Boundaries. Slippery little suckers they can be. When to go, stay, say “Shup”, or comere … who knows what’s what? Just like anything else in recovery, it’s an issue of internal fortitude.  Giving a little may mean allowing an inch to become a marathon, while standing firm could spell certain catastrophe.

I mean really. The early recovery questions of “should I hang with so and so?” to the seven year itch of “should I keep going to these damn meetings?” to relationships, friendships, family ties, what job to choose, does he like me, am I doing the right things … question question question … angst angst angst … bleck bleck bleck.

I ache sometimes to know which fork in the road to choose (I know you can’t relate *eye roll*). Which way lies the path of clarity and consistency?  I play the Ramone’s Should I Stay or Should I Go, just to mess with my head some and laugh out the wrinkles in my cognitive reasoning.  I want SO badly to believe in the fantasy ya know? That people are good and nice and have my best interest at heart.  That just ain’t the case sometimes sport.  There’s always … and yes I used that word … an agenda. Whether people realize it or not. Not always a “bad” one mind you, but an agenda nonetheless.

Is there such a thing as completely unconditional? No payoffs, no touchy feely, dudley-do-right, here lemme “help” you’s?  My head plays in fantasy island; the what if’s, could be’s, and if only’s. That’s crap. Real is real. And can be hurtful and brutal and cold. If I’m not my biggest fan, I’m fucked.  Cause you can be damn sure that people aren’t going to tote home my dirty drawers and wash em’ up all purty with their own.

Bottom line is just that.  What’s it gonna take … to take care of my lil’ ole soul? Sure ain’t the smooth talkin’ boys who say all the right words but fizzle out after they find out this girl ain’t that easy.  Friends, sponsors, family all are amazing. However they don’t lay on my pillow wiping away tears of lonely and afraid. I DO THAT. And I like that I do.

Steps and work are crucial to relative sanity and recovery. But me … loving me … and a power greater than wanting me to do so … is the only thing that counts when the rubber hits the road.  I make mistakes just like the rest of you … probably more so since I’m gullible girl and that’s okay.  Owning it, making it mine, taking responsibility for MY choices … makes the bitter pills bearable to swallow dry.

Should I stay or should I go? Only I know … I get clues or hints from well meaning loved ones. Truly my gut is the final judge. You know,  the place without words that causes bile to rise when something is whack. Years of work it’s taken me to listen to that voice.  It used to be a shrill nagger … now it’s Barry White. Smooth, silken tones of reason and clarity.  As I always tell my friends, “You already have all the answers … what’s keeping you from seeing them?”  *Heal thyself smart-ass*  Barry snickers.

I’m gonna go slip into my robe, groove to “can’t get enough of your love babe”, light a candle, and slow dance myself to sleep.  Angst can get bent.