Nothing's Wrong

 It has been awhile since I've posted. It's not that I don't have anything to 'write home' about - I have an abundance to write about - it's that I've been putting other things ahead of sitting down and writing. 

Since my last post, I've been staying sober and (mostly) sane, working, and going to recovery meetings and outpatient treatment. My focus right now is developing self-compassion, as well as developing connections with others in recovery, something that I've shied away from. I think the two go hand-in-hand - the better I treat myself, the less fear and mistrust I harbor, and the more I want to try healthy things. It's healthy for a human to have a few people with whom they're close. And, as I'm finding out, it's essential in recovery from addiction and mental illness. I have found that I must have someone with whom I can share the craziness in my head. Low level craziness I can tolerate and work with, but when the shit hits the fan, I get too overwhelmed to clean up the mess myself.

So the whole self-compassion thing is that I could learn to treat myself with kindness, empathy, and respect - just like I treat others. But I don't. I've been told for a really long time that I need to not be so hard on myself, and, believe it or not, I'm not as hard on myself as I used to be. But I still treat myself harshly. I haven't yet fully absorbed the concept that I can make mistakes and still be worthy and lovable. There are a lot of times when doing my best is still not good enough, and the very odd thing is that I have nobody outside of myself telling me that - it's all inner criticism. So that's some of the insanity I need to share with others whom I respect and trust. 

I had an interesting experience this past weekend - our treatment program in which I'm currently enrolled began using a peer support specialist. That's what I am. Or was. Still am, I guess. Earlier this year I had wondered if I would ever let a peer support work with me, and I figured I wouldn't. Unfortunately, much of the time I think I'm smarter than everybody else in recovery and have more on the ball. So there's irony in the fact that I can get down on myself yet still think I'm better than others. I don't behave this way, fortunately, but I still think it, and it bothers me. Anyway, I was able to sit down with this peer support, and we talked openly for an hour. I was very open to his support. So I am able to accept support and friendship from someone. I think the arrogance and judgment of others I sometimes possess is a defense mechanism to keep people away. Cognitively, I do know that I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, and that I do make mistakes. But there are parts of me that don't want to accept my humanity. It's odd that when I think of stuff, it sounds right, but when I share what I'm really thinking with another, or write it down, I can see the errors in my logic.

I have a recovery mentor whom I've had since this summer. We've never met in person, but we've talked over the phone quite a bit as well as texted. He was suggested to me by another person who lives where my mentor lives, and the first time I talked with him I felt a real connection. I feel that connection each time I talk with him. It's been a really long time since I've experienced a connection like this, so I know it's special. As we talk, I get to know more about him, and he gets to know more about me. 

I've practiced my recovery for the past several years under the theory that if I can just keep feeling good enough about myself, I won't feel the desire to change the way I feel with chemicals. So far, this theory has not held up, as is evidenced by the number of relapses I've experienced in recent years. What I'm trying to express is that I was hoping to avoid tanking mentally/emotionally like I do before I relapse, because when I get that low, it's been impossible for me to ask for help. I thought that I could avoid tanking, but know I don't think I can, no matter what I do. So that is why I'm developing connections and better self-compassion - so that when I tank mentally/emotionally, I can and hopefully will ask for help before I take self-destructive actions.

The title of this piece is Nothing's Wrong for a couple of reasons: first, since I hadn't posted in a while, I wanted to let my readers know I'm ok; and second, I wanted to talk about some of the emotional stress I'm experiencing lately from the perspective of "it's ok, so long as I don't give up." The piece took a bit of a different direction, but I'll keep the title. I appreciate your reading this far, and my intention is to keep sharing my experiences on the path.

Namasté,

Ken

Where the Impossible Becomes Possible

I had an odd, interesting, eye-opening experience tonight. To preface, in case you're not aware or if you're reading this in the future, this is April 2020 and we are in the middle of a pandemic. Because of this, certain restrictions are in place, and people are quarantining themselves, and group gatherings, like recovery meetings, have been cancelled or are done online with programs like zoom.com and gotomeeting.com. This was the case tonight - I was virtually attending a recovery meeting from Wisconsin that I used to physically attend regularly. People's faces were flashing on the screen, people I've known for years, and who've known me for years, and I began to feel very uncomfortable, very anxious, and I didn't want these people to see me or know that I was there. I pressed the 'leave meeting' button and noped right out of there.

I was really surprised by my reaction, as I've physically returned to meetings where I've been absent for a while, and it's been ok. Tonight, I felt fear, anxiety, guilt,  shame. I didn't want my old friends to see me, and I virtually turned around and walked away.

About two weeks ago I had a crisis. I was seriously depressed, had no hope, and no longer wanted to live. I was hospitalized for a few days. One of the things that came out of that experience was I was put on different medication. The doctor asked me if I wanted to try it, and I said, "yes," thinking what the f*&k difference does it make anyway? I also had a similar experience to the one I described in my last post - I had come into the hospital with a plastic water bottle filled with vodka. My property was taken and stored during my hospitalization, and returned upon discharge. I did not know whether staff had discovered my vodka or not, but, as in the last post, that bottle was on my mind. I discovered that staff did not discover my bottle, and I left that hospital on the fence - do I continue to do whatever I can to get well, or do I start drinking again, hoping I'll permanently self-destruct? I chose to pour the vodka on the ground and throw the bottle away.

What I have discovered after leaving the hospital and the vodka behind is that I feel better, more clear, brighter, than I have in probably two years. I feel almost functional. I have hope. I have willingness to do whatever it takes to stay in recovery. I can't attribute it all to the medication change, as I haven't been taking it that long; however, I think the medication might have a lot to do with it. The interesting thing is that the medication I accepted is medication that I would not in my 'right' mind take - I took it with a screw it attitude, and found out it isn't like I thought it would be. Imagine that!

I've also discovered that spontaneous feelings are beginning to return. What I have been guilty of most of my adult life is learning what feelings I should have in which situation and acting. The only real feelings I had for a long time were anger and fear. I don't recommend this way of living. And the miracle is that I am no longer afraid to experience my feelings. I am willing to have them, learn from them, and let them go.

As I mentioned earlier, the feelings I felt going into that virtual recovery meeting were fear, guilt, and shame. Why? Because these people were my friends. Even though I kept them at arm's length, they always showed they cared for me and wanted me around. They probably would have done the same tonight if I'd stuck around, but I chose to run. And when I moved from Wisconsin to Arizona, I consulted nobody. I picked up and moved without saying a word. I abandoned my friends, and they had no idea what happened to me. That's a shitty, shameful way to behave, and I realized tonight that I owe them amends.

And that brings us to the title of this post - 'Where the Impossible Becomes Possible.' I had another virtual meeting to go to which started an hour after the first one that I bugged out of. Between the first meeting and the second, I sat with what happened and what I was feeling. Tonight my feelings were visceral. The remarkable thing is that I didn't have a desire to cover up or stuff the way I was feeling; I was able to sit with it and learn from it. That is when I realized I need to offer amends to my friends, but I have no idea when or how this is going to happen. It seems impossible.

So I went virtually to the second meeting, which featured a speaker sharing his experience, strength, and hope with addiction and recovery. I related a lot to his story - he also had created situations in his life that seemed impossible to overcome. But by putting down the alcohol, and doing the things other alcoholics before him had done to recover, he began to get well - he began to overcome those impossible situations that he had created in his life. Because we work a spiritual program of recovery, God is able to do for us what we cannot do for ourselves - if we let Him.

I do not know how to have a real relationship with another human being. I learned how to push people away and bring alcohol closer, and my level of distrust and disconnectedness of others grew. It seemed easier to distrust from the get-go than it would be to grow close and eventually experience the disappointment of a person abandoning me.

How do I begin to recognize, acknowledge, and embrace my connection with others? I don't know exactly how it is going to happen, but I do know this - that when I embrace an attitude of willingness to get well, the Universe opens all sorts of doors that I didn't know were there. I have seen it happen in others, and I have seen it happen in myself, and I see it happening now. Nothing is impossible with God. I don't have to know how things will get better; all I have to do is apply as much honesty and willingness that I can, and be open-minded and accepting of what shows up in my life. So many times I have closed the doors that Source has opened for me, but I must remember this: there is not a problem I can create that is bigger than my Higher Power. 

I have been cursed and blessed to have the desire to live a bigger life than I'm living. I can't sit with new information about who I really am an continue to live the way I've always lived - I must allow change for the better and healing into my life. I must let go of fear and old beliefs, and open my mind, my emotions, an my arms to what God has in store for me. I must continue to develop faith and courage as I become the man I would be. It's a tall order, but I don't have to do it alone. I have God, and I have a ton of good people around me who love and support me in proportion to my willingness to accept their love and support.

Namasté,

Ken

We Are Not Alone

No, sorry, this isn't a post about aliens. Or, maybe it is! Most of us who have lived experience with addiction and/or a mental health condition(s) have felt alien. It's quite common for the person going through suffering to say, either aloud or to themselves, "Nobody understands!" Fortunately, this isn't the whole truth; however, the feeling can be so strong, even in recovery, that it seems to be a part of the dis-ease process. 

I was at an alcoholism recovery meeting recently, and I began to experience this feeling. Part of the feeling comes from my tendency to look at the differences between me and others rather than the similarities. Part of it can come as a symptom of my dis-ease. And part of it can come from the fact that I have what is known as a dual diagnosis, or co-occurring, disorders. There are some in addiction recovery that have only to deal with the dis-ease of addiction. For most of those, the recovery program in a mutual aid support group works, if the person works it. For some who do have co-occurring disorders, an addiction recovery program works as well. Then for some others, me included, we seem to need more than just an addiction recovery program. It is not the fault of the recovery program; it is simply that people experiencing co-occurring conditions sometimes need more, such as therapy and possibly medication.

When I began to feel this way at the meeting - alienated, unique, alone, disconnected - I probably didn't do the best thing, which might have been to stick around afterwards and talk with someone; however, I didn't buy into the way I felt. I began to look for the similarities between me and the speakers; I began to come up with alternatives to my thinking; I began to see the ways in which I am unique, noting that most of them, if not all, are good. They're who I am. And, as I was leaving the meeting, alone, I noted to myself that it's ok for me to be alone from time to time, so long as I'm in a place where I can stand myself.

As I mentioned above, it's important for me to identify how my depression shows up. I've lived with it for so long that it's been a real challenge to differentiate between what is me and what is my dis-ease. I've felt alone and different-from most of my life, and most of my life I thought it was because I was defective and less than everyone else. Today I understand this feeling of being alone in the universe as a symptom of my dis-ease. When the symptom is part of me, like an arm or a leg is a part of me, it's very hard to do anything about it; however, when I view the symptom as a symptom, I am able to do something about it. As a symptom, I can talk about it with others; I can spend time with others, either in person, or on the phone, or even on social media, if I'm hooked up with the right groups (it's helpful to be with like-minded people, such as others in recovery from mental unwellness or addiction); I can pray; I can think about alternatives to my thinking. So there's a lot that I can do about this particular symptom - I don't have to stay in my aloneness for long. Another thing I can do is play with other people's pets (with their permission and because I don't have pets of my own) - pets, especially dogs, love being with me and don't judge me. The drawback is I can't take dogs to work with me or to recovery meetings.

Spiritually, we are never alone. Our Creator is omnipresent, which means that I am always connected to It, as It is connected to me. And the kicker is that if I am made from my Creator, and my Creator is in me and all of Creation, then I am connected to all of Creation, including you! So the feeling of being apart from or alone is really an illusion, or even a delusion. It's a lie. Sometimes in meditation I can feel this connection; sometimes in consciousness I recognize it. I'm working toward knowing my Connection more.

And speaking of connection, I read in one recovery resource that, as an alcoholic, one of my primary problems has been the failure to connect on a real level with another human being. Recent studies have also pointed to the idea that the opposite of addiction is connection - connection with our family and friends, connection with all of humankind. So working toward knowing this connection in my heart, and not just in my head, moves me toward recovery and healing. In recovery meetings we have the opportunity to work on this connection, and as the health of our relationships grow, our spiritual and mental health grows (probably our physical health, too). We weren't put here to live this life alone and on our own.

So I am grateful I'm on this path, even though sometimes it feels like too much to deal with. One footstep at a time I move deeper in recovery and closer to truly knowing my connection with everything.

Namasté,

Ken

Healing Connections

I attended yoga class last night. I haven't been to a yoga class in years, even though I practice it at home. I had never met any of the attendees, but once class got going, I felt amazingly relaxed and at home. I really enjoyed the class, and I got much more out of doing yoga with others than I get out of it when I practice by myself. It was a great experience.

I am an introvert. I like being alone. I like doing stuff alone. I rarely feel lonely. When I'm healthy, I feel fine being alone. I don't have the desire to seek companionship with others. I don't particularly like parties or social events, and often I have to overcome some fear before engaging with others. I don't look forward to meeting new people, yet I've got some really awesome good people in my life, all of whom I met for the first time once. I don't crave human contact, but, I know from experience, I would get very sick and possibly die without it. 

I have a friend who has been a friend of mine for 16 years. That's some kind of record, for me. We are close in age, like to talk about the same things, and at one time we worked for the same company. He has supported me through thick and thin, and has taught me a lot about accepting people where they're at, and how to be supportive. I have a connection with him, and I trust that connection. We haven't gotten together in a while - it might be around a year - but we have stayed somewhat in touch. The other night I was thinking about him, and I thought I had better call him. I called him, and his voicemail was full, which concerned me, so I texted him. I found out that one of his parents is going through a rough time right now. My friend is going to be out of town for a week, but we'll get together when he returns. He's a person with whom I feel totally comfortable and at home. There's only maybe 3? people like that in my life, and I'm good with that. I think everyone needs someone with whom they can totally be themselves.

I've learned a great deal about the value of friendships and connections over the past few years. I value friendships and connections much more now than I have in the past, and I value people in general much more than I ever had before. Friendship and connection is something I have to practice. In fact, everything that's good for me I have to practice; the unhealthy stuff seems to come quite naturally to me. I do believe that at my very core I understand and value connection, but I still have a lot of work to do in letting go of those things which tell me that I'm fine all by myself. 

The past couple of years I've become a lot more involved in social media. That's an area where I'm learning what's healthy for me and what isn't. I've joined some spiritual and recovery groups on Facebook, and that's been a good experience. I now have friends on 6 of the 7 continents of the world! But it's really neat to see that humans from other cultures have the same basic needs as I do. I can have a tendency to spend too much time with the social media - it's good, and it's fun, but it doesn't replace face-to-face human contact. (I avoid calling it 'real' human contact, as I believe the people I contact on Facebook are real, too). Social media is a great tool, but, like anything, too much reliance upon it is not a good thing.

Finally, I'd like to write about support groups. I've been going to one particular support group for years and years, but it wasn't until I began attending support groups through NAMI Waukesha that I began to fully appreciate what support groups can do. I began to get a lot better when I started attending mental health peer support groups, and I couldn't figure out why - NAMI support groups don't have a formal program or any steps or anything like that. You show up, talk about what's going on (or not, if you don't want to), get support and suggestions. 

What I've learned (and I couldn't just accept, I had to break it down and analyze things) is that support groups give me:

• A safe place to be me. A place where I can let my guard down for a little while.
• Normalization - those of us who live with mental health conditions and/or addictions have things going on in our heads that we don't discuss with the general public, because most people wouldn't understand. So we walk around feeling abnormal and alone, because almost everyone else we run into looks like they have their stuff together. In a support group, we find out that appearances can be deceiving - we find people that look normal, yet have the same stuff going on in their heads that we do. This decreases our shame and self-stigma.
• Trust - when I speak my truth, and listen to others speaking their truth - allowing ourselves to be vulnerable - we begin to trust again. It's important to human beings to have others that we can trust.
• A place to share - I've got lots of good within me. So does everybody. Support groups are a great place to share that with others.
• I begin to care about others. I gain compassion.

There's more, but those are the top benefits for me. 

I think there's a big need for more real connection nowadays. I recently gave up my car to the salvage yard, so I'm back to my feet, my bicycle, and the bus as my 3 main forms of transportation. I was walking to a destination a few days ago, and I noticed people driving by - when we're in our cars, we are alone. Lots of us feel anonymous in our vehicles, which isn't always a good thing. But we're alone, and we're protected. The more alone and protected I am, the less healthy I get. I think it's easier to dislike and judge other humans when I'm not around them very much, and that's definitely not healthy. 

I'm fortunate that my work throws me right in the middle of others' lives. I'm reminded daily how important my connection with others is. I really am healed by this thing called connectedness. I think it's really how Spirit moves among us.

Namasté,

Ken

The Power of Connection

Today I went to work, and I was blessed to hear an awesome recovery speaker. That's the way things happen for me of late - I suit up and show up and good things happen for me. Anyway, the man sharing his story really touched my heart in so many ways. You know, when we say 'touched my heart,' it's not just a figurative saying, it's literal. I could feel the effects of his sharing in my body, mainly in my chest. I get lots of stuff that goes in and out of my head all day long, but the things that really affect me, that are transformative, I feel. But as I'm listening to this guy, I realize that I'm on the clock - I'm getting paid to sit here and be uplifted. It doesn't get any better than this, and I haven't done anything other than suit up and show up.

Story telling is as old as humanity. People got together at the end of the day and shared their experiences with one another. That's how humans bond and feel connected - we have different experiences, yet we feel the same things - love, joy, fear, doubt, terror, humor, happiness, mystery, etc. 

Early on, I acquired the belief that it was better to live life alone - to not share my experiences or feelings with others. That sounds very lonely, but it's also very safe. Safety trumps connection. For me, however, being a hermit did not get my other needs met, so I learned to create the appearance of connecting with others. Basically, I learned how to act. I've spent much of my life acting as if I liked and trusted people and knew how to get along, when, in reality, I didn't. I trusted no one.

I do regret a little bit that I didn't have bigger cojones - all the times I had opportunities to look someone, someone who was trying to help me, in the eye and be honest and say to them, "You know what? I don't trust you. You know why? Because you're a human being, and human beings suck. If I put any trust whatsoever in you, you will hurt me, and that's not going to happen." I was way, way, way too nice and polite for my own damn good. In my own defense, I thought I was protecting myself, because to me, the threat was real. I was living the way I believed I had to live to survive.

So I managed to go through life acting as if I had friendships and relationships without ever really letting my guard down and letting people in. And every couple of years I would have a meltdown and become despondent and suicidal, surprising the people around me because I was such a good actor.

Five years ago, I understood that I would never be able to stay sober until I became authentic - until I let my guard down, allowed others to know the real me, and be vulnerable. That's a pretty tall undertaking for someone who didn't even know himself, and was pretty sure that himself wasn't someone anyone would want to be around anyway. I never liked me, why would anybody else? So I worked on knocking down the walls. I had one more relapse before I got to the point where I realized the job was too big for me alone.

I want to take a paragraph to interject about God and spirituality. Most of my life I've sought God, or Spirit, or Source, and, as I've mentioned in previous posts, I've got a pretty good radar for the Truth.  Somewhere inside I knew a relationship with God would 'fix' me. I thought if I could seal that relationship with God, I wouldn't have to worry about my relationship with others. My logic was a little fuzzy, now that I look at it, but I wanted the security and safety of having God in my life without the ickiness of having to get involved with the rest of His children. Some people may be able to do this; however, it doesn't seem to be my path.

So this last relapse, a little over 3 years ago, did it for me. Alcohol and depression had stripped me bare. It took me back to being the helpless, vulnerable 5 year old boy who was very afraid of living and had no idea what to do about it. I was exactly where I needed to be, and I surrendered - I stopped trying to cover up. I stopped trying to be the person who knew what he was doing. I just stopped. 

Perhaps the greatest blessing of my life is that I've always had great people in my life. Wherever I've been, from church to prison, from Ivory Towers to Skid Row, I've met the most giving, wise, compassionate, loving people a person could ever desire to meet. I've recognized this fact for a long time, but I failed to accept the gifts the Universe kept shoving in front of me - until 3 years ago. I began to say 'yes' to the kindness and compassion of those around me. I began to say 'yes' to the gifts that were laid at my feet - tentatively at first, sort of like an abused, starving dog will tentatively accept food from a kind stranger. After a bit of accepting the kindness and help from the good people in my life, I began to feel more secure. I began to feel safe. And I began to get better. I began to believe that I am a valuable person who is deserving of life and who has something to offer to others. And I discovered that that person was there all along, buried under a mountain of hurt and shit and shame. And I let others help me dig him out and clean him up. 

I've still got lots of healing to experience - I expect it to take the rest of my life. But along the way, I can help others find their way to healing. And I know that I can do that by fostering a connection with others. That's still very challenging for me. I don't get out of bed in the morning and say, "Oh wonderful! Another day of connection with the sick and injured of the world!" But I do know what is mine to do, and I willingly do it because I know I am supported in this endeavor by the Universe. I feel enough safety and security today to go out and share what I've been given.

Connection to others is what I rely upon to stay sober and sane today. Simply put, I couldn't connect with others because I was afraid and I could not trust. 

Connection is dropping the shields and letting another human being that I know what it's like to feel lost and alone, and to let that other person know that they're not as alone as they think they are, and that they are safe. It's about showing someone that it's ok and it's safe to be vulnerable, and that true Love doesn't hurt, it heals. And when I drop my shields and give my Love away, I get more Love back and I heal a little more. It's really a pretty good deal. 

Namasté

Ken