grif -'s Open Salon Blog

Sober and miserable: A moment of clarity and prayer

Tue, 15 May 2012 10:05:30 -0400

This post is another in a series of occasional installments describing my early recovery and treatment for alcoholism. The most recent prior post is Anesthetized to life: Thirty years of drinking and now this? Others may be found in the “My Links” section on the left side of my blog. Every time I post one of these stories I hear from a number of people struggling with alcoholism/addiction – either theirs or someone in their family, or a friend. I am grateful for that as my primary purpose in telling my story is to carry a message of hope to others who are dealing with this killer disease.

It also makes me humble and grateful for my sober life and recovery program. I mention AA periodically as that is what works for me. I am neither a spokesperson nor do I represent AA in any manner. There are many ways to get clean and sober and it doesn’t matter to me how one achieves this. Simply put, this is my story. I appreciate you taking time to read it.

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St. Patrick’s Day, 2002

I have been asked to “tell my story” at an AA meeting. I have been sober for about eighteen months. I have gone to literally over 600 AA meetings, found some work, lived in a sober group home (Oxford House), moved back home, got kicked-out on my one-year sobriety anniversary and moved into an apartment, got into a “relationship” that I-had-no-business-being-in-but-it-felt-so-good, and learned to navigate a series of bus transport systems.

I just wasn’t “getting it.” I knew that much. I didn’t really know what “that” was; but, I knew something was still very, very wrong. My sponsor had recently said to me one day “You look really bad. You must be thinking of yourself again.” Now that got my attention. I acknowledged his rightness (again) and just kind of looked at him with a “now what?” face? He asked me if I’d be willing to try something new and he reminded me that the only condition of our relationship (sponsor-sponsee) was honesty. I hesitated and then replied “Sure.” I really didn’t know what I was saying; but, I was desperate for anything to help me feel better. He said “I want you to try prayer.” He might as well have just told me to jump off a cliff. Prayer? Is he fucking kidding? Me? My truth was that I was an angry, self-centered, intellectualizing atheist agnostic who was certain of only one thing in this universe. There was no “God” and prayer was for weak people. ..or stupid people. ..or those people with that “look” in their eyes. You know the look. And then he added “I’d suggest you just say a prayer for someone else – not yourself.” My quick response was “Like what?” He suggested a simple payer for someone else’s welfare. Okay. Got it.

So I went home and “prayed” for all of thirty seconds for someone else. And the next day I did it again and then found myself praying for several people’s welfare at least several times per day. Several weeks passed and nothing much changed.

I am now standing in a room in front of about 60 people and beginning to tell my story. The standard format is to describe “what it was like, what happened, and what it’s like now.” I remember beginning by asking everyone to observe a moment of silence with me as I got focused. They did. Running through my head was a prayer that I borrowed from my sponsor. He told me how every time he talked to a group his last prayer before he started was simply “God don’t let me fuck this up.” So I silently repeated it and began with the standard “My name is…”

I spent the first twenty minutes describing my early drinking years, relating some serious consequences of my drinking, and getting ready to tell “what happened” that got me to stop drinking when I was suddenly overcome with a wave of simple good-feeling-gratitude. I paused a moment, a very long moment, and began speaking again. I described how just that moment I had become aware that despite all my external troubles I had never felt better in my life. As I stood there I was searching my mind frantically for how this could be true. How could I possibly stand in front of this roomful of people and feel so good? What had happened? Then it hit me – the prayer thing. I had a clear thought that all I had done differently in recent weeks was begun to pray for others. I was astounded. I shared this out loud and moved on with my story. Here I was with all my external problems still there and I’m feeling so good. This was totally new.

I finished my story by relating what happened the day I quit drinking and how life had been since then. No pretty picture. No phony images to make people think I was successful. Just a pretty raw account of early sobriety. I finished, thanked everyone, and took my seat on the side of the room. I had been one very much used to employing “contempt prior to investigation” and I had also been one who “came to scoff and remained to pray.”

My life path took a sharp turn that day. A genuine moment of clarity. A humble realization that I was one-among-many. And, that was just fine…for now.

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I have been writing excerpts of my alcoholism and recovery story and posting them on OS for quite a while. Some reading this today are “new” readers and I appreciate you taking time to read this. This all occurred about ten years ago. My life today is a total miracle in so many ways, and I want readers who may be struggling to know that there is hope and that it takes time. And to be certain, my life today has its struggles and hardships; but, that’s just life.

And to you “veteran” readers of my story, I continue to offer you my most heartfelt thanks.

Anesthetized to life: Thirty years of drinking and now this?

Sun, 29 Apr 2012 18:04:02 -0400

This post is another in a series of occasional installments describing my early recovery and treatment for alcoholism. The most recent prior post is Recovery is so slow and the cold rain feels so good . Others may be found in the “My Links” section on the left side of my blog. Every time I post one of these stories I hear from a number of people struggling with alcoholism/addiction – either theirs or someone in their family, or a friend. I am grateful for that as my primary purpose in telling my story is to carry a message of hope to others who are dealing with this killer disease.

January 12, 2002

Group last Monday was good for me as I continued to discuss powerlessness, acceptance, my childhood, and shame and abandonment fears. I had been sober now for about 18 months and was just beginning to really feel life for the first time. Thirty years of drinking is essentially thirty years of being anesthetized to one’s feelings. This was all new and strange – and very uncomfortable and unsettling. The shame that lurked like Castenada’s death over his left shoulder was omnipresent. And those core fears of not measuring up or not being good enough, rejection, abandonment, failure – all ugly and real and not real.

The next several days were long and tiring. At a Wednesday meeting it hit me that God was taking care of everyone, even those I disliked or had trouble with. I wrestled with this a lot - How could God care about folks who were such assholes and difficult to be around? Of course I didn’t quite ever apply that label to myself. Self-centeredness had a way of protecting me from reality and from my feelings. The next day my wife (we were separated and living apart) called to tell me that she’d had a breast biopsy and was waiting for the results. My diary notes read “pretty shocked.”

I went to a noon meeting and then rode the bus to a nearby shopping center to get new eyeglasses. On the ride back my wife called to say that “there are malignant cancer cells.” Went to another meeting that night. A neighbor friend called to offer me a ride to the meeting. Two others called to say hello. I didn’t tell them anything. My sponsor called at 11:00 pm to check on me. The next day some other folks called and I went to work. I appreciated all the calls and yet I really didn’t open up to anyone. What do I say? “My wife who I am angry at and who is angry at me has cancer?” That Saturday evening I was feeling low and went to another meeting and then walked home. My notes: “Just feel like crying tonight. Sure wish it wasn’t like this. Keep praying and seeking God’s guidance.”

A week passes and my wife is officially diagnosed with breast cancer. I met her on Tuesday at the doctor’s office. He says “Ductile carcinoma invasive type.” I returned to work as I had two classes to teach. I told my colleague and started crying in her office. I taught both classes. Irritable mood. Maybe shouldn’t have held class. Exhausted that night. I had a drinking dream that night. I was sneaking beer from a keg and looking around to see who was watching. Just me in the middle of an old wood-floored ballroom. It had tall windows draped with heavy curtains of a Victorian style. I ended up at a bar table with ice cold mini-bottles of vodka. Just like the old days. Woke up in a sweat. Took a minute to realize it was a dream. Got up and turned off the heat in the apartment.

The next day was like a hangover. A friend came over and we talked for three hours about death and spirituality. Her husband was actually near death from his cancer. The next few days were a blur of meetings and classes. Two people who I admired picked up one-year and two-year sobriety chips and that was comforting. A blind guy who came to meetings with his service dog picked up an 18-year chip. This was all very reassuring to me. If he can do it, I can do it. My wife had gone to the beach for the weekend with a group of women. It was Saturday and pouring rain and I rode the bus to watch my son’s basketball game. I hated not being able to drive anywhere. Riding buses was a pain in the ass in this town. Turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me. It was one of many much-needed lessons in humility.

I was at home the next day with my son and the gravity of my wife’s cancer hit me all at once. Lots of tears, sadness, confusion, and fear. Always fear. The temptation to drive is huge. I spoke with my lawyer and he said there is “absolutely no way” that I will get my license any earlier than four years. I had been holding out hope that there would be a special exemption for me. I obtained my first driver’s license in Michigan at the age of fifteen-and-a-half because of a special rule that permitted this in hardship cases. My mother couldn’t drive due to her being a paraplegic and there were three children and I was the oldest. So two DUIs in two years isn’t exactly a hardship case? Hmmmm. I really wanted to exert my will and drive; but, that voice from August 26, 2000 was in my head repeating over and over “I’ll do whatever I’m told to do.” Played some James Taylor “…when you need a friend…” Felt better and had a moment of gratitude for being sober. The thought came that by being sober at least I had a chance.

Several weeks later I did a 5^th step and then steps 6 and 7 right afterwards. This is AA step stuff for those not connected to this recovery program. That 5^th step lasted for hours and I shared it all. What did I have to lose? Step 6 is literally a review of all I had just shared. It is suggested in the AA “big book” that it be done an hour later. Had I been thorough? Honest? Was I really ready to just let go of all this “stuff?” The fears, shame, guilt? Answering my own questions I indicated that I was ready to say the Seventh Step prayer. Now I have to admit to many doubts at this point. I didn’t really understand what all what happening. I was willing to ask for help from a higher power; but, not sure how or what to expect. So I just did what I was told. I got down on my knees and recited the prayer and asked God to remove my “character defects” which were essentially all those core fears. Then I went about the rest of my day. As the days passed I actually began to feel some relief. Finally some relief. My diary notes read “God continues to hear me.” Had a great talk with a friend in the program later that week and went to many meetings including three on Saturday.

A woman in the program overdosed and was unconscious at the Wednesday meeting. I watched as the paramedics worked on her and hustled her off to the hospital. The next day my wife had her first of several surgeries and I ran into some program folks outside the ICU. Their AA friend was on life-support and I was in the surgery waiting area and so we all hung out together waiting…and waiting…and talking quietly. We occasionally prayed together. This (prayer) was not my normal response to stress. But then nothing was normal.

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Update: The ICU woman survives today; but, with significant brain damage. She resides in a nearby state institution. My wife survives today after multiple surgeries and extensive chemotherapies. (It has been ten years for both).

And to you “veteran” readers of my story, I continue to offer you my most heartfelt thanks.

A job, a place to live, and hope: Alaska 1971

Wed, 25 Jan 2012 23:01:36 -0500

We arrived in Anchorage, Alaska after a two-week trek from Detroit. It was September, 1971. I had finished college that June with a B.A. in Sociology and returned home to Detroit to find a “real job.” The first thing I did was get my old summer job back as an outdoor swim club manager. I applied for lots of social worker type things; but, truth be told, I had no real idea what I wanted to do for work.

One hot August afternoon my best buddy looked at me and said “Let’s go to Alaska. We can find work there.” I had about $700.00 and he had $500.00 and I had a paid for VW bus. A few days later we crossed the border into Canada and there was no turning back. We started picking up Alaska radio stations as we neared the border north of Whitehorse, YT. I was struck by the number of gun ads on the radio. For hunting. We sure weren’t used to that.

We made our way down to Anchorage and found a campground on the edge of town that became home. First order of business was to find a job and then an apartment or house or something. Life in the VDub had become routine and whenever we stayed anywhere more than one night the tent went up so we were pretty comfortable (at least by 21 year-old standards.) Anchorage seemed like Houston without the tall buildings. Texas trucks and cowboy hats everywhere. Country western bars jammed at night that closed at 5:00 am and re-opened at 7:00 am (there were thirteen by my count). Girls. THE pipeline was under construction and there was wealth to be made. Or so everybody said.

But we needed jobs here and now. Heard they were hiring four guys for the overnight shift at a local grocery store. We used to be stock clerks back home. This was our job for sure. We arrived at the appointed time for interviews and got in line with 200+ other guys. Two hundred. The manager actually spoke to everyone personally in that line. Took a couple of hours. He heard our story and how money was running out and he told us he’d hire us in a minute but there were guys in the line who had families to feed, and he felt he had to hire them first. Made sense then and makes sense now. Maybe finding a job in Anchorage was going to be tougher than we thought.

One afternoon President Nixon came to town to meet Japan’s Emperor Hirohito. No job hunting that day as downtown was all cordoned off for a motorcade. I disliked (well, hated) Nixon a lot. Late that day his motorcade came along the highway near the campground and we went out to watch. When Nixon looked our way through his bubble-top limo I gave him the single finger salute. He didn’t wave back.

For the next several days we just walked into every business in downtown Anchorage and asked at the desk if they had any jobs. The campground was losing its charm. We walked into the lobby of the Anchorage Daily Times and were directed upstairs to the mailroom to see George. He was pleasant and quickly told us “no work.” As we turned to leave he said “where did you boys say you were from again? Detroit? Sit down a minute. I left there thirteen years ago.”

We reported for work at 5:00 am the next morning. He gave us both 20-hours per week jobs pulling papers off the line (pressroom) and stuffing mailbags. Whoever knew that Detroit would get me started? We were in a drafty duplex within the week. A job, a place to live, and hope. So easy then. So hard for so many now.

Empowering women in Nicaragua: A real difference

Fri, 6 Jan 2012 12:01:29 -0500

My 25 year old daughter is the Executive Director of the Sister Communities of San Ramon, Nicaragua. This organization got involved in Nicaragua over 20 years ago just after the Sandinistas prevailed in the Contra War. They developed and support an eco-tourism lodge and coffee farm called the Finca Esperanza Verde. They help build schools, rural health clinics and more. The local citizens decide what they need, are invested in building the facilities, and run and manage everything. All wages are generally equal to at least 1.5 times the prevailing wage structure.

They have developed and posted a number of videos on YouTube documenting their work. Check it out. Pretty powerful way of American citizens helping others to help themselves. I have been there and witnessed first-hand the quality and lasting effects of the efforts of this particular non-governmental organization. It’s inspiring.

Meaning of Life Explained: "Spot it, got it!"

Fri, 14 Oct 2011 18:10:52 -0400

"The Meaning of Life Explained"

All my life I have been fascinated by people with rigid and somewhat doctrinaire beliefs. These folks espouse strong opinions about other’s behavior and beliefs and often act as if they are “right.” It’s almost as if they have secret information or facts that I am not privy to and that they will neither verbalize nor share with me. They are rarely open to considering alternative viewpoints and in my experience they tend to get somewhat agitated if confronted or called on their beliefs. I probably became sensitized to this through the moralistic and preachy ways of my mother as she constantly and unapologetically denounced people of color, gays (homosexuals, lesbians, transgender – you name it), non-Christians, rock stars with long hair and – well, you get the point. My father, on the other hand, was well read and was at least open to discussing beliefs and ideas that were contrary to the way he lived and he tried to understand and tolerate alternative lifestyles (it was the 60’s folks). So I grew up during those formative years (anyone remember Wonder bread?) with a double-shot of contempt for all on one side and tolerance of alternatives on the other. Enough to make one schizophrenic, don’t you think?

So here’s the deal. I really think there is something to be said for the psychoanalytic understanding of defense mechanisms and in this case, the defense mechanism of reaction formation. Here’s the definition:

A defense mechanism by which an objectionable impulse is expressed in an opposite or contrasting attitude or behavior.

Here is a slight variant on the definition of reaction formation:

A defense mechanism in which a person adopts conscious attitudes, interests, or feelings that are the opposites of their unconscious feelings, impulses, or wishes.

Those who tend to hold rigid beliefs about the “wrongness” of other’s beliefs and behaviors and who also espouse and act on these beliefs are often (not always) defending against their own unconscious impulses and thoughts toward that very behavior. The way they handle these unacceptable impulses is to rail against it in others. We see examples of this all the time in the public sector. How many times have we seen politicians trample over gay people with various pronouncements and bills and laws, and then they get “caught” in the very behavior they attempt to regulate? Check out Mark Kirk, Mark Foley, David Dreier, Ted Haggard (threw in a preacher here), Larry Craig, Bob Allen, Glenn Murphy, Jr. and well – you get the point. In essence they are exhibiting classic signs of reaction formation carried to its extreme.

So I look at people with rigid beliefs about the “wrongness” of others and I think reaction formation. It’s a variant of the psychological defense mechanism of projection.

The definition of projection is:

Projection is a defense mechanism that involves taking our own unacceptable qualities or feelings and ascribing them to other people. For example, if you have a strong dislike for someone, you might instead believe that he or she does not like you. Projection works by allowing the expression of the desire or impulse, but in a way that the ego cannot recognize, therefore reducing anxiety.

A favorite phrase of mine is “You spot it, you got it.” In essence this is projection. When I’m around people and I find myself agitated or irritated or perturbed by someone it’s usually because they are behaving in a manner that is actually me; but, because I cannot admit this to myself I project my disdain onto the other person. For example, I react internally very strongly to people who behave arrogantly and judgmentally and I immediately form opinions about their entire personality and life. The truth is that I find myself to be quite capable of behaving arrogantly and judgmentally and this is not acceptable to me; however, it does trigger a visceral response in me when I see it in someone else. My solution is to engage in the classic defense mechanism of projection as a way of dealing with this. It doesn’t mean that the other person is in fact not acting arrogantly and judgmentally; they usually are. It just means that my internal reaction (feelings) is way stronger than warranted because it’s really me. I see this all the time.

So we have reaction formation and projection teaming up to make interactions pretty lively and emotional and often counter-productive. Need some more examples of this in action? Watch the Republican presidential candidates’ debate next Tuesday evening and think “reaction formation and projection” and you’ll have some fun understanding the impulses these folks are defending against. Bachmann-gay? Santorum-fear of being unloved? Newt-not really that smart? Perry-inferiority feelings? Paul-I really hate everybody? Cain-can’t get enough approval? Huntsman-need Dad’s validation? Romney-I’ll never measure up?

Okay, okay – enough bashing the Repubs. It obviously means I just feel gay, unloved, inferior, not enough, and in need of parental validation or something like that or I wouldn’t find these folks so maddening. Except, they are engaging in these rigid behaviors and thought patterns and I’m just observing it; but, not getting all wrapped around the axle over it. At least not right now. J Don’t you hate smiley faces? I think Forrest Gump gets the credit and I do love him.

So what are your favorite examples of reaction formation at work, or how does projection work in your life (what do others say/do that infuriates you when in fact it’s really you)?

And have a defenseless and pleasant weekend. And oh yeah - none of this applies to Tink. There are simply no defenses at work there. It’s all Id – and all loveable and someday Ed I Tor is going to catch on.