Steppin' Back Inside.

It has been a long while since I've updated this thing. What has changed since?

1. PF cut ties. I am ashamed that I did not stick to the first attempt I tried at doing this. It was a lesson learned--the 10-hour panic attack and ER visit was not worth it. The one thing I am grateful for about this: I have an excellent template to go by--I'm tossing out anyone remotely like that out of my life. No one is worth those kinds of tears from me anymore, and the remnants of my pathetic behavior is being shed.

2. I was forced to move back to the city I was last at, in order to move back in with my folks--yet, again. This resulted from not being able to find a job in time. I miss the university life but I will be back at another one eventually.

3. I nixed the idea of getting a forensics degree. I'm currently taking a criminal justice course, and my professor has given me the low-down on how difficult it is to get into that field, due to all of those damn CSI shows. After much deliberation, I dropped my online pre-calculus course (That class isn't worth my tears, either. And yes, the math did actually make me cry at one point) and decided to go back to my original intent 12 years ago--fine/studio arts. My goal in life is to be happy, and there's no denying that I once had an awesome talent for studio arts, and that it put me in the 'flow' like no other hobby. I am still going to take criminal justice just so I could take the forensic course here in this town's community college. For the fuck of it.

4. I went out and stayed out for a while. I trickled back in, then back out...I did not feel ready to commit to anything at that moment. I did not even care. In a way, I still don't--but I'm starting to care a bit more now than I did a month ago. Today, I went to MHMR to get the ball rollin' for therapy and medication. I've had one or the other several times before, but never both. I have no desire to rely on either for the rest of my life, but I think for now--both therapy and medication would be very useful.

I had been without a sponsor this entire time, until just last week when I asked a dear AA friend of my from the last town to sponsor me. It won't quite be the same because communication would be just over the phone and through texting or Facebook, but it's all good. I have been sporadically going to meetings here, but my home group had me spoiled. The meetings here are naught in comparison.

The Negativity.

I was flying high for many days after the first successful weekend of going out of town and not relapsing since my first relapse. PF and I texted often, nearly everyday.

Then, the day after Valentine's Day, he drifted off. He said he needed to focus more on school work and AA during the week. I disbelieved at first, but thought maybe he meant that as the weekend came back around and we chatted again.

The following week was quiet. I worked on stuff for class and went to each 6 o'clock meeting everyday. Friday rolled around and I happily received a message from PF after my AA meeting. Later that night we met up in chat. This time, I wondered if something I said or did not say did something. An all-too-familiar feeling of being ignored came around. I said I enjoyed seeing him and chatting but the same sentiment was not returned. A quick bid goodnight and nothing more.

I had wanted to talk on the phone with him again for the past 2-3 weeks, but he seemed uninterested in doing that anymore. Is it my imagination? Is he already backing off? I am baffled and confused, not to mention butthurt. What did I do to make such a drastic change in his behavior towards me? I keep comparing it to when we first began talking--he seemed so interested. Not anymore.

It is hard to keep from taking such things personally. To wonder why the same scenario keeps reasserting its ugly ass in my face. Obviously there is something within me--most likely my insecurities and neediness. Negative thoughts kept whirling in my head all day today. I went over to my sponsor's, N, house to do laundry and some step work. I wanted to talk to her about all what was bothering me but:

1. I thought she might get tired of me talking about PF and my feelings of rejection, and--
2. There were too many damn people around.

So I kept quiet. After my laundry was finished, I went to drop the clean clothes off at my apartment and went up to the 8 o'clock meeting. All along the way, I kept envisioning being rejected one way or another by PF (even though it hadn't actually happened out in the open yet). I thought about different ways I would reject him before he had the chance to reject me. Just to hurt him. What ways would I do it to make him feel the worst? What method could I use to give him all the pain of rejection that I have collectively felt during the past 10 years by every man I ever loved/cared about? And what then? Would he then apologize for the non-existent offense and profess his admiration for me? Or would he--more likely--call me bat-shit crazy/a bitch/a cunt/a sad and pathetic specimen/etc. and then shun me for the rest of eternity, treating me only with disdain and pity from then on out? And me just sitting there, feeling worse than ever before, feeling no satisfaction nor control from which (I would have thought) I would feel from giving said fictional rejection...

I arrived at the meeting. It was a small, intimate group. Only a handful of us. I sat in the front next to my sponsor and nobody was sitting in my view across from me (like there usually is). If I felt like sharing tonight, I wouldn't feel quite as nervous this time around.

I shared a few times before I relapsed, but this time around after getting a new sponsor and starting all over again--it seemed to be much harder for me to speak in front of my group. It felt like my heart was going to jump out of my chest and run off every time I even thought about sharing during a meeting. The fucking shit sucked and it was ridiculous how hard it was for me to control my anxiety. I don't mind the idea of sharing, and there are nights that I want to share--but when I think about trying it, I tend to feel like I am about to pass out or heave while my heart jumps out in its hyper-pounding glory.

Tonight, it was a reading from the book, As Bill Sees It. I had never read anything from this book before. People took turns to read a page from it and give their own thoughts about it. The general topic of the night was 'Fear'. I flipped through the book and quickly spotted out a page that I wanted to read out. My heart started doing the rave dance in my chest. I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees and lowered my head down a bit.

Finally, after someone finished sharing, I cleared my throat and found the courage to speak up, I'm Cassandra and I'm an alcoholic.
The small group chimed, Hi, Cassandra!
I cleared my throat again and began:

The section I want to read is not directly related to fear, but I find that my own fear stems from what this talks about. It is on page 72:

"Dependence: Unhealthy or Healthy.

Nothing can be more demoralizing than a clinging and abject dependence upon another human being. This often amounts to the demand for a degree of protection and love that no one could possibly satisfy. So our hoped-for protectors finally flee, and once more we are left alone--either to grow up or to disintegrate.

We discovered the best source of emotional stability to be God Himself. We found that dependence upon His perfect justice, forgiveness, and love was healthy, and that it would work where nothing else would.

If we really depended upon God, we couldn't very well play God to our fellows, nor would we feel the urge to rely wholly on human protection and care."

I leaned back and paused for a moment after reading the page. Of course, the word 'God' and all that kind of talk made my face scrunch up into a cringe, but I had been taking my sponsor's advice to read GOD as in Good Orderly Direction, or sometimes--as another recovering drunk put it--'God' could be read as a misspelled 'Good'.

I took a deep breath and cleared my throat once more before continuing on. I picked this out because of how much I relate to it. I began drinking because I was and am so socially-retarded. Drinking made it easier for me to interact with others. I also felt I was a lovable drunk, though not quite so much when sober. 

The crowd chuckled.

When I quit drinking, a void remained. I still have the habit of trying to fill it with personal relationships and men. I realize I traded in alcohol for something else. Quitting drinking is a big step, but it isn't enough. I know I need to solve the issues that caused me to begin drinking in the first place. 

I paused again. I wanted to share something more profound, but I couldn't find the words for it.

That's all I got for the evening, I said finally.

The crowd gave an enthusiastic, Thank you, Cassandra! and I slumped back down further in my seat. My heart slowed a bit from the techno party beat, and I listened for the rest of the meeting.

After the meeting, my sponsor and I stood outside apart from the others that were playing with a hacky sack. The negative, self-pity feelings were beginning to get to be too much to bear, so I talked to her about what had been bothering me. She related stories from her life before she got sober, about the men she was married to and whom used to beat, rape, and verbally abuse her. She had long relationships with such men because she wanted so badly to work it and be wanted by someone, anyone. After hearing her stories, I remembered thinking I was so desperate for attention and affection, that I, too, probably would have put up with such abuse. Low Self-Esteem 'R' Us.

I went home, still feeling sad but yet not as bad as before, after having a pretty good meeting and especially after talking more personally with my sponsor for a bit.

Now, it is half-past midnight. PF had said last night that he would probably be online tonight, but no-show and no-text. My dependency and neediness knows no bounds.

Relapsed.

Just a short while after I picked up my 2-month chip, I slowed down with the meetings. My sponsor told me she wasn't going to check up on me anymore--that I had to start calling her now. My ability to reach out still sucked balls, so I rarely did text or call. 

That weekend, I sat alone in my apartment. Boredom and loneliness crept up, along with the I DON'T GIVE A FUCK attitude. Then the question:

Am I really an alcoholic?

They say that a self-test that one could do to answer that question is to simply go to a bar and order just one drink (or maybe two?) and stop after that and leave the bar. I decided I didn't want to go to some fucking bar, so I decided to go buy a bottle of wine from the corner store.

I went outside to my car, shivering my ass off. It had been nice the previous day, but now it was butt-fucking-cold. I stuck my key in and tried to twist it. It budged only about 1/3 of the way. The cold, for some mysterious reason, always fucked with my driver side car door lock (but never the passenger side). I twisted the key side to side as the silver lock itself bulged out each time. I cursed at the lock and ran my cold self back inside my apartment. I figured it was best I couldn't open my car door. 

An hour later, I jumped back up and went outside with determination. If I had to crawl over to the driver side from the passenger side, so be it.

Only this time, the door lock obeyed. I hopped in, drove to the corner store, and bought myself a bottle of chardonnay. When I got back, I vowed I'd only have maybe two glasses. Then the glass seemed small to me. Real small. I said, I'll just drink half the bottle, and that is what I did.

The next day, I milled around my apartment. Watched movies. Sat online. Then pulled out the rest of the wine and drank what was left. Then I went to the corner store to get a big can of Tilt. Drank that. Went back for a second can. 

By the time I got to about halfway through the second can, I finally put it down and asked myself WHAT the fuck was I DOING? I put the can down and poured out the rest. Drunk, I intelligently drove to the 8 o'clock newcomers' meeting.

My intention was not to tell anyone there I was drunk. I was just going to sit there and listen, and listen I did. After the meeting, one of the older ones came up to me and asked how I was doing. In a short time, I realized he could tell what state I was in.

Eventually I told others and my plan to hide my relapse failed. I went home (after sobering up) and called my sponsor and told her everything.

-------------------------------------------------------

My resolve was not renewed 100% yet. I wanted to stay in the program, wanted to hop back on and give it another go. I went back to the meetings on a regular basis again. The bit of peace that was developing before I relapsed, however, completely disappeared. I wanted to get that shit back but it slipped away.

The following weekend, I went to visit my parents. Found vicodin and took many. I drove back home at the end of the weekend and got another drink. Went to another newcomers' meeting drunk, again.

The weekend after, I again drove back out to Temple to visit my folks. I told myself I'd be strong this time, but halfway through the drive there...I began to wonder if my father had hidden the vic's again. By the time I reached city limits, I made the split-second decision to drop by my favorite liquor store. To my shock, the place was going out of business due to a new highway coming in--therefore their stock was on discount. I bought numerous sample bottles of whiskey and vodka to stuff in my backpack.

After the next newcomers' meeting--for which I had begun the habit of collecting a desire chip from--I told myself the shit's gotta stop. I decided to switch sponsors due to the one I had, I had a hard time relating to and our backgrounds were so different. I tried out another sponsor for a week, but she was very busy and was rarely able to talk/text much and was not from my home group.

Then I picked N. She was an addict (pills, mostly) along with being an alcoholic. She is older than I (rather than younger, as my first sponsor was) and had a lot more experience. Our backgrounds were more similar, including sexual abuse in the past. Our habits, our triggers, and our thoughts were damn near the same. She was also very open and very aware of my spiritual beliefs.

I had one sponsee, she said, who used a potted plant as a higher power.

And that worked for her, apparently.

She jumped right in. Texted and called me all day long to check my mental state. It annoyed me at first but I was grateful. The annoyance was the remnant of my old, problematic self--thus, needed to be faced, dealt with, and gone. After a short while, I welcomed all the phone calls and text messages. She had other sponsees and we were formed into one, happy little group. Others would text and call me to bring me out of my shell, and sometimes, I tried to do the same. 

-----------------------------------------------------

Soon after, I met PF in the chat room. At first there was no face, just a generic microphone on the screen. His voice was likable from the start. I didn't say much, but would sit and listen to the things he said. He eventually mentioned that he, too, was a recovering alcoholic in AA, along with being a Satanist wanting to infuse Buddhism into the 12 Step Program. The intrigue pulled me in.

Eventually, with the help of a new webcam, his face emerged--which I found to be as likable as his voice. Phone calls started up and each time, they would last from 2 to 4 hours long. Shortly after--as he was a student also--a foot was put down on phone calls and chatting during the week, as our sleep schedule and classes were suffering. 

Then it was time to go visit my parents again, for the occasion of my cousin from Virginia flying in. I dreaded going. I did not want to relapse again and by now it was obvious that going to Temple was a trigger. I spoke to N about this and she devised a plan of action--calling twice each day I was away, and to text her every hour except for when I was driving. And more often than that, if needed. 

A few days before the trip, as I was driving to class, my mind floated away and I thought about--just as I did the previous times--where might my dad have his vicodin again, or would he--as he did last time--forget to put them away until after I arrived? I then wondered if that liquor store had closed down yet...

I stopped myself. What the fuck was I thinking? My will and desire to stay sober seems to fly out the window whenever I approach out of the county limits, or was planning to be very soon. Do I want to continue on with the mental states I've been the past decade? NO. Then the thought occurred to me that--

I still think I can still drink and take drugs eventually

--and denied to myself that I have a problem, and this problem had kept me from advancing in my life in all ways possible. Indeed, I had not done Step 1 completely, though I thought I had. I had asked PF on the phone if he thought he'd ever do drugs again--namely psychedelics--and had hoped he would say yes. I also felt puzzled that he mentioned his parents had vicodin in the house but he did not want to look for it. Why did I still intend to look for the painkillers when I go back to my folks' place? I had not fully and consciously accepted the fact that I must not use mind-altering substances ever again, IF I want to advance myself and have the life that I want. Do I want that life? Fuck yes, I do. And now is the time that I need to cheerfully choose a better life and a better me over any drugs or alcohol. 

Friday came around, and after class--with packed bags already put in the trunk of my car--I began my 3-hour drive. I expected to feel disappointment knowing I would not try to get any painkillers or alcohol this time around, but there was no disappointment. The thought of drugs and drinking were automatically pushed aside every time they entered my mind. Instead, I spent the drive thinking about what I wanted to do instead: I want to work harder on making better grades. I want to get back into making kanzashi--which used to give me so much joy and pride. I want to get myself back into shape through weight lifting, belly dancing, and yoga. And walking. I hadn't gone on a beloved walk with my Ipod in a long while. I want to experiment with cooking again and infuse my under par diet with wholesome foods. I want to indulge in bubble baths and lavender oil. I want to face and be rid of my fear of socializing and public speaking. I want to put on my pink boxing gloves more often and punch the shit out of my heavy bag (partly so the 70-pound thing is not hanging in the way of my kitchen for no damn reason). I want to go back to the library more often and read up on random, weird stuff again.

Excitement grew and before I knew it, I had arrived at my destination. As promised, I text N each hour after that and called her twice a day over the weekend. I went to the AA meeting at the local VA hospital where alcoholic veterans shared their stories with enthusiasm. Those guys were aggressive with their sharing: before a person could even finish closing out their story, another person would always pipe up with their name and proclaim their alcoholism, then share their part. 

In the evenings after the meetings, it was fun time for me when I would exchange text messages with PF before getting online for chat. I looked forward to his humor and insight into things. 

At one point, after a butt-hurt situation, he pointed out to me that I was trying to fill the void with something else (him) to take place of alcohol and drugs. I should have seen it, but I did not. Of course, he was correct and his advice to talk to my sponsor about the issue was sound. 

My insecurities reminded me that I've much to work on during the second attempt to work the steps with my current sponsor. With a joyful and enthusiastic jump forward, I began with Step 1.