It’s been a
while since I blogged...April 12th of this year...I am not sure if I
still know how to write? I do know that
when my life is this full, my head is this dizzy, and my heart is this swollen,
the words flow freely; here I am, trying to create literary genius one poorly
organized blog at a time.
When I got sober
I was told that God will always give me what I need when I need it. Not when I want it, or in some cases, not
want it.
I can assure you
I didn’t want 6 weeks of zombie like motions, tears, sleeplessness, and rage
when I broke up with X. I promise you
that I didn’t want to stop golfing, watching baseball, and sleeping in my bed
because it made me think of him, but I did.
Even 5 months later, I am not sure if I was in love, or if my co-dependency
was in full force for the entire time I was with X. I know that the wrench twisting my heart
every day was hopelessness, and I know that the weight in my stomach that left
no room for food was fear. I’ve decided
that they call it a break up because when you are so fully invested in another
person and when you leave them (or they leave you), you are physically,
spiritually, and emotionally broken. If
you are completely enamoured with one individual and you have based your entire
adult life around them, you are beyond broken.
You are catapulted into another dimension where you are certain you will
never smile, laugh, or love again; and where trudging though the day and
forcing a smile requires so much effort that a mid afternoon psychotic melt
down is essential.
I remember weeks
of going to work in baggy jeans, baggy t-shirts (malnutrition will do that),
and ballet flats with my hair in a disgusting dirty pony tail. I vividly recall turning out my light,
praying for sleep, and being able to remember every inch of X’s skin and every
swell of every muscle. That was
normal. And disgustingly painful.
Despite the
grief cycle working EXACTLY how Google (and my shrink) said it would, I was not
prepared for the anxiety and hurt that took up most of my waking hours. My shrink assured me I would be on the
upswing in 6 weeks and suggested I start practicing Step 11. I responded, “Oh, I don’t do that.” Which clearly explains how spiritually
bankrupt I was.
However, when I
had enough of letting the obsession and disease run my life, and I realized I
was incredibly close to picking up a drink, I got on my knees and somewhat
doubtfully asked God for help. By day two of praying again (because it had been
over a year), I got honest; crying, yelling, wiping my face so I could go to
work, and then coming home to do it all over again. I faced the fact that God took away my fear
of being sober, my obsession for alcohol, and my selfishness because I humbly
offered myself Him; therefore, why wouldn’t He take this away too?
“This is an
action program”, so I worked myself to the bone to renew my shattered spiritual
condition. I stumbled, many times; tried dating again; cried, yelled,
threatened; smiled – finally. And now I
smile often. Every day. I finally understand what it is like to have
a bad minute, not a bad day. I have
latched on to hope and have turned my back on guilt, shame, and remorse. I have decided my life is mine and it will be
lived. X still crosses my mind, and even
sent me a text this morning, but when I start to feel sad, lonely, hopeless,
scared, and completely unloved, I get down on my knees and work on developing
the calluses that those who have come before me, and stayed, brag about.
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