Friends of Bill W.

[Toughy]

by Daktari
<snip>
Hey there, yanno I'd really like to hear about your experience in a non religious, non spiritual programme or method of achieving and maintaining sobriety. I'm about to undertake some peer mentor training so that I can work as a volunteer in the local recovery services. Hearing a first hand experience would a great piece of information for me in preparation for this training.

Daktari ........I tried to send you a PM and you have no storage left. I don't want you to think I am ignoring this post. I am happy to talk to you about it.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 21

SELF-SEEKING IS A DEBIT



Trying to get credit for everything I do has run me into debt in my anonymity account, which draws directly from my humility bank. I cannot expend my resources seeking acknowledgement and expect to retain much dignity or class. How can I build within while constantly grasping for nods and smiles from scenery and landscaping? I want approval so much that I have lost my center. In an attempt to top the charts I forgot my song. My ego writes checks that my soul can’t cover. I run my potential into the red looking to get my name in black and white. If I keep my name out of lights I have a chance of building up my dignity.


Own your own blocks.

*

No Jinn

I molested the touch control lamp.
I had no trouble turning it on,
but could never figure how to turn it off;
therefore I let the light shine in the daytime.

I called looking for guidance,
“lick your fingers then try again,” was the glib suggestion.
I offered that I was not interested
in becoming that intimate with said lamp.

Sometimes connections are made easily,
other times they cannot be made at all,
still there are times the renewal of a connection
is determined by my willingness to up the ante.

Am I willing to put a little spit into the effort
or will I leave the light to burn?

Originally Posted by Toughy

Daktari ........I tried to send you a PM and you have no storage left. I don't want you to think I am ignoring this post. I am happy to talk to you about it.

Awesome!

Thanks for coming back to post this Toughy. I really am interested in your personal experiences of recovery and will send you my personal email in a rep message if you would agree to enter into a dialogue about your own experiences



Me-me-me-me alert... this next bit is coming entirely from a 'me' place and not intended as an attack, judgement or being preachy. It is just my thoughts and feelings, nothing else. I hope that what I'm about to say is taken in that spirit.


I hope you also read what me and others have said regarding your previous posts too. There's no point in doing a bit of an "I'm outta here" flounce when you're not heard in the way you intended to be heard. Clarification and dialogue are good.

It would be fab to have a dialogue of some sort about recovery and the different ways folks achieve that. However we all are coming from a 'me place' (no shit Sherlock! ...an addict coming from a 'me' place...there's a novelty ) and speak of our direct experiences, it just so happens that for us here and only those of us here who have expressed such, those experiences are with the 'spiritual but non religious' programmes of the anonymous fellowships.

I have no idea about the others here but I sure tried another method away from the fellowships. That was to get the basic tools, with no reference to a higher power, from the AA fellowship and long term counselling, then buggered off to go live what was then my very young life...I was 23yrs old when I first got sober (16th Dec 1986)

Whaddaya know, determination and a limited tool bag lasted a good 17yrs of sobriety. Then that damn lil voice crept up again and lulled me into a very false sense of security. Cue an almost decade long 'relapse'.

I would love to discuss further my own 'issues' with the fellowships - and for all I know some of the other structured methods of maintaining sobriety - but fear that what I say may be taken as an indictment of the anonymous fellowships when that is not what I intend.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 22

MEGAPHONE


The point of surviving, or maybe the goal after survival, is enabling the voices of victims to be heard, starting with my own. I allow the surging waves of thought and feeling to rush the gates and exit. I try to bleed the bad with and without the use of leaches. So much is stumbled upon rather than sought after. Some things hound me; I run down the street with memory at my heels. I must let the screams out or become them. Today I talk, tomorrow is for others. When I pour forth, I open the way for the rest. I have become the megaphone rather than the cheerleader. It is good to be of use.


Pollinate ideas.

*

Peace Time

I have been to the wars and through the wars
and now sit on the stoop and wonder;
will I learn to live here in the world of everyday
after having had to spend so much time running for cover.

Each time I return to what I believe is my home
I sit and rock trying to pour my soul back inside
from my hipflask where it was held for safekeeping.

I try not to spill a drop
for it is worse than shed blood and harder to rebuild.
My soul has grown pale from confinement and lack of sun,
but it still exists and for that I pat my back
and suck on my Lifesaver;

I could have done worse, was unable to do better.
I console myself with the knowledge
I never started the conflict just learned to survive it.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 23

WILD


When I run wild through the rain my hair streaming behind me, water fleeing my face, I see with my heart the thousand other rains pouring from my past. How I peel from me the soaking luggage covering my naked pain. Nothing drives me to the cozy retreat of my bed like the humid chill of an early fall drizzle. I slip my trembling skin between the comfort and the comforter, flex my toes, towel my hair, wipe scenes of lost love from my pale, pale soul. Leaves rush my gutters, clog my mind. I see the change in me as I turn heel to heel, trees spinning bare in a blank wet world. I know this ever relived fluid, this recycled life.


Interest yourself.

*

What is Dear?


I am angry that I was taught I must hold on for dear life
instead of being taught that life is dear,
but they couldn’t teach me what they didn’t know
and couldn’t know what they had not discovered for themselves.

I wish I had learned earlier
to love the life I was taught to cling to,
but I am grateful I have been bound to life
long enough to find the joy in it.

I have found that knowing joy
causes me to cling all the more,
cling in sweetness to what was once such a bitter task.

I am angry for what I wasn’t taught,
but sadder still for what they didn’t know
and all that is lost in their lives to ignorance and tradition.

I wanted better for them
and they wanted better for me
and this is the circle which closes
around the dear that I hold onto.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 24

WORKS



I cry the waterworks so necessary to the healing of my heart. I explode with the fireworks required for anger to set living boundaries. I sleep the sleep of angels, as I link to dreamworks allowing mental maintenance to occur. Slipping into my political face I make time for public works. I return to my abode, call the pie maker and order ‘the works.’ Have it delivered so I can face the mountain of homework waiting for me and bearing my name.


Suggest solutions in your diary.
*

No Dialing Tonight.

When it is late at night and I can’t sleep
I wander and putter and plan my dreams.
I hold out hopes and wash their faces;
pray for rain and clean all traces.

Thunderstorms rumble and lightning strikes;
I tune up the plumbing and wipe down the pipes.
All the paint and promises in the world won’t change me;
I’m still lost in the dark without you.

Tear stains are friendly till I wash them away
leaving blotchy eyes that can’t be explained;
an aching heart that keeps on ticking
and wishes that can’t come true.

Sunday morning is here, too soon
and life rolls on whether you think it should.
Tiny thoughts come out to play
and sad, sad fears keep them at bay.

But the dog is curled up under the covers without a care;
I long to disturb her but do not dare.
She is the queen here and I’m but the naïve;
I’ll tend to my writing and try to be brave.

For the dawn will follow this endless nocturne;
the whole world will be safe once more.
I will cry but it’s all too late;
though you are merely a phone call away.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 25

OPTICAL ILLUSIONS


“Like my new frames?” I ask my sponsor.
“Who wrote your prescription?”
“Oh, the lenses aren’t new, just the frames,” I reply.
“You want to be seen differently but you want to see things the same old way. My question still stands. Who wrote you the script for those funhouse glasses you have used all your life? Did it ever occur to you the distortion is ground into the glass? Remember, some people need you to see things as other than what they are. Unhappy families look great if you can’t see them too clearly. It’s hard to know what to say to keep the peace, said Grandma. She never took off her specs to see there was no peace to keep. So, I will ask you again. The view of the world you base your choices on, who chose the color you see it through?”


Breathe to improve your mind and mood.
*

Green Wood

When a nail is hammered into a living tree,
the tree is forever changed.
Even if the barb is pulled out
he tree will never be the same.

If the spike remains and the tree lives;
over time the nail will be incorporated,
the tree will get on with the business of living
and carry the thing as just a part of what it took to get here.

What was trauma is trauma,
but life is big and the longer it gets
the larger the life, is the hope.

Piercing experience is engulfed by rings of fresh wood
and a will to grow beyond the moment of impact.
The tree branches out and even a hundred nails can’t stop that.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 26

SCREAMING LETHARGY



The screaming lethargy of being alive after many years of wanting something else, the exhaustion of pulsing, breathing, waves and waves of thinking. Yet as tired as I am, I am. Here without a doubt, I stand. No crawling for I have not fallen, no climbing for I have reached the plain. I wait for the rain to wash over me, the truth to run through me, time to pass by me. As if on a free trip to an unwelcome destination I arrive with randomly packed bags and low expectations. I’m here now. The train doesn’t seem to be moving on. I might as well leave the station, nothing to do on the platform. There may be points of interest or flowers to be smelled. I step haltingly and fear making any connection to this unbidden place. My name is unknown; I befriend the lamppost, the birds, the street. I am tired of travel, fearful of arrival. Fury courses through my veins but the weather is pleasant, I might take off my coat and stay.


Plan a trip with no destination.
*

One Street off Amory



Apology holds change at arms length.
Apology is the thing I was taught to wait for
as a sign that things will improve,
but apology is not a harbinger of change.

It is quite the opposite
it is the guarantor of business as usual;
no amendment need occur,
apology has been made and life goes on with no alteration.

Without variation we all stay sick
and apologizing for that won’t get us better.
Restitution, amends, revelation, revolution
these are the things which make the world bright,

Apology is just a scrap with which to wipe your ass.