I cannot believe it's been two months since I posted. I have been heading up north to get out of the heat, although this weekend I stayed in town and am roasting. I forget every winter how hot the summers here actually are.
My friend is awaiting a liver transplant and I have been trying to help him get out of the house whenever possible, so last night we went to the speaker meeting and dance and later with another friend went to eat. The speaker got clean with me about the same time and her best friend, who died of brain cancer, was a good friend of mine, as well, so we have a lot in common. Also, we shared a sponsor for many years, although we have both moved on to new sponsors.
She was a crystal meth addict and pointed out that when she came into the program, NA was mostly junkies, which included me. Today I find when I share my story that unless old timers are in the audience, I am not sure that people can relate much to my using. So I try, unless it's a speaker meeting, to focus on recovery and the desperation of my feelings when I got here.
I am sharing the Sunday morning meeting at a big camp out in Colorado later this summer. I have to laugh, since the Sunday speaker is generally the "spiritual" speaker. I think maybe they have the wrong person (?). As I have blogged before, I still struggle with anger so much that I find it hard to call myself a spiritual person. But I keep chugging away.
Last week I started therapy for post-traumatic stress disorder, something I probably should have done years ago. A few months ago someone came to my house in the middle of the night and started ringing the doorbell then kicking the door. I called the cops and a helicopter was here in about three minutes then the police in about ten, but in the interim, even with 2dogs going crazy and me in the hall with a handgun, I was terrified.
For several days I was in "reactive" mode and was so devastated I finally figured out perhaps it is time to deal with the wreckage of my using. One of the original pains of my early using has been coming around lately to haunt. It's the image of the man I loved from 15 until my mid twenties who was twenty years older than me and willing to put me on front street to run his drug dealer business. What kind of men do these kinds of things?
Of course, once I made the decision I talked to my sponsor and immediately began berating myself for "waiting 24 years to do this." She calmly pointed out that to do anything at all at anytime in regards this was "brave" and to not beat myself up. That is the value of sponsorship. Sponsors help us see what we cannot see, often right in front of our faces. While I would have told a sponsling of mine the same thing, I couldn't remember to tell myself what she told me. Thank God for sponsorship.
I have also started a blog that will cover the social justice aspect of prostitution and the unsung victims who are either dead or trying to leave the life. I have been putting some energy into that and I am please with my efforts to far; however, more remains to be done and it is time consuming.
I did one other brave thing, or perhaps it was done to me. I am not going to write many of the insurance columns I've been writing and instead will focus on writing and keeping my copyright. It may mean money is funny for awhile, but I am tired of that rat race and dealing with corporations that are too slimy to be believed.
It is pretty simple today to self publish and this is the route I think I am going to pursue.
Until I blog again, I hope you have a great day. Hopefully at some point I can go public with this blog again, but not now.
