As a person in recovery, long after the booze and dope is out of your system and you have begun to live life the way it's really coming at you, there are incredible moments of growth and personal victories. When your emotional IQ has been frozen in time by the effects chemicals have had it is like catching up with your body and actual age when you get sober. There are times when as a recovering alcoholic-addict, or maybe just as a human, I see myself regress. The difference between the using me and the recovering me is that I can reflect on my actions and be confident that I don't have to use over the rush of emotions. Then I review my day to search out the real cause of my regression.
I had one of THOSE days yesterday. I am working on a benefit for a dear friend and things were not going MY WAY, the great distress of any addict. It was one thing after another. With each rejection for a donation I was getting more irritable and I did not sleep well the night before. I have been nursing a pain in my side that I am convinced is either a twisted fallopian tube, Tay Sachs or Sickle Cell. As I made my calls and was pummeled with unsympathetic replies I was making notes for my memorial service soundtrack.
My son came home and asked if I wanted him to start dinner. As a budding chef and generally pretty good boy I jumped at the offer. The menu for the night was to be hot Italian sausage (sossage for those outside of Chicago) with onions and peppers on hoagie rolls. This is fine dining in my world. Soon the house was filled with the sweet smells of the "Holy Trinity" of cooking and the crackling sounds of what would be a culinary combination that rivals only corned beef and cabbage and surf-n-turf.
I feeling a little better at the table knowing a great meal was coming and a sit down with the family. My boy was starving and had one of the tasty creations as we waited for the queen to get home. I started wrapping up my work and waited for the dogs to rush the office door downstairs, a sure sign that Squeaky was home. In mere moments there she stood ravenous and beat. She had been through a similar day at the office as I had.
I know my wife has had a rough day when she puts her things down, grabs a plate and a soda and makes her way to the table. I finished the last of some follow-up emails. I could see my son was sitting down with another sausage slathered with peppers and onions. My wife prepared hers and asked me if I wanted her to make mine. From behind the screen, as I was hitting send, I said yes.
I moved my computer to the left of our dining room table and folded my hands for grace. I thanked the LORD for his blessings and some other points I needed to hit and opened my eyes. I looked down at my plate to see a poor naked sausage laying naked in a hoagie roll! I was horrified! Speechless! I looked at my wife and son stuffing the falling bits of pepper and onion back onto their sandwich. Then glanced back down at my lonely, naked, orphaned pork delicacy wannabe.
My emotions ran rampant! I was filled with jealousy and hurt. I was left out. Why hadn't I gotten any peppers and onions? Upon questioning my wife dryly replied, "Sorry I finished em'. There weren't that many left. You can have some of mine if you want." 'IF YOU WANT.' the words rang in my ears like I was taking the last dime from a starving orphan! I was doing math in my head realizing my son had TWICE the number of his allotted share of peppers and onions! I sat for a moment at the naked wiener on my plate with disdain. Who are these people at this table? Are there pods under their beds?!
You can't have french fries without ketchup! There is no peanut butter without jelly! I will not eat green eggs and ham! It was all there and I was pouting. I didn't say a word but my face spoke volumes. Eating the naked sausage felt like sacrilege. I didn't make a peep. That is very rare for me so they both knew I was unhappy but munched along in happy oblivion.
After dinner I mentioned to my wife that my feelings were hurt. When I was using I would have made a scene or stormed out the door. I realized I was tired. I knew I was smarting from the rejections I had all day. Trying to help a friend with little success was the real thing that was making me hurt. The peppers and onions were just the tipping point. I went up to bed early and spent some time talking to Squeaky.
When I woke up today my message box was filled with offers of donations from friends and strangers. From paintings, golf rounds and financial support the response was overwhelming. Everyday I learn more. I am grateful I have no desire to use but I am sorting through a lot of the "ic" that comes along with being an alcoholic. WE recovering addicts don't get our panties in a bunch over death, divorce and calamity. We do when there's no peppers and onions.
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