretense. Dropping this burden is a risk far too great. Exposure invites attack. Stand tall; act brave. Unreasonable expectations are the water that moves the wheel, the power that generates this ongoing play. Hamlet is dead, yet I reprise the part daily. Daily I watch my fellows do the same. I mimic a ghost I never knew in life. Did it ever live? Or is it only a mythic adult?


Plant some things for their flower and others for their fruit.
*

Head Wringing

I have my say, though my fear is
that I constantly repeat myself;
very much the way a crow calls the same thing endlessly,
but it all has different meanings to the crow.

I would offer code keys to my readers
if I could lay my hands on one.
My mind whispers that the soothing
people get from my work is like the calm
induced by chanting monks.

Possibly it is more the actor’s trick of reading repetitive lines
each time putting the emphasis on a different word;
a way of squeezing all the juice from nonsense.

I jot ideas swearing these lines are to be found somewhere
in my previous work, perhaps whole pages are redundant.
Finally I stop this fight reminding myself I have but one voice
and what I accuse myself of as similarity might merely be my style.

Thank you.
Yes, the pity party was extensive.
The morning is a pretty "interesting" sight.
I'm off to a meeting.
Day one.

June 3

NO GOLD STARS



I look at my chart, then my chest; there are no gold stars. I long for the affirmation of my great and seemingly endless struggle. I watch the movements of those with shiny shoes and hope to be awarded with the gummed insignia. When I hang by a thread, I desire the corroboration of foil cutouts to assure me I have done the right; I have stayed alive. Punishment I fear less than lack of consolation. But, no one truly knows my bravery and if I want these paper emblems, I can just go and buy my own.


Count unhatched chickens but don’t place them on the menu.


*
The Hope Diamond

My guess is
the same god that wants me stupid
also wants me to suffer.
I ask myself what could be all powerful about that?

I wonder is God like a friend or a lover?
I carefully chose my friends
whereas my lover found me
against my greatest plans and well thought rules.

And if this is to be like marriage,
may I file for divorce if things go astray?
Or am I stuck with this match,
like I am stuck with my deformed ear
there underneath hat or fringe of hair?

I never thought of my relationship with God
like a necklace I could take on and off at will,
though the more I study it seems this beautiful thing
enhances my beauty if all is right
and will strangle me if it gets hung up.

Okay, so how did it go?????

Are you going to another meeting today?

Did you hear anyone who might be a good sponsor for you?

I actually went to 2 meetings yesterday and 2 today. I didn't choose a sponsor. I go to these meetings off and on when I feel the need for support, but I've never met anyone I'd like as a sponsor. Most of the people who volunteer to be sponsors at my regular meeting seem to have something to prove. It's as though I'd almost rather have a sponsor who is more reluctant. The overly eager ones make me nervous. It's like I'm there for them rather than the other way around. I've never had a sponsor before but I don't want one that needs me more than I need them.

I'll go again tomorrow. Right now, I'm sitting in my house trying not to bite off all my fingernails. But if I do...what the hell. They're only fingernails.

Well I wish you the best, it's hard to get sober. Please take good care of you and maybe look someplace else for a sponsor. My sponsors don't live near me or go to my local meetings. For me I would have trouble staying sober without a sponsor, that's why I mention it.

June 4

FREQUENTLY


When my daydream gets so threadbare I no longer use it, I must turn to other sources. When I cannot conjure on my own and elucidation makes me cross eyed, I must turn to HP. I have puttered and prolonged the way to naming this legendary and fabulous enigma. I drew out even longer any desire for close association with the same. I have milled with the millstone and surfed in the whirlpool, dragged my feet and thrown a fit, but this only stalled the inevitable result. Naming and interaction is the need and now is the time. I have a Higher Power and I choose to call it Frequently.


Dreams grow wings if you let them.
*


Eggshells and Bethlehem

A stable is a place to keep a horse
and in fairytales a place to birth a baby,
but stable is the story I told myself about you.

Solid, a model of strength
and here you are a tripod,
upright only if the pressure is evenly applied.

I blame myself for lopsided need
and try to find a way to keep this coupling standing.
Stripped down to minor contact
I wonder if you actually remember me
and then I wonder if I remember myself.

This is what is at stake, this is the trophy I lose
when I fall for you and you fall down.
Where is the girl I worked so hard to create?

Broken eggshells litter the nest
and I look for the chick I used to be.
I fear losing you,
I cry at the thought of losing us,
I die at the loss of me.

These things feel like they have my name written on them.

Thank you for going to the effort to post everyday. I look forward to it.

Good Morning Everyone!

My Name is LeeAnn and I'm an alcoholic.

And THAT, friends, is NOT any easy sentence for me to write or say!

I stayed up late last night reading The Big Book and then stumbled into this thread and wanted to show my support...it works if you work it, right! :)

Girl Friday, we are smack dab in this together and please know that you are not alone! Your posts made my heart ache last night because so much of it is familiar to me. Please know that you are the farthest possible thing from weak. You are brilliant and amazing and valuable and grand.

For me, coming to the realization that I was using alcohol as a coping mechanism was the biggest and most important step in my recovery. I didn't start drinking until I was in my early 30's. Never actually touched a drop until then (save for a hellish experience in my teens) and only started at the recommendation of my midwife as a means to deal with my fragile nerves after having my youngest and feeling overwhelmed by fear when my then husband started working nights. We lived in an iffy neighborhood near a bar and I was paralyzed by anxiety over how to protect them in the event someone tried to break in. I slept with a knife under my pillow and a crowbar next to the bed...I'm not sure any "sleeping" actually happened, lol.

Ultimately, through years of talk therapy and learning to become brutally honest with myself, I am ridding myself of some pretty damaging old coping skills and replacing them with tools rooted in honesty, compassion and strength. It has been incredibly hard but I am slowly and surely getting there. Each day brings the promise of hope and a joy so deeply profound and real that sometimes I have trouble believing it is all at my fingertips, just an outstretched hand away. And for me, this is the beauty of AA and the people who attend who have become both my inspiration and allies.

I haven't chosen a sponsor yet either. I was encouraged on my very first day to take that process slowly and let my sponsor reveal his or her self in time. I do have a woman that I met that same day who I have called twice in serious moments of self doubt, who has been invaluable as a source of support. Like others here, I am more than happy to be that person for you. Anytime. Just PM me.

Today I think of my alcoholism as a mask. I used it to become someone I thought was better than the real me. I believed that the real me was too damaged, unloveable, ugly...whether it was an eating disorder, dishonesty, drinking...not dealing with my issues IN FULL became my mask. I wore it because I was afraid. Each morning I wake up sober and clear headed and ready to face life's challenges I tear away a small piece of that facade, revealing the true me. And you know what? I am learning to love that girl! :)

Keep holding on...even if it is by your finger tips! :bunchflowers:

:yeahthat:

Thank you for saying the part I highlighted. It mirrors something I've been feeling for years.


I read last night:

"I was never much of a drinker. My parents didn't keep it in the house and I was always too busy with sports or whatever to do that kind of partying as a kid. In college I was really busy and I thought people who were drunk all the time were just stupid.

When I was 26 I hurt my back on vacation snowboarding but I didn't want to drive all the way back into the city to go to the doctor. Someone gave me a glass of wine and it helped. After the second glass the pain was relieved enough to make the rest of the day tolerable. The next day I had a couple more glasses. The pain was gone so I stopped. It never bothered me to drink or not to drink after that so for years it wasn't an issue.

A decade later I broke up with my partner of 13 years. The pain seemed unbearable and no matter how much I drank, I could still feel it. It wouldn't go away unless I drank until I passed out. When I woke up, the pain was still there so I'd drink until I was numb again. No one understood why I was so brokenhearted because I'd been the one to break up with her, not the other way around. So I kept drinking because I'd lost the love of my life and no one understood.

About a year later my best friend told me she was disgusted with me for not getting over my ex, so I drank more because I was disgusting. Seven months after that my brother told me I was a pathetic drunk, so I drank more because I was pathetic.

I drank for 4 years because (I told myself) no one understood why I was in pain and because I was disgusting and pathetic.

One day I woke up late and I was rushing around angrily, trying to pull myself together. Out of habit I guess, iinstead of reaching for the coffee I reached for a drink. I had the bottle in my hand and suddenly I was laughing out loud because I knew that I hated myself and that I wouldn't be able to drink the hate away. That's when it really hit me. I wouldn't be able to drink the hate away.

Lots to think about today.

Laughter and being able to laugh at yourself is paramount in this process! :)

Last week a guy in AA was talking about how he always felt like he had all the answers. No one could ever tell him what to do because he was his own boss! Dammit! He went on and on about how ridiculous he was with this line of thinking and I was cracking up on the inside because my life's motto has always been, YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!!!

Some days all we do is laugh for the entire hour...it's SO freeing!!

I don't know why, but I felt so inspired to type this here today:

I Asked

I asked for strength that I might achieve;
SHE/HE made me weak that I might obey.
I asked for health that I might do great things;
SHE/HE gave me grace that I might do better things.
I asked for riches that I might be happy;
SHE?HE gave me poverty that I might be wise.
I asked for power that I might have the praise of others;
SHE?HE gave me weakness that I might feel a need of Goddess/God.
I asked for all things that I might enjoy life.
SHE?HE gave me life that I might enjoy all things.
I received nothing I asked for;Goddess/God gave me all that I had hoped for.

author unknown

I hope not to offend anyone here
 

I am the daughter of a long time member of AA...

My dad first got sober in his 30's he struggled like no other with alcoholism and it was a struggle for him to stay sober, he worked his program day in and day out, he raised his kids in the program, i remember sitting in meeting after meeting growing up, learning, absorbing and most of all loving the community the way my dad did.

In June 1992 the doctor gave my dad a medicine that AA deemed a loss of his sobriety over, i remember being so angry that his long time sobriety was stripped from him that i was willing to go the length and argue for his behalf, he on the other hand willingly began all over again on June 7th, my navel birthday. So every year after that I attended his birthday month meeting as I had been doing already for years, and he was allowed to have me give him his chip as it was my navel birthday and his final AA birthday, the community knew me well had watched me grow up since age 14 where i now reside. I was honored..the last birthday chip i was allowed to give my dad was his 9th you see he had massive heart attack on 04/19/2002 and passed away..I held a bbq memorial at his favorite park, i went around to all the meeting halls he attended and invited everyone to come and celebrate his life. So many people (well over 200) showed up i was moved to tears, his memorial was alcohol free and my uncle who was also a member as well as a late life ordained minister flew out here to do his memorial services. One by one people talked about my dad, one by one they would come up to me and tell me how much he loved me, one by one i watched tears sliding down cheeks and one by one i enjoyed the laughter as great stories were told about my dad..He was passionate about his sobriety and loved helping others..he sponsored so many over the years. the there most valuable things i have kept that were his, his chips, his wallet and his big book..In June of that year i was requested to come to the birthday meeting by one of my dads long time friends, i honestly didn't want to because my dad would not be there...I went anyway. And as the evening went on i knew i was in the right place at the right moment, and as i watched member's getting 30,60,90 day chips and 6 mos, 1 year, 2year, on up to 10, and then my dads friend got up and he made a speech about my dad and with tears in his eyes he called me up and out of practice yet this group had voted on this, he handed me my dads 10 year chip, which i keep close to me. My dad's name and year also on the cake.

One of my favorite things my dad often did was challenge those he though bs'ing him he would challenge them to the point they had no choice but to prove him wrong and keep coming back...he was a bit of a hard arse at times.

He worked his steps daily they were a constant practice for him.

You would have liked my dad

So if its all right with everyone here i would like to say happy 20th frank s. you mean the world to me. <3