Tag Archives: alcoholism

A Memorial Day for memories, but not the usual sort …

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Today I found myself waiting for a cleaner I hired that never showed up, and that was just as well. I surprisingly felt okay, and I was able to do some cleaning myself without getting too freaked out in my apartment. That was one reason I hired a cleaner, so that things could get done in my apartment that were being neglected because of my inability to spend long periods of time in my place.

But today was different, and I can’t figure out why, though I am not complaining. I started cleaning off my coffee table while I was waiting for the cleaner. Before I knew it I realized he wasn’t coming, but I was on a roll. So, I cleaned it off. It took a while, but I did it. And here it is …

coffee table

I even used the vacuum! Although it took a while to achieve such a small task of cleaning off a coffee table and vacuuming I still felt accomplished. And I felt that way because I did not freak out. I did not start getting anxious and scared and depressed in my place. I did not feel like dying, and the thoughts I used to get from Belle about death were not there. And thanks be to God for that.

It was still a hard day, and I certainly felt sadness. The difference was that it did not feel like the end of the world. The book you see on the coffee table is a poetry chapbook that my long-lost father sent me back in 2008 when we briefly reconnected. We could not maintain the connection because his active alcoholism was too much. I called him on Father’s Day that year, and became upset at hearing my father drunk on the phone. I just could not maintain a connection under such unpredictable circumstances, never knowing when he would be sober. I found that book of poetry while I was cleaning. It took my breath away. I realized that when I received it back in 2008 I had not paid much attention to it because I was still mad at him for being drunk on Father’s Day that same year in 2008. The book, braille for the heart, is a chapbook of poetry by Robert Vasquez.

poetry

And for the first time since I received the book I picked it up and looked at it. I really looked at it. For the first time ever I looked at it without anger. As I started flipping through it I found a page that he had bookmarked with a metal bookmark. I always thought it was just randomly put there. I had never really looked at what he had bookmarked until today. Here is what I found.

POEM

He underlined the last line, “Music is braille for the heart.” It just takes my breath away to see this because the underlining was meant for me, at least I presume it was. I miss him, but I don’t like thinking about how much I miss him because the pain is a huge hole in my heart. The pain of knowing that he’s been walking dead to me for decades. The alcoholism took him from me, and will likely keep him from me for the rest of our days. He is the only person on this earth who truly gets me. Case in point, he sent me a chapbook of Latino poetry without knowing how much I love poetry. I know he sent it because he connected with the chapbook. But the truth is that I’ve loved poetry since I was a child. And though he was not around when I fell in love with poetry I know that he knows because he’s the only one that knows me. And the only one that knows me is without reach. I cannot talk to him about life, or any of the challenges or accomplishments I’ve had. If I could talk to him I know he would relate to so much of it. Hell, we’re both even alcoholics. I was more like him than I wanted to be.

Oh, I miss him so. There is so much loss here that it is just hardly palpable, especially since the loss of him left me with my mother. The irony is in the fact that he’s the parent that really loved me, but his alcoholism kept us apart. This one gift from my actively alcoholic father is light years beyond anything my mother has ever given me. She may have been present, but she never had the capacity for love. It is simply not within her. Yet, she is the parent I got to be with, the one who could not love. The one who could love was and is too sick. He is sick, but I still love him, and always will.

Still nibbling …

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As usual, I woke up from a night of nightmares. I did not sleep well last night, and had to take a long nap from 11:00 – 2:00 today. Then, even during that nap, I nightmared again!

I took a shower to try to shake the dissociation, and then took myself out to eat a late lunch/early dinner. I didn’t know what to call the meal, just knew I was in need of one.

By the time I finished eating I realized that I could actually make the Sunday AA women’s meeting that I attended last Sunday. Without giving it another thought I drove there, and this time I rushed right in instead of hiding out in the bathroom.

As I listened during the sharing part of the meeting, some folks started talking about topics that were triggering to me. However, I was able to remain grounded. I refused to give in to the dissociation that was coming over me. Oddly, a number of people were talking about difficult mothers, a topic which many of you know has been on my mind lately. Then, one woman talked about her daughter in a way that my mother would likely talk about me. I felt myself get floaty, but I told myself that this was her experience, not mine, and I did not have to internalize it.

Again, I did not speak at the meeting as I was often struggling just to be present, and I did fly out as soon as the meeting was over. But, I went to the meeting, attended it, stayed present, and didn’t hide in the bathroom. Perhaps next week I’ll speak in some way, either introduce myself to someone or share during the meeting.

I nibbled at the edges again!

 

the lesson continues …

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Cover of "The Four Agreements: A Practica...

Amazingly, I actually went to an AA meeting. I parked, got out of the car, opened the door, and stepped right in! Though as soon as I did that I ran to the bathroom. I really did have to use it, but I am guilty of hanging out in there 3 minutes longer than needed. I found a place to sit in the meeting room, and made myself remain seated. A nice woman whom we’ll call Lori came up to me and introduced herself.

Then the meeting chair rang the little bell and the meeting commenced. As she was talking, the heat and haziness in the room started triggering my dissociation. Unfortunately, heat triggers my PTSD. My therapist and I can only conclude that it’s because most of my trauma happened in a desert climate, which is what I grew up in until I left home at 18. As I felt myself start to drift into that parade float feeling I just told myself where I was, and made myself listen intently to whomever was speaking. It worked to a certain extent. The floaty feeling didn’t entirely disappear until I left the meeting, but I was able to be present most of time.

At the end of the meeting Lori came up to me, and asked me if I had been to that meeting in the past. I said I had, but lied and said that Sundays were hard for me. She then said that Sundays used to be hard for her until she relapsed, and after her relapse nothing came between her and her meetings after that.

After a few more minutes of conversation, I then told her it was great meeting her, and left. I got in my car, and started thinking about the interaction as soon as it was over. I cocked my head, and wondered what was different. I knew something was different, but I couldn’t immediately identify it. Then I realized that I wasn’t offended by Lori’s remark about Sundays being hard for her before she relapsed. Previously, I would have been offended by her remark. I would have over thought it, and presumed that she was telling me I needed to attend more meetings, or I was at risk of a relapse.

It dawned on me that perhaps I’m finally starting to soak in what a number of people have been telling me for years about what people and say and do, and that is the fact that what people say and do is not about you, or in this matter, me. It is about them. What people say and do is about them. What Lori shared with me was about her experience, not mine. This is similar to what Cindy was trying to tell me about Cate.

All of this also got me thinking about an old friend I made when I first go into AA. I became friends with an Irish chef, whom we will call Brian. I used to drive Brian nuts talking on and on about how my supervisor at work (this was at a previous job) was insensitive to me. I felt she was very insensitive in her manner towards me.

One day after Brian had enough of my complaining he had me meet him at a cafe before a meeting. On cue I started complaining about my boss. He then pulled out a book, and handed it to me as a gift. The name of the book was The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. As he handed it to me he brought my attention to the second agreement in the book:

“Don’t take anything personally. Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won’t be the victim of needless suffering.”

This was a revelation to me. Actually, all of the the agreements were a revelation. But it was the second agreement that was immediately applicable to my life. I got what Brian was trying to tell me, and for a few days I was able to follow the second agreement. But it was very hard to carry on long term. I shortly forgot about it, and it wasn’t until today that I realized the second agreement was applicable to my sister Cate, and Lori at the AA meeting. Cindy, my therapist, and Brian, the chef, were all trying to tell me the same thing, but in different ways. Cognitively, it’s easy for me to get the concept, but being as sensitive as I am, it is an altogether different story in applying it on a regular basis. I hope it’s finally sticking in my brain.

Cover via Amazon