I grew up watching Grease. Seen it hundreds and hundreds of times. I think … okay I know I had a mad crush on Kenickie.  Also known as Jeff Conway. I never could bring myself to watch celebrity rehab or any of that stuff. It felt wrong somehow to me. No offense Dr. Drew … I get the importance of educating the world on addiction through seeing celebrities embaras the shit outta themselves on television. Ratings rock. But really … there has been compassion gleaned through venues such as these. But it makes me sad.  (and YES i know i’m writing about it too … but unlike Dr. Drew down there … I don’t make a red cent from it. This is my way of giving back. so yeah.)

Don’t get me wrong and stop throwing rotten fruit at me now people … Dr. Drew has epic compassion for folks like us and I GET what he’s doing. He’s a good man with high hopes. But I’m not sure I always care for the outcome of putting drunks and dope fiends on display. That is my ONLY point here. K? K. Moving along now …

I’ve written a few articles for ITR on celebrity addiction … and I’m not sure they got what they were looking for so they stopped asking LOL. I’m okay with that. I don’t feel like it’s public fodder like a drive by car crash with rude rubberneckers getting their “sympathy groove thing on”.  Yeah.

Anyway. I overheard people talking about it at my karmic job today. The whole “tsk tsk” thing. The whole “will power” thing. The whole “just quit it” thing. The whole “those people are pathetic” … thing. For once, I kept my fool mouth shut. Really it’s not my job to educate the world on addiction anymore. There was a time, in another life, when I was in my twenties and a balls-to-the-wall addictions therapist … that I would’ve jumped on that soapbox right then and there. I thought it was my main goal to argue with anyone who thought addicts/alcoholics were stupid and spineless and “BAD” people.

That was in another life. When I thought recovery was a crusade. And when I thought I could MAKE people understand.

I’m not that any longer thankfully. Of course my decade plus as a therapist helps me in many other ways and my knowledge of addiction is quite vast. But in cases such as these? Celebrity deaths related to addiction? The public view of what an addict is? The shaming negative comments people make … about people like ME? Eh. Soapboxes are no longer necessary.

Same holds true for writing about celebrity addiction. Jeff Conway was a drunk/dope fiend. Just like me. The more you have … the more you have to lose.  Or something like that.  So as I’ve said when I wrote about Corey Haim’s death or Lindsey Lohan getting arrested (again) … compassion for the suffering is key. No matter if they’re famous or the drunk living under the bridge or the guy that comes to work every day with alcohol on his breath or the mother who loses her children because of her addiction or the chronic relapser who’s “new” at every meeting or the man who kills someone drunk driving because he thinks he can “handle it” or or or … yeah. You get the idea.

Addiction is a sad thing. Really. But conversely there is so much potential for beauty because of it. We would not have empathy had we not been through our sickness. I know that all the pain in my life has allowed me to become compassionate and kind. I KNOW what that dark night of the sick feels like … as do you. And that? Well it’s our common bond. Not seen on Celebrity Rehab. Not rubbernecked because it’s NOT newsworthy to be happy and sober and clean and free.

Those famous folks who are IN recovery? Well you never hear about how their lives are better because they’re sober/clean. But they are. Because recovery … is a quiet dignity. A lifestyle change to look through spiritual eyes. Not said … but SEEN. That spark, verve, panache, zest for living that comes from really LIVING. All brought to us by our respective recovery programs. I take dignity and grace over being famous any day of the week tyvm.

So … I think this weekend … I’ll watch Grease. And I’ll say my goodbye to my childhood movie crush and all his cool grease lightning-ness. I want to remember him that way. Not as a sick late stage slobbering drunk on a reality show. And I may just shed a tear when it comes to the part where Kenickie was talking to Rizzo and says …

I don’t run away from my mistakes.

I’m Amy. I’m a grateful drunk and as always … I love recovery. Bye Kineckie… I’ll miss you.

“You are so bright and happy, even at work. Are you always like this or is there something wrong with you?”

To which, of course, I replied… A little of both. You see I like both aspects of this compliment/tease from one of my favorite people at work. First of all, I like that I’m seen as bright, which I am most days; and of course that it seems a little “odd” to someone NOT in recovery.  Both equal transparency. Both are absolutely 100% truth.

You see, we have a solution today. A seemingly infallible way to deal with whatever is ailing our addled brains. Twelve steps to rely on to clear out the wreckage of self and sick and twisted. A way out. A SOLUTION.  So that we don’t have to stay stuck.  Once you know the way out, it’s like riding a bicycle. A little wobbly at first yet the moment you begin your muscles instinctively remember how to pedal.

The steps are like that for me anyway.  I’ve been steppin’ times 12 for nearly two decades (with a brief intermission for idiocy).  I can tell a distinct difference when I don’t do a daily tenth step.  To be honest, this stumps some people in my life.  That I don’t put my issues ON them.  That I’d rather work through it and come back later to resolve if need be or simply let go of the situation. After close examination of my behavior and reactions, I am fully able to LET IT GO.  Make amends if necessary and after discussing with an objective party (usually my sponse/bff/killer cool bestie blonde chick – *waves at Kat*)  Checking things out with someone NOT in the situation is vital.  Yes. VITAL.

If left to my own devices, if I try to resolve things without really looking at my part? It gets ugly.  Definitely easier to blame you for my feelings and reactions than examine where I had been selfish, dishonest, self seeking, and afraid.  (Sound familiar??? It should.  It’s the fourth step inventory and for me the tenth step as well. Written. Yes.)

No matter WHAT someone else does to me, real or imagined; I cannot look at their part in things.  What’s important is the way I react.  That is ALL I am responsible for today.  What a relief really.  I mean if someone is being an ass (like people do from time to time), I look at my part.

• How did I want this person to think and act MY way? With no regard for the situation or perception, when I want YOU to do what I want YOU to do; it is FAIL. Selfish.
• What behavior did I exhibit in response to your behavior? Did I knee-jerk, as I am wont to do? Did I get pissy or angry or yell or cry to get my way? Did I arouse bitterness or suspicion? Did I talk behind your back? Did I punish you in some way?  This is Self Seeking.
• Did I lie and say nothing was wrong? Did I lie out of self preservation? Did I omit details to make myself look better? Dishonest.
• Was I afraid of your reaction? What you think of me? What the repercussion would be? Was fear filling my gullet like an impregnated sperm whale? Afraid.

This is my 10th step. This is what keeps the crap from building up inside stroking my sick; my guided meditative directions that prevent me from falling back into the same patterns of addictive thinking.  THIS … is my daily housecleaning. How I was taught by the oldtimers, how I keep MY behavior in the forefront instead of blaming ALL OF YOU … for my issues.  Like windex for the soul, it is my salvation most days.

Now some don’t get this at all. A few that are close to me, and you know who you are, want to address things right on the spot.  To which I simply say … I need to process this first and then I’ll get back to you.  The issue is mine, or at least feels that way, and I have to look at my stuff. Nine times out of ten, it’s resolved quickly and the emotional boo boo is kissed by the lips of the tenth step.

What a revelation, gift, tool, blessing … freedom. To not be burdened by trying to control others emotions and behavior? Freakin’ priceless.  This leads to my mostly sunny days.  Sure I cry. Yes it’s not always sunshine and roses. But I embrace those days too as it can’t be sunny ALL the time.  Fortunately in my world there is just enough tears raining down to make the flowers grow.  Just… enough.

And for the second part of this morning’s comment? The “is there something wrong with you?” question?  Well. Duh. I just explained that.  There’s tons wrong with me. It’s my natural inclination as an alcoholic to be selfish. To want others to think and act MY way. The “if only” syndrome. If only people would … do what I wanted the world would be a better place.  How arrogant.

These days I’m satisfied, most days, to accept my flaws and imperfections and to know that I’m NOT in charge.  I like that.  If I were in charge? Whoa baby, we’d all be in trouble.  So yes, with step work, I can remain positive. And YES, there’s lots of things wrong with “me”.  I’m completely and totally okay with both.  Not to mention grateful.  But that’s another blog entirely.  Step ten saves my ass every single time. Thank the gods … whomever they may be.

Is this epic cop out or momentary brilliance? Just turn it over. Everything will be just fine.  Sorta like saying, if I just don’t think about it it will go away? Or perhaps it’s the ideology of unconditional acceptance.  Maybe like saying to a drunk … just quit it. Give it to “?” and you’ll be just fine. I don’t know bout you all, but it was NEVER that easy for this girl. If that were the case then screw stepwork. We could stop at step three and be done with the whole bloody mess. Waltz off into the sunset of eternal bliss … one two three one two three.

Turn it over. I turn THAT idea over and over in my mind.  Is a simple statement of affirmation enough really? I mean I get the whole concept of not ruminating on a problem or stewing in it even.  But I have to work at it.  Practice. Do something different. Meditate. Practice mindfulness. Look at my part in it. Talk to someone. And then, by “?” … CHANGE IT.

This person I spoke with. He said the same things he’s been saying since I’ve known him.   In the same spot. Stagnant. Still a bad relationship. Still back and forth. Still. Standing still.  Then I simply ask … Whatcha gonna do? Get the rote answer. Turn it over to god. I say … How exactly? Silence.  yeah I gotcha. gotta go now.  Doin’ what ya always did WILL bring different results most times … worse ones. Compounded with years of like minded behaviors, it builds on itself into a flaming crescendo of  S  I  C  K.

So really. HOW exactly do you “turn it over”? And does it stay that way? Like a cherry turnover does the dough stay neatly pressed, or do ya flip flop in the sugary mess? To quote a “good” book, faith without works is dead.  Sorta sick of “dogma funerals” really. Not so much what you believe that matters … it’s what you do with it that makes all the difference.  Verb …  it.

Oh to describe perfection … in a six year old body.

Mommy why do I have to leave? Why do I have to go away from you this weekend? Don’t they know I belong with you? It would have hurt me less to be knocked with a 2×4 by the boys at work. How do I do this? My heart is breaking in front of me in the form of my first born babygirl.

I say to this beauty … all the “right” things. Like “just because mommy and daddy aren’t married doesn’t mean we don’t love you baby girl” and “blah blah blah:” and “fucking blah”.

It’s bullshit. All of it. She knows this.

She’s smarter than me. Wittier. A charmer. Intellectual powerhouse with savvy and style. Senses the unfairness, innate knowing of innocence. This is my bella … the wondrous feminine that resides in my soul. Miracle and twinkle in my toes. Hazel eyes that melt ya like smores on a hot summer night. Spice for your sugar. Wriggly blonde goddess. Knows more than me … feels more too. She takes care of me. Of ME!!!

Back to reading favorite stories of rags and cinders. Of happily ever afters. It’s tainted. Fantasy. Fairy tales and misguided well meaning Grimm Brother mistruths. Sometimes prince charming squib kicks his true love in the gullet after throwin down one too many with the boys. Sometimes dreams of everlasting kisses are a flash in the pan .

She stops me again, brimming with tears. Unanswerable questions of unrequited love blaze in her eyes. Why is the unspoken. I attempt again . That “sometimes” mommys and daddys can’t live together and it’s not her fault. That it’s gonna be ok.

It’s not ok. Not by a Herculean discus toss. Tiny, warm hands cup my face. Eyes widening I look at the reason I exist. I say her daddy loves her, that it’s ok to love him back. That these are matters for the grown folks. She says , “That’s not the point mommy. I’m sposed to be with you. Mommy’s are always sposed to be there. My heart hurts.” Somebody shoot me.

My heart with hazelnut eyes pleads another slant …explains to me that she wants to be with her friends. She’s missing the Halloween elementary event of the year. Her dance card is full with the boyfriends from Dover Avenue School (and yes plural … she’s sassy and she knows this) My “B” is brave, she swallows hard. Rubs away the saltiness and tries to listen. I know she does this for my benefit. She’s braver than I.

I speak of how mommy’s love stays with babygirls forever .. And ever … And ever .. And ever.

I leak. Can’t help. One … two … three tears hit the pillow talk.

She has to know. God, little g or big, singular or plural, please help her believe. Tiny body heaving with tears, biting back the pain for the sake of a grown woman shows that she lives in the real. Have to make sure the she gets that she is my everything. Like the lunchtime love notes end .. “I love you more than the moon and the stars in the sky”. Hug, hard and long and sweet. Yes, she knows.

One last kiss on the blonde and the cheek. As I get up to leave …

Mommy?

Yes baby girl?

You know you’re my BFF right?

Always and forever angel.

Can you write me love notes for everyday I’m gone?

I’m all over it baby girl. You’re gonna be k. Mommy’s always with you.

I’m all about it mommy.

I know this baby.

Will you be all right without me mommy?

I will.

You can sleep with Hippy the Hippo if you need to mommy. Just to make you not lonely.

I’ll hug him tight with lots of kisses baby.

*blow kiss*

*catch*

*blow kiss*

*catch*

Rest assured that I chose that; sure as I choose to
open my eyes in the morning. Not initially. But I knew.
On a subconscious, where God talks to me level, I sure
as shit knew better. This makes it my responsibility.
MY choices. Me, mine, my. This list is long:

- a life free of fear
- filled with joyous gratitude for EVERY experience
- maintaining focus on what’s really important
- acting and not knee jerking myself into asshat-ism
- practicing compassion in word and deed
- taking healthful risks and being “vulnerable”
- congruency (neat word look it up if ya don’t know)
- being my highest thought

(I could go on for days here … I believe you to be
smart people and you get the gist here)

POSITIVE energy. Like attracts like. The infinite Law
of Attraction. I sooo dig what I’m attracting these days.
It is a mirror for me. A gauge of sorts, if I choose
to have the eyes to see.

Today I choose differently. I “see”; am aware. No longer
in denial of my worth. No longer blinded by the bullshit
lies of others who are clogged with pain and despair. I
weep for those filled with this idea of scarcity. NOT
ENOUGH: love, life, money, hope, “stuff”, bullshit.
We are what we create. Create … an abundant you. Filled
with light and love. THAT is who you really are when it
comes down to the meat and red skins.

Living a life of abundance, manifesting joy and opportunity
is my new gig. No blaming others. In my innermost struggle;
the internal dichotomy is changing. Positive, beneficial
is being seen around every corner; even in what most view
as “bad”.

It’s all in how you frame it … spin it … view it …
embrace it … internalize … it. Can YOU differentiate
between the true and the false? Do YOU know your highest
self? I so want that for you. Come with me and let’s
do this dance of truth together. I got mad skills and
dancin is my “thang”. Foxtrot, waltz, crip walk, hustle,
pop and lock my ass. I’m a great partner and my dance card
needs filling. Let’s be real … together.

Slowly I stopped doing what worked. My “boyfriend” didn’t like all the activities. I did them by myself.  Struggles ensued. I wanted so badly for things to work; I began to be less … just less. Got married, immediate pregnancy. Justifications crept in (progression into relapse slant suckin the life outta me). Rationalizing not going to meetings, not talking to my people, not being me.  I own every bit of this shit here. No blame game from this chick. It started slowly, this bedsore of the soul.  Every notch a bit closer to the inevitable.  Baby girl came.  Husband decided to drink again (his shit not mine … totally).

At this point I had no resources. Shame and remorse filled my gullet until I had no nerve left to pick up the 100 pound phone.  “I’m just fine. The problem is him not me. I’m not drinking so whatever.”  I became convinced of this lie, this bacterial infection of my highest self, oozing into my subconscious.  Ever hear that there’s nothing worse than a dry drunk? They ain’t lyin people. Bitter, angry, isolated, depressed, lonely, hateful, cantankerous; no this was no pleasantville.  Fast forward through two more babies, verbal abuse by a drunken husband, a move to another city far away from my recovery land.  Numb, hopeless, self esteem of an amoeba, self hatred seeping into every crevice.  Put on a good show for the babies, Mommy was the ultimate faker.

Smile – liar, laugh – liar, clean house equals serene – liar, fake it in the sex department so he’ll be nice for at least five minutes – liar; the trouble came in when I believed the lie.  After the last mini ninja was born … the active use thoughts came. “I was 19 when I got sober. I’m sure it was just a phase. Bet I could drink just a little.” This dry drunk went on for five years.  My life was so filled with misery and despair it once again became a viable choice.

Drink, drank, drunk. Grocery store rum became gettin the Capt. in me at a phenomenal rate. Daily trips to the liquor store blaming my husbands family for being lushes ended up being thousands in credit card debauchery.  Sociable afternoon drinking quickly became morning “hit” to take the edge off.  I became the stay at home mom kinda drunk; hiding bottles in closets and coffee carafes and two liters of coke zero.  Gettin mouthy. Not “taking it” anymore which wasn’t entirely fair as I’d taken it for almost six years.  Was gettin “uppity” he said. You’re ugly, fat, disgusting, worthless, not good enough, pretty enough, smart enough blah blah fucking blah.  Now look closely. I attracted to me what I felt to be true about me. Someone to treat me the way I thought about me. This is no victim story. Not even a little bit. MY show. MY shit.  I took it. Allowed it. Made a choice.

This show culminated in an act so horrific that I still cannot believe it happened.  Waking up with a remembrance of swinging oscillating fans, squib kicks to the ribs, punches in the jaw and arm and back and soul, whispers of “I’m going to kill you” ringing faintly in my ears, laughing to the tune of insanity “go ahead and kill me it’d be easier than dealing with this everyday”, death was imminent.  It was a dream. Had to be.  Try to sit up and can’t. No fucking dreams here.  Lyin to the doctor before surgery. “I fell down the stairs”. Internal bleeding from a fall. Shredded gall bladder from tripping on the bullshit. Husband approves and brings flowers after surgery.  I know I’m done. It is enough.

I crawl on my face back to AA.  Pretending not to notice the bruises and the gasps of pain as I try to sit down.  Welcomed by strangers with sugary kisses and limitless compassion.  Hand held while years of death are shrugged from my shoulders.  Crying in hysterics until no more tears while come. Dry heaving my steps … again. Pain immense, growth evident. Loving me into self like. Enough like to get it together. Job, self esteem, self worth, just … self.  Eyes blinded in pain by the light, I do the work.  I hate the humility of it all, the “whence I came from stories”, the sobriety countdowns. The “relapse show”. Once  the denial was gone, five years of hell bum rushed my ass and beat me into a state of reasonableness.  Decubitis ulcer debreeded … scraping off the layers of skin to expose the canker.  Dug that shit outta me with the help of simple kindness and steps lovingly spoon fed to me by an amazing sponsor (she saved my life. she knows this. she is humble and doesn’t remind me of such. i love you Kat).  Fully awake again, I know that big changes are a comin … this topic is a whole other blog however.

My hope from this … is that you see the choice in it all.  The choice to stop doing what worked. I had mucho shame upon returning, even after KNOWING what was wrong with me. Disease is no joke.  No matter how people appear on the outside, you never know what a loving hug or handshake can do. Welcome people. Don’t demean. We do that enough for ourselves. Just making it back alive, is proof enough that us “retreads” deserve kindness. The truth does NOT have to be shoved down anyone’s throat.

Relapse is a choice made in hell smothered in self derision and hatred. Delusional grandiosity flavored with chocolaty lies.  Being in the cave becomes comfortable again. Sometimes we need to lose everything … again; to remember who we really are.  I remember. Once again.

Watching shows about addiction can sometimes really bother me. I don’t know if it is that I see myself so perfectly in this active addicts, or if my disease thrives on the using taking place. I remember to say a prayer and thank my Higher Power for the gift of desperation, because without it I truly believe many of us would not make it to these rooms. I know at least for me, without feeling completely empty I would have never wanted to feel even a little full.

This show provides a true realistic view of the struggle of addiction and how it is truly hard for people like me, young kids to really want to get clean. I know for myself at least, there is a stigma that my generation has created that we use get messed up to celebrate things, and that drinking and partying is an everyday normal occurance. This is where I find it hard to want to become a productive member of society. How are we supposed to stay clean and become productive members of society, when our society goes completely against what we have to fight against to stay alive in this world. Am I the only one that feels this way? Like I know for me, when all of my friends and myself went to college, partying and drinking on the weekends was expected. I think that is a really hard thing to get past that makes it hard for the younger people to get clean and stay clean.

When it comes to the point of desperation, like you will find with Amy in the first episode of “Gone Too Far”, being young and having pressure and support from families makes it somewhat easier to get clean. I find that the hard part is being able to be 22, and have the greater majority of my age group going to bars on the weekends and drinking before football games. For me that was how my life was until I began to use drugs. I had to loose a lot of things, destroy many relationships to get to the point where I was either going to die, or I had to do something. I can imagine that for many young addicts this choice doesn’t come until we are so scared of life and for our lives that we have to do something. My hardest struggle isn’t craving heroin anymore; it is having to watch as my old friends can get drunk on the weekends, and celebrate holidays with a glass of wine. I had friends who used certain drugs just about the same as me, but I stole my mother’s jewlery for it, where they stopped.

After watching this episode of “Gone Too Far”, I really remember where my journey in using took me. It began with the drinking, then the smoking, then the snorting, then the shooting. I couldn’t stop, and as much as I want that social life associated with partying, my life is far too precious for me to risk it. I can definitely thank intherooms.com for giving me a place to find other people like myself, who are young and struggling with the idea of being completely clean and sober for the rest of our lives. What do you guys think?? Catch ya next time San Diego.