eXTReMe Tracker

Friday, October 10, 2008

Better living through osmosis...oh, who am I kidding?

So I worked and stayed clean.

It was becoming usual. The crawling back into meetings, fessing up and growing up in public, and the sobriety countdown started one more time.

To be honest, I couldn't wait to get loaded again. Crazy? You bet. Reason? Not a clue.

Sure, I could dissect the childhood thing, product of my environment, yada yada...but the truth was, I romanced my addictions and loved the effect drugs and alcohol had on me whenever I ingested them. They changed me, and I couldn't stand to be me.

I hear it now... "How could you? You knew what would happen..." Every time, baby...just no guarantee when, or what or to what strange degree I would sink.

It was that magic place...about 13 minutes into two large ales, (I timed it) when the world would become a singular, perfect moment, and I was in my heaven. It truly was a beautiful place, a place in which I was brave, and handsome and witty and loved everyone and everything.

I loved a good two glasses of red wine; a pint and a half of Bass, or three quarters of a well smoked joint.

It's that place I want to live in and I seek that moment long after I have stripped my clothes off and run screaming through a Cantina bellowing 'I am the other white meat!' (True story...but that's for another time.) I could just never stay there...I had to go farther, and deeper...and ultimately, darker.

So I knuckled it, and tried to enjoy being without armor.

My mother's oldest son, five years my senior, was moving into an apartment near White Rock Lake and needed a roommate. He asked me to join him. His first marriage had grown unpalatable and he too was starting over.

Talk about the odd couple.

He was a Methodist Youth Minister;born to the position, I mean, I have never known him to not do the right thing.

Growing up, we kept in touch, although our Fathers (his-ex Air Force and a Math teacher...mine-Jazz musician and Scotch drinker extraordinaire) never met.

I love the guy to death, but I'm stumped. He inherently knows the right thing to do, and freaking does it. Without fail. And he is genuinely nice to people, especially the elderly. Now, were he to read this, he would without a doubt tell me I was wrong, he certainly made mistakes and has regrets about the choices that he made. I'm sure that's true, although he never made any where I could see them.

I looked up to him my entire life, and still do and always wanted my big brother to be proud of me, and then somehow I would screw it up. But he never, not once -tried to force his views or beliefs on me or drag me to church, or God forbid-'save me'. He let me make my mistakes and was always there when I needed him.

He eventually became ordained and several months ago gave me communion. I cried when he did it, out of gratitude and respect I suppose. It meant more to me than I can possibly describe.

It gets chilly living in someones shadow.

No comments:

My new disclaimer...yeah I know.

Okay, the old disclaimer was tired. The ideas were outdated and keeping me stuck in a place I don't want to be now for something more refreshing.

I have recently changed my views regarding women. Seems I had some issues with the fairer sex due to past pain and self- centered fear. (Yes...duh applies.)

I'm done with that.

Being in recovery has helped me change my entire life, perceptions and attitudes. I cannot change my history but I can change my today and my future.

I recently realized that the women I know in recovery are some of the strongest, bravest, most gentle and kind teachers I have ever had. You exemplify integrity and spiritual growth, and I hope you know who you are.

Some may know of my past marital and relationship history and been a participant in them as well. It's past and that's where it the past.

I own my part in those failures but claim no more responsibility in any misery you may be experiencing. I am sorry, but it's time to get off the cross. We need the wood.

Thank you all...