Self-Preservation

So, I went to mass last Sunday (I bet you guys are "praying" for the day I return to MX and all my blogs start out, "When I was walking on the beach this morning...), I wasn't really in the mood, the cap'n and I had been fighting and I was on Day 6 of no carbs which means no ice cream and I was that kind of weepy where if anybody looked at me wrong or said something nice, I was going to burst into tears. I huddled over in the corner of the very back pew to avoid either circumstance and kind of wondered what the heck I was doing there.

My inner voice had bribed me by saying, "There might be something really valuable at mass today. Something that will make giving up drinking and ice cream and everything else that makes life worth living  worth it."

"Huh?" I said. But I went.

I was sitting there before mass started trying not to think about how sorry I felt for myself, when I got the idea to open up the missal to a random page and see if there was a message there for me.

Yep, there was.

Here it is:

"I will extol you, Oh Lord, for you drew me clear/and did not let my enemy rejoice over me. Oh Lord, you brought me up from the netherworld/you preserved me from among those going down into the pit. "

Yeah, I think that was meant for me.

Now, the task is to figure out why I was preserved.

I guess that's a question for all of us who have found a lasting sobriety, Why did we make it, when so many don't? I don't think it has anything to do with being chosen, or being stronger, or being smarter, or being anything more than the others.

I think it has only to do with choosing to save ourselves. It has to do with putting ourselves first.

No matter what.

To love ourselves.

No matter what.

To not drink.

No matter what.

Though the mountains may fall and the hills turn to dust.

Amen.

For those still struggling:

Quit pickling yourself, preserve yourself for something better.

Choose you!

Over and over again.

No matter what.

(Ha ha, disregard the whiny, self-pitying first few paragraphs of this post, that was a hormonal, carb-deficient, atypical day. I still wouldn't trade it for a hangover, though!)

I Think I'll Start Drinking Again...When Wine Comes From Cows

The other night at abs chat we had a familiar conversation. One of our members who has recently decided to quit drinking forever isn't enjoying it too much. She's depressed, she says, when she thinks of never, ever drinking again.

Some of us old timers did a virtual nod in commiseration.

We all race to type in, "That's why we don't say the word forever. We just take it that proverbial one day at a time."

It got me to thinking about what kind of circumstances would lead me to drink again. Then I got a little too excited and happy thinking about funerals and terminal diagnosis's so I quit thinking in that direction. 

I finally decided I could try drinking again when it held as much allure for me as MILK.

I don't hate milk. I just haven't drank it for about forty years. No, not even when I was pregnant or breast feeding, I just doubled up on the calcium supplement which might explain why my oldest son is in the medical journals as the youngest person with kidney stones. ;0

See, I could imagine visiting Wisconsin and not drinking milk, even though it is known worldwide for its milk.

I would have no problem going to a milk tasting and spitting out my "taste" before I moved on to the next frothy bottle of milk.

And, I'd have no problem taking a sip of milk from a wedding toast and then dumping the rest of it in a potted plant.

When I get to that level of disinterest in booze, then I might try drinking again.

I don't see it happening anytime soon.

Workin' It!

I started my second week of couch potato to 5K and I still hate it.  In fact, I was in a bad mood all night last night just knowing that I was going to get to get up this morning and do it. (Note that I said "get to get up and do it" instead of "have to." I"m working hard at changing my mindset.  It ain't working.)  I was even grumpier this morning.  And I thought more than once about just saying screw it.

But I didn't.

I got out there and I panted and cussed through my one minute intervals and all the while I kept thinking, if I quit, I'm a fraud.  Every day I get up and I get on the computer and tell people that all their hard work and suffering is going to be so worth it.  That they have to look at the big picture and remember why they're doing this.

Then I thought and asked myself, "Why are you doing this?"

Because I hope to be around twenty years from now.  Because I hope to be healthier this time next year.  Because I hope to be stronger tomorrow than I am today.  Because I hope to reach that point  when I reap the rewards and the biggest reward will be the pride I have in myself.  Because I hope if I can do this one more thing for myself, I will be able to do other harder and more rewarding things.

Hope is important.  But Hope is not enough.

It reminds me of when I was quitting drinking,

To all of my amigas and amigos out there that are just starting out, remember that you are getting stronger with every day and every minute.  It will get easier.  It will be worth it.  Don't quit dreaming of the rewards, it is a gift that keeps on giving.  You will carry the knowledge of your accomplishment forever.  And you will be proud.  Forever.

If you can do this, you can do anything.

And you can do this.

Happy May Day

“Be willing to be a beginner every single morning.”
― Meister Eckhart

Way back when I was a young girl we would spend the first day of May making cones out of whatever material we could find, sometimes it was the construction paper from one of our old kindergarten masterpieces that we'd decided to sacrifice in honor of the day, or sometimes it would be a plain white paper plate with fluted edges and barely detectible smudges of ketchup and mustard.

We'd get out our cigar box of broken crayons and decorate the outside with emblems of springs,  yellow daisies and rabbits and the iconic 70's smiley face, then we'd attach a handle to the cone and stuff it full of whatever spring flowers we could filch from Mom's flower beds, usually the early blooming roses and iris's.  With baskets in hand, we'd stealthily prowl the neighborhood, looping the handles of the baskets over the doorknobs of our unsuspecting prey, then we'd knock on the door, or ring the doorbell, and run like heck around the corner of the house, waiting for the inhabitants  to come to the door and find the May Day surprise we'd left for them.  Most of them opened the door and looked out and a scowl would form over their features right before they slammed the door.  It seemed, the Hickey kids had played this game one too many times without leaving a surprise.  But in the jubilant spirit of spring and the exuberance of youth, we persevered with the knocking and running until our beleaguered victim finally flung open the door to give chase.  It was then they would spot the dangling basket of posies.  I tell you, it would stop them in their tracks and we'd have to stifle our giggles as the angry expressions on their faces turned to chagrin and finally to a wistful nostalgia as they remembered their own days as marauding May Day basket hooligans.

By the time my boys were of appropriate age, the May Day basket tradition had been mostly abandoned and forgotten, but I decided to revive it.  On May first, I'd force them inside away from their games with the neighborhood kids and I'd sit them down with all the construction materials and they'd whine but then finally give in, I'm sure thinking the sooner they got the "stupid baskets" finished, the sooner they could go play.  Afraid not.  My yard was not as bounteous as my mother's in spring flowers, but I was not about to be thwarted.  (I'm pretty sure my unflagging enthusiasm for resurrecting this dead tradition was fueled by a couple of Jack Daniels and Diet Pepsi's) I'd have the boys pile into the car and we'd drive down the alleys of our local florists. The boys would cower in the backseat of the car in embarrassment as I dumpster dived for flowers whose stems were broken or whose petal's edges were just starting to turn brown.  The boys would stuff the bedraggled flowers into their "stupid" baskets and we'd ride off into the night in search of victims.  (They liked this part.)

Today is the first day of May, May Day, and several of my friends on the Moderation Management Mainlist are embarking on a 30 day abs period.  Today is Day 1, the most difficult day of all.  For today, that is.  Tomorrow, tomorrow will be the most difficult day of all.  It is woefully easy for me to look back and remember what got me through those first days of not drinking,  I was usually coming off of a bender, and sickeness, physical and spiritual sickness, is what fueled all the early days of abstinence for me.

I wish it hadn't been that way.  Instead I wish I could have laid careful plans for my first day and the days that followed.  I have often been asked how I quit drinking, the simple answer is, "I just quit drinking." but that is not the answer they're seeking, and it's not completely the truth.  "I just quit drinking." lots of times but "just not drinking" wasn't enough to keep me from drinking again.  What finally made me able to not drink again, was to find more and more things in my life that were more important than my drinking, and then I had to nourish them until I loved them enough to not want to see them suffer from the neglect and apathy that went hand in hand with my drinking.  It wasn't one single thing, it was a basketful.

So if I'd been lucky enough to start a 30 day abs period, or a forever abs period on May 1, without my usual hangover, I'd look at those 30 days as if they were a giant May Day Basket and I'd pack it full of things I could fall in love with. Writing, biking, gardening, knitting, painting, charity, my kids... are just a few of the things I might put in that basket.  If I ran out of things that I thought I could fall in love with, I'd go dumpster diving until I found something, even if I had to dig down to the very bottom past all kind of rotting stinking garbage, even if it's survival was doubtful.  Then I'd pour all my efforts into saving it.

That's what I'd do. I'd spend this month doing my damnedest to fall in love with something. Anything. Lots of things.   I'm sure, in the first few days, I'd be like my old neighbors and I'd keep  opening the door with a scowl to see nothing there, but  I'd keep answering that knock on the door until I found the gift that was waiting for me.   Just so that on May 30, if I'd tried my hardest, if I'd given my utmost best effort, I would be holding in my hands something precious, something that I loved more than drinking.

 Maybe more than one thing. 

Maybe a whole basketful of things.

Maybe just myself.

P.S. Best wishes for all you, MM May abser's, you can do this if you keep your basket full.  If any of you want to share what things you're finding to fall in love with along the way please tell us about it in the comments. In addition, if any of my fellow bloggers would like to share what got you through those first few days and weeks of abs, please do. 

Summer Child

My mom always called me her little hoyden.  I was never a tomboy, I was much too uncoordinated for that, but I was a little kid that bounced out of bed on summer mornings and was out the door in my mismatched plaid shorts and daisy print shirt before mom could holler, "Would you please brush that rat's nest out of your hair?"

A child of the sun. Skinny brown legs pumping, handlebar tassels flying, off in search of new skinned knees and bug bites and whatever adventure those summer days held for me. Cannonballs into flimsy backyard swimming pools, Miss America with a sprinkler ring perched on my head as my crown, slip-n-sliding on smooth wet sidewalks (ouch), kool-aid stands...What more could life have to offer?  Falling in bed at night, feet black from my staunch refusal to wear shoes, skin itchy from sunburn and tumbles in freshly mown grass, my mind racing with the promises of tomorrow.

I looked in the mirror yesterday, my cheeks slightly sunburnt, my legs brown and freckled, my hair a wild, brittle tangle from too much chlorine and sun, a rat's nest, as my mom would say, my tummy protruding over my bathing suit bottom. "Kary May, if you're going to wear shortie tops at least suck your belly in," my ever mortified older sister, Kathy frequently admonished my ten year old self.  I didn't care back then, why should I now?

I looked into cloudless green eyes and saw that summer girl again.  The girl I fought so hard for.

Hi, there. I remember you.

Lightbulb Moment

Hey Gang,
I've been getting a lot of pleas lately, I know you've gotten them too, I remember when I made the same desperate plea. That plea for a magic bullet, a turn of phrase, a cataclysmic event, an awakening.  What was it that made me finally, for the umpteenth time, for the last time, decide to quit drinking.

So I went back through my blogs and found the date, July 6, 2011.  If you look at the top of the blog I wrote that day, you'll see "Day 11."  I had already gone 11 days without drinking, but when I started those 11 days it wasn't with the intention of giving up drinking for good, it was with the intention of completing a 30 day abs in my pursuit of moderation.  I'd made about twelve attempts at a 30 day abs in my year of trying to moderate and never completed one.

July 6, 2011, is not my sobriety date though, I had one relapse since then.  A stupid relapse, one with the stupid intention of trying to change someone else's actions.  It didn't work, but at no time during that relapse did I fool myself into believing that I could live my life in anything but a totally sober state.

Here is my blog from that day:

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Another Life Choice

Day11
This is going to be a quickie.  We all have things we'd rather be doing on a Sunday than read my blog.  Sunday is for new beginnings and it is a new beginning for me.  I have made the decision that the only route left for me to take is total and permanent abstinence from alcohol.  I joined a new message board this last week, Women for Sobriety but I'll admit I still wasn't convinced.  Then someone responded to my introductory post that she got exhausted thinking about all of my Day 1's, Day 10,s Day 19's.... so I went back and read back over my blog this last year. Come on, who was I fooling? Only myself.  Was one more stab at moderation going to be the ticket?  I don't know, I never will.  I just don't want to waste any more of my life on any more "one more times".  As Andy Dufrain said in the movie Shawshank Redemption, "It's time to get busy living or get busy dying."  I know which one I'm choosing.  I may stumble a long the way but I won't be attempting moderation again, it's a done deal.

I have heard from several people that they are starting their individual journeys today.  Whether that be moderation or permanent abstinence, you have my best wishes.  Just remember, if you fall get, back up, if you stray down a wrong path, turn around, if there's a boulder blocking your way, go around it, climb over it or tunnel under it, and listen to your internal GPS, it knows where you need to go.
Safe Travels, my friends.
So today I'm out there doing my best to travel light and leave the burden of alcohol by the wayside. 

Someone's comment that she was exhausted just thinking about all my stops and starts (Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, whoever you are) was my magic bullet, my wake-up call, the knock upside my head.  No cataclysmic event, no lightning bolt, just a calm, almost analytical, acceptance of the facts.   I cannot moderate.  I am an alcoholic.  I cannot drink.

How about the rest of my fellow bloggers?  What was the "thing" that turned your tide, set your world right side up?  Care to share?  It could be the silver bullet someone is looking for.
Put your "magic words" in my comment section or share them on your own blog, someone is looking for them.