Our hearts are hungry for a food that won’t come
We could make a feast from these crumbs
And we’re all staring down the barrel of a gun
So if your life flashed before you
What would you wish you would’ve done

Yeah… gotta start
Lookin at the hand of the time we’ve been given here
This is all we got and we gotta start pickin it
Every second counts on a clock that’s tickin’
Gotta live like we’re dying

We only got
86 400 seconds in a day to
Turn it all around or throw it all away
We gotta tell ‘em that we love ‘em
While we got the chance to say
Gotta live like we’re dying

And if your plane fell out of the skies
Who would you call with your last goodbyes
Should be so careful who we live out our lives
So when we long for absolution
There’ll no one on the line

Yeah… gotta start
Lookin at the hand of the time we’ve been given here
This is all we got and we gotta start pickin it
Every second counts on a clock that’s tickin’
Gotta live like we’re dying

We only got
86 400 seconds in a day to
Turn it all around or throw it all away
We gotta tell ‘em that we love ‘em
While we got the chance to say
Gotta live like we’re dying

Like we’re dying oh – like we’re dying [x2]

We only got
86 400 seconds in a day to
Turn it all around or throw it all away
We gotta tell ‘em that we love ‘em
While we got the chance to say
Gotta live – like we’re dying

We never know a good thing till it’s gone
You never see a crash until it’s head on
All those people right when we’re dead wrong
You never know a good thing till it’s gone

Yeah… gotta start
Lookin at the hand of the time we’ve been given here
This is all we got and we gotta start livin it
Every second counts on a clock that’s tickin’
Gotta live like we’re dying

We only got
86 400 seconds in a day to
Turn it all around or throw it all away
We gotta tell ‘em that we love ‘em
While we got the chance to say
Gotta live like we’re dying

Like we’re dying oh – like we’re dying [x2]

We only got
86 400 seconds in a day to
Turn it all around or throw it all away
We gotta tell ‘em that we love ‘em
While we got the chance to say
Gotta live like we’re dying
Live like we’re dying

Shock, awe, tears streaming; leaving gray marks from excessive eyeliner on my pink cheeks. Anonymous showed me something tonight. Something huge, something sweet and pure. Giving with no expectations. HUGE.Allowing someone the gift of receiving. Even HUGER.

I’m not one to receive well. I hem and haw around, shuffling my feet, kicking dirt; uncomfortable with the idea of receiving. “I’m a giver”, I say. Bullshit. It was my self concept that had difficulty accepting such beauty. “No it’s okay. I’m fine.” Sometimes I’m NOT fine! At times I NEED the comfort of another to get me through the darkness.  Be it friend, family, lover, sponsor and recovery folk;  sometimes I need someone to  hold my hand.  For just a moment.  So that I know I’m not alone.

Lesson to learn, learning, learned.  Accepting love is a huge risk.  Old messages say “what do they want” “why me?” blah blah blah … fuck that.  Why NOT me? Am I not deserving of kindness and compassion?  Of gifts given from the heart filled with unconditional love? You bet your ass I am.  Just like you.  The you sitting there at that keyboard right now.  Who is clinging to life by a thread or is used to being a “giver” or believes that they’re good enough but hasn’t let anyone close enough to receive.  Or maybe you’re just filled with gratitude at the magnitude of gifts already given in recovery (and it doesn’t matter WHAT you’re recovering from btw).

The peace of waking up with a clear head.  Of knowing where you were last night, and more importantly who or what you did *wink*.  Being able to walk with your head held high, one day clean and sober or hundreds of days in a row.  That you are part of something BIGGER than yourself; no longer alone you can bask in the truth of the “WE ARE”.  Families mended, hearts turn from black to red beating with the love found in meeting halls across the world.  The knowing of self, (indescribable to those who don’t get it so I won’t even try) which is in fact the biggest gift of them all.

So. I thank you “Anonymous” from the bottom of my heart.  You gave me many gifts this cold winter night and I shall be forever grateful to you this Christmas morning.  My kids will love the handheld games I purchased with your help.  And that present given to them will be sent with whispered kisses and hugs from ones who give without expectation.  I am moved. Deeply and profoundly. I accept this gift and will always remember …

Yes, there will be Mommy presents …

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.

Whether happy, sad, angry, lost.  Feel it to the core of who you are.

Allow yourself the respect to be just where you are.

Be gentle with you.

Take care of your needs. Bubble baths, lay in bed, stay in your jammies all day.  Drink hot cocoa and gaze at your Christmas tree. Even if you’re alone; you’re in good company.  Take a walk in the crisp snow, make a snow angel, throw a snowball or two or ten.  If it’s warm where you are, go to the beach and breathe the saltiness. See a movie,   buy a trinket cause you like it, treat yourself to you.  Work out, meditate, stretch and feel the physical presence of you. Remember that if you don’t like yourself; no one else will.  Caress your own cheek, arm, neck, legs. Explore the gorgeousness of physicality.

Do you even know how amazing you are? Deep down? Underneath the crud of perception? People can freak about being alone. I like me, dig the moments of “me” time.  Find your center, light a candle, be still and open to find out who you really are. To breathe and feel and be and bask in the glory of Amy.  Make myself laugh; gentle lover in the climax of what is … me.  Waves of orgasmic self realization course through my spirit. You can do this too.  Allow your inner love to shine and be passionate about the reflection.

It’s time. If you’re reading this, it is time. Be.  Dig.  LOVE. Get off … on you.

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.