exhausted

Between death and sickness, loneliness and hunger (both spiritual and physical), grief and stress... I'm exhausted. I don't know what will help, can barely figure out what hurts, and can't even let go enough to sleep through the night. And no matter what I do, I'm the only one who can solve this problem, allow myself the strength and space I need, and cultivate the willingness to accept love as freely as it is given.

Sleep would help. At therapy tomorrow, I'm going to ask whether Ambien would help. Because nature just isn't cutting it these days. Namaste.

fear of commitment

I've been unemployed for nearly five months. On average, I send out 15 resumes each day, five days a week, and hear back from maybe five people a month. The newest fad in human resources seems to be phone interviews, and since I've got a sincere phobia of speaking to strangers on the telephone this inspires no small amount of anxiety. But beyond that... I've had two in-person interviews (yes, only two, after HUNDREDS of job applications), and the biggest worry I have when submitting myself to this unique form of corporate torture? That I'll actually get the job.

Yes, I know. I'm supposed to be more unhappy with unemployment than I am of starting a new adventure. But having worked from my home -- generally on my own schedule -- since 2001, and before that working in journalism where there weren't usually hard-and-fast rules about much of anything, it's been about 13 years since I last had what anyone would consider a "real" job. And the thought of having one now makes me panic. What happens if I want to go on vacation? Or sleep late? Take a Whim Day? Go to the beach and listen to iTunes all afternoon? NONE of these things will be options when (if?) I re-enter the corporate world... and I'm not too sure I want to give them up.

I've got some time. As noted, no one is knocking down my door. [No one in Chicago, that is. I've had tremendous interest expressed from Iowa City and certain regions of West Virginia and Kentucky. (Uh, no thanks.)] And I have unemployment money that keeps me mostly afloat these days, though paying off my existing debt is being put on hold (and I had to ask for a reprieve from my student loan payments). Meanwhile, I've got time to follow my whims and spend the afternoon at the beach... and build up www.cheapfreechicago.com, which is coming along slowly but I'm finally making more than $5 a day via advertising, which is something, right?

What it really comes down to is that I detest responsibility and/or being beholden to anyone for any reason. The Philosopher asked if I could take Rebel for four days straight so he can go on a staycation with his fiancee, and my response? Fear and wanting to come up with some excuse why it can't happen. And this is my CHILD. Whom I love dearly, and whose entire soul I want to eat up with a dessert spoon any time I get him in my arms. But that's just my default reaction; ask me to commit to anything and even if I say yes automatically, the next moment I'm feeling that whole "I'm a Commitment-phobe, Get Me Out of Here!" sensation. Which I know will pass. And which I know is a result of deep-seated stuff I haven't entirely worked through. Still... do I really want a "normal" job, one where the biggest thrill is wearing jeans on Fridays? Not particularly. So while I'm still doing a darned good job search on the "normal" front, I'm also working on the sidelines to craft some sort of life for myself that is apart and distinct from that sort of normalcy. Whether I succeed or fail is anyone's guess, but it's worth a try, lest I be sitting in a cubicle ten years from now wondering what might have happened had I attempted something different.

As I told JS a few weeks ago, being normal and average is my worst fear. And not that people who work in "normal" jobs are regular or average -- probably in some way they are more than that, since at least they've gotten over their fears of commitment and being boxed in. Kudos for them. (Said not in sarcasm but in true sincerity.) But in my mind not having an office job is part of my life -- like how I have funky original artwork all over my walls or mix stripes and plaids in the fall and dye my hair blue. And maybe I'll find a full-time job that accepts me without wanting to change things I hold dear, but it's questionable. All I can really do? What I've been doing, along with praying for a little bit of acceptance about the unknown. Lord knows I need it. Namaste.

PS -- I'm going to BlogHer 2009 tomorrow & Saturday... hit me up if you see me there!

the simplest things

In a meeting the other day, I said, "Sometimes the smallest changes are the biggest miracles," and I believe that in my heart. Of course everyone notices the big things -- losing 50 pounds, dyeing your hair blonde (or, in my case, blue), or the sudden emergence of a diamond ring on a certain finger. But the small things? Well, because they are (duh!) small, they often go unnoticed. But I find that it's the little things that point us in the direction of who we are and whom we are becoming. And I'm learning that often it's also the little things that are the hardest to handle.

Taking JS "back" after he relapsed wasn't that difficult. I've borne horrible pain at the hands of men since as long as I can remember -- starting with my father -- and so I know how to handle that. I know how to witness contrition and rebuild my relationship-life (with a gentler hand the 2nd time around) and stand by my man (in Wynette-speak). The big relationship things are ones I know how to navigate once disaster strikes; I've weathered infidelity and abuse and despair and even general unhappiness, and at this point in my life I'm just as likely to respond with "sigh... I've been here before" as I would be to cry or bitch and moan.

The little things, though, are proving to be difficult, and I'm finding that they are becoming the ones that will try my patience and test my faith more than any of the big things. I'm unclear how to navigate these paths, since my prior relationships haven't really had much space to focus on smaller things -- the big things were so tumultuous that they took up all of my time and energy. But now that there is room for things such as compassion and tolerance and being full of care and acceptance as well as deep-down no-holds-barred romantic love? Well, these are the things with which I'm beginning to struggle on a daily basis.

JS tells me enough that he loves me, but there is a hiccup inside my soul when he asks if I believe that is true. I don't know much about love with a capital "L" -- everyone who's ever said that to me has hurt me in some unspeakable way, and I can't really comprehend what it means to receive unconditional love, except to say that I'm keeping my mind and my heart open and I'm remaining willing to accept it. But I don't know what it feels like as a recipient. And this isn't a matter of JS not doing enough; I'm perfectly away that the character defect is mine.

Beyond that, though, is the general unsteadiness that comes after a relapse. There are entire twelve-hour periods (or longer) during which I have no reservations about the choices he'll make in regard to alcohol in the future. But even if I were to have four days go by without such worries, all it takes is one little thought that stretches exponentially from one second into thirty, and I'm a goner. My sponsor tells me this is part of the process I have to walk through, and God will show me the way, and eventually I'll get to the other side of this Trust Impasse, and my life with JS will be back to normal. Or, actually, as normal a relationship can be between two alcoholics. (I do believe we're two of the less-dysfunctional ones, as far as I can tell.)

This is a long way of saying that while I'm confident in making big decisions and setting boundaries and offering someone unconditional love, I'm still pretty darn scared about these little things. My sponsor would say I'm beating myself up for being human, and I admit I've said that to my sponsee as well... but still. I want to be a superhero, and I don't want it to be true that rejecting that notion is the simplest thing I can do to begin to accept my life. Maybe tomorrow. Namaste.

an esteem-able crisis

In order for any of this to make sense, you must know how I grew up. I was mostly overweight, my mother was somewhat of a hippie when it came to grooming (and therefore didn't see why I should learn how to wear makeup, pluck my eyebrows, or do anything remotely "girly"), and no one who knew me then would have thought to describe me as anything approaching "pretty" or "attractive." In fact, my own mother referred to me as "the smart one" of the family; my sister was dubbed "the pretty one." I was also fairly socially inept, stuck my foot in my mouth a thousand times a day, and had all the other trappings of being raised in a dysfunctional household by an abusive alcoholic father and mentally questionable mother. But anyhow.

These days, I've learned a thing or two about fashion, beauty, personal grooming, and style in general. And beyond all of that, I spent most of my sober time going to meetings at a place where it's about 85% male, and the women who do go are mostly too old to be considered on the market, too newly sober to be available, or crazy -- which leaves about 5% of the house's clientele being attractive young-enough women. And during the almost-two years I've been going there, I've developed somewhat of a reputation for being a fashion plate, a girly-girl, someone who always takes care of herself and is -- even when dressing down -- pretty. I also dress up on Friday nights -- I did it while drinking, so now I do it sober! -- and take things up a notch by doing so. In short, I've somehow been transformed into "the pretty one" (who's also "the smart one") in my circle of sober friends. And now that I've "achieved" that -- if it can be said to be an achievement? -- it feels weird. As in, I still think of myself as all of the things I used to be, and the fact that anyone might consider me stylish, hip, pretty, and feminine? Well, it blows my mind.

I don't know if this is another one of those "fake it 'til you make it" lessons I'll learn, but it's probably the hardest thing I've dealt with continuously since I've gotten sober -- just ask my therapist. It's like I have to deny 35 years of things I've heard and told myself... on nothing more than faith. And that's scary!

Part of it, too, is that I (falsely) imagine that the women I consider to be sexy, attractive, stylish, and hip must have a completely different internal life than I do -- in my mind, they are never insecure, don't sweat (and probably don't even need to USE deodorant), always smell perfect, never scuff their stilettos, and always remember to get manicures and pedicures before their hands and feet look like they've been living in a homeless shelter for a couple of weeks. But that description is definitely not me... and so I think because I don't have the internal life that I *imagine* these other people have, then I must not have the external appearance that they do. Until I talk to other people, or receive compliments, or hear extended explanations from friends about how they perceive me... and I get confused.

I wonder what it feels like to just feel pretty, or adorable, or even beautiful from the inside, rather than accepting the compliment and feeling it's undeserved. This is the next frontier of therapy...and I hope that one day I'll be able to get there. In the meantime, I'll be doing quite a bit of faking it... Namaste.

frustration, fear, and f*** this...

The past day has been quite stressful -- after having that nightmare, things were barely stable. And then after the meeting we went to, JS and I went out to dinner and he was pushing me for answers to a lot of questions... and I don't have (m)any answers right now. I don't know how it's all going to work out, how/when I'll be able to trust him again, whether/when faith in his capacity to take care of himself will return, or if anyone can lessen my fears right now (much less relieve them).

The long and the short of it: I'm scared. Terrified, actually. That he'll relapse again, that he will drift away from sobriety, that he'll drag his feet on getting a new sponsor, that I won't be able to completely forgive him quickly enough (or ever), that I'll never be able to accept him exactly for what and who he is: a human being, who's fallible like all the rest of us.

I was skimming through some Al-Anon literature today, and I came across one of many readings about asking "what if..." questions. I've never been a big fan of playing what I call the "What If Game" -- even my kids know that it's probably not a good idea (or at least not productive) to worry about what might happen and just focus on what IS actually happening in the moment. But that doesn't make me any less scared... and the only thing that is keeping me going is knowing that fear is a natural human response to being hurt.

What I'm trying to do today -- albeit not too successfully -- is to play the "Positive What If Game": asking myself "What if things turn out fabulously?" and "What if this is the time JS gets sober for good and I have to let go and let God in order for that to happen?" and "What if this is all going to end up for the best, regardless of how I try to manipulate reality?" Because those are good questions to ask... sitting and waiting for the other shoe to drop isn't any way to lead life.

JS had a huge angry outburst this afternoon, one that left me terrified and crying in the car in the parking lot of a pancake house. I don't take kindly to people yelling, and under normal circumstances I probably would have gotten out of the car and taken a cab home. But I do remember what it's like to be five days sober -- and I didn't get sober coming out of a relapse, having let down people who cared about me, having hurt the very people I never wanted to cause pain. I need to start expecting less from him and treating him the way I said I would in my previous post on forgiveness... but it's so damn hard. Besides getting sober, this is the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. I'm confused every day, and I've been crying a lot.

So what keeps me going? Being able to say to JS, "I know that your sobriety and relapse is sitting on top of us like a two-ton elephant, but can't we pretend it isn't there for a couple of hours every day, and just hunker down and love each other like mad?" And him saying, "Yes, we can." Because I know reality is out there, I know it's tough, I know it's going to hurt like hell going through this process -- it hurts already and it's only at the beginning. But I also need to feel loved and give kindness in the small spaces of the world. If I can't have that, this isn't worth the pain. And I really want this all to be worth something. Namaste.

life on life's terms

Rebuilding trust has to be the most difficult thing to do in a relationship, moreso when you're the one who's been betrayed. I had a nightmare last night, waking up in a pool of sweat... and it wasn't anything horrible, just that JS had relapsed again, leaving me stranded without a car and having to be somewhere important on time. I suppose this is the natural thing to happen when trust disintegrates in a relationship... and only time and patience can bring that back. In the meantime? I'm praying a lot, and I'm going to many more meetings than usual. It's really all I can do. Well, I could break up with JS, but in my mind that's just running away. Life isn't always easy, and if I run away any time things don't go away, I'll be a very lonely person. And I don't want that. Thus, the growing pains.

forgiveness

The first memorable spiritual breakthrough I had in recovery came around my 3rd week in sobriety. I was standing in a half-way house basement, just barely comfortable holding hands with strangers, reciting the Lord’s Prayer, and when we came to the line, “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” something clicked. Actually, I lost it and couldn’t stop crying for at least 15 minutes while I’m sure everyone was wondering why the crazy girl with blue hair was being so emotional.

Being raised Catholic, I’d probably said the prayer a thousand times, at least, but I suppose it was something I did because of parental decree, like eating carrots (which I despised) or brushing my teeth or visiting my great-grandmother in the nursing home, which always smelled like something in between stale mashed potatoes and pee-soaked diapers. The more I’m sober, though, the more the Lord’s Prayer resonates with me, a supremely ironic fact since I came into recovery an atheist and still don’t believe in what I call “god with a capital ‘G’.” The paradox of finding redemption through offering forgiveness was a new concept, but – as it turns out – it’s one that remains front and center in my recovery.

In recovery literature, somewhere between pages 60 and 64 of the main text, it's noted (about God) that "He is the Father, and we are His children." Again, I'd read this line dozens (if not hundreds) of times before someone pointed out to me in a meeting that it refers to (among other things) the concepts of forgiveness, compassion, tolerance, and acceptance.

Forget whether I believe in "god with a capital 'G'" – let's just call "Him" a concept representing an unconditional love that is always present in the life force of the universe (more or less an approximation of what I think my Higher Power is) – and where does that get us? It takes us (or, rather, ME) to a place where I am forced to ask myself how God (that unconditional love/life force concept) treats me when I ask for help (with love, kindness, tolerance, and acceptance) and, therefore, how *I* (ALSO part of that life force) should treat others.

Maybe this is all bullshit – for all I know, it is, and I'm blowing smoke up my own ass – but I honestly don't think so. Because no one has ever lied to me about how this program works and the impact it can (and does, every day) have on my life. No one has ever made false promises about what will happen if I follow the suggestions given to me. And certainly no one has ever lied to me about what will happen if I decide to go back out into the wild and take my chances. I've seen what happens first-hand; first with J., and now with JS.

Which brings me to the reason for all of this talk about redemption and tolerance and love and acceptance. It's difficult for me to grasp every one of those concepts, because in addition to making me crave alcohol my disease encourages me to make a mess out of everything, to frantically ditch those who cause me pain, to say "fuck it!" on a regular basis, and to generally refuse to give an inch until the other person gives me a mile. And you know how all of that worked for me? It got me drunk, caused me pain, alienated almost everyone in my life, and left me spiritually bankrupt. And today, above all, I want to have spiritual depth where I once was shallow. Which means I not only have the capacity to forgive, but that I see forgiveness is necessary for moving forward (in any direction).

This is all (maybe) a long way of explaining that JS and I had extensive conversations today about his relapse and what it means for our relationship. And at the end of the day, I've decided to offer him the same sort of understanding and tolerance that the universe gives me – with some conditions. I won't accept anything less than complete honesty. I'm going to Al-Anon meetings to learn how to approach this situation with love and hope instead of anger and fear. And if he does this again? Well, there are no 3rd chances.

My friend Ann asked me in a text message earlier this week, "did you love him or did you love his sobriety?" And it was a good question, one I'd never thought to ask myself – but I did, and the answer is that I loved – still love – JS, independent of his disease. We are all powerless over things in our lives, and sometimes they get the better or worse of us, and this relationship was too much of everything I'd been looking for to say that because JS made a mistake – albeit an extended mistake that involved no small degree of deceit – it's over with no hope for redemption.

(I'm going to insert here that I don't know whether people unfamiliar with addiction and/or alcoholism will understand any of this – and if they don't, I just have to be okay with that. I'm perfectly aware that a certain percentage of people think that a no-tolerance approach is best; it's just not for me, right now.)

It's going to be a long road back to where we were, and I'm sure I'll need a lot of hope and faith and patience to get there. But I also know that – as the Dutch botanist Paul Boese said – "Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future." All I have is today, and the hope for more days ahead, and I want every single experience in my future to be larger and more fulfilled than it would be today. If I need to offer my forgiveness to get there? So be it. Let someone else keep score and make a running tally of mistakes and flaws and hurtful behavior; today, it's not going to be me. Namaste.

it gets worse

His friends took JS to detox this afternoon, after having him drink an entire bottle of booze just to make sure he was good and out of it before taking him to the hospital. This I don't understand, but I've also never experienced the dubious honor of dealing with a low-bottom drunk. And it turns out he's been drinking for two months -- if we can even believe that -- and none of us had a clue. It's easy, I think, to start blaming myself, asking how I could have missed this, telling myself I should have noticed something.

But all of that is quite ridiculous -- this is a disease, this is what it does to people, and this is how it works. JS will either get sober or he won't. The past few months? They're gone, and I'll never get them back. The pain of this loss is incredibly deep and powerful, and I'm tired of people telling me they understand. Sure, they understand what it's like to have a friend relapse, or a brother, or a mother -- but a romantic partner? Someone who promised you the sun and the moon and said he'd take care of you? Someone who wanted -- just three days ago! -- to hop off the "L" two stations too early to walk to city hall to get married? Well, some people know that pain, but most don't. At least not the people who go to the meetings I go to... the people there are mostly the men who CAUSE this sort of chaos and pain, and to be honest I don't really care to hear their perspective right now. It feels too much like they're making excuses for JS, and I don't want to hear excuses or explanations or rationalizations. I'M IN PAIN.

The only hope I have right now lies in the fact that I've been through someone I love relapsing before, which tells me I can do it again. This is familiar territory, albeit one I would never have chosen to traverse a second time. What I wish is that I could press a fast-forward button that would take me to the other side of this, and I'm angry that such a thing is impossible. Instead, all I can do is take care of myself: force myself to eat and stay hydrated and put one foot in front of the other. Because when it comes down to it, I can either join JS or beat him, and I'd rather die trying to beat him than sink down to that level. Why, though, does it have to be so damn hard?

betrayal

Even though somehow life always works out, when you're in the middle of a heartache coupled with deep betrayal, it's a confusing state of limbo... you've got a vague sense of the innate truth contained a dozen bromides with which people will shower you -- it's for the best, you'll come out of it stronger, focus on yourself, take it a day at a time -- but even as the words are coming out of their mouths, all you'd really like to do is sob and scream and pull out your hair. Really, there's nothing like an unpredictable relationship meltdown caused by the insane behavior of someone else to make a girl feel completely out of her league when it comes to life.

***

"It isn't as though this is unfamiliar territory," you tell yourself. There have been dozens of men who have hurt you worse, and there will likely be a half-dozen more (who may or may not hurt, as those in the past have or have not) down the pike, but what matters now is that THIS one betrayed you, THIS one lied when he said x, y, and z, THIS one is the one who have to walk away from while feeling the pull more than ever.

Your therapist tells you this one was progress -- not as bad as the others, not as good as those to come -- while your friends are (perhaps) generous enough to remind you that soon (or soon enough) you'll be able to point to all of the warning signs you missed. But today -- while the pain is fresh and the full scope of the lies and the missteps and bad behavior come to fresh light -- you're interested in neither progress nor warning signs. Really, the only thing that helps is sobbing -- not the polite sort of crying you might undertake at sad movies or when your great-uncle dies, but the sort that entails snot and hyperventilating and screaming into nothingness. It's the sort of emotional outburst best performed in private, unless you really want other people to see the red-faced snotty mess you become in such moments. At some point, too, though, you are in enough pain that you wouldn't care if you were broadcast on national television during half-time at the Super Bowl. Because, yes, it hurts that much.

***

You know it will be okay, at some point. But "some point" is as much an abstraction today as are quantum physics and string theory and -- today -- you want something tangible, a set of instructions on how to get to the end of this process, how to get to the point where you don't want to pummel every man you see, how to grieve and heal and step gingerly out onto the dating floor to try it all over again, fully aware of the risks you're taking but completely willing to do so.

***

As the Coldplay song goes, "Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be so hard." Pop music goes a long way in the midst of a breakup, and even though it's a cliche at which any rational woman would scoff under normal circumstances, these moments are anything but normal, and you've got to grab on to whatever you can use for a life raft. Pop music seems good enough as anything. And it's much more comprehensible than quantum physics.

same stuff...

...different man. Argh. JS relapsed -- and he's been drinking on the sly for about a month. And, of course, he thinks this is just a road bump in our relationship. Me? I think trust is one of the most difficult -- and nearly impossible -- things to rebuild in a relationship, and I'm not sure I'm strong enough to take that leap of faith. Which is what it is, when you're dealing with a chronic relapser. The bright side? I've already been through this -- with J. -- and so at least I know how to walk this path. The only problem is that I'm damned angry I ever learned that path's topography. I'd much rather be one of those "ignorance is bliss" kind of folks when it comes to experiencing yet another lover who causes so much pain and heartache. I don't know what will come of this, but I do know I'll stay sober today. I see how much people who relapse hurt their friends, and that's one thing I'm not willing to make anyone else endure. Meanwhile, I'll pray for JS. Namaste.

my new project

It's not even CLOSE to where I want it to be, but my new project/website is up and running, with nowhere to go but up from here! Visit the site at www.cheapfreechicago.com -- and I hope you all like it!

Speaking of the site... it's so weird to go from "no website at all" to "website completely functional and formatted" in the course of about nine days. Ten days ago? It was just pretty much an idea I'd been mulling over since I bought the domain name in April. But then a job I thought I might have been really darn good at fell through, and I figured that if I didn't want to go crazy I might as well give the idea a decent shot... and bam! The website was born.

Jack says he's proud of me, and I suppose it's a remarkable thing to go from zero to website in less than two weeks... but it's all still a blur right now. Over the next few days and weeks -- as I fine-tune the content and plump up the calendar -- I'll be settle more into the daily routine of it all. And, with any luck, I'll make money before too long -- I'm giving it six months before I expect to turn a profit. In the meantime? I'm liking this ride...