It's a funny thing how events look so different when you look back in the rear view mirror of your life. The distortions and distances of relationships, both real and imagined, become clearer and focused. On the side mirror of my car it reads "objects may be closer than they appear." Life truly is like that, but sometimes those distances and distortions have to be trudged through before we can look at them and gain their proper perspective.
Squeaky, Ange and I went down to my sister's house for my family's Christmas in the quaint town of Dwight. My mother, brother-in-law, nephew, niece and her husband spent one of the nicest, most joyful holidays together I can remember in a long time. It started with a Bear victory and a variety of tasty snacks and treats. It ended with me relating this story of how different things look in that rear view mirror now.
Growing up in Mokena it was just me, my mom and my sister in our tiny apartment on Wolf Road. Mom worked a lot, sometimes more than one job to support us. We were not poor as there was food on the table and clothes on our backs but Christmas gifts often included underwear, socks, belts, sweaters and other types of clothing. There were toys too. I remember opening the boxes by the corner and if I saw there were clothes or socks inside I would quickly chuck the box to the side in search of G.I. Joe, Big Jim with Kung-Fu action or Vertibird, my all time favorite toy. When I had tossed the boxes to the side my Mom would make me retrieve them and hold up sweaters and pants or even worse, try them on to see if they fit. Oh how I hated trying clothes on knowing that I had left G.I. Joe behind with my sister's Barbie.
Mom went through some tough relationships after the divorce from my father. My sister and I lived through the same pain she did. My mom was private and hardworking and handled her job as mother and father for a good part of my young life. When she would get home from work we would have a simple dinner and she would crash on the couch, exhausted from the hard day she had just put in. There were factory jobs, paint store jobs, Amway and real estate just to name a few.
My sister and I weren't close coming up. I really don't know why. We shared a room in our tiny apartment and the whole floor of a house when Mom got remarried when I was 6. Even though our beds were a few feet apart or our rooms next to each others we didn't talk life. It seemed like we had a mile in between us. We rarely shared our feelings about those challenges that our youth seemed to throw at us left, right and center.
I was active in sports and I wanted my Mom to go to every event. I would run home chattering like a record on 78 rpms until she would shoo me away because of my nonstop jabbering. I wanted my sister to dote on me like I was her sweet baby brother. Those things didn't happen THE WAY I WANTED THEM TO and I resented it. My friends had two parents doing things. I had one Mom trying to be everything all the time. My sister was navigating her way through life's difficulties, as I was, and I didn't understand the realities of daily living.
In my teens I did everything I could to avoid feelings and realities. I would morph into different "me's" hoping to reach my mom or escape the confusion of our complicated family dynamic. When I began to drink I drank "AT" people. It was THEIR fault! I didn't DESERVE this! I had a million reasons to use and a lot of painful material to draw from. As I got older the distances became chasms of misunderstanding between me and these two extraordinary women.
When I got into recovery I regurgitated my life story seeking confirmation that I did indeed have the worst young life a boy had ever encountered in the history of mankind. They asked me a few simple questions. "Did any of these people who cause you so much pain pour booze down your throat?" Well no. "If you won the award for having the worst life ever what would you do about your life starting tomorrow?" There is nothing an addict hates more than logical, sensible responses to our desperately manipulating bullshit!
Today everything became crystal clear to me. My mom sacrificed her life physically, mentally and emotionally to provide for our simple existence. She would have been everywhere for my sister and I if she wasn't going to or coming home from work. She had her own personal dramas to deal with but always made sure that my sister and I had food, clothes and shelter. I do remember she would say "I love you" every day as I left for school.
There was nothing but laughter and love in that quaint house in Dwight today. My mom is healthy and my sister is an amazing mother and sister. We ate, took pictures, told stories and reminisced about days gone by. The past is gone but it can be put in perspective now. When a seed is sitting in a pile of shit it doesn't realize that after it makes it through that shit, only sunshine and beauty await. I saw only sunshine and beauty today. It was a perfect family get together.
For all of you single parents, thanks for what you sacrifice for your kids. They will understand some day. For all you addicts, all the excuses are gone. You use because you are an addict. You will quit when you stop running. For any of you sitting like a seed in a pile of life shit, be confident that when you get through it there is a lot of sunshine and beauty awaiting you.
Showing posts with label Dysfunction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dysfunction. Show all posts
Sunday, December 26, 2010
I've Got A Hangover...Boy Does My Head Hurt!
Ah ha! You thought I went out and got drunk last night! No I did not. In sobriety it was just another day. It is funny when a family member or friend knows you are in recovery they feel an obligation to ask if "I mind" that they have a drink. Nobody asks me when I'm on a diet if "I mind" if they eat a donut. I assure you that if I know you have a shell fish allergy and we are at a holiday party, I will feel no guilt grabbing the chubby mollusk and dragging it through some cocktail sauce on the way to my big mouth.
It is courteous and appreciated, but if I wanted to get drunk or high, I would instantly switch into "McHighver" and find a way to get wasted. If I were on a deserted island and wanted to get drunk, I would find some coconut milk and monkey piss to ferment and make a sweet island cocktail. That is the deliberate obsession when an addict wants to use. Rationalizing the need, formulating the plan, attaining the resources, and getting away from the people who would frown upon us for using is the equation for doing the deed.
I want to stress again I am not anti-alcohol. I am not mightier than thou! I wish I could have a drink like normal folk. But for me there is no such thing as "a drink." The only thing guaranteed after the first drink is lots more of them. If I don't have the first, I don't need to worry about the 56th.
The hangover I have is that of the racing thoughts, obsessions and unrealistic expectations I put on holidays and every day for that fact. I question my gift selections, the wrapping, the traffic getting to our destination and the safe return home. I have the expressions of approval of each gift recipient acted out in my mind and my courteous, humble acknowledgement to their gratitude for receiving it.
Unrealistic expectations are a one-two punch for me with addiction issues and depression issues. It is a plain and simple fact that no one, especially me, can meet my expectations because they are unattainable. If you were to ask me what my expectations for me were, it is perfection and nothing short of that. That is why the obsessive person tends to be frustrated a lot. I could not write out specifically what goals I am trying to reach in my life. I do know if I'll never meet them. My mind sets up goals and ideals for me that are always just out of reach.
It is impossible for any of us to know how people will react. My reactions don't properly match the situation I am experiencing. That is what a racing misfiring mind offers. I can remember going to a funeral for an aunt and having zero emotion at her death. Nothing! Zip! My critical mind then questioned if I was some kind of heartless, head case because of my lack of feelings. I cared for her and I was going to miss her.
On the way home from the service, a sparrow flew into the grill of my 1973 AMC Javelin. I pulled over and extricated the lifeless body from the chrome screen and sat there weeping for 10 minutes at the demise of the tiny creature. It was just a bird, not a blood relative. I, however, processed it as a catastrophe and injustice! I felt guilt for driving my car in that place at that moment. I took out the "hit me stick" and whacked away at myself, weeping all the way for taking the breath from one of God's miraculous creations.
On a previous Christmas, when my son was about 6, he wanted a remote control dinosaur. I was a man possessed going from store to store, rabid with the focus that I would find the gift my son so wanted at any expense. I found the item after several hours and several mall trips. I felt quiet satisfaction picturing his elation as he ripped open the treasure I had found for him. On that morning my heart was racing as he reached for the magical box. Ripping the paper feverishly from the booty I presented him, he quietly uttered, "Wow, cool," and cast the dinosaur to the side and grabbed a foam football I picked up as an afterthought gift. I was devastated, angry and confounded at his reaction. I had played the scene of him leaping into my arms dozens of times before that fateful morning. My day was ruined and I moped around for the day thinking only of my feelings
Today we have Christmas with my side of the family. We are a complicated bunch, to say the least. It will be enjoyable and quietly subdued. I will "think" my way through what I say and have my feelings bruised somewhere along the way. These get togethers were a source of pain for years. It is easier now and gets less traumatic with each visit. Our history together has been challenging and we all suffer from some residual pain from the events of the past.
If I have no preconceived notion of what people say or do, there can be no frustration when the action and outcome don't align. Family is family. I can remember saying to my mother one time in anger, "You are not the mom I wanted!" It was a horrible and cutting remark, but liquid courage had welled up in me when I spat such vile words. Her reply shocked me into sobriety and I will never forget it. She replied, "Did you ever think that maybe you're not the son I wanted?" The words hit the bulls eye and started me on the road of acceptance.
Today I will keep my lofty expectations for a "Rockwell" moment out of my mind's eye. I will just go with the flow. I will enjoy my time with loved ones and accept everyone as being just the way they are supposed to be. That will guarantee me a happier day, a quieter mind and gratitude for sharing another day of life on planet earth where each day is a gift.
It is courteous and appreciated, but if I wanted to get drunk or high, I would instantly switch into "McHighver" and find a way to get wasted. If I were on a deserted island and wanted to get drunk, I would find some coconut milk and monkey piss to ferment and make a sweet island cocktail. That is the deliberate obsession when an addict wants to use. Rationalizing the need, formulating the plan, attaining the resources, and getting away from the people who would frown upon us for using is the equation for doing the deed.
I want to stress again I am not anti-alcohol. I am not mightier than thou! I wish I could have a drink like normal folk. But for me there is no such thing as "a drink." The only thing guaranteed after the first drink is lots more of them. If I don't have the first, I don't need to worry about the 56th.
The hangover I have is that of the racing thoughts, obsessions and unrealistic expectations I put on holidays and every day for that fact. I question my gift selections, the wrapping, the traffic getting to our destination and the safe return home. I have the expressions of approval of each gift recipient acted out in my mind and my courteous, humble acknowledgement to their gratitude for receiving it.
Unrealistic expectations are a one-two punch for me with addiction issues and depression issues. It is a plain and simple fact that no one, especially me, can meet my expectations because they are unattainable. If you were to ask me what my expectations for me were, it is perfection and nothing short of that. That is why the obsessive person tends to be frustrated a lot. I could not write out specifically what goals I am trying to reach in my life. I do know if I'll never meet them. My mind sets up goals and ideals for me that are always just out of reach.
It is impossible for any of us to know how people will react. My reactions don't properly match the situation I am experiencing. That is what a racing misfiring mind offers. I can remember going to a funeral for an aunt and having zero emotion at her death. Nothing! Zip! My critical mind then questioned if I was some kind of heartless, head case because of my lack of feelings. I cared for her and I was going to miss her.
On the way home from the service, a sparrow flew into the grill of my 1973 AMC Javelin. I pulled over and extricated the lifeless body from the chrome screen and sat there weeping for 10 minutes at the demise of the tiny creature. It was just a bird, not a blood relative. I, however, processed it as a catastrophe and injustice! I felt guilt for driving my car in that place at that moment. I took out the "hit me stick" and whacked away at myself, weeping all the way for taking the breath from one of God's miraculous creations.
On a previous Christmas, when my son was about 6, he wanted a remote control dinosaur. I was a man possessed going from store to store, rabid with the focus that I would find the gift my son so wanted at any expense. I found the item after several hours and several mall trips. I felt quiet satisfaction picturing his elation as he ripped open the treasure I had found for him. On that morning my heart was racing as he reached for the magical box. Ripping the paper feverishly from the booty I presented him, he quietly uttered, "Wow, cool," and cast the dinosaur to the side and grabbed a foam football I picked up as an afterthought gift. I was devastated, angry and confounded at his reaction. I had played the scene of him leaping into my arms dozens of times before that fateful morning. My day was ruined and I moped around for the day thinking only of my feelings
Today we have Christmas with my side of the family. We are a complicated bunch, to say the least. It will be enjoyable and quietly subdued. I will "think" my way through what I say and have my feelings bruised somewhere along the way. These get togethers were a source of pain for years. It is easier now and gets less traumatic with each visit. Our history together has been challenging and we all suffer from some residual pain from the events of the past.
If I have no preconceived notion of what people say or do, there can be no frustration when the action and outcome don't align. Family is family. I can remember saying to my mother one time in anger, "You are not the mom I wanted!" It was a horrible and cutting remark, but liquid courage had welled up in me when I spat such vile words. Her reply shocked me into sobriety and I will never forget it. She replied, "Did you ever think that maybe you're not the son I wanted?" The words hit the bulls eye and started me on the road of acceptance.
Today I will keep my lofty expectations for a "Rockwell" moment out of my mind's eye. I will just go with the flow. I will enjoy my time with loved ones and accept everyone as being just the way they are supposed to be. That will guarantee me a happier day, a quieter mind and gratitude for sharing another day of life on planet earth where each day is a gift.
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