Gratitude

I by no means have gratitude all figured out, nor am I necessarily good at it.  But a lot of things have become clear related to it that I never really understood before, and it has been life-changing.

Years ago I had zero gratitude.  I was too angry at the world and all the people who had hurt me for that.  I would get angry at anyone that would suggest I should be grateful, and instead felt like the world owed me for how broken I was.

Learning to be grateful started slow for me, but then suddenly it clicked.  As I came out of my big breakdown and started to feel a little better, I started to be able to appreciate the little things.  I remember one day in particular that I was soooooo stressed out at school.  I was on my way to take a test but I had a few extra minutes first so I found a nice spot and laid down in the grass and let the sun shine down on me.  That sun felt better than anything had felt for a long time.  For that moment I didn't have to stress, I just got to enjoy the sunshine.  Soon I could write a super long gratitude list in a matter of seconds, because I realized that I'm grateful for grass and sun and mountains and my car and my home and my dishwasher and...well you get the idea.  We talked about gratitude in one of my treatment groups back then and one of the women there got so mad that I had so much to write about and she had nothing to be grateful for.  It made me chuckle a bit inside because I was still in a pretty shitty place then...but it was cool to show her my list.  She thought about it for a sec and said, "yeah I guess I'm grateful for those things too.  I didn't think of doing it like THAT!" lol  

Gratitude is all about perspective, and one of the things I'm most grateful for is my perspective.  As you probably know since you're reading this...I came from a pretty ugly past.  Back then I thought that gave me reason not to be grateful for anything because damnit the world was an ugly place and no one could ever understand my pain.  But now it's different.  The ugliness I lived through allows me to see the beauty in the little things around me.  Anyone can say they appreciate the little things...those little moments of peace/happiness in the world...and maybe they do...but I feel like I appreciate them on a deeper level because I truly know how bad it can be.  It's just like the example I've used before on here...You can appreciate having food to eat, but you can't really and truly appreciate it to your core until you've had to go hungry.  The more you've been without, the more having even a little bit means.  It's like after you've been out sick for a week, how suddenly just being able to stand up and go for a short walk without coughing/sneezing/puking is the absolute best thing ever...when before your sickness you probably never gave it much thought.  

I had a hockey game tonight.  It was the first game of our big final tournament.  We lost by 9, and a lot of my team was really frustrated and pissed off, but I couldn't stop smiling.  After this last week, with emotional pain beyond anything I've ever experienced before, I was so happy to be out on the ice and free just to let loose and play.  In that moment hockey was the absolute greatest gift that could've been given to me.  I didn't care what the score was, or even that we were losing.  I couldn't explain my emotional week to my teammates but it was genuinely weird to see some of them so upset when I felt so good.  So I'm grateful for hockey and grateful for my perspective.  :)  And grateful that the intense emotional pain seems to be lifting and I'm catching glimpses of the rainbow after the storm.

I am strong

Tonight I went to work out at the gym.  Now my gym is made up almost entirely of unbelievably hard group workouts.  They don't do the solo run on a treadmill thing or anything.  I am generally the most out of shape person there, so these workouts are extra hard for me.  Tonight's workout ended with 50 pushups.  Pushups are hard enough (even doing them on my knees!) but having done a bunch of other exhausting stuff first it was just that much harder.    I got to about 5 and was already really feeling it.  But I'm a stubborn lil monkey.  I just kept doing what I could, and went in to this almost trance-like place.  There was chaos all around me because our tiny little gym was WAY overly packed and there were people all around doing the workout, shouting/cheering, music blasting, etc.  But all of that went away and it was just me, the space right around me, and those damn pushups.  I was literally dripping with sweat.  In that moment, nothing else mattered.  As I tried to push myself up with my arms shaking and painful underneath me I thought, "Fuck you pushups, I've been through way worse than this."  I got a burst of energy and finished every single one of those pushups...still just a few at a time but 3-5 at a time rather than 1-2.

As I finished I realized something.  Many people in my position wouldn't have done those push-ups.  They would've quit when it got too hard or when others around them were finishing (being the last one to finish with everyone watching does kinda suck, though ppl are supportive).  Even more people would've never made it in the door of the gym.  But I showed up, and I did the pushups.  And I realized that I am strong.  And I'm not just strong at the gym, it goes for life too.

Others who have been through what I have don't make it as far as I have now.  Some never recover from addition, from abuse, from whatever else.  But I show up, I do the pushups, and I show my strength.  I've had A LOT of help to get to where I am today, but I realized tonight that some of it really is me.  I've fought through a lot and I keep fighting.  I've had people tell me that they're jealous of the healing progress I've made.  But the truth is, it didn't just happen.  I showed up and did the pushups, and I still continue to.  I can see it now.  I have a strong spirit that keeps me going and gets me through. I don't know that I was alwas wrong...but my life made me that way, and now I can halde a lot.  I can do a lot.

In case you're wondering...

Some of you saw (or read about) my very emotional post from yesterday.  I've temporarily hidden it.  It was just too much for me to have just sitting out in public.  I may share it again some time, I don't know.  I'd like to write something though...I really do want to write on here more because I want to have somewhere to connect with people.  I don't like it just sitting blank.  But for now I need to take care of me and that means hiding myself a bit more than I have been.

No one wants to hear it

I've joined a support group recently to start processing some issues from my past.  At first it was really great.  It was like coming in to AA for the first time...scary, but amazing because I was hearing people telling my story...telling the stuff that I always keep deep inside or don't have words for.  But after spending a bit more time there I'm realizing how "out there" my story is...even within a support group.  I'm not trying to prove that mine was worse than anyone's or that what other ppl went through doesn't matter...but as I listened to others in the group talk about their experiences...well it's different.  I was raised by truly psychotic people.  I believe that some of what I experienced comes pretty damn close to torture.  I know I'm not the only one that's experienced stuff like this.  I know there are others who have been through much worse.  But I felt out of place in the group when people were talking about having been molested once.  It just felt like my experience is a different kind of crazy, and that's scary.

And I don't know what to do with it.

I have very caring and supportive friends through AA.  But they are very much the "get over it" types.  They understand that it's a process....they're not like some who think that because it happened a long time ago I should just let it go....but they don't want to keep listening to me be miserable/grumpy/whatever.  My sponsor is the only one who knows any detail about my story...and she knows very little.  She knows there was sexual stuff involved though, which makes her different from anyone else.  I know it upsets her though...the other day I showed her a poem I wrote and she said it was good but then she had to turn away cus she didn't want me to see her cry.  (Totally strange since she's seen me cry a bunch of times, and has been in AA for a long time where everyone talks about being open bout how you feel...but that's another story for another time).  Only a couple of others in AA know I was abused.  I know there are lots of ppl in AA that care about me, even w/out knowing...and would want me to feel good, but i'm just too overwhelmed right now to care.  I've been hiding away from everyone for days now and really have no desire to go out in the world or talk to anyone.  I'm just tired and angry and overwhelmed...and I know what i should be doing to feel better but i don't want to do any of it because I don't care.  I think being in this group is tearing away a lot of denial for me...and I didn't even realize I was still in so much denial.  I'm just really overwhelmed by the enormity of what i've been through and there's no one I can talk to about that.  (I do have an amazing friend I can talk to online about it, but I mean in my face to face life).  There's no one that wants to hear it.  Even the people who want to be supportive don't want to know the details of what I went through and I don't want them to because I don't want to see their looks of horror.

I don't know what I want...I just know I feel really really isolated right now.  I feel like I don't want to venture out into society because I don't fit in anywhere in the world.  There's no spot for me right now. I wish I'd never joined this group.  Before joining it I was happy most all the time in AA, and was finally feeling accepted and like a part of something.  Now I'm back to feeling completely alone.  I'm supposed to be getting together w/aa friends today and i think i have to go because my sponsor is hosting it but I so don't want to.  I don't want to call anyone....which is another thing i'm supposed to do when I feel like this...I just dont want to have anything to do with anyone because I feel like shit and don't want to be around people who won't get it.  And I'm sure that's selfish or whatever to say, and I know even pl who have experienced different but similar stuff can understand more than i'm giving them credit for and all that...but damnit right now i'm sick of this and i don't want to hear anyone else's crap.  Ugh I sound like an ass.

I wish someone would call me...but I'm kind of a pest usually so usually I'm the one doing the calling.  It's rare for anyone to call me...which of course makes me wonder if people are sick of me or don't want to hear from me.  I'm sure i'm overthinking it but that's in my head too.

Where does that leave me?

Tonight I told a friend a piece of my story.  She sort of knew what I'd been through.  I told her a bit more.  She said it made her feel sick.  She meant it kindly, and I hold nothing against her.  It's sickening.  It makes me feel sick.  It should probably make any sane, rational person feel sick.

But it's also who I am.  It's years of my life.  What the hell do I do with that?  The experiences of years of my life make any sane person want to vomit.  I know I'm not at fault for what happened.  I don't blame myself.  And yet I feel like I bring horrific negativity into the world just by existing and just by holding my story.  I do't want to be ashamed of where I've been.  I want it to be just a part of me like anything else.  I hate that things inside me are so disgusting.  I hate that though I did nothing to cause it, I have become the personification of so much of what is wrong in the world.  I know people are disgusted by those that did it, not by me, but it's still me and it's what I have no choice but to carry with me.

I know people mean well when they talk about the things I went through as horrible and that it makes them sad and hurt and angry and sick and everything else.  But where does that leave me?  What do I do with that?  I hate being the bearer of so much evil.  And I don't have the luxury of turning the tv off or walking away from the news.  The images, the experience, will always be with me.

Not sure if I'm even making sense.  I should be sleeping but nightmares are keeping me from it.  The good news is, I didn't wake up afraid from the nightmares.  Just unbelievably pissed off.  I don't hate those who did it so much anymore.  I understand that they were sick people.  But I still hate what they did and hate that it happened.  I hate that I had to experience what I did.  And I hate that the child version of me had to experience so, so much.  I wish I could go back in time to stop them.  To save her.

Most Kids

When most kids cry, someone comes running to them to help.

Most kids have a mommy and/or daddy that comes to give them love and hugs and kisses.

Most kids have parents who protect them.

Most kids have parents who look out for them.

Most kids learn that home is the safest place they can be.

Most kids face kid problems, like who to play with at recess, and what toys they want.

Most kids don't know what it means to live in fear.

When most kids are sad, scared, angry, etc. their biggest relief is seeing a family member there, especially an adult.

Most kids cry for mommy, and for most kids mommy comes.

Most kids.

But I'm not most kids.

Never have been.

Not even close.

I learned early on not to cry for mommy because mommy didn't help.  Mommy looked on and laughed, and sometimes made it worse.  My cries for mommy made everyone laugh.

I learned soon after not to cry at all.  Any crying at all added more pain, so I kept quiet.

Then I learned the impossible game.  If I cried, I got punished more.  But they would never stop the pain until I cried.  There was no way out.

I learned fear.

I learned that home was not a safe haven.  Home held the very worst of places.

I learned that no one around me would or could protect me.  They couldn't even know.  If anyone else knew, it would only get worse for me.

I learned secret safe places: the back of my closet where I was hidden from view, or under the bed where no one could reach me.  There I would silently cry.  I would pray that no one would hear.  I would pray that no one would come running.

I learned to be alone.

I learned isolation and solitude.

I learned to be strong, but I also learned not to trust.

I learned that no comfort would ever rush to my cries.  There were no loving hugs and kisses.

I learned that I was not most kids.

I hid.  I cried.  I prayed.  And I tried to hope.

And I learned that I was alone.

No one was coming to comfort me.

No one to care.

Little girl.  Alone.

Tribute

Well you know it's been a long time since I've blogged when my blog name isn't even in the list of links that pop up when I type it in.  I had to type it allllll the way in!  lol  Anyway tonight I have something very important and close to my heart to share (I really tried to keep it short, but it got long anyway! lol).

I have a very special friend in AA named Fred.  He was the first person who ever really spoke to me at a meeting.  Some of you may know this story.  I've told it before, though I'm not sure if i've told it here. Fred was the most unlikely first friend for me to have.  He was quite a bit older than me, he'd had a stroke so his face drooped on one side, and he just looked a little rough around the edges.  But he turned out to be so incredibly kind, and just who I needed when I was so alone.

I didn't want to talk to anyone that meeting.  I'd been to a few before, but I always snuck in late, stayed back in the corner, and then left early to avoid having to actually have a conversation.  But this one was a smaller meeting so I had to introduce myself and say I was brand new.  I was sitting next to Fred, and he turned to me and said, "Ya know, you never have to be alone again."  It was such an amazing thing to hear a person say.  I wondered how he could possibly know how alone and lonely I was, but the idea of not having to feel that way was almost too much to handle.  Ok it was too much to handle, I broke down sobbing and speechless.

I didn't talk much in meetings back then.  But Fred again reached out to me and made sure I had his phone number.  Then he got others in the meeting to give me their numbers as well.  I kept coming to that meeting for months, though Fred became too sick to come just a couple of months after I met him.  About 6 months into my sobriety I moved to a different area of town and mostly stopped going to that meeting.  I still thought of the people there often though, as they'd been my first real connection to anyone.  I often wondered about Fred, since I knew he was fighting cancer but I didn't know much more than that.

One night, I'd been talking to a friend of mine who lives in the area of that meeting.  She said she was looking for a wednesday night meeting, which is when this one is.  I said that one day she'd have to remind me and i'd take her there and introduce her.  It went for weeks though, that neither of us had a day that worked.  Then, a woman from my tuesday night meeting (that i've gone to almost every week since i first got sober) had some crazy housing issues go on and ended up moving into the housing complex right where the meeting is.  Ironically it's a retirement complex.  I had no idea of that at the time that I went to the meeting.  I just went there that first time because it was close to where I lived.  I think it was good for me though that it was my "grandparent" meeting, making it less threatening to be open than I may have felt in front of peers.  Anyway, this woman from my tuesday group is friends with my friend, who told her about the meeting there.  The two of them approached me one tuesday and asked if I would go with them the next day.  This was about a month ago.

I told them I would, and the next day reluctantly stuck to my word and went.  (It's not that I didn't want to go, I was just worn out from school and not very motivated).  At the start of the meeting someone announced that the next day was Fred's 23rd sobriety birthday.  He was too sick to make it to a meeting so a group was bringing a meeting to him.  Afterwards I asked the woman making the announcement, also a friend of mine, if it would be ok for me to go.  She and I decided to go together.

I didn't know what to expect, having not seen Fred in a long time but knowing he was very sick.  He looked like he'd been through a lot, but he also looked good.  He was happy, smiling, and joking with everyone.  I was hesitant at first, but so excited to tell/show him that I had stuck with it and was really doing this thing.  I got a chance to tell him just how much that moment with him had meant to me.  This was not long after I had reached 10 months sober, so I even had my chip to show him.  To my surprise, he had someone go to his room and got HIS 10 month chip.  I'm amazed that a person that's been sober 23 years still has the chip he got 10 months in.  But he did, and he gave it to me.  What an amazing gift!  Unfortunately there was some confusion at the time so I didn't acknowledge it properly, and wasn't able to until I called them (he and his wife) the next day.  Since that day, however, that chip has not left my pocket.  I usually don't carry my chips around, but I just so like having his there with me.  Recently I've added my own 11 month chip into the pocket with his, but his is still by far the most valuable to me, and likely always will be.

Today I learned that Fred has passed away.  We knew it was coming, as he'd been taken off all the chemo since nothing was helping.  It's still just so, so hard to hear.  I haven't seen him again since that day, but I am so so blessed that I got that day with him.  It's really amazing when you look at it.  It all started because one friend happened to move to near there, and another happened to have a housing crisis that forced her to move to somewhere she really didn't want to go (she was going from a nice house into a small apartment).  Once that occurred, those women chose that particular night to ask me to go with them...the night when Fred's celebration was being announced.  And I chose to go.  To show up.  My sponsor keeps telling me to just show up, because nothing can happen if you don't show up.  I went, even though I felt lazy and wanted to hide out at home.  I went the following day even though I was scared.  And I got to have an amazing experience with Fred.  I got his coin, which I will hold with me forever.  I will never forget my introduction to AA and to people caring for each other that I got through him.  And I am so so grateful that everything aligned for me to have that chance to see him again.  I got a chance to make sure he knew he was important to me.

I don't know where I'm at now.  I guess I'm sad, though I do believe he's at peace.  I'm a little shocked, but it's not a giant surprise.  I feel a little bad that I'm not at that meeting tonight, but I really do need my sleep and my presence there wouldn't change anything.  I really just feel wow'ed.  Wow'ed that I knew this man, this incredible kindness from the most unlikely source.  And blessed that my higher power gave me one more chance to see him.  He had a big role in my sobriety, and I'm so glad I was able to see him again as my new, sober self.  The last time i'd seen him I was withdrawn and still pretty much miserable.  Today I'm overall happy and smiling, and my head just feels so so so much clearer.  The friend that I went with was joking about how when I came there at first I was about the lonliest person on the planet, with no friends.  But that night I'd come I brought 3 friends with me (we'd had another tagalong ;) ) which had nearly doubled the size of the meeting.  I was kinda the popular one! lol  Anyway, is it wrong to feel blessed at a time like this?  I just feel so fortunate to have had the opportunity to meet him.  I don't know where i'd be now without that awkward first encounter with him.  And I'm so glad I don't have to find out.

He was an amazing man, and he will be missed by many.  Throughout his birthday meeting he talked about how blessed he was and how happy he was.  It was truly a sight to behold.  He still was able to talk about the principles of the program, and living each day for all that you can and leaving tomorrow's worry for tomorrow.  Though really I knew very little of him, just seeing him once a week for a couple of months, I feel like I knew his spirit and I feel like we had a connection.  There's just no way to put it all into words.  So I'll just remain grateful to Fred for all he did for me, and to god for giving me that chance to connect.  It felt so good to know that the connection seemed to be mutual too.  I'm praying for his wife, and for those who knew him best, as this must be such an impossibly hard time for them.  If you wouldn't mind, please join me in that.

Thank you for reading.  And thank you Fred for being you, and for giving me the chance to know you.