an expansive dose of words.

Sometimes…

I get a good feeling. Yea. It’s warm and pleasant and lovely and it has nothing to do with my sunburn. 

No, thanks. I don’t need anything out of the tool shed.

This evening I have received five obvious advances. 

• Shortly after accepting a friend request, I got a text that read, “Thanks for the add on Facebook. By the way, you are  stunningly beautiful.” Flattery. Well played. 
• Some dude tried to chat me up online. He said, “Hey.” I said, “Hi.” He said, “What’s up.” I said, “Nothing.” Then he continued to say things and I ignored him. Eventually he made one last valiant effort with, “I’m gonna run, but here’s my number if you wanna text me sometime.” Thanks, bro. 
• This kid I dated sophomore year of high school sent me a message, asked me to come over and watched a movie. I politely declined. We’ve known each other long enough for me to know what that means. Interesting. 
• My honk neighbor texted me, “Hey.” I won’t even dignify him with a response, because his truck is stupid and loud, and so is he. Yuck. 
• An acquaintance of mine felt compelled to tell me, via Facebook, what he thought of me in high school. He stressed the word pretty. Subtle, man. Props.

This all happened over the span of, like, two hours. Either I somehow became a celebrity, or the universe is trying to inflate my ego. This is a bit ridiculous, right?

One, they are completely unsolicited.

Two, doesn’t anyone hit on people in person anymore?

Three, only one of the five in question has ever had a real conversation with me.

I’m annoyed by this swag-storm and also immune to it. (Fun fact, I just had swag-storm down as two words and I was auto-corrected with a hyphen. I did not expect that swag-storm would be a term governed by spell check.)

I see what I’ve done, though. I’ve asked for it. Effort. Extensions. A tan. A modeling hobby. What really did me in was getting dumped! Fuuuuuhuuuuck. I’m tempted to ditch the extensions and effort. Throw away my cosmetics. Maybe take up competitive eating instead. Male species, I roll my eyes at you. #Hotproblems

Some words.

Tinged with the tease of 

something impending, we

looked West and took deep 

breaths, spoke from the corners 

of our closets and chests for Spring

Cleaning, and to keep the sky up

with us into the night we charmed

the sun out of setting with 

the beauty of it all,  bets on

skipped rocks on stock backgrounds. 

We were trite, like purchased 

postcards for walks on the beach, 

empty blue of the lake and 

of you and of me shoveling 

moments, fallible and fleeting,

into the insatiable stomach

of our selves. 

Lights on in the train and

a shot at each stop left 

your lips lit and stained with 

sour contradiction, looking

too much like lasts when

they leaked talk of firsts, 

trains now and plans for planes

eventually. You asked if I 

would come with you and

I’m certain I said something

certain, and just as certain that I

caught myself praying to something

less certain that I could keep my word, 

so help us both with my head in

your lap on the way back,

thoughts flickering like the

overhead fluorescence and

transcendent fireflies outside. 

It’s funny how my mind

turned all of March reminiscent, 

saw it sepia through older

eyes before it even passed,

but it’s not anywhere near 

funny enough to make me laugh

through the contrast and

shocking singularity of now. 

I noticed the present feeling like

the past during the last trip 

to where you’re from, 

when it was over in far less

time than it typically takes

to get there and back. 

The picture I don’t have

in any carnal terms is fixed

in my own mind behind an 

ornamental frame, hung straight, 

firm and perfect enough to 

make my pneuma squirm

at it’s own yearning to go back

to the signature calm in our chaos.

Taking Back Sunday
Faith (When I Let You Down)

❝ Love is always bestowed as a gift - freely, willingly and without expectation. We don’t love to be loved; we love to love. ❞

Leo Buscaglia 

A bunch of bullshit.

I’m doing a lot of research. More research than I’ve ever done for anything college has asked of me, that’s for sure. But hey, those are just grades. This is me. This is my mental health. This is my life. 

Here’s the deal - I’ve got a pretty solid number of the symptoms of codependency. I’ve also got a lot of the symptoms of a love addict. I can’t deny that. But I’m a smart girl, and this is serious business. I’m not gonna slap a sign on my head, accept that all my values are hogwash, and begin to compromise them so quickly. I’m weighing out the evidence, really wrestling with this, and after taking one of those honest looks at myself and my motives, there is hope for my sanity yet. 

A couple of Ph.D.’s for the Del Mar Times put it like this: 

What defines codependency or codependence is the way that 1) we place the needs of others first to the point of exclusion of our own; 2) our self-esteem is dependent on gaining the approval of others; 3) we worry excessively about how others may respond to our feelings, so we walk on eggshells or tiptoe around each other; and 4) how all of this makes it very difficult for us to feel like we can be free to be ourselves in relationships.

That’s an example of ONE definition that I could use to completely rule myself out. Here’s how. 

1. Over the course of the 8-month relationship in question, I never excluded my own needs from the equation. Sure, I made his needs a priority. Of course I did. A relationship is a partnership and if anyone I’m in a relationship with EVER tells me my needs are not a priority, you’d best believe I will kick them to the curb immediately. Yes, I did a lot of kind and caring things. They weren’t my FIRST priority - I would say they were more of a hobby, things I did in my free time. I still did everything I needed to do for myself, first and foremost. I didn’t screw a single thing up. Sure, I skipped class on occasion because I wanted to lie in bed with this boy instead, but let’s be honest. If he weren’t there, I still would’ve skipped class just as often to lie in bed by myself. My “needs” as a college freshman included one and only goal - pass my classes. Those needs were met. 

2. I don’t have self-esteem problems. I like myself quite a bit, actually. I think I’ve got tons going for me, more so than most. I don’t think I am inadequate and unworthy of admiration and affection. I don’t fear that no one else would ever love me. I’ve got a pretty realistic view of myself - I’m tall and blonde and smart and, when I really try, I’m sort of a bombshell. There are people that would PAY me to let them eat out of the palms of my hands. I sure as hell don’t have low self-esteem. 

3. I have never walked on eggshells in my life, in any way, shape, or form. I wear my heart on my sleeve - if something bothers me, it’s out in the open immediately. No tiptoeing. No eggshells. Ever. And definitely not in this case, which was one of the things I valued most. I could be honest about my thoughts and opinions, because I felt accepted and secure. Funny, when extreme jealousy and suspicion are practically a requirement for love addictions/codependence. 

4. Anyone who’s ever had anything to do with me knows that my individuality is never compromised. I haven’t lost my sense of it, I don’t try to get people to be more like me, and I don’t try to be more like other people. This one’s tricky, because if you spend eight months with someone you’re going to pick up some of their habits, as they will pick up some of yours. We lived together - of course our lives and personalities became intertwined. Still, we were getting to know each other, not become each other.  A warning sign that gets mentioned rather often in these articles I’ve been finding is an attempt to become more like the other person or to make them more like you… but ESPECIALLY in this relationship, I’ve appreciated the NUMEROUS differences between us just as much as I’ve appreciated the similarities. 

The symptoms I do see in myself are things like this: 

Love Addicts obsessively think about, want to be with, touch, talk to, and listen to their partners. 

Now, I’d like you to think of any relatively young couple you’ve ever known that claims they’re in love, and tell me that ISN’T the case. Seriously. Yes, we spent all our time together. Yes, when we weren’t together, we wanted to be. Yes, now that he’s gone I’m sad and I want him back and I’m going through a type of withdrawals. But SHIT, people… I’d be far more concerned for myself if I fell in love with someone, spent 8 months with them, intended to spend many MORE with them, and then was totally fine with losing them. That would be borderline psychopathic. 

I am not saying I have nothing to work on. I’m not saying I don’t need to do a little soul searching. I am definitely not guilt-free. I didn’t deal with everything the way I should’ve. I know my faults. I was codependent, in the sense that I was an enabler - I attempted to “rescue the addict from the logical negative consequences of his actions” time and time again. But I adore that boy, and anything I ever thought he wanted I’d gladly give him. Anything that I ever thought would make things better for him, I’d do, if it were in my power. They say I am addicted to the addict and I did everything I did for me and only me. But I say if the addict ever told me he didn’t want to be with me, I would’ve been out the door faster than he’d have believed. We wanted each other. Always. He never needed to be with me. I never needed to be with him. I didn’t then, and I don’t now. I don’t need it. Neither of us need it or ever needed it, proven by the fact that our hearts are still beating and I haven’t checked (and won’t check) into the psych ward due to his absence. I sure as hell wanted it, and I sure as hell fought for it because I wanted it. I know myself well enough to know that I am in love. I, for one, happen to have faith in love. I still want it, and I don’t give up so easily on the things I want. 

I’m just saying, a lot of this is completely ludicrous. 

“As long as we believe that we have to have the other in our life to be happy, we are really just an addict trying to protect our supply - using another person as our drug of choice.  That is not True Love - nor is it Loving.”

I was happy before this relationship, and I’m not an idiot: I know that even though I still want it to, if this doesn’t work out, I will get over it and be happy again. Break-ups fucking suck. They’re awful, especially in these kinds of circumstances, after you’ve really come to accept each other and you’ve fought for each other and when neither party really wants to let go, but instead feels like they have to. When someone you love, or anything you’ve gotten used to, or anything that makes you happier is taken away, of COURSE you will be unhappy for awhile. Duh. Duh, duh, duh, duh, duh. 

Mostly, I’m appalled that matters of the heart, specifically matters of MY heart (which I know to be one of the biggest and most genuine around) are being reduced to a vocabulary word. A term, when they are so much more complicated than that. We had some problems. Some big problems. I mean, we’re addicts, for Christ’s sake. The things we fought about were serious, so of COURSE the fights were serious.  We had screaming, crying, blowouts… but then we’d wake up in the morning, no less in love. Also in front of me is my Psychology book. It describes passionate love as being characterized by intense sexual attraction, violent ups and downs, high highs, and low lows. It describes companionate love as being characterized by a high level of comfort and intimacy, deep attachment, and feelings of respect, caring, and affection. We have those symptoms, too. 

What it comes down to is this: I will not disregard the most meaningful relationship I’ve ever had, because some aspects of it can be interpreted as codependency. In a lot of ways, love and relationships ARE codependency, if not in the early stages then definitely when you start considering marriage, which is literally combining your life with the life of another person. I’ve never felt anything like the contentment and the comfort level I found this time around, and I am happy even knowing I got to experience that. I had someone I knew wasn’t perfect, whose flaws I could rattle off for days, but that I wanted all of anyway. Call me codependent, call me addicted to love, call me whatever the hell you want. I’ve always heard it said that it ain’t what they call you… it’s what you answer to. I have always answered to hopeless romantic, and I always will. I’m with Peter McWilliams on this one.

“To love is a risk. What if it doesn’t work out? Ah, but what if it does?” 

Explanations.

Most addicts are perfectionists and idealists. They expect to accomplish wonders with their lives; when they cannot live up to their ideals, they cannot face their disappointment in themselves.

In spite of what others usually believe, addicts have terrific consciences. They care so deeply about everything that they cannot endure the stress and strain of worry. When an irresistable conscience meets an immovable inability to endure the agony of worry, there’s a wide-open invitation to excess use. 

Emotional conflicts in those supersensitive people become so unbearable that escape, amounting to total obliteration, is sought. In some, a feeling of inferiority born in childhood builds up a compensation mechanism that creates an egotism gluttonous for praise and success an never satisfied with what is offered to it. In women, the too fat ego demands flattery, indulgence, and in some cases, excess romance. Disappointed in our excessive demands for perfection, frustrated women sometimes believe the dreamy promises of chemicals, the heartless deceivers. 

A taste of resolution.

I camped out at my kitchen table with The Big Book all afternoon. We wrestled for hours. I lost. I let it win. I was home alone. I sat and cried. Cried and read. Read and cried. The book won.

At about 7:30 I realized there was really only one thing to do at that point. There was only one place to go. I went to the AA meeting in town. I smoked three cigarettes on the way there and I felt like I was about to get fucking married or something, as anxious as I was. I was so unreasonably nervous. I say unreasonably, because in a lot of ways, it was awesome. I’ve never met people so kind, well-meaning, and accepting in my life. I already knew that would be the case, though. I had done my research. They seemed to appreciate that.

When it came time for me to tell everyone what brought me there, I could think of no better explanation than to read the letter I received last week, and expound some of my feelings about it. One woman cried. Afterwards she told me that she almost didn’t come tonight. She wanted to thank me, because it was one of the most beautiful and touching things she’s ever heard. She said things like that are the reason she doesn’t believe in coincidences. She said, “I hope we’ll be seeing more of you.” I think they will. 

Immediately afterwards I went to a huge-ass party a few towns over, then the bar, and then an after-bar party. I was the designated driver of a full mini-van. It felt kind of selfless. It felt like a good deed. It felt responsible. I didn’t touch a damn thing all night. I didn’t even want to. I had fun. Sober fun. Holy shit. 

Conflict.

I just finished A Million Little Pieces and it told me all the things I wanted to hear. That I can do this thing and find some happiness, contentment, and blah blah blah, using only things in and of myself… that it isn’t black and white… that I can do it my way, without learning to gracefully dance The Twelve Step… that I can keep my control… have my cake and eat it too… that type of thing. All would’ve been well with that, if I hadn’t gotten back into The Big Book. Or maybe the point is, it wouldn’t have been. 

We reviewed our fears thoroughly. We put them on paper, even though we had no resentment in connection with them. We asked ourselves why we had them. Wasn’t it because self-reliance failed us? Self-reliance was good as it went, but it didn’t go far enough. Some of us once had great self-confidence, but it didn’t fully solve the fear problem, or any other. 

I cannot argue with that. I simply can’t. I am scared. That is the strongest emotion I have been feeling. Fear. I can’t get rid of it. Try as I might. I feel fear ABOUT giving up my own control over the direction of things. I have been able to stay sober so far without something Higher… and I honestly believe I could continue to stay sober without something Higher. However, I must admit, I have not been able to chase off the fear, and that is what’s been boiling my brain. 

This is stupid.

I am currently struggling. I am not currently struggling with sobriety. I am sober. I am six days sober, and that feels good and it’s something I can be proud of and something I can continue. It is something I can continue. I am struggling with a tiny green pixelated circle. I am struggling with the fact that a tiny green pixelated circle can make me dizzy, make my heart beat fast, reduce me to tears. I am struggling not to use the tiny green pixelated circle. Until the circle’s gone… and I only wish I had. 

Through the open of my calm.

When it comes to dancing The Twelve Step, I’ve got two left feet. I can master some of the steps, but when it comes to The Twelve as a whole I have found I am clumsy. I cannot and will not dance some of The Steps, because I do not want to dance some of the steps. I am reading A Million Little Pieces. It is helping. It is helping to assure me of what I already know. Not everything is black and white. There is more than one way. I have faith. I do. I have faith in things like love. Things like peace. Things like good in everyone. Things like karma. Something like The Tao. I have faith in something… something going on here, something going on out there, something we can’t understand and shouldn’t try. But I do not believe whatever it is has even the slightest concern for me. So I will not live my life in the hopes that there is a God, or something Higher, that will take my life out of my own hands and steer it where it’s meant to go. I will take it where I want it to go. I am comfortable with me. Myself. I. The world. The facts. The truth, whatever it appears to be. Whatever it is. Whatever it isn’t. I can accept. I am ambitious, I am strong, I am determined. I am not passive. I am active. There is more than one way. I will not compromise my beliefs for this, because there is more than one way.

The Fury is gone, replaced with free air and the quiet emptiness of a solitary calm. I am quiet and empty. I am calm. If there is anything I seek it is this. The calm. If there is God or something Higher for me it is this. The calm. If there is something that will hold me when I need to hold it is this the calm. There is no anger, no rage, no Fury. There is no want no need no desire. There is no hatred no shame no regret. There is no grief, no sadness, no depression. There is no fear. Absolutely no fear. When one lives without fear, one cannot be broken. When one lives with fear one is broken before one begins to live. The calm I feel right now. What is it? 

I can feel the life in me and the life around me. I can feel it in the beating calm of my heart. It is not God and it is not something Higher. This feeling of calm is of me, within me, from me, and created by me. It is not God. It is not something Higher. I let it in through the open of my calm. There is no God. There is no Higher Power. 

I let it in to the deep simple center of what I am which is biology and energy and a beating heart that sings in a language only I can speak. I let it in and it mixes and settles with the calm there is nothing else. I will not fight God anymore. I will not fight anything Higher. Fighting is an acknowledgement of existence. I no longer need to fight or acknowledge what I know is not there. There are still fights to be fought, and I will fight them, but not with the blind faith of a false conversion to a belief in that which does not, has not, will not ever exist God or something Higher. I will fight with me, my heart, my will, myself, my song, I will fight with me. I may win, I may lose. It doesn’t matter either way. What matters is how I do it. There is no God and there is no such thing as a Higher Power. I will do it with me. Alone. I will do it with me.

That said, for my own purposes, I’m changing the Serenity Prayer to the Serenity Invocation.

I will have the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

From black to pink.

Sobriety’s not easy, but I can do it. I can handle it. However, I value love above all else. For me to suppress it, let it go, ignore it and go about my business, is all but impossible. No one will ever convince me that’s a defect of character. Holding out doesn’t feel right. It feels wrong. I hate it. I can’t get my mind off how much I hate it. I’m at the end of my rope. I’ve already stretched it. Now I’m unbraiding it and tying the ends together. I don’t think I’ll be able to sit back and wait for someday. I am a day shy of one week, and I’m wringing myself out, trying to squeeze out the resolve for a month. I don’t think it’s there. For one more week. Maybe. For one more day,even. One day at a time. 

I will stop wondering what to do about [others] and think about myself. What can I do to improve my life, to restore myself to full citizenship in the world? What are the shortcomings that are hampering me, and how can I rid myself of them? That is the crux of the program, and it really works.  

❝ Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there, shining. ❞

Anne Lamott

Obduracy.

It’s only been five days. I will not give in. I will respect needs. I will respect personal growth. I will respect self discovery. I will respect our separate ways. I will respect space. Empty empty empty empty empty empty. Space. It has only been five days. I will not give in yet. 

Being honest with myself, and nothing else.

At certain points over the past few days I’ve felt alright. I’ve felt healthy, and productive, and sane. Today I’ve felt healthy, and productive, and sane. Then, I end up crawling into my bed with myself and my thoughts and myself and my thoughts and nothing else, and I’m no longer healthy. I’m no longer productive. I’m no longer sane. 

I am alone. I have not been alone in a long time,  and now, I am alone. Last week I had someone to tell me it would be okay. Someone to call, someone to tell, someone to visit soon. To know and enjoy and admire. Someone I love more than anything I’ve ever loved and I want to keep more than anything I’ve ever wanted to keep. Someone to  support and be supported by. Something to believe in. Now, I am alone. Now, I can’t keep it. I am serving a sentence of I don’t know how long. My hands are tied behind my back and I am supposed to believe in something else. I am supposed to believe in something on my own. I am not supposed to hold on to this thing that I want, but I refuse to let it go.  

I am trying. I wake up and I sigh and I read and I sigh and I consider letting go but I hold on. I accept and I put on my game face and I go out and I do and I hold on. I learn and I grow and I read and I sigh and I hold on. I try to stop holding on, but I hold on tighter. I hope. I only ever hope. I hope for my best friend back, even if that’s all I can have. I hope for my best friend back. Now. Soon. Tomorrow. Yesterday. I hope for time to move faster. I hope for the phone to ring. I hope for this day and for all the days between now and I don’t know how long to end, because what should not and what can not make me happy does, every time, and I want it. I just want it. I want it back. I will not let it go. I crawl into bed and I think and I cry and I break. I am alone, and the phone is not going to ring. 

It has been four days. I am trying not to be scared. I am trying not to fear. I am trying not to fear the future. Not to fear what’s in it. Not to fear what isn’t. It has been four days, and I feel fear, sharp and dense behind my forehead. It puts me in my bed with myself and my thoughts and nothing else, and it keeps me there for hours, and I am scared. I am in my bed with my thoughts and myself and nothing else, and I am scared. I am scared to be yesterday’s news. I am scared of what’s happening. I am scared of what isn’t. I am scared of what will. I am scared of what won’t. I am scared of what I know - scared that it’s true, scared that it’s not. I am scared of what I don’t know. I am scared that someday will get called off. I am scared that it will get called off and no one will tell me, and I will still be waiting for it. I am scared of all the things that can change between now and I don’t know how long. I am scared to do this without my best friend. I am scared of my own fear. It has only been four days.