A common phrase parroted in the rooms of recovery proclaims, "My disease is doing push ups in the corner, waiting for me to slip up." In my early recovery, I fancied this a nonsensical remark with no concrete foundation in reality. "My disease is getting stronger while I'm sober? That makes no sense!" It took a few years for the wisdom of this phrase to burrow deep and take root.
I'm an avid practitioner of MMA (mixed martial arts). People often ask, "Why do you train in martial arts? You trying to be a tough guy?" In truth, my reasons for practicing MMA vary from "It's a great source of exercise" to "It's a cathartic purge-valve for releasing stress." Ultimately, I'm not trying to be the toughest guy in the room, just the toughest target.
Allow me to elaborate... Let's say you're walking through the woods and a mosquito lands on your arm. What do you do? You SMASH it. You proceed down the trail and a few minutes later a wasp lands on the same arm. Now what do you do? You hold your breath and gingerly brush the insect away, praying not to agitate it in the process. Granted, you inherently understand your own power dwarfs that of the wasp and you can squash the life from its tiny frame with one swat (like the mosquito), yet you take care to lightly brush it away and run screaming in terror if it pulls a 180 and heads back in your direction. You grant the wasp due respect and hope he goes about his business without reprisal. Why do you treat the mosquito different from the wasp? Easy: the wasp has a stinger. It possesses the potential to inflict a small degree of pain - the mosquito doesn't.
Therein lies my soul purpose for practicing mixed martial arts. When the toughest guy in the room decides to go looking for trouble, I'd rather he view me as a wasp than a mosquito. Sure, he can crush me with a single blow, but he'll likely get stung in the process. In as such, said tough guy will carve a wide swath around me, not for fear of defeat, but because less dangerous prey can be found nearby. I'm a tough target.
I often notice relapse incidents occur because addicts fail to make themselves tough targets for their disease. For me, steadfast sobriety maintenance equals long-term recovery. My disease is cunning, baffling, and powerful. It can squash me with a single blow if I'm not careful. As with martial arts, I must constantly exercise my sobriety by fostering a relationship with God, going to meetings, doing the step work, and being of service, whereby sidestepping the deadliest disease in the room. I'm a tough target.
My disease is doing push-ups in the corner, gaining strength every day, waiting for the opportunity to crush me. It's up to me to decide if I'm going to be an easy target. I can stop going to meetings, abandon my step work, and neglect my contact with God, or I can do push-ups in my own corner.
Personally, I'd rather be a wasp than a mosquito.
Musings on Recovery and God
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
One Day at a Time
As previously stated, I failed to recognize the nature of my disease well into my sobriety. The idea of admitting to my alcoholic nature eluded me for many months.
My third day of recovery found me in a small men's group on a Sunday morning. I listened as others unraveled complex drunk-a-logs, recounting black-out drinking and demolished lives. I could not relate. You see, I was not a black-out drinker. I rarely drank during daylight hours and never wound up at the bottom of a freeway off ramp begging for change (though I came close).
After listening to yet another woeful diatribe, I finally lifted my hand and expressed the clear disconnect between my story and those around me. "I don't think I'm an alcoholic," I stated with great assurance. "I never once blacked out, I didn't have to drink as soon as my feet hit the floor in the morning, I didn't lose my home or my job (not true)... I'm just not sure I belong here."
The group stared at me, encumbered in a pregnant pause. Finally, one genius (and by "genius" I mean "a complete tool who had no business counseling new-comers") spoke up and declared in his infinite wisdom, "Well, maybe you're not an alcoholic. Maybe you're just a problem drinker."
"What's this?" I thought. "A problem drinker? Nobody mentioned THIS little loophole before!" A fortuitous tidbit of information that hit me square in the brain pan. "Eureka! That's it! I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just a problem drinker! Praise Jesus!" Little did my half-witted mentor realize, his sliver of unsolicited advice sent me blazing down an unnecessary road of hardship and confusion, nearly wrecking me onto the shores of relapse. For the next few months, I suffered the rooms of recovery, determined to dive back into the bar scene once I had my little "drinking problem" in check.
When not in meetings, I worked the graveyard shift as a security guard in a bank. The wee hours of the morning generally found me sitting in a guard shack, tapping the face of my watch to see if the second-hand still functioned. No radio, no cellphone, no books, no company... just me alone with my thoughts. I reclined in my chair, planning my first drink. "Let's see... I think the next time I go to Vegas... yeah, that's when I'll flush this whole sobriety thing down the drain." Visions of poker chips and Jack Daniels danced through my head.
A few minutes later, a new thought occurred to me, "Well, heck... I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just a problem drinker. So I guess I don't have to wait for Vegas. Maybe I'll pop the cork at the next social event." I folded my arms across my chest in satisfaction, "Yeah, I'll hop off the wagon at the next party I go to."
In a matter of moments, another inspiration rattled through my brain, "Wait a minute... since I'm not technically an alcoholic, I don't even have to wait for a party. I can call my buddies and hit the bars this weekend! They'll be thrilled! I'm going to call them-" Before that thought concluded, a new flash of brilliance erupted, "HANG ON A SEC!" I bolted upright. "I'm not an alcoholic! I don't have to wait for the weekend, I can start drinking TONIGHT!"
And with that, the decision was made. I would get loaded THAT very night. I leaned back and let out a sigh of relief.
Now, had I punched out the clock at that very moment I most likely would have fulfilled my delusions of relapse. Fortunately, I had a few more lonely hours on the job, enough time for common sense to creep in.
"Then again," I thought. "This whole 'sobriety' thing has been pretty cool. I kinda like going to sleep and waking up, rather than passing out and coming to. I feel great, I'm happy, and I'm getting so much more done with my days. I mean, if I think about it, nothing really special happened today that I need to celebrate. For that matter, nothing really bad happened that I need to forget about. Bottom line, there's no good reason to drink today. Maybe something will happen tomorrow and I'll have a good reason to drink. Just not today. Just... not... today." Then it dawned on me, "Not today... one day at a time." I leapt from my chair, "ONE DAY AT A TIME! That's what that means!"
Thus, my moment of clarity. I took the first step and my obsession was lifted.
I didn't want to be an alcoholic. I tried, with great fervor, to convince myself I wasn't like "those people" in the rooms of recovery. Their story was not mine. A solitary night in a guard shack illuminated the singular truth that would forever stay with me - the unique nature of my drinking did not qualify me as an alcoholic, the commonality did.
From that day on, I learned to look for the similarities rather than the differences.
My third day of recovery found me in a small men's group on a Sunday morning. I listened as others unraveled complex drunk-a-logs, recounting black-out drinking and demolished lives. I could not relate. You see, I was not a black-out drinker. I rarely drank during daylight hours and never wound up at the bottom of a freeway off ramp begging for change (though I came close).
After listening to yet another woeful diatribe, I finally lifted my hand and expressed the clear disconnect between my story and those around me. "I don't think I'm an alcoholic," I stated with great assurance. "I never once blacked out, I didn't have to drink as soon as my feet hit the floor in the morning, I didn't lose my home or my job (not true)... I'm just not sure I belong here."
The group stared at me, encumbered in a pregnant pause. Finally, one genius (and by "genius" I mean "a complete tool who had no business counseling new-comers") spoke up and declared in his infinite wisdom, "Well, maybe you're not an alcoholic. Maybe you're just a problem drinker."
"What's this?" I thought. "A problem drinker? Nobody mentioned THIS little loophole before!" A fortuitous tidbit of information that hit me square in the brain pan. "Eureka! That's it! I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just a problem drinker! Praise Jesus!" Little did my half-witted mentor realize, his sliver of unsolicited advice sent me blazing down an unnecessary road of hardship and confusion, nearly wrecking me onto the shores of relapse. For the next few months, I suffered the rooms of recovery, determined to dive back into the bar scene once I had my little "drinking problem" in check.
When not in meetings, I worked the graveyard shift as a security guard in a bank. The wee hours of the morning generally found me sitting in a guard shack, tapping the face of my watch to see if the second-hand still functioned. No radio, no cellphone, no books, no company... just me alone with my thoughts. I reclined in my chair, planning my first drink. "Let's see... I think the next time I go to Vegas... yeah, that's when I'll flush this whole sobriety thing down the drain." Visions of poker chips and Jack Daniels danced through my head.
A few minutes later, a new thought occurred to me, "Well, heck... I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just a problem drinker. So I guess I don't have to wait for Vegas. Maybe I'll pop the cork at the next social event." I folded my arms across my chest in satisfaction, "Yeah, I'll hop off the wagon at the next party I go to."
In a matter of moments, another inspiration rattled through my brain, "Wait a minute... since I'm not technically an alcoholic, I don't even have to wait for a party. I can call my buddies and hit the bars this weekend! They'll be thrilled! I'm going to call them-" Before that thought concluded, a new flash of brilliance erupted, "HANG ON A SEC!" I bolted upright. "I'm not an alcoholic! I don't have to wait for the weekend, I can start drinking TONIGHT!"
And with that, the decision was made. I would get loaded THAT very night. I leaned back and let out a sigh of relief.
Now, had I punched out the clock at that very moment I most likely would have fulfilled my delusions of relapse. Fortunately, I had a few more lonely hours on the job, enough time for common sense to creep in.
"Then again," I thought. "This whole 'sobriety' thing has been pretty cool. I kinda like going to sleep and waking up, rather than passing out and coming to. I feel great, I'm happy, and I'm getting so much more done with my days. I mean, if I think about it, nothing really special happened today that I need to celebrate. For that matter, nothing really bad happened that I need to forget about. Bottom line, there's no good reason to drink today. Maybe something will happen tomorrow and I'll have a good reason to drink. Just not today. Just... not... today." Then it dawned on me, "Not today... one day at a time." I leapt from my chair, "ONE DAY AT A TIME! That's what that means!"
Thus, my moment of clarity. I took the first step and my obsession was lifted.
I didn't want to be an alcoholic. I tried, with great fervor, to convince myself I wasn't like "those people" in the rooms of recovery. Their story was not mine. A solitary night in a guard shack illuminated the singular truth that would forever stay with me - the unique nature of my drinking did not qualify me as an alcoholic, the commonality did.
From that day on, I learned to look for the similarities rather than the differences.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
3 T's
In order to foster any relationship, either with God
or man, we must do three things:
- •Time – Spend time with each other. Relationships don’t happen over night.
- •Talk – Communication is a two-way street. We must remember listen as much as we talk. (When we tune in, like a radio, we begin to feel God’s voice.)
- •Trust – Every solid relationship finds its foundation in trust. (We must trust God and surrender to His will.)
We bear the image of God, who exists in three forms - Father, Son, and Spirit. In as such, we contain three parts as well – body, mind, and soul. Unlike God, however, our parts commonly fail to effectively communicate, or agree, under most circumstances.
For instance... as I get older, my
metabolism slows down. My mind understands the necessity of healthy living and tells my body to eat right and exercise. Unfortunately, my body insists on adapting to
every new exercise and diet, requiring my mind to come up with a new diet and exercise plan every couple of months. In essence, my mind must resort to trickery in order to fool my body into a higher metabolic rate. Mind and body insist upon working independently.
When I was young, I saw something that I wanted but could not afford. My mind said, “just take it.” My soul, which represents my moral compass, said “it’s not yours to take.” I had a veritable angel and devil on each shoulder. Unfortunately, these trappings have followed me into adulthood.
When someone wrongs me, my soul begs me to forgive that person. On the other shoulder, my mind resists, desiring to hold onto the grudge. My mind
and soul exist in perfect disagreement.
In order to stay
healthy, our bodies require food and exercise, our minds require knowledge, and our souls require spiritual/moral growth and
fellowship. Our mind, body, and soul live at constant odds with one another, working against the greater good. If but one of these things falls to the wayside, a vacant
hole develops, begging our attention. We grow unhappy, unhealthy, and discontent. Naturally, in an attempt to fill the hole we may turn to food, money, or sex and empty relationships. There are those of us, however, who turn to alcohol and/or drugs in an attempt to douse the expanding flame of hopelessness. The
trick becomes finding long term satisfaction.
How do we do that?
The first step to becoming whole again: Spend time talking to God, listening to His will and trusting He will make all things right.
So simple, yet so difficult to master.
The first step to becoming whole again: Spend time talking to God, listening to His will and trusting He will make all things right.
So simple, yet so difficult to master.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Hope
I'm currently previewing a feature film entitled "Renee" for a potential partnership with SAVN. It's a true story about a young addict/alcoholic struggling with recovery. When asked how she's doing, Renee responds, "I feel like my soul's just been kicked in the nuts." What a perfect description of early recovery!
I came into the rooms of recovery for one reason... I had lost hope. For a very long time, I stood in darkness, having lost sight of any light at the end of the tunnel. I was sad, lonely, and desperate. Most of all, I was without hope.
Early recovery from addiction manifests into an epic battle between mind and body. Our brain, which represents the needs of the body, tells us, "You don't need this! This is stupid and pointless. Why put yourself through this torture? You're not an addict!" We want so desperately to listen to this advice and accept it as the voice of reason. We must remember, however, our brain represents the best interests of the body, which has but one goal: INGEST MORE CHEMICALS TO STOP THE PAIN! In as such, our brain acts as a mere vessel for the real puppet-master: the disease of addiction. Make no mistake, the brain retains great power, with cunning and powerful strategies, aimed at obtaining specific desires. Let your guard down for a single second and it will drag you into relapse with little resistance.
On the other end of the battle lay the mind. Our mind represents the best interests of the soul and speaks the spirit of truth. It has a much different goal than the body: DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO OBTAIN FREEDOM FROM IMPRISONMENT IN ORDER TO LIVE HAPPY, JOYOUS AND FREE. The soul upholds human ideals such as liberty, morality, justice, and accountability. It is the very glue that holds our society together. The soul champions our desires for love, charity, happiness, fellowship, freedom, peace, and eternity. It cares less about our physical survival and more about our emotional well being. The soul understands that spiritual stability precedes physical health. It understands the necessity of breaking the bonds of addiction, which offer only temporary relief, in order to accomplish concrete and long-term happiness. The soul is the reason we step into the rooms of recovery in the first place.
Whether or not we succeed in sobriety depends on whom we grant more strength - mind or body. For me, my soul won the battle... barely. The prison of my addiction gave way to the prison of my apartment, pacing the floor and watching the walls close in. Each sweat-drenched pillow and sleepless night reloaded the addictive revolver with a fresh cylinder of alcoholic ammo. Time inched forward in slow motion. A week lasted a month, a month lasted a year.
I flirted with relapse time and time again, fighting back my brain's assurances that true sobriety rested atop an unclimbable mountain, out of reach of the common man. My soul fired back, reminding me that millions had survived the genesis of sobriety before me, millions would do so after. I dug my nails into my palms and held on for dear life.
After what seemed like an endless struggle, an almost imperceptible miracle occurred. There, at the end of the darkened tunnel, a glimmer appeared. For the first time in years, a light broke through. It shone so dimly at first, but grew in intensity as I piled up the sobriety days in my arsenal.
At last, I understood a thing called "hope" still existed, one day at a time.
I came into the rooms of recovery for one reason... I had lost hope. For a very long time, I stood in darkness, having lost sight of any light at the end of the tunnel. I was sad, lonely, and desperate. Most of all, I was without hope.
Early recovery from addiction manifests into an epic battle between mind and body. Our brain, which represents the needs of the body, tells us, "You don't need this! This is stupid and pointless. Why put yourself through this torture? You're not an addict!" We want so desperately to listen to this advice and accept it as the voice of reason. We must remember, however, our brain represents the best interests of the body, which has but one goal: INGEST MORE CHEMICALS TO STOP THE PAIN! In as such, our brain acts as a mere vessel for the real puppet-master: the disease of addiction. Make no mistake, the brain retains great power, with cunning and powerful strategies, aimed at obtaining specific desires. Let your guard down for a single second and it will drag you into relapse with little resistance.
On the other end of the battle lay the mind. Our mind represents the best interests of the soul and speaks the spirit of truth. It has a much different goal than the body: DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO OBTAIN FREEDOM FROM IMPRISONMENT IN ORDER TO LIVE HAPPY, JOYOUS AND FREE. The soul upholds human ideals such as liberty, morality, justice, and accountability. It is the very glue that holds our society together. The soul champions our desires for love, charity, happiness, fellowship, freedom, peace, and eternity. It cares less about our physical survival and more about our emotional well being. The soul understands that spiritual stability precedes physical health. It understands the necessity of breaking the bonds of addiction, which offer only temporary relief, in order to accomplish concrete and long-term happiness. The soul is the reason we step into the rooms of recovery in the first place.
Whether or not we succeed in sobriety depends on whom we grant more strength - mind or body. For me, my soul won the battle... barely. The prison of my addiction gave way to the prison of my apartment, pacing the floor and watching the walls close in. Each sweat-drenched pillow and sleepless night reloaded the addictive revolver with a fresh cylinder of alcoholic ammo. Time inched forward in slow motion. A week lasted a month, a month lasted a year.
I flirted with relapse time and time again, fighting back my brain's assurances that true sobriety rested atop an unclimbable mountain, out of reach of the common man. My soul fired back, reminding me that millions had survived the genesis of sobriety before me, millions would do so after. I dug my nails into my palms and held on for dear life.
After what seemed like an endless struggle, an almost imperceptible miracle occurred. There, at the end of the darkened tunnel, a glimmer appeared. For the first time in years, a light broke through. It shone so dimly at first, but grew in intensity as I piled up the sobriety days in my arsenal.
At last, I understood a thing called "hope" still existed, one day at a time.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Tommorrow
I just figured I was broken. Try as I may, the concept of picking up a cocktail, without plummeting into perfect intoxication, wholly eluded me. Why couldn't I drink like a gentleman? Why couldn't I dip my toe into the controlled alcoholic foray along with my societal peers? I often managed to give up booze in short spurts, determined to "control and enjoy" upon my return, yet came full-circle back to nightly drunken debauchery with certainty.
On a certain Wednesday, after many years of alcoholism, I stood high on my laurels and announced, "That's it! I can stand this lifestyle no longer! Tomorrow I shall quit drinking for good!" The days to follow went something like this...
Thursday: A day good as any to begin my journey into sobriety... until I realized Friday was just 24 hours away. "I can't quit on a weekend! I'll quit on Sunday, before the work week begins."
Sunday: The weekend's over, time to hang up the bottle. Um, then again, "It's technically still the weekend... I'll quit tomorrow."
Monday: The first/worst day of the week, "Mondays are miserable! I need a drink to take the edge off. I'll quit tomorrow."
Tuesday: New Release night at Blockbuster. "Who can watch a movie without throwing back a few cocktails? It'll ruin movie night! I'll quit tomorrow."
Wednesday: Everyone hits the bar on Hump Day. "I should pass up an opportunity to drink with people instead of drinking alone? Are you kidding me? I'll quit tomorrow."
And we're back to Thursday, 24 hours from the weekend. And thus began a never ending cycle, repeating week after week, for the final three years of my drinking career. No exaggeration - for three years, EVERY DAY, I managed to convince myself that the following day would deliver new-found sobriety.
If nothing else, I was consistent!
On a certain Wednesday, after many years of alcoholism, I stood high on my laurels and announced, "That's it! I can stand this lifestyle no longer! Tomorrow I shall quit drinking for good!" The days to follow went something like this...
Thursday: A day good as any to begin my journey into sobriety... until I realized Friday was just 24 hours away. "I can't quit on a weekend! I'll quit on Sunday, before the work week begins."
Sunday: The weekend's over, time to hang up the bottle. Um, then again, "It's technically still the weekend... I'll quit tomorrow."
Monday: The first/worst day of the week, "Mondays are miserable! I need a drink to take the edge off. I'll quit tomorrow."
Tuesday: New Release night at Blockbuster. "Who can watch a movie without throwing back a few cocktails? It'll ruin movie night! I'll quit tomorrow."
Wednesday: Everyone hits the bar on Hump Day. "I should pass up an opportunity to drink with people instead of drinking alone? Are you kidding me? I'll quit tomorrow."
And we're back to Thursday, 24 hours from the weekend. And thus began a never ending cycle, repeating week after week, for the final three years of my drinking career. No exaggeration - for three years, EVERY DAY, I managed to convince myself that the following day would deliver new-found sobriety.
If nothing else, I was consistent!
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