There is a Solution...and I’m Not It

The 9th Step Promises

1. If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through.

2. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness.

3. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.

4. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace.

5. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others.

6. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear.

7. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows.

8. Self-seeking will slip away.

9. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change.

10. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us.

11. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us.

12. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves

Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us - sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.

Alcoholics Anonymous p83-84

The reason a recovering alcoholic isn’t ready to pursue a relationship - and shouldn’t place one’s self in a position where that ball is set rolling (flirting, dating, sexting, sex, etc) - is because it takes long, hard work to be restored to sanity. If you’re in a relationship already when entering recovery, your hope is that you can recover well enough to save it, or to be okay in it. But the relationship lasting after recovery is still not always the case, nor should it be. This is where having a good sponsor is important; we sick alcoholics and addicts don’t always know what’s best for us, and we can get ourselves into a whole lot of trouble when we do things our own way. The 12-steps-with-a-sponsor-approach isn’t the only way to recovery, but if we do go this route and work closely with a recovered human being with much more experience - who has been restored to sanity through working the steps - more is revealed to us. We are better equipped to make sane decisions, and less apt to hurt others and ourselves. 

I finally have a sponsor whom I call and to whom I talk (and as importantly, to whom I listen) every single day - and I actually want to do this. I believe that the words that come out of her mouth are true, which is important. And I’m actually being honest with her about my thoughts, feelings and actions - more honest than I’ve ever been. It feels hard as hell. My ego kicks and screams as it tries to claw and fight its way back to the surface to drag me under - but I know that rigorous honesty with another human being IS the first step in recovery. I’m SO SICK of my own insanity and the suffering it brings myself and others that I’m shining the brightest light I can on this bitch, so we can both look at its ugliness and see it for what it really is. The ego can only survive in darkness. 

Me? I’d rather dwell in the Sunlight of the Spirit, and enjoy the peace of those promises up there.

So, to get there - to recover, to be restored to sanity - I have to stop doing things my way. If there’s one thing I learned from re-reading my blog posts from 7 to 4 years ago, it’s that, yes, I am insane, and to say that I hurt people - some very deeply - is an understatement. And it’s my nasty little ego that not only prevents me from admitting my shortcomings to another human being, but also tries to stop me from following the direction of someone more sane than I. It can’t handle the idea that someone else might have the answer. It fights me being told what to do. 

Thankfully, when my now-sponsor (I’ll call her Tasha) makes suggestions, she only suggests to follow what’s in the book of Alcoholics Anonymous, which has helped millions of alcoholics already. This program of awareness is more powerful than my ego. I don’t even have to call it the hand of God - but I choose to. Tasha couples that with her own experience, strength and hope - and I can take it or leave it - but I’m choosing to take it.

Without a good sponsor, recovery doesn’t work for me. Margaret wasn’t even the best of sponsors, in hindsight, though I thought so at the time, placing her on the highest pedestal. Boy, did she fall hard. After her suicide, I completely stopped trusting any one in the program at all. I stopped recovering, soon after I had started. I kept pursuing relationships when I wasn’t sane - until I found a guy who was also crazy enough to stay with me. 

It lasted a little over four years. After fighting it in the beginning, I conceded and settled into it quite comfortably. Here was everything I ever wanted. He was a hard-working chef, we bought a house, he could help me raise my son, we had a daughter, his son (my son’s age) came to live with us, I continued my work with adults and children with disabilities until I started a photography business, we were engaged to be married, and I was photographing Love for a living. I felt like I had “made it”.

But I was still spiritually sick. I resorted to smoking weed, then vaping THC, addictively, to deal with the fact that on the outside, life looked amazing, but on the inside, I was suffering. Parenting was overwhelming. I had no clear view of my finances and didn’t know what I was doing in my business. I had too much work and too little money. I was asking - forcing - Bernard to watch the kids and clean and cook for me 60-70 hours a week so I could work any time he wasn’t working, on his days off, and late into every single night, at my computer, in addition to shooting weddings and sessions. I made no time for him, and also resented him for everything. He just wouldn’t do everything I wanted, and he did things I didn’t want. I had no peace, and I was neglecting everyone, drowning in a sewer of my own design. There was no God-consciousness, nor real consciousness of any kind.

When my then-sponsor (who never worked the steps with me, because I told her I had worked them already - plus I never followed her suggestions) - moved away, the search was on for real recovery. At this point, I was hoping to use the steps to save my relationship and my business, and to be the best mom I could be. I knew I was making a mess of things, but I was powerless on my own to stop it. I was even willing to quit smoking weed / THC and be sober again for real.

But, of course, I couldn’t do that on my own. I tried on my own, over and over, and failed every time. So, I went to Narcotics Anonymous, and a sponsor there helped me to quit smoking weed with a very thorough and intensive step 1. My sobriety date - clean and sober - is now April 6, 2019. 

As I embarked on step 2, I decided that, since AA was the program that started it all for me - I still haven’t had a drink in over 8 years - I wanted to go back to basics. I knew AA could restore me to sanity, because, as I began the process there before, I could feel it. I picked the oldest old-timer in the room at my home group, with 37 years of continuous sobriety, and asked her to take me through the remaining steps.

But, she got sick with pneumonia a couple weeks later, and we never had the chance to do the work before she was in the hospital, and of course, unavailable. I prayed for her recovery and I wanted to wait for her - but I needed help, now. So, I got a new sponsor. But her husband had a severe stroke while he was out on the coast on a job. She went out to the hospital and then the recovery facility to be with him, where they still are to this day. She got me through steps 2 and 3 over the phone, but she wanted to do them with me “officially” in person before having me move on to step 4, and we just never got the chance.

Months went by, and I continued to be a terrorist at home. Stagnant in the steps, I was powerless to change. I decided to just start step 4 on my own. It almost saved my relationship when he found my notebook and my personal moral inventory, where I admitted my resentments, and my selfishness, my dishonesty, and my fears, followed by my prayers asking God to remove these defects, show me what He would have me be, and give me the strength to be it. 

But the required change in me never occurred without taking steps 5-12. I was stuck repeating the same things over and over. The relationship did finally end; he had had enough. Never mind whatever his own character defects were - mine were glaring. I know the relationship wasn’t good for either of us from the beginning, in truth, but once we were in it...we were “in it to win it,” I had hoped. I had made the investment . . . but I lost it all.

Homeless with two kids two days before Christmas, with my sponsor still out of town, I started the search again. I found an old-timer who was willing to hear my inventory and do step 5 with me. I showed up at her house on the appointed day and time. I was desperate. But she didn’t answer the door, or the phone, after multiple attempts. 

A few days later, she texted me and told me she had had the flu, with no offer to reschedule. Screw that, I thought. I went ahead and did my 5th step with a friend, and 6 and 7 on my own. I shared my shortcomings, I was willing to have God take them away, and I asked Him to. But as I looked at step 8, I knew I needed to do this with a sponsor. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. How can I trust myself to be thorough on my own? How do I know that I will take step 9 correctly, where the promises begin to come true? Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. How do I know I won’t still hurt people with my “amends”. I went to five AA meetings the next day, and I knew that, no - I can’t do this alone.

I decided to keep searching. On January 24, 2020, Tasha was the speaker at the local Friday night meeting. She seemed so familiar. Where did I know her from?

I related to nearly everything she shared. At the end of the meeting, I ran out to my car to get my big book. There it was, her name and number on the last blank page, along with the date and the name of the meeting where I’d met her. I rarely write people’s names and numbers in my big book. But I had met her a year prior at another meeting, down the mountain, where, after hearing her speak for only 3-5 minutes, I knew I wanted what she had: her awareness, sanity. She spoke recovery, truth. 

I had called her one time, and we talked about Thich Naht Hanh, Eckhart Tolle, and recovery. I later found out from my then-sponsor Shasta that Tasha was sponsoring Shasta’s husband Josh, and Tasha’s partner Destiny was Shasta’s sponsor. Serendipity!

I went back into the meeting room after seeing her name and number in my big book and showed it to her, and I asked her, “Is this you?”

“No....wait...yes...but that’s not how you spell my name.” She helped me fix it. I told her what I had been dealing with, that Shasta moved away and we never went through the steps, and that I kept getting sponsors with whom I didn’t get to go through the steps, but that that’s all I want - to take the steps with a sponsor and recover - and I could see in her eyes that she knew what I was going to ask before I did, and she said yes after I had only started, “Would you...”.

Call it fate, God - Tasha’s sponsoring me now, and I’m so, so grateful to have this opportunity to finally be restored to sanity. I’m not gonna lie - there is a guy I’m obsessed with, as usual - but I know not to trust my own thoughts right now. 

I started the steps over with Tasha because I want to be thorough. I’m back on a new step 4 inventory, looking more fearlessly and honestly than ever.

Because, as Tasha always says, truthfully...

“I’M the problem.”

But, there is a solution. I’m just not it!

Consciousness and the Power of Manifestation

I've started "sort of" podcasting. Nothing high in audio quality. It's humbling to listen to myself. I see why people have a hard time understanding me when I speak. I'm so terrified of opening my mouth that I don't open it all the way when I talk. It has both to do with my bad teeth, and, a warped mind, of course.

Working the steps with a new sponsor, daily, more thoroughly than ever before, is having an effect. A good one. It's very uncomfortable, and at times I don't follow her suggestions, and I pay for it a little, and hurt people a little, but I'm aware enough - now more than ever - to catch it and just keep trying to do the next right thing. Admittedly, blogging isn't the next right thing - I do have more important, more "right" things to do, but this will always be a sort of therapy for me. I like typing . . . it's much faster than writing with my hand. I can't write fast enough by hand, but when I'm typing, I can almost type as fast as I think.

"Stream of consciousness"... it's been called, which is...

'A person's thoughts and conscious reactions to events, perceived as a continuous flow. The term was introduced by William James in his Principles of Psychology (1890).'

Ironically, this is actually the opposite of consciousness, according to Mooji, Eckhart Tolle, Sadhguru, Sri Akarshana, Thich Naht Hanh, etc. (my gurus).

According to my gurus, consciousness is not a person's thoughts or reactions to events, but rather, the awareness of those thoughts, and the deep realization that our thoughts and consequent feelings that inform and trigger our reactions to events come from an egoic state, not consciousness. Consciousness is there in the gap between thoughts - it is not the thoughts themselves, if it can be called an "it". Consciousness is The It, underlying everything, Life, Being, One, Connectedness with the Universe. It's still there when the thoughts and feelings occur, of course, as the Source in which those thoughts and feelings spring. But there's another "thing" - the ego - and the mind-patterns associated with it - that is the unnerving force behind the thoughts and feelings and behavior patterns that subconsciously drive us.

So there's the duality...Consciousness...and the mind. Consciousness is the hope for humanity. Consciousness is peace.

Many people call Consciousness "God." It's makes it translatable, talk-about-able. For those of us struggling with addiction, this is the Power greater than our selves, our egos, our instincts that pulls us back from the very gates of insanity and death. As the book of Alcoholics Anonymous says on page 53, "When we became alcoholics, crushed by a self-imposed crisis we could not postpone or evade, we had to fearlessly face the proposition that either God is everything or else He is nothing. God either is, or He isn't. What was our choice to be?" Will I choose Consciousness, and Life, or will I continue to follow my own mind, my insanity?

The first three steps are, basically: (1) I can't; (2) God can; (3) I think I'll let Him. Him, It, Consciousness, whatever words fail to describe the Is-ness don't matter. Step 4 is where I begin to truly and deeply look at what my mind is doing. It's where I get to begin to understand why and how "I'm" the problem. By observing my thoughts and feelings, I get to get down to causes and conditions. It comes down to ego, behavior patterns, instincts. My security, identity, ambitions, pocketbook, self-esteem, and pride are threatened, causing my fear, dishonesty, selfishness, self-seeking, and resentment . . . causing my reactions that create wreckage and havoc in my life.

I'm an alcoholic, cannabis addict, love addict, anything-that-relieves-my-crazy-thoughts-and-feelings addict - I'm bodily and mentally powerless over these things, and I need something greater than myself to restore me to sanity. It doesn't really matter what I call it . . . as long as it isn't "me".

So from here, admitting my defects to another human being, and to God, then I become willing to have these defects removed, and by asking God to remove them and by making amends for harms done do I get to build the arch through which I walk to freedom. I go out to repair the damage done by my unconscious self-will run-riot and accept a new way of living. I'm willing to do things not "my way". I'm willing to not do things "my way." I'm willing to do the next "right" thing, and not do the next "wrong" thing . . . the thing that will hurt someone, throw me into resentment or self-pity, and get me drunk, high and/or dead.

So I need to hurry up and finish this blog post. I have a meeting to go to and more work to do for my clients. But before I go, I'll just share one more thing.

The power of manifestation is REAL.

I thought, after my recent 4-year relationship - the one that I thought was the relationship to end all relationships (and for the time, it was) - that it would be easy to be single again and not get involved with any new men, since I'm working the steps with a truly wonderful sponsor. But, as I wrote in my last post - self-knowledge is the beginning, but it's not the solution.

There is a Power greater than myself at work. I asked It to get me into my studio apartment after the break-up, making $2,000 in one day. Thank you, Master Sri.

But, I've also manifested four men, one after another. I have to laugh at this: I had prayed to "someday" meet a "spiritual guy" . . . I told God that I didn't care if he was older, in his forties or fifties, even. The law of attraction and power of manifestation works so well, of course, that two men, over 50, and spiritual, showed up in my life within days. At the same time, I was reminiscing about one of the guys on my list, "The Satellite Communications Engineer". I opened up Instagram a few days later, and of course, there was a message from him. After that, I told God that I could be with a guy in a wheelchair - maybe that would be good for me. Today, I got a message from a guy in a wheelchair, whom I don't know, have never met, and whom I didn't know existed when I said that to God.

Master Sri Akarshana talks about the importance - as does the end of the 4th step sex inventory in the Big Book - about being very specific about our ideal, whatever it is that we want. Because the Universe will give us what we want.

Right now, I really just want to recover and be restored to sanity. You hear me, God? Okay, cool. Let's just do that.

Self-Knowledge Avails Nothing

Well, hello there!

Let's just catch up, shall we? 

I'm not sure what I’m doing with this blog now. I know I’ve gotten way off track. I mean...I was completely insane, really, from the beginning. I was so obsessed with meeting "him," and I thought writing about it would help, would stop me, from acting out on my sex and love addiction. 

It never did. As recovered alcoholics and addicts know, self-knowledge, and half-measures, avail us nothing. "[...T]he actual or potential alcoholic, with hardly an exception, will be absolutely unable to stop drinking on the basis of self-knowledge," (Alcoholics Anonymous, 39). Unable to stop drinking, stop pursuing men, stop smoking weed, stop mismanaging money, stop being resentful at him for drinking - I have as many addictions as there are weekdays (and actually more, as it turns out).

Despite not having drank since my first AA meeting on January 19, 2012 - that's my one win - I definitely kept acting out those other addictions. Do I have to go to a different 12-step program for every single one to achieve complete sobriety / sanity? I wonder.

Well, on April 6, 2019, I decided that I was tired of being powerless over weed, and I was able to finally quit with the help of a sponsor in Narcotics Anonymous. I'm now over 9 months clean - it was impossible to do on my own.

And on December 23, 2019, I finally called the cops on "Bernard," and the relationship ended for real. Lots to catch up on - I took him hostage and he moved in with me in August 2015, we visited my sister in Northern CA over Christmas Break and he suggested we just stay, my son Lucas' dad died January 22, 2016, we were homeless for a long time in motel-to-motel until we found a crappy place to rent, we bought a house with my late husband's life insurance, his son came to live with us, we had another kid, I got fired, I started a photography business (and a new addiction), and his drinking got worse (than it all ready was when I was chasing him down at bars trying to make him mine).

That night, on December 23, I had finally decided it was insane to let him keep getting away with taking my car without asking, with no driver's license (multiple DUI's), with no cell phone (would never pay his bill), with our almost 3 year-old daughter in the car (I was working the steps again, and I really wanted to become sane this time). We had all ready been fighting every day and breaking up like every week. That night, he was gone for two hours before I knew he had left (I was downstairs working - my new escape from reality). I thought about calling the police before he got home, but then he showed up, and he started screaming when I set the boundary. Olivia started crying; he was screaming and throwing things. rampaging, yelling that he was done with me, and I needed to leave "his" house right now (the house I bought with Lucas' dad's life insurance - at least, the $20,000 down - but put in Bernard's name, since his credit was better than mine after I got us both out of debt with said life insurance money). I took her downstairs, locked the bedroom door, and went into the walk-in closet in the bathroom, and locked the bathroom door, too.

Olivia told me she was scared, so that was it. I decided to just do it. I was terrified of doing it, but I did it - I dialed 9-1-1. When the police arrived, Bernard was actually screaming outside by the street, so they were able to arrest him for "public" intoxication. They told me he would only be in the drunk tank for 6-12 hours, so since the house was in his name, despite us living there for over three years, I should get what I needed, and get out before he gets out.

It has not been an easy 26 days since then, of course. After staying with my sister (who was drinking all day around the holidays, and I had to get out), a friend, a stranger, and a friend of a friend, I'm now finally in a studio apartment with my two kids (Lucas is now 10; Olivia turns 3 in a little over a week).

There's more I'd like to write, but I'm going to head out and go to an AA meeting that starts in 15 minutes after microwaving Lucas a quesadilla. The Cup O' Noodles didn't quite fill him up. Olivia is with dad for the night. We're meeting with CPS next week to come up with a safety plan, but she'll be okay for tonight, any way.

To be continued...

The Tech Support iPhone Guy and the Music Students

On the night of January 15, 2015, around 2 am, I awoke in bed, writhing in pain, consumed by an unearthly darkness that was attacking me from the inside. I couldn't breathe, and therefore I couldn't scream. My attempts to do so emanated in deep growls.

Before I continue to explain what happened that night, let me go back to August 1, 2014, when I had posted part 9 describing the end of the relationship with Jason. I went back him a week later, so, I stopped posting. This addiction is cunning, baffling, powerful...and embarrassing.

Then, in September, I was granted full custody of my son because his father relapsed on heroin, and Child Welfare Services got involved. That did finally spell the end of the relationship with Jason. I told him I could only handle raising one child, and hardly that. He ended it, because he couldn't have all of my attention any more.  I thank God, Who did for me what I couldn't do for myself.

But of course, along came #32, the Tech Support iPhone Guy, who offered to trade me his iPhone 5S for a kiss, took me out on a date, and then got me into a lot of incomprehensible demoralization. Any time my son was at school or with his grandma was fair game for him to demand I see him. Our activities ultimately left me in so much physical pain that I couldn't even have sex for a week...and the emotional pain had been mounting....so, I was able to end our little three-week stint. It's a good thing, because if we'd gotten caught having sex in his office, we'd have both been fired (we work at the same place, by the way!).

Then came #33, the Christian Latino Music Student ("Carlito") who had started poking me on facebook once my relationship status changed on October 1 (#32 had come after me on facebook, too). I think we got to something like 344 facebook pokes before I decided I wanted to try to be a grown-up and actually meet him for lunches and dinners. So we did that, and I also started going to his church on Saturday nights where he played bass in the band, and I started getting close to Jesus again, even though I was really there for Carlito.

#34 came about a month later (the Atheist Latino Music Student, "Rodrigo"). He was a mutual friend of Carlito's, and also a friend of mine on facebook. He offered to help me move into my new apartment the second week of November when I posted that I was packing, and moving, and lonely. I accepted. My son was having a supervised visit with his drunk dad (I had breathalyzed him, and he was at .08, but the court had mandated that he get six hours per week supervised by his mom, regardless), and I was depressed.

The sexual tension with Rodrigo that night was palpable. Nothing "happened" other than the move, a dinner at Robertito's, candid conversation, and a game of Headbanz riddled with sexual innuendo. But after a few days of texting-turned-sexting, he said that friends with benefits can be fun, and we should do it. And in response to my concern about "seeing" him and Carlito at the same time, he proposed, "¿Por qué no los dos?"

I was out at dinner with Carlito the next Saturday after church. I had had sex with Rodrigo earlier in the day, (I began allowing longer supervised visits for my son and his dad to allow myself to see these men). I was showing Carlito a video of something on my phone when a text came in from Rodrigo: "You drained me good."

It was a terribly awkward moment for me and Carlito, and my heart sank. I had been trying to give Carlito the impression that I was a sinner, yes, but repentant, and of course I hadn't told him about me and Rodrigo. I'm pretty sure his heart sank, too. We were both silent as I drew my phone back into my lap. We both looked down at our food and took a few more bites before he suggested we go.

There was some meaningless conversation in his car on other subjects as he drove us back to the church parking lot. He parked, and that's where he said, "So, Rodrigo, huh?"

I broke down crying. I explained how Rodrigo helped me move and suggested we become friends with benefits, and I didn't want to say yes, but that he was really pushy, so yeah, that's what was going on.

Carlito wiped away my tears and in our closeness, we kissed. It accelerated quickly, and his tone changed from the soothing, calm one of a man who cared to the prompting one of a man turned on, and he asked me if I wanted him. I said I did. He ended up fingering me for an hour, taking me to total ecstasy (and getting my entire long skirt wet), and then we drove back to my place in separate cars and had the most passionate, amazing sex I've ever had, for another three. He stayed with me for awhile after but left early in the morning; both he and Rodrigo lived at home with single mom and parents, respectively, and both had a thing about being back before mom woke up, apparently.

Being a Christian, Carlito repented. When we saw each other after that, he denied me, each time. I would try to hug or kiss him, and he would pull away. I told him I wanted us to date, but he said there's only one reason Christians date, and that's to lead to marriage. He said he was considering me for marriage before he found out about Rodrigo, but that, since he had been cheated on by every other girl he's been with (two), with what happened with me, he just didn't think he could date me.

No words can tell of the bitter morass of self pity in which I came to wallow.

When I told Rodrigo about my having sex with Carlito, he said he didn't want to share me after all, and that he was going to make me his. But I decided I needed to end it with both of them. I tried to end it with Rodrigo via text, and he told me to not text him again or he'd punish me worse than he all ready was going to, that I was his and he takes what's his, and to expect him the next night at my apartment because he was going to be there at 9 pm. I didn't text him for fear of what he had planned, and I went and hid at my neighbor Melissa's house that night, watching for his car to go by. At 9:30, there was no sign of him, so I walked down my street to my apartment, thinking I had dodged a bullet. 15 minutes later, he showed up.

Rodrigo blindfolded me, tied me up, and pierced both of my nipples (his own penis was pierced, by the way -  a Prince Albert). He said I was lucky that I did as he said and didn't text him, because otherwise it was going to be a lot worse. As it turned out, Rodrigo was a stigmatophiliac and even more into BDSM than #32.

I drove 600 miles to visit my sister for Thanksgiving a few days later, by myself, leaving my son with his grandma because he was sick. While there, I ended up texting Carlito and Rodrigo the whole time, even though every day I "tried not to".

On my way home, I had a "God moment" while driving through Monitor Pass in the Sierra Nevada on the 89. I pulled over to watch the sun rise for two hours. It was stunningly beautiful up there alone. I decided I just wanted to be with Him and didn't want to return to the "life" I was living back home. I begged Him to please just take me, as I drove the hundreds of miles back. But, to my dismay, He didn't. For a solid week therafter I still wanted to die. The world became gray, and I was numb to the ugly lot of it.

I checked all the "wrong" boxes when I went to a pulmonologist (I had also been sick, physically, for two months; I couldn't stop coughing, and enough was enough). I was honest when filling out the new patient questionnaires, and the secretary handed me an extra form to fill out about suicidal depression. Once I turned it over to her, she made a call, said something about an APB, and they rushed me into the back room where they said to wait for the doctor, who'd "be right in, so don't go any where". Uh oh.

I called my AA sponsor and confessed to her that I admitted to being suicidal on the intake questionnaire at the doctor's office. She told me that if I better get honest, because if I really was suicidal she was going to come right down and take me to lock-up herself (I had chosen her to sponsor me because her daughter had committed suicide a couple years prior, and she maintained her two decades of sobriety through it - I had needed someone whom I could talk to about Margo, my friend who took her life on November 12, 2013, who I now envied).

I told her that even though I couldn't stand being alive, I would never kill myself. Then I cried, and assured her I'd do everything I could to get better.

The doctor came in, and I reassured him that I wasn't going to kill myself, that I was just going through some things and it's normal for us recovering alcoholics to feel this way every once in awhile. He conceded to the proposition that it was simply a situational depression due to the goings on in my life - the relationship ending, the ex-husband relapsing and me getting full custody of my son who cried for his dad daily and said he hated me, the not getting to go back to school and losing that validation, the being evicted due to the upcoming remodeling of the 1949 family estate and having to move to an apartment I could hardly afford, and the involvement with men in ways that made me hate myself - and so he decided not to prescribe me anything other than an inhaler for my cough, and he put in an order for a pulmonary exam and chest x-ray.

I started going to more AA meetings, and after a couple weeks I didn't want to die any more. But I was still depressed. On December 13, 2014 I was going to go out on a date with a guy who would have been #35, but Rodrigo whined about it, so we got into an exclusive relationship.

I now was deep in the throes of my sex/"love" addiction with Rodrigo, and yet still obsessed with Carlito (I couldn't get over him). I felt like a colossal failure.

The week between Christmas and the New Year, Rodrigo was in Chicago visiting a friend of his, and on New Year's Eve he texted me he loved me. I was shocked, and didn't really believe him, but decided to go with it, and eventually responded that I loved him, too, even though I didn't really believe that, either. I told him I wanted to pick him up from the airport when he returned in a few days. He said he would love that.

But, the day before his return, when I reminded him of the above, he said he hadn't talked to his dad yet, who was planning on picking him up. Rodrigo didn't want his family to know about me, and so he didn't want me to pick him up, after all.

I still ended up going to the airport, hiding from anyone who resembled the picture of Rodrigo's dad that I had gotten off of facebook, and I surprised Rodrigo with a quick kiss when he got to baggage claim before I took off.

When I was walking to the parking lot from the airport, I realized I was, in fact, completely insane.

But, it wasn't until a week later, when Rodrigo blindfolded me and tied me up and pierced my vagina (the pain of which made me faint, throw up, and shit all over the couch all at the same time) that I really began to come to my senses. Of course, however, Rodrigo pierced me in the wrong place. A few days later he wanted to take me to get it professionally done. He kept needing to mark me his, but he conceded that he ought to leave my vagina to the professionals, perhaps.

The professional guy did two piercings - a "VCH" and a "Triangle" - and he re-did my belly button, which used to be pierced before I had a kid.

Finally, I was in too much pain to have sex again (like after #32)...but Rodrigo and I still had sex right when we got back to my apartment, despite my vagina having just been pierced three times in the past week, and bleeding - and not in the way vaginas are supposed to bleed.

I was glad that he decided, afterwards, that we should wait until it healed. He couldn't quite slam into me the way he normally liked to.

The one-year anniversary of my baptism was on January 12, 2015, and January 13 was the day of church's baptism renewal ceremony (the Methodist church recognizes Jesus' baptism each year with a baptism renewal for its members, and the year prior I had picked the celebration of Jesus' baptism as my baptism date, so it's especially special for me).

I wept uncontrollably as I dipped my fingers in the bowl and touched them to my forehead under the cross. I found myself saying, "Get behind me, Satan - you are a liar, and the father of lies!" I'm sure people looked at me as if I were crazy. And in fact, I was.

For the rest of the day, any time I wanted to text Rodrigo, the voice came again, "Get behind me, Satan!" And I would have the strength to not text him. I began to hit my knees in prayer at various times throughout the day. Then the next day, January 14, I began with prayer in the morning, then the urge to text him would come but so would a voice, "Lord, cast him out of me!" I went throughout my day with supplication and prayer, asking God to please remove this evil that I sensed was pulling me towards Rodrigo. I hit my knees before bed, and the early morning of January 15, around 2 am, I awoke, possessed.

After my writihing in pain and being choked by utter evil, with all the strength I could muster, something finally came out of my mouth in a loud, low, demonic-sounding growl, with my back arched: "CAAAASSSSSTTT HIIIMMMMM OOOUUUUTTT!!!"

Suddenly, a clean wind blew through me, and I breathed in a deep breath that I instantly recognized as the Holy Spirit.

The demon was gone.

I fell out of bed onto my knees and crawled to my window, weeping and kneeling under the open curtains between me and the stars in utter humility, unable to even express my gratitude to God. Once I had spent myself in my prayer of thanksgiving, I went back to bed.

When I woke up in the morning, I saw that my curtains were closed, and only then did I know it had been a dream.

I hit my knees and wept.

I wept for Margo. I wept because, for over a year since her death, I had been trying to cover up the pain of her death, with men.

And I wept for my son's father, who has just had his second heart surgery and could very well die - he had a drink in his hand days after his first heart surgery. I wept because, ever since I left him three years ago because he couldn't stop drinking, I had been trying to cover up the pain of the divorce, with men.

And I wept for my son. I wept because I had been trying to cover up the pain of being a terrible mom, with men.

And I wept for myself. I wept because I had been lost, since the age of nine, trying to cover up the pain of losing my faither to my parents' divorce/drugs/his girlfriend and my mother to alcoholism/drugs/men....with boys...and then, with men.

But I also wept because I knew that I had now been found. It was nothing short of a miracle, in which I fervently believe.

Today, it's day 24 of no men. I've returned to Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous. I am praying on my knees morning and night (or more), am reading the Bible every day, have joined a new Bible study, and am listening to at least two sermons each day.  I'm going to between 1 and 3 AA meetings a day, working the 12 steps like never before, and calling my sponsor and other women daily; I have a new AA sponsee, and I was asked to be a speaker at a meeting next week.

And I'm present for my son. I'm helping him with his homework and spending time with him instead of texting or being with men. He's seeing a counselor at school. I'm not pawning him off on his grandma so I can engage in demoralizing activities that make me want to die. I don't want to die.

But yes, although it lessens each day, I'm in pain. But it's a different kind of pain than the pain I felt from within the throes of this nearly 21-year addiction. It's a pain that I welcome.

I've waited to write about all this, because every day I fear that I'll fall again. I hate being the girl who cries wolf, over, and over, and over. Rodrigo watched the movie Thanks for Sharing with me before our relationship ended, and it was actually he who suggested I go back to SLAA. I had told him about my addiction from the very beginning, and before he "fell in love" with me, he said that my sex/"love" addiction sounded "fun". But then, in the end, he did say that all he wants is for me to get better, and he does support me having my SLAA-prescribed 90 days without him.

90 days of no men. I'm thinking more like 6 months...9 months...a year...

...or more.

Romans 8:6 New International Version (NIV)

6 The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.

Amen.

The Berklee School of Music Singer/Songwriter

So, it's been determined that I am, in fact, insane, but to what extent hasn't yet been decided by my therapist.

While trudging through the Dark Night of the Soul this past month, I finally decided to go ahead and make a damn appointment. I hadn't seen my therapist in over a year. I called every day from this past Tuesday to this past Friday, trying to get the appointment. I was being persistent because I was being told that she (my therapist) would call me back, and each day I was falling deeper and deeper into a sort of depression that I'd forgotten could exist, and she wasn't calling me back. Thankfully, she did, finally, and was even able to have a phone session with me on Saturday. The session consisted of me talking for an hour, catching her up on the past year, and her talking for 15 minutes, suggesting a couple things for me to do, as well as setting up another appointment for Wednesday (yesterday). And yesterday she set up appointments for Mondays and Wednesdays, based on my apparently tragic condition, so she can see me twice a week and try to figure out what the hell is going on that makes me want to do absolutely nothing.

I've heard about people seeing the world in shades of gray. About not wanting to get out of bed in the morning, or do anything, or go anywhere, or talk to anyone. I missed four days of work and my world was the color of feces. I just didn't want to be in it any more. No matter where I was, it just wasn't where I wanted to be. Nothing in the world was good - not even being with my son, which is the thing that's saved me so many times before. I even freaking got baptized. But it only got worse.

Today's finally sort of a little okay. I'm missing work again (my boss is sick, so there isn't anything for me to do there any way since they took all my responsibilities away saying that I'm over-qualified and that now I need to train my boss so he knows how to do his own damn job since I'm going to be graduating from school at some point and will move onto bigger and "better" - not 20 hrs/week $10/hour - things). My work situation has contributed to my depression a lot, for sure. They just made me stop doing all the things I do because I'm so much better at doing them than my boss is, and instead of letting me do them, they want me to show him how to do them, because don'tcha know, I'm a "temporary" employee, and since they can't afford to really actually hire me, they're gonna keep paying me less than this guy who I'm training. Yeah, it's depressing, all right.

Of course, you know that's not the only thing getting me down. Ahh...what we're all here for...relationships. This blog began as a relationship inventory. Relationships just haven't gone too well for me, understatedly -- namely, relationships with my parents and their significant others, relationships with my other family members, work relationships, relationships with "friends", the relationship with my husband, relationships with all the men I've somehow managed not to be successful at not getting involved with...these have all driven me completely insane, apparently (and well, again, the therapist and my doctor are going to decide the level of my insanity).

When I last posted, I had gotten back into a relationship with the boyfriend I'd left my husband for (the boyfriend with whom I'd broken up over and over in order to be with other men who'd wanted to be with me, before going back to him over and over when it didn't work out with those men - for two years - until he took off to Canada in September for three months and I finally had to face these demons without him).

I like to rewind and recap: So this boyfriend's name is Evan (#1) (and not his real name, of course). Those other men I just talked about are #2 through #26 (DAMN). After Evan left to Canada in September, I went and dated and had sex with a guy I'd pined over for like a year, who, afterwards, told me he had herpes (#27). I considered that a good enough rock bottom to want to really be done with men (and what choice did I have, I thought, if I might have contracted an STD?). I told my friend Margaret about it and she started taking me to meetings for sex and love addicts. Margaret's boyfriend was cheating on her, she thought, and he didn't want to be with her any more; she was so torn up that she decided she might be a love addict and thought 12-step programs would help her. They didn't (she didn't really try, IMO). After Margaret committed suicide (I had completed 42 successful days of "no men" and was going for 90), I ran into a guy who'd composed music for a video about suicide. When I talked to him about my experience with Margaret, he asked for my number, asked me out on a date, and we had sex even though I didn't want to. He was #29 (I'm counting Jesus as #28).

So, I went back to "Day 0". I've still been going to meetings, but I just haven't been able to get back to the whole "no men" thing. I haven't been able to put even one day together without some kind of pursuit of them (or at least without responding to them favorably). Margaret's death flipped me completely upside down; she was the one who was helping me with this "guy stuff"...or maybe I should say her death just put me back where I was. It was helping me to write about it...but once she died, I didn't even have the desire to do that any more, and it's been hard to get back to this inventory stuff.

I managed to stop seeing the suicide video/satellite communications engineer guy, but then Evan came back from Canada in December and asked me to the movies. I accepted, because that's what I do. But after a couple weeks I remembered, again, that I don't like him that much, and, more importantly, I don't like how unmanageable my life gets in my "relationship addiction", so, I operated via the standardly oft-repeated modus, and I had sex with the suicide video guy again, just so that I could get out of the relationship with Evan again...because gee, don'tcha know, I can't just be all, "Oh, yeah, sorry, dude, I forgot, I'm too fucked up for all this, and I don't want to be with you - my bad."

That was on January 1, go figure. Way to start the New Year, eh? I totally avoided writing about it, too, until now. But I do feel a bit better, doing so.

Oh, but - there's more.

I had called #23 (refer to the inventory to the right, somewhere) back in November when Margaret died, and we started talking again. His story is, when his wife left him six years ago, he wanted to kill himself, but instead of pulling the trigger of the gun that he was holding to his head on the pier, he checked into a psych ward and then a rehab and got sober. I hadn't talked to him since April, besides a few tens of obsessive emails I'd sent him after I stopped dating him (and I had stopped dating him because I got painful withdrawals from being away from him, and I figured it would be better to just end it and let go completely than to keep enduring those withdrawals...they sucked a lot of ass and hurt really, really badly). When I called him in November I used him like a therapist and spilled my guts, and would do so about every couple weeks, until a couple Thursdays ago, when I asked if I could see him in person, because I was depressed and needed a friend.

When I spent the night with him, I told him that I didn't want to have sex. He actually respected me. I think that's the first time that's ever happened with a male. (That statement belongs in bold.) So, the following week I went and spent the night with him again (this was last Friday, the day before I finally talked to my therapist on the phone, which I did from his apartment). And this time he was sick, so, we didn't even hug. We just talked. He just...totally...cared...about me...both times. It was shocking.

My obsession for him was lifted back in May, so these days he really is more of a friend. And he just showed me what a friend actually looks like. But I have developed a new obsession.

Of course, we'll call this one #30. He's the real reason I got rid of the other two guys (the Pizza Delivery Boyfriend and the Satellite Communications Engineer), in one fell swoop, 22 days ago, by the way. It wasn't just me not liking those other guys, or actually finally trying to change for real now. Nope - along came Jason.

I've "known" him since July, when I started singing at the church he works at as the sound engineer. I added him on facebook on Dec 29, he said hi in a facebook message, we messaged each other for hours, and he suggested we "jam" because he's also a musician (he sings w/piano). The jam invitation, over these past few weeks, turned into daily texting, which turned into sexting, which turned into us hanging out, which turned into us having sex, which turned into him becoming my boyfriend a few days ago (on Jan 19).

Okay, I can't write about this any more for now. I'm glad I've gotten this much out so far, though. I hope to get back into writing again, even though my classes have started - I have three of them. And two jobs. And meetings. And a four year-old. And a boyfriend. And now...therapy that I'm paying for and will probably end up taking some kind of medication because of -- oh, but, well, I guess I shouldn't say that I'll be taking meds because of the therapy, but because of whatever "disorders" my therapist and my doctor decide I have. General anxiety disorder has been mentioned. The depression may be situational, she says, but she's not sure yet, so we're gonna keep meeting twice a week to figure this all out.

But I'm really depressed about it the whole damn thing, if you want to know the truth (sorry, I do love Salinger's Holden).

"Feelings aren't Facts", and other Alternatives to Suicide

I'm a bit unnerved by what could potentially be a suicide note from an ex-boyfriend (see my last post). (Ironic how, in the post before that, I was actually wondering what someone's suicide note would look like.)

Hell, I'm a bit unnerved by a lot that's happening in my life, and that's why I'm writing a blog. I had intended to keep it secret, mostly (but leave it open for the general public, who don't know who I am). But because he had emailed me, hoping we could get back together, I figured I'd share my blog with him so he could know "the truth".

In truth, I'm not sure how closely you (or I) can get to "the truth" from reading my few blog posts, yet. The purpose of this "Relationship Inventory" is, for me, to finish it, and then find the patterns that lead to answers. Right now it's just scattered details. Facts. Feelings. It's only as true as I can get, at any given moment. And "good" or "bad" are irrelevant, for now. If I let myself feel too "bad" about these facts, I could feel like killing myself, too. But I happen to have some alternatives to suicide, and I'd like to share some such things to think about, to not feel so bad:



1) Feelings aren't facts.*

Facts are true; feelings are temporary. I don't need to kill myself because of how I feel, because the way I feel is going to change. I especially don't need to kill myself because of how someone else feels, because that person's feelings aren't facts, either, and are also going to change. Feelings are always in flux. I think relationships that last are not even based on feelings, but on facts. It's what we do that matters, in the long run - not how we feel.



2) Feelings are neither good nor bad, they just are.

Every one feels. It's part of the human experience. It's normal to feel emotions, because we all do: every one feels good sometimes, and every one feels bad sometimes. Both are gonna happen, should be expected, and are okay. No one likes to feel bad, duh. But when I feel bad, I can remember that I'm not the only one who's ever felt bad. I'm not unique in that regard.

True: some things, like loss, feel worse than others (downright physically painful, in fact). But other things feel pretty great, and there're plenty of great feelings to go around. If I feel bad, it's hard to imagine that I'll feel good again. But, because I know that feelings aren't facts, and they're temporary, I know that I will feel good again, eventually.



3) Facts are neither good nor bad, they just are.

If something "is"...why do I have to feel "bad" about it? If something "is", it just "is", period.

Sanity is, in part, I think, a state of not being overrun by one's feelings; it's being "okay" with facts. Einstein's definition of insanity is "doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results". I do the same thing over and over and expect different results when I'm propelled by feelings; I forget about facts, or, I don't want to look at the facts, because some facts can generate some pretty difficult and/or painful feelings, and I don't want to feel those terrible feelings, so, I turn away from the facts in order to avoid those feelings -- and then I'm caught by surprise when those same-type facts come around to hurt my feelings in the same way they have before.

So, feeling bad is good, to an extent, because it protects me from insanity. But I don't like feeling so bad that I want to kill myself. In those cases, I ought to become aware of facts and feelings, separately. Then I can look at the facts without feeling too terribly bad about them.



4) Feelings won't kill you.

Sometimes it feels like they will, but they won't. Sometimes the feelings do seem too much to bear -- they hurt physically, there's no relief in sight, and nothing is working to relieve the pain -- so, as for me, I scream and cry at the top of my lungs until I'm completely spent, and then, I turn to God. Whatever has happened that has caused me so much grief and pain (like my friend Margaret's suicide), I have to let myself feel first (there's no rationalizing grief away in the beginning of it), but, then, I, personally, choose to view whatever happened (the fact) as God's will. If it's God's will, it's not bad (even thought it feels bad)...and actually, because it's God's will, it's good. ("God is either everything, or else He is nothing.")

Here's how I found God: When I was down in my pit of alcoholic despair two years ago, the "Big Book" suggested I find a higher power to get me out of it. It was a matter of life and death for me, the book said. I didn't want to die, so I chose to believe in a God of my own understanding, as directed. I understand now that the purpose of believing in a God -- of my own understanding -- is to help me feel good. My God is kind, loving, forgiving, all powerful, has everything completely under control, and provides me with everything I could possibly need -- I don't have to worry about a thing, and it's that simple. ("Nothing - absolutely nothing - happens in God's world by mistake.") It's better than alcohol for an alcoholic, better than drugs for a drug addict, better than sex for a sex addict, better than love for a love addict, better than food for a food addict, better than shopping for a shopaholic, better than gambling for a gambling addict, and better than being pissed off and hurt for the loved ones of these sickos.



5) Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

Not being able to accept things that "are" is one reason alcoholics etc. drink etc, and certainly the reason people kill themselves. So...



6) Acceptance is the answer to all your problems.

Some people call it "letting go and letting God" (which works for me, as I mentioned, in addition to #1-5). But say you don't want to believe in a God (I used to be of your ilk for many, many years, if this is the case, so I understand): you don't like blind faith, or men, or religion, or history, or being told what to do, or for whatever your reasons you just don't (or can't) believe. Well, since feelings "are" and facts "are", accepting them as they are doesn't require any extraordinary leap of faith. You're just accepting what "is". You can't change facts (but you can create new ones) and we all feel (although you can learn detachment as discussed in #3, and, feelings change). Facts aren't bad, feelings aren't bad -- they just are -- so, acceptance is the answer.

Again -- feelings aren't facts, and feelings won't kill you -- but you can certainly kill yourself, if you feel like it. If you do, you'll leave that fact for people to feel (the ones who have feelings for you), and they'll feel much worse than you do now. But eventually, they'll accept the fact that you couldn't accept facts or feelings, and their feelings of pain will subside, and they'll feel better. And you will, too, if only you don't use that permanent "solution" to your temporary problem.

And remember...



7) This too shall pass.



*Here I am discussing emotional feelings, not bodily feelings whereby the brain is registering pain from a physical ailment.

Copyright note: 6 can be found on page 417 of the "Big Book", 4th edition. Other sayings in quotation marks are also found in the "Big Book" but often repeated by word-of-mouth at 12-step meetings.