Tag Archives: sobriety

Today is March 5, 2015. I am alive and well.

I’m going to share my work with the 12 step from my 12 step program. I hope that I am not losing readers because of focusing at times on the spiritual. And I hope I’m not losing readers because I claim to be spiritual and not religious. If I’m losing you, please let me know that.

Step 12….having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

I didn’t wake up one morning and think or feel spiritual. It was a gradual process that occurred over a period of time while applying the 12 steps to my life.

I live with a God consciousness today. I am not the person I was when first waking into a meeting of the 12 step program. That person I was could have not stayed sober. As that person, I was anti-social, angry, untrusting, and completely self centered. I hated the person I had become. Drinking alcohol soothed me like a cherry lozenge placed on my tongue. After the lozenge dissolves, there is a little period of numbness. Then the numbness wears off and at times my throat screams louder than before.

God is a rhino, and a baby cub at peace with each other. God is to be found at the foot of my bed, inside my worn shoe, between the pages of books, and under the willow. God is to be found everywhere.

I wish I held God foremost in my mind 24/7. But my hat slips and I fall into fear and worry. I can tilt my hat at a different angle with little difficult. Sometimes I don’t think to do it so quickly, so I stew–a carrot once sliced is placed in water to stay fresh. When removed from water, it shrivels and dries out. I reach for another carrot from the refrigerator. There are none. I drive to the grocery store and find an abundance of carrots. Life is good.

I’m glad for the idea that we “practice” spirituality. It would not be good if someone said “be spiritual every minute of everyday or else the leg of your chair will break off and you will land on your ass. Every time.” How many times I wonder, before I break my tail bone.

I can give God a human personae. I believe God can take any form. God can be a mass of electrons at rest. God can exist in a handshake. I know if helium is pumped into a balloon, the balloon will float away, reaching into the sky.

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Today is November 26, 2014. I am alive and well.

Excerpt from my book Mind Without a Home: A Memoir of Schizophrenia…..

September 1993. I am 29 years old. At eleven years of sobriety, a heavy cloud drops on my head. Voices from other realities plague me like a gaggle of hurt geese who can’t find their way home. Men and women in black suits appear in my home and at my front door and in the grocery store aisles where cans neatly line the shelves, and boxes of cereal promise to make me an Olympian. Their presence is a plague. In three months’ time, I overdose seven times. The intensive care attendants get sick and tired of bringing me back. They refuse me cups of soda and stop washing my forehead with soft cloths in the ICU.

I move three times within these three months. People don’t want to rent me a room. Taylor comes to my rescue, as she has done many times before. She converts her living room into a bedroom.

There are three of us living in a small two bedroom apartment along with Taylor’s two large dogs. No one complains while I’m there. And no one kicks me out after I get drunk.

__________________________

not an excerpt. present day…

Life is so unlike the above today. I have 21 years of sobriety, live in my own condo, have not attempted suicide for I don’t know how many years. And I have learned to manage my symptoms well enough to have a good and full life. My past seems weird to me because I am so removed from it. I don’t live yesterdays. Today I am content with life, with who I am, wishing good cheer for all..corny, yes. But corny lights days and massages nights. I am wealthy without a dime. But I can always come up with enough to buy coffee other than Folger’s. Loving is the best thing I do in a day.

Today is September 17, 2014. I am alive and well.

I surf behind shut eyes. The surf is good, doesn’t swallow me. I grab a ray of sun and breathe slowly. I awaken. Today is my anniversary of being sober for 21 years. TIme has moved like a circle of marbles; lean down, use the boulder to push the bumblebee out of the circle and wa-la, 21 years have passed. It has been a hard but good ride. The carousel has never quit on me and I’ve been able to ride every single one of the horses multiple times. Today, my horse is outrageously purple. I settle down into consciousness and thank God. The miracle is me and I’m aware of it. God and friends have seen to it that I don’t fall off the ride; today, I lean into my destiny and know which step to take next.

I have invited love into my life again after realizing love isn’t a package wrapped tightly in twine and thrown into the glove box of Guy’s, my ex. Love is free floating. Love doesn’t need to be wet. I am responsible for my love. My heart strings are taught and flexible and far reaching. I hold hands with a new man in my life and my eyelids flutter. I’m aware of his pulse. It surfaces as we kiss. We come up for air and share a meal. He with spaghetti and meatballs, me with salmon.

We say goodbye in early evening. I have a cut off; I need to take my medications and be in bed by nine. He respects this. I am so glad.

I surf my dreams hoping to dream about him. This doesn’t happen. I don’t need it to to know that he is deep in my life. We hold hands as the hummingbird feeds on red syrup. There will be a moon tonight and I will silently pray. Life is large and I am so blessed.

Today is August 17, 2014. I am alive and fairly well.

I had to inch my way out of bed this morning. I don’t know if I’m depressed or just exhausted. It is hot in Scottsdale, Arizona. The weather can’t catch me. I’m almost always in doors or in my nicely air conditioned Forerunner.

I had no idea that kittens’ tongues are like sand paper. Grams has taken it upon herself to wash my face in the middle of the night. This cute behavior I no longer care for. Placing my hand over my face does not deter her. Eventually, I fall back asleep…

I am out of bed like a bubble escaping its wand. Only I don’t pop; rather, I fall onto the couch, gracefully of course, robe wrapped awkwardly around me and hair wild with night, to watch SuperSoul Sunday on the Oprah Network. It amazes me the amount of money her guests make with God loving them. I do respect the guests’ charisma for lighting up a room and offering people the opportunity to welcome in light.

Have I welcomed light today? I believe so. It’s simple; I smile at Grams and Annie and smooth their hair. My body is moving by feet, not inches. God has blessed me with another day of sobriety. I look forward to eating my bagel with butter and orange marmalade. Today, I will tell at least two people that I love them. And I will bury the plant that I killed. Compost for the earth. I promise God I will not bring home another plant.