Saturday, September 8, 2012

Bone Yard

Days of Sobriety = 361

I still have those nights of digging up the bones of my matrimony to booze, as evidenced in my blog of a week ago, Once In A Blue Moon , but I never wake up in the morning wishing I'd drank the night before.

Last night I had my first drinking dream in a long time, I was with the cap'n and my boys on some tropical vacation, at one point in the dream I was sitting alone in a bar/restaurant and when I got up I realized I could barely walk.  Then I belatedly realized, that I had just drank one drink and I marveled at how quick and hard it hit me, and immediately all those old compensation methods kicked in, how to try to walk and talk so nobody would know that I'd been drinking, and I was already planning about how I was going to lie to you all about it. 

Of course, I was blessedly relieved when I woke up to find it was all a dream and I remembered that in the dream my boys had been much younger than they are now.  They had been teens and tweens, the same age they were when my drinking was escalating, so maybe that dream was a necessary visit to the Bone Yard.  A gentle reminder?

I'm on call this weekend, so even though I'm not scheduled to work I set the alarm for 6:00 am so I could jump out of bed and put on my make-up and curl my hair just in case I get called out and have to go to work where I will don a surgical cap and mask and cover it all up anyway.  Go figure.

But then I crawled back into bed with my laptop and started strolling through the blogs, what a pleasure it is to be able to do so at my leisure this Saturday morning instead of in a pre-dawn rush before I go to work or in the evening when I am a barely functioning, brain dead zombie.

My friend and mentor, cp, posted a poem this week about how we find our way through recovery on the bones of others.  So it seems  this morning, I've been strolling through yet another Bone Yard. The poem is from the book,  The Zen of Recovery.

The Bones of Others
Mel Ash

If you are here to read this,
think of those who aren't.
Pray for them:good thoughts for those
who lost their minds, love and years
to compulsion, addiction and fears.
Think of their great sacrifice.

We recover on the bones of others.
Wrap your loving thoughts around them:
alone no more.

If you are here and recovering
your original shining true self,
a moment of silence for those driven mad,
by the voices and screams of disease--
driven dreams. We walk from night to day
on a path made of the bones of others.
Hold them tightly in the warm arms of your spirit:
cold no more

If you are here and attaining freedom,
A thousand bows for those who didn't
reach this shore and drowned in a
sea of despair:suffering no more.

We walk in freedom past cages made
of the bones of others.
They hand us the keys of desperation.
Quench their burning thirst
with the tears of your soul.
Calm their cravings. Still their minds.
Grant them peace in the dark and
lonely places below and above the ground.
Fill the gaping holes left by their deaths
with the immensity of your love.

Remember them as you sleep;
remember them as you wake.
Only a thought is the difference
between you and the bones of others.

To all of those that have gone before me, all of those who walk along side of me, and all of those that will follow:  Thank You

P.S. Randy looks a lot finer here than he did in his recent mug shots.  Hey Randy, if you need a shoulder, give me a holler.


  1. Just when you think you have read every bit of recovery material , , I have not come across that poem before - love it.

    Dreams. ughh,, the beauty is that we do remember using dreams when waking. I use this as a reminder that this disease, albeit in remission, is still active, cunning, and strategically orchestrating ways to lure me into the bottle. IT NEVER FREAKING GOES AWAY. I'll write , maybe next week, about how I had seven years and the story of my relapse - really illustrates the power of our diasease and the respect we must give it every day, every hour.

    Ha, ok,,,, being honest here, but I got a visual of you all dressed, ready to embrace the day,, though under the quilts blogging. Hey, gf,, this would be an ideal time for a vlog!!!

    Have a great wknd my dear

    1. I can't wait to read you account of your relapse because I always wonder what the mindset is of those that take that plunge again. Were you thinking, "I'll only do it this one time" or did you think you could handle drinking differently than before, or did you just say, "To hell with it, I don't care, I'm going to drink"

      I need to know because I still have those thoughts that maybe someday...but luckily someday is never today or even tomorrow when I'm contemplating it.

  2. Good God, what a beautiful poem. I choked up reading it just now. I've actually read it several times before because I have that book staring me in the face on my bookshelf. It's a great help to me in my search for this elusive higher power.

    Thanks for reminding me to yank it down right now!


    1. cp wanted the poem spread throughout so I'm glad you enjoyed it. I clicked onto your blog this weekend and I loved your line of advice on Crying Out Now, "You can reach your "bottom" or as low as you have to go, when you stop digging."

      I found so many new blogs written by such remarkable, strong women this weekend.

      I am humbled.

    2. I goofed on submitting a thank you, because I am a techno dweeb, so for all I know-my comment went through twice. But I wanted you to know that I am grateful to have found your blog. xo

  3. Love Randy and love that song. I pray he finds some peace.

    Oh those dreams! I get so ANGRY with myself when I'm in them and I realize I've been drinking (apparently I just "forget" I was an alcoholic) and then I'm soooo relieved when I wake up.

    You are exactly where you should be right now. You must be so proud of yourself! I know I'm proud of you! (in a very non-condescending way of course). ;-)

    1. Oh go ahead and be condescending, I don't mind in the least. I am proud of myself, I'm proud of all of us, why in the hell did we think we had to hide all our marvelousness behind a mask of booze?

      I didn't know it but I think I was doing a little self-fortune telling because I did get called out to work shortly after I wrote this blog and guess what it was for...a broken femur. And then I got called out for a broken wrist. And then a fractured hip.

      I was traipsin' through a real Bone Yard all weekend.