I'm back!

The reason I shut the blog down a year or so ago is no longer relevant so I am able to "come back out." I missed blogging and missed talking with you all, even if it was only in cyberspace (except Meg, whom I actually met).

My life is incredibly busy and fulfilling. I am crazier than an outhouse rat currently, perhaps because I'm coming up on an anniversary and am on Step 3. I want to get my 4th done by my birthday in December.

I hope you are all doing well. I haven't much profound to say except that the longer I stay clean, the more I realize I have a lot to be humble for.

My Romy is gone

I haven't posted in awhile. There is so much happening in my life, but the most difficult is that my beloved Romy went to be with Dallas and my parents. It has been several months and I still can't stop crying when I think of her.

She didn't suffer hardly at all. She was playing with Oz when her front leg broke, probably from bone cancer. She was brave right until the end. On three legs, she marched up the ramp into the truck.

It made me realize how she was the center of my life. There just wasn't much room for anything else.

Oz is doing well, although I think he misses her. He is even more affectionate now.

I hope you are all doing well. I'm hoping soon I can make the blog public again, but for now, I'll keep it private and hope you still check back from time to time.

Hugs and happiness.

Another few tragedies among winners

A gal I sponsored in Missouri woke up next to her husband, who was dead. He was 37. She is staying clean and walking through the pain. The day after he died, a young couple with about two years clean who called to tell me about her tragedy woke up to find their 17 year-old son dead in bed from an overdose. They are staying clean.

When I was coming back to Arizona to try to get my liver transplant, I met with my young sponsee before I left and told her that when "it gets hard, and it will get hard," she will have to walk through it. It has gotten hard for her and despite her initial response, which was to say "Screw this," she stayed clean and buried her husband and did the right thing to be there for her children. They need her.

Life is hard. We go through so many adversities. To those of us who, for so many years, chose to use rather than face life on life's terms, walking through the difficult times isn't easy.

There is no way around the pain; the only way around it is through it. I hope, no matter what life throws at me, I can continue, one day at a time, to stay clean and be present for both life's disasters and the joy.

It's raining hard in Arizona and I am glad. The way I feel matches the weather. I am tired of people throwing away the gift of recovery. Here is a shakedown of the past week.

Next week we will no doubt memorialize a man who threw away almost 18 years, a family who loved him, a wife who probably cannot support herself, a business, and the love of his friends in the Fellowship in search of a bag of heroin. He found it. He went on a one-man crime spree robbing banks and ended up in what can only be called a "suicide by cop."

There is my dear friend who has been around as long as me and has been in and out for years, always using her "mental illness" as the excuse to use. I don't judge her, but she breaks my heart and the hearts of those who love her. She is the funniest person I know. She called me the other day and left this message. "I'm done with NA; there's just nothing left for me." So I called her back and told her about our friend in the first example and said, "Yes, there is something left for you." Our literature tells us in every meeting only too clearly: "Jails, institutions and death." That is the grim, grim reality.

Then yesterday, my ex-husband calls straight out of an overdose and loaded. It's everyone's fault, as usual: his loveless marriage, women who hit on him because he's such a babe after 40 years of drug use, his hard work. Whatever the excuse, he always has one. What can I tell him that I haven't told him before?

This disease is breaking my heart. But it isn't exactly the disease, it's the casual discard of the lifeline by people who should know better that hurts so much.

I am tired of burying people; of losing people through their own cavalier, "I don't give a fuck, I'll show them" attitude.

Today we will go celebrate a woman's 25th birthday and I will be surrounded by the NA winners. Those who have gone through difficulties in their lives yet chosen to stay clean one day at a time. And it will feel healing.

My thoughts on a quarter of a century

Yesterday was my 25^th anniversary in Narcotics Anonymous. It amazes me that I have managed to stay clean for a quarter of a century. I remember turning 25 at a drunken party where I felt good the next day because I had managed to control my drinking enough not to black out. But to stay clean for 25 years, that is a miracle and one which I thank God for on a daily basis

I shared on my birthday at a meeting at St. Luke’s, the treatment center I went through about 27 years ago. I gave a brief drug-a-log, because newcomers need to hear you used the way they did, and then decided I would share on some key things I have learned in my 25 years clean. Here they are.

The people you love may not always love you. Or, the way they can love you may not be the way you need to be loved. As painful as that is, turning it over and moving on is the best way. It takes time and courage, but admitting that you need more and moving on is the only solution that has worked for me.

Everyone is struggling with something. You may see people who you think “have it together.” Trust me, everyone, no matter how long they have been clean or how spiritual they are, struggles with something

My family often lets me down, but people in the Fellowship almost never do. I continue to be disappointed with family members. I continue to invite them into my life. They continue to refuse. People in the Fellowship are happy to accept almost any invitation I give. My friends in the Fellowship have become my family.

My God is always bigger. I have walked through very difficult things in recovery. The death of both parents, a painful divorce (which is almost an oxymoron), very public humiliations, an almost fatal illness and subsequent organ transplant, the death of animals I have loved more than most people, to name a few. In all these instances, and when I thought I could not go on either emotionally or physically, my God has always been bigger than the problem at hand.

When it hits the fan, and it will hit the fan, put on the blues and lean into the pain. There is no way around the pain, no shortcut, no detour, no avoidance. Just walk toward the pain to get past it. It will not kill you. It will feel like it will kill you, but it will not, I have learned. Beyond the pain there is a new freedom.

You can’t take it with you when you die. When a doctor told me I had no more than four months to live, I spent a lot of time thinking. I looked around my house at all the “stuff” I owned. I realized that at best, they were just things that someone would have to dispose of or donate when I died. None of the physical things I owned mattered one iota in the end

What really matters is friendship. To have friends, you have to be a friend. Whenever I have problems in my recovery, my NA friends are there for me unconditionally. That is because I am a friend to them. NA taught me how to be a friend.

These are just a few of my thoughts of my years in the Fellowship. A friend sent me a card and I think his words summed it up much better than I can.

“That you arrived was an act of Providence. That you stayed is a daily miracle. That you endure displays your courage. What you have accomplished makes you an inspiration.”

Those words can be said about almost anyone who stays clean in NA. We didn’t get here by accident and we don’t stay clean by accident, either. I thank God daily for the Grace that brought me to these rooms.

Why I Say "I Love You"

Recently my friends stayed the night, on their way to California for vacation. My friend is from the Czech Republic and is very emotional, to put it mildly. It all started with a simple game of Scrabble. Because I haven’t played in years and his girlfriend was very experienced, she and I decided we would just start playing and I would refresh myself on the rules as we went along, and we would teach him as we went. Boy, was that the wrong decision.

The lack of a dictionary was another major impediment. The first word he tried to spell was “eco.” We both said that was a prefix and he couldn’t use it. He argued quite loudly that it was most certainly not a prefix, after asking, “What is a prefix?” The second round went no smoother, and he took his tiles and dumped them, and quit.

While she and I played on, he continued to watch and read the rules and correct us loudly at about every move. She beat me soundly, by twice as many points. I am a type A and if I can make a two-letter word and move the game forward, that is my strategy, which, of course, is a strategy only for a sound arse-kicking.

We bedded out finally about midnight and went to sleep, their two German shepherds asleep with them in the great room, mine locked in my bedroom with me, since Oz was being a bit snotty to their male, Bernarde.

This morning the dogs barked when they got up. I think Romy forgot we had overnight guests. They went for a walk and I slept in. When I finally got up a few hours later, they were at the kitchen table playing, you guessed it, Scrabble! There was less argument because she was allowing him to do some phonetic spelling: “genre” was spelled “janre.” Really, that’s how it is pronounced!

As we ate oatmeal with brown sugar (his with three egg whites and one cooked yolk on top), I helped him lose his first game. As they were getting ready to leave, he noticed a wall plate I have, where the entire world, instead of continents, is renamed things like “the Ocean of Love,” “Sea of Deceit,” “River of Revenge,” and “Peninsula of Procrastination.”

“That is where I live,” he said, pointing to Procrastination.

“I would, but I never get around to it,” I responded. We all laughed.

They packed up the car and the dogs and drove off to California, first routing their trip for me on their atlas. A few minutes later, my phone rang. “We left the peaches,” he said. “They don’t look good, but they are delicious.”

“I’ll eat them,” I told him. And I said two more things.

“Be careful,” and “I love you,” because I never want to let friends leave anymore without that reminder. The world is an unpredictable place, and I want them to know how I feel, just in case. In that matter, I no longer procrastinate.

Updates

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.

Last night I drove up to north with a friend to my sponsor's to her husband's 25th birthday. She is a pet lover, and as I was walking around in her house, this CAT came out of the laundry room. What do you think? I couldn't resist adding her to one of my favorite sites, www.icanhazcheezburger.com.

The party was fun and it was good to see many of my friends I haven't seen in months since I've been so busy with school. Ciao for now.

Funny events

I was looking at a yahoo profile, okay, I admit it, sometimes I cruise the yahoo personals, and saw an icebreaker question that someone put on his profile. He asked people to, "Describe the funniest thing that has ever happened to you." That is such a loaded question, because some of the funniest things that have ever happened to me include things that others would see as a tragedy. Isn't it wonderful that we can go into the rooms on any given day and share a story that, at the time was traumatic or even horrifyingly stupid, and look back on it with humor?

I really cannot pick one event that is the funniest event in my life. It may be the time I encouraged my at-the-time boyfriend to burgle a Photomat booth with a large rock. Here is my hit on it--if he was stupid enough to listen to me, of all people, he deserved the broken ribs he got when the rock he heaved bounced off the safety glass and hit him in the chest.

Or perhaps it is one of my favorite former blog entries about the time my friend Roy o.d.'ed in a Mexican bathroom and I dragged him out by his boots and loaded him into the car to drive him back to Phoenix; then, after almost dying, insisted before we got to Green Valley that I stop the car so he could use again. Now that, folks, is funny.

I was at lunch with three females coworkers and for some reason I was in the mood to share about my teen years. They don't know I'm in recovery, but I am pretty open that I don't drink but used to in my "younger, wilder" days. I shared about why I left home at 15, how I moved to this house in Berkeley typical in the early 70s with one lesbian, a married couple one of which was a self-described warlock, one college student, the lesbian's lover (they often got drunk and smacked each other around), and me, who watched it all with 15-year old wide eyed wonder.

Anyhoo, I wrote a letter to my mother at that point in my life and told her the house we shared had so many roaches, they'd furnished us each with a roach clip. Now my poor mother didn't know a roach clip from a hash pipe, but someone eventually told her. My coworkers had a good laugh and that was the end of our lunch.

There are times I feel I live a double life still: I can't really talk much about my past among the people I spent most of my time with at work and in various professional organizations I belong to, and in fact, am afraid of having to explain certain details. I spent time with my sponsor yesterday going over that very issue. There are a few things I still need to have closure on and am working on that today.

But the funniest event in my life? Maybe it was my birth, because except for the years of my addiction, I've been laughing the whole time.

Until I blog again, may you be surrounded by light and love. I know I am.

NYC

I am in NYC in midtown Manhattan sitting in a hotel room instead of trucking about looking up and down and all around. I just ran the list of local meetings, so will shower up and head out any moment.
Two puppies remain, two wonderful sables and the litter picks according to Pat, who is the mom's owner and has forgotten more about dogs than I'll ever know. One shipped to Missouri yesterday. She is the black and tan cutie.

On May 7th I should receive my masters, but I don't think I'm actually going back to do the graduation ceremony. Not sure why except money and I'm tired of traveling. I got on the flight yesterday from Phoenix to Denver. No sooner had they shut the doors when the pilot came on and said we had a one-hour delay before we even would know when we would fly. I had the beginnings of an almost immediate panic attack, wishing desperately I could take Ativan before a flight. Things worked out because he agreed to let us off the plane if we insisted, but a few minutes later they cleared us. I hate being so powerless and still have a good bit of claustrophobia from the transplant post-issues, I think.

Well, it is 1 p.m in New York and I am going to get dressed and get out of the motel room and go exploring. I'll let you know how the deposition goes. I hate lawyers. I love the food in NY.

I also went to see West Side Story, which was wonderful.

Take care.

Leonard Cohen concert

Barbara and I went to see Leonard Cohen on the kick-off of his tour a few nights ago. It was the most amazing concert I have ever been to. I've never heard such a quiet audience; they just wanted to hear every word he sang.

He did almost every song in his amazing repertoire that is better know. I can't think of anything I wanted to hear he didn't play, and he played for about three hours. Barb and I were in tears during a few songs; it was so amazing.

Well, one more week of grad school and I am done, done, done. Wish me luck. One presentation left to do.

I do miss being public, but oh well.

I'm too sexy for my paws!

Back from Missouri

I flew back to Missouri this week to take my comps for my masters. I am exhausted. I'll post more puppy pics tomorrow.

They're here!

Black and Tan Female

Mom, Noriz

Sable Male

Compassion

Oz's dad, Bastin, taking a bite. Isn't he awesome?

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Well, the puppies are five weeks old but no pics yet. There was a scorpion invasion so they had to be moved up north for a few weeks. Pics will be posted Monday for sure. Check back. They are awesome pups and the pics will be wonderful, I know. Ms. Babawa is taking them, so look for them.

I have been having a lot of anger lately, not sure why exactly. It is something I have struggled with my entire life. As I mentioned before, I believed that once I got that lovely little girl's liver and faced death, this would somehow change how I perceived and reacted to the world. Well it did--for awhile!

I also know that what was a survival technique when I used -- anger -- becomes a glaring defect of character in recovery.

I have been struggling with a coworker who has some real issues, complete with a lot of drama and chaos, often directed at me. Yesterday I'd about had enough so I went to a noon meeting at the nearby homeless shelter. I walked in the door and on the chalkboard there they had these two words, with some pages to read: Anger / Compassion.

It didn't hit me immediately, but later in the day I realized that while it is relatively easy for me to be compassionate to the still-suffering addicts I come in contact with, and to a lesser extend family members, in the workplace I have clear expectations about how people will behave and time and time again, people don't behave as "Two Dogs Sees It."

So last night I hit another meeting on my way home and heard what I needed to, as I usually do. That is that removing my defects of character comes in God's time not mine. (You know "I want patience and I want it NOW!) All I can do is ask and be ready.

So what do I need to do when I'm trying to rid myself of these troubling defects? Exactly the opposite, and to me, today, compassion is the opposite of anger.

Last night I went to a business meeting and ran into an old family friend. Yesterday would have been my mother's 86th birthday. We talked a lot about my parents since he worked with them and knew them both very well. It reminded me that this person I am wrestling with, and yes, it is about egos on both our parts, did not have the benefit of the parents and upbringing and love that I had. She is not in a program that can give her the tools of life management that I've been so freely given.

I read one of Marianne Williamson's books, I think it was A Return to Love. In it she states that the person who is more spiritually advanced is the one who is responsible for the tone of the relationship. Hm, ponder that one awhile.

So it's back to square one and looking at me and my behaviors. In the end, that's really about all we can do, isn't it? Oh yes, and pray.

Liberation

I was at first bummed that I had to go private on my blog since I have to remain so anonymous and after a few years of this, I am close to being linked with my real identity. So until I can clean up the blog, I have to be private.

However, it is also liberating because now I can say whatever the fuck I want and do not have to worry about what anyone thinks.

Also, some of my previous followers do not show emails on their blogs, so if you know someone who wants to view, they need to post a traceable e-mail (to their blog or website) and I will invite them, too. This is a bummer, but I've been living a double life so long I'm not sure I would know how to do this differently. Soon, I can go save the world and not worry about my past. (Isn't that a promise somewhere?)

Got milk?

more funny pictures

FINE

We all know what that stands for, right? I shall say no more. Tomorrow I am calling my sponsor. I am working too hard and not thinking very clearly.

My friend said today early in recovery he heard someone say, "We have no hope for a better past." I guess that means we should live in today.

In Narcotics Anonymous, the only promise is freedom from active addiction. I think sometimes we sold ourselves short by not cadging AA's promises, but I was apparently outvoted in that matter. Oh yeah, I wasn't here to vote.

As for the promises in my life, the one that I still haven't achieved is, "We shall not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it."

I went to three meetings today. What does that say?

Until I blog again, stay clean. It is the softer, easier way.

Ever felt like this?

No, we were the drunk friends, I almost forgot.

No news

None today; just an intense bunch of emotions.