Friends of Bill W.

[DMW]

Originally Posted by Toughy

Many many folks new to recovery and some not so new do not know about secular programs....many folks who work in the business don't even know about them. There are secular approaches that each of us could offer to folks struggling with their own sobriety and are having trouble with AA. After all, the point is sobriety.

The more tools in the toolbox, the better off we all are.

Damn... My Bad...I know that my quick post and then a cut and run didn't help here... example...just posting that i agreed with the others without expanding on my agreement with them and why. I was just agreeing with being a little
uncomfortable with the approach of the post ...not what was said.
Toughy, I also agree with what you had to say and offer too.
I definately didn't mean for you to feel attacked for sharing. For that, i apologize. I am glad i came back to check this. I can see why you would have felt that way.


And for everyone else, i apologize for the drop and run. And i have to go again.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 20

JUST A TASTE OF SUNSHINE


The sunrise is so beautiful I want to taste it. Like a child who needs to put everything in her mouth to really know it, I feel the need for a bite. I want to participate in every way. I want to blend with the color of the sky, join the horizon and dip beyond. Look at me, who in the past sounded every retreat, now I leap toward life. I stretch my arms to take it all in, merging with the continuum on this greatest of adventures. The sun raises the charge and I lick my lips in anticipation.


Find the stop signs in your life.

*

Mercy

The rearview holds the vision,
the sad figure on the corner as I drive away,
all that is left to me are memories of God,
the rest I ejected and sped from as fast as I could.

I cannot face what is left
when I make God homeless and unloved.
Though living together was tough sometimes,
living alone is unbearable.

Nothing cooks right, cleans right, tastes right or smells right,
even the moon won’t rise right when I am strictly on my own.
And God wasn’t built for the streets,
that corner is not someplace my Higher Power fits in.

We are meant to be together
and apart the world spins off its measure.
Pitiful is what I am, so I swing around the block,
fling open the door and take pity on God and go home.

[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.

[oksoftbutch]

LeftWritefemme - I have read only a small portion of your work. However, when I have, I feel so many emotions in the few moments I read. The only thing i can say when I have finished reading is.....WOW! Thank you.

[LeftWriteFemme]

Originally Posted by oksoftbutch

LeftWritefemme - I have read only a small portion of your work. However, when I have, I feel so many emotions in the few moments I read. The only thing i can say when I have finished reading is.....WOW! Thank you.

Hey, that's so kind, thank you so very much! I appreciate you taking the time to read and comment on my post. Hope you are having a great day, you just made mine!

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 27


Simplicity Itself

My life runs at a Gilbert and Sullivan pace, with about as much sense and comic relief. You say 'keep it simple' and my disease says 'why ruin a good play?’ The truth is this is not play at all but a work that consumes my life from me and doesn't thank me for my time. Simplicity for me requires respect, a gift I selectively give myself; a gift that I often use only as a shield during battle. My past method of increased self-respect is life in a war zone. This is no solution. Release of grief, this is the onerous path I avoid taking. Purging the wrong thinking and action of others from my blood, my eyes, my skin, allows me to lift my chin and square my soul to plumb and level living, don self-respect as a birth right and set a calendar fit for plausible life, a simple life.



If you are not a hero in your own home you are not a hero


*

HIDE AND SEEK

I have sought You
High and Low
But like the rain
You have always found me.

I like a cold, wet cat on a winters day
Peer into warm lit windows
Hoping
You will be home.

I seek to keep moving
You find me for some unknown reason.
I have given up
Naming You.

I trust You know who you are
In spite of the fact I do not.
You are places I don't know
Doing things I think better of.

Citing the list of errands I daily make for You,
Not to beleaguer You
But the unfinished list of history
Trails out of my pocket.

I worry I may possess
Your only copy
Of this Injustice List.

There have been days of peace
Days I don't think too much.
Days I turn away from
My history lessons and future projections.

My ultimate problem is with the equal sign
I run the numbers and it figures inequity.
I check my calculations and shake
The calculator of my mind.

Deeply, I fear
You're a one god
And do not comprehend
The implications of zero.

If you multiply with only things above naught
You may be unaware of nothingness.
The empty things I feel
When I can't seem to find you.

Self-possessed - insensitive of the cipher
Your dimensions stay positive.
Bring me into Your realm or join me in the void.

I seek You
But You have found me.

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 28


Sponsorship




Right now, as I think of sponsorship, I think of all the things I have done wrong. Times when I was not understanding enough and times when I was too understanding and enabling. Sponsors I chose for ulterior motives and the ones I didn't challenge when they wandered away. I search my mind for the ingredients that were in the mix when things went well and the dominant component was willingness, mine and theirs. Whether I was sponsor or sponsee, willingness overrode ability, determination and love. We had to come to the table willing, this was never something we were able to cook up or construct. Nor is it something I can always hold onto, sometimes willingness evaporates or slips away like sand in a clenched fist. The permanence and impermanence of sponsorship awes and frightens me. Like a guidewire twisted from many strands none of which reaches from end to end I worry about the unraveling but depend on the strength.


Expectations are incubating resentments

*

THREE TOYS FLOATING

I bat the ducks across the surface of my bath.
Soaking is supposed to calm me,
I'm waiting.
I assure you, my impatience is no help to this process.

These yellow, tub-bound misfits, grinning at me
Don't fill me with the joy of living either.
I have blown bubbles until I'm blue
I smell like a French elevator from the bath oil.

My hair is stiff with conditioner
My face packed with mud.
"Do the right thing." Said my sponsor
She is such a pain.

Here I am, bubble bath to my arm pits
And not a hint of peace
Her question rings,
"What do you want?"

But isn't it obvious, if I knew that
What would I be doing
Wrinkling in this swilling vat?
I wouldn't.

I would be out doing my thing.
Whatever, that thing is.
How I'm going to figure myself out I don't know
And, She, is no help (you know who She is, She is the sponsor lady)

So what do I want?
World peace, a clue, maybe just a hint
But I know part of it
I know more than I admit.

I want Sobriety and Happiness,
Dignity and Respect
Enough time to do these things
And Love.

"Well" says she, those things are easy
Work the steps, then the traditions,
Practice them, do service
And take the advice you give your own sponsees"

I stick out my tongue in her general direction.

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 29


Inertia

in•er•tia
n.
1. Physics. The tendency of a body to resist acceleration; the tendency of a body at rest to remain at rest or of a body in straight line motion to stay in motion in a straight line unless acted on by an outside force.
2. Resistance or disinclination to motion, action, or change
This force is real; the laws that govern it act on me for well and ill. When I’m on a roll it’s hard to guide me and like the girl with the curl; when I’m stuck, I’m very, very stuck and it’s awful.
I am bound by this reality and go or stay according to what is set in motion or stopped, but what about ‘the outside force’? Am I in charge of summoning ‘it’ or is ‘it’ summonable at all? Will ‘it’ obey like the dog, or obey like the cat? Or is ‘it’ more random than the rain? Can ‘it’ be lured or tempted or does ‘it lure and tempt me? And the biggest questions on my mind: Is ‘the outside force’ also subject to inertia? Are we in this together? What is ‘its’ outside force? Might it have something to do with me?



Wash one pain at a time


*

NURSE

What if the word God is like the word nurse?
What if the person is only the simple meaning?
The actor doing the service
The plain act, uncontrollable from my end.

What if my active part of God,
Is the same as my active part of nurse?
What I draw down, how I schedule myself
To be ready when the milk arrives.

How I pull and am satisfied
Digest and draw again.
Like the sea laps at the shore,
The moon tugging it all the while.

What if God is about my hunger,
Satisfaction dependent on finding a suitable teat?
Maybe this is why, when it comes to God
Much of what I do, is cry.

When faced with my need, I open my mouth
Finding only two possible responses,
Suck or Scream.
My aching consumes me and I don't know how to calm myself.

I look for the caretaker, the person, the deed.
I need sucker but never look for the breast.
I am the child of God.
I must learn to draw God in

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 14



RED ROSES


From tight green buds come beautiful red roses. From small verdant places I blossom, too. I open to richness unexpected and fullness unbelieved. I look at laundry crumpled, never anticipating the look of clean sheets blowing on the line. Doors I perceive as blocked by vast boulders are thrown open by willingness. Who I am today is no one I recognize; I didn’t see myself coming. I write though I can’t spell. I love though my heart is broken. I think though my mind is warped and I trust though the amulet is long shattered. Promise is not a laid out plan but the continuum of change. I can fight it or let it carry me where it goes.



Smile at similes.
*


What I Heard Through the Snow

The commentator’s voice fades in and out
as the reception is lost and found
among the static of my drive home.

In here is a pattern, a connect the dots matrix;
I try to feel my way too
as I weave past the slow and stubborn traffic.

Like a call from the wilderness
distorted through a storm, my frantic thoughts obscure,
sometimes distort the content, the intent,
the soul of a message I so desperately need.

Broadcast warnings, safety suggestions,
help and hope are torn to slivers
and rewoven in my careworn brain.

The distraction of the road allows the subliminal heart beat
to tattoo in my ear then my chest, all the way to my toes,
bodily acceptance overpowers my relentless mind
and clarity is achieved, no matter the drifts.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 13



QUEEN’S COUNTENANCE


I know the 7 P’s of preparation. I set the table for those I know. The unexpected arrive clothed in time and tradition. They seat themselves at the table with the naked. They become mute. We prattle and pose, rarely glimpsing the goals sitting at the unset seats. What we need to become is far from what we are. I can not even call it other. It is within when we make room and ether when we won’t. I can wait and try but the juice is deep with the pulp. I get myself in line for the future and wait for the clothes offered by my guests. I sit the emperor and rise the queen.


Hear the sweetness in your own voice; taste the salt in your own tears.
*

Madame Alexander


I am, too naïve;
if you show me kindness I will believe you,
follow you, obey you, so, I have rules.

These rules do not protect me,
but they do make a box for me to seal myself inside.
Where I will ship myself, stack myself, hide myself,
well, that I do not know.

I pull the flaps down
and pray not to have to make any real decisions.
I fold my arms and close my mind

Believing I could never adequately open it enough
to safely live in the world outside of this closet.
Here I sit wondering what to write on this label
in order to be left alone

All the while longing for true love
a thing never given to a quivering china doll
shut up in a carton at the bottom of a wardrobe.



.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 24



CLOCKS


When the clock stops, I wind it up or replace the battery. I have to; time doesn’t end because the arms grow slow. The device wears down but the day is not over. Even if my internal metronome is bollixed, the planets keep revolving. I can’t step off the world; it doesn’t stop turning for me. I don’t always have to keep my head up but I must always go on. There is no going back. I can only remember yesterday. I can’t return to it though it’s so close the flowers are still fresh. Sometimes I struggle to keep my hands off of the past. Those are the days I secure my future and wind the clocks.


Create a map to your own happiness.
*


Princess No More

Decent is less obvious than accent
and so it is with dethroning;
those who put you upon the gilt alter with much aplomb
feel no qualm in taking you down
with not as much as a word or a grunt.

The wind has changed and your reign is over,
the poor startled girl is suddenly in the street.
For a scepter is not a club and why fight for a throne,
which is proven to be nothing more than a straight backed chair
once separated from its right relationships.

The horror of unexpected common status
is for the young bride an issue of safety and trust
not of ego or presumption.
Who is she without the Prince, the Knight,
she is Princess No More.




.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 12

THE WORM


Because there is never enough punishment for those who inflict hurt, I punish myself. Only I can tell if the depth of the pain is a match; only I can judge when enough is enough. This is the turn of the drunken worm who lives in my brain. The belief that what began in pain must end there, too. Even now in recovery, I persist in hurting myself a thousand tiny ways. setting trap after trap to catch the perpetrators, I make my heart a mine field, a place unfit for me to live. I must sober the worm and let myself off the hook.


Dip intentions into action and let them firm up.

*
Circular Needles

I react badly when I find a loose thread
because I never know what might be unraveling.
I have knit my heart out;
have dropped an occasional stitch to be sure.

Unbeknown to me these little holes in my logic
wait for the stress of overextension
to run through the length of my life, untying earnest work.

If I could catch these unsecured thoughts
before it all goes too far ,
I might have a chance to hook back into the main fabric
and prevent this unfurling of collateral.

When the cord is cut and the line flaps freely real panic ensues.
Even if capture of both ends is possible,
knots are awkward, unseemly and gauche.

I was planning a seamless life, smooth and beyond reproach.
My fear of reprisal flares
before the ever-burning coals of abject self-doubt
have a chance to be felt.

This banked inferno generates the things which bake and fry my nerves,
burn my threads and disintegrate my mantle.
I need to put out the fire before I re-knit my world.




.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 13

OPEN WINDOWS



I roll down the window in the rain hoping reality will soak in with the droplets. I tilt up my face as I leave the car and let the water shower my features. The downpour is the jolt to living for which I have prayed. I stand on my lawn and rinse the day out of my hair; I clear my brain in the fresh rainwater. The driving rain pounds the house and trees but I feel massaged and cared for. My skin, reflexive, teaches my mind to absorb and hydrate. I turn my thoughts to Greater Powers. Even if the doors have been closed, I can open the windows and let the rain come in.


Soap the windows on some of your ideas so you can work in privacy.
*


Down to the Watership


The immoderate champions immoderation;
the glutton recommends consumption,
more often than not a drunk will pour you a drink

It is part of the social norm to conform
to the addiction of the day.
If we are all high we laugh at each other’s jokes
and there is less finger pointing about the mess.

When we are all in this together we sink or we swim,
but we mustn’t look around.
Like the rabbits who cannot ask, “Where?”

We try to look at ease with dying
and contented with our lot.
More must be better
for we can’t survive on less than what we’ve got.


.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 14



RED ROSES


From tight green buds come beautiful red roses. From small verdant places I blossom, too. I open to richness unexpected and fullness unbelieved. I look at laundry crumpled, never anticipating the look of clean sheets blowing on the line. Doors I perceive as blocked by vast boulders are thrown open by willingness. Who I am today is no one I recognize; I didn’t see myself coming. I write though I can’t spell. I love though my heart is broken. I think though my mind is warped and I trust though the amulet is long shattered. Promise is not a laid out plan but the continuum of change. I can fight it or let it carry me where it goes.



Smile at similes.
*


What I Heard Through the Snow

The commentator’s voice fades in and out
as the reception is lost and found
among the static of my drive home.

In here is a pattern, a connect the dots matrix;
I try to feel my way too
as I weave past the slow and stubborn traffic.

Like a call from the wilderness
distorted through a storm, my frantic thoughts obscure,
sometimes distort the content, the intent,
the soul of a message I so desperately need.

Broadcast warnings, safety suggestions,
help and hope are torn to slivers
and rewoven in my careworn brain.

The distraction of the road allows the subliminal heart beat
to tattoo in my ear then my chest, all the way to my toes,
bodily acceptance overpowers my relentless mind
and clarity is achieved, no matter the drifts.


.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 15



IN THE MEADOW


Being the only tree in the meadow often leaves me feeling lonely. I tell myself of the camaraderie I imagine in the forest. These images are more poetic than real. I believe in community and support; I think of the woods as this place apart from the complications of my exposed life. I shrug off the very real competition and struggle from sharing every inch of root space and the search for each square of sunlight. There is much joy in being an individual. An eco-system of diversity allows me to fully develop. I can spread my branches and my roots. I can offer shelter to those in need of my reaching and my shadow; tender flowers and tired birds find me a haven. I have unique abilities in this field. Space can feel lonely but it is full of possibilities.


Press up against your iron will.
*

Poe-etiquette


Cosmic questions cross the sky,
I wonder but don’t ask why
I pitch the tent, but don’t stay the night

I borrow money and don’t pay the rent
I sooth myself but can’t be content
I earn my keep though it is all been spent

The real true meanings are pushed away,
Has ready tragedy come to stay
Forever darkness, no more light of day
Cheerful greeting left to lay

All the poets bring their knives
For blood letting’s become their prize
Here I sit and tend the boat

Rocking dingy out to moor
I play the Raven, black and poor
I dare not speak it but in my mind sing
“Never more”

.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 16

THE BEAR

Living with my disease is like having a sleeping bear in the house. I knew it was there, could hear it snore. I never felt comfortable or able to turn my back on it and get on with my life. I felt under certain threat. Fearing the bear would wake when my attention was elsewhere, I proceeded to poke my sleeping bear with a stick. I prodded it to wakefulness; in retrospect, it is clear I was unprepared for a wakeful bear, even with my full attention fixed on this brute. The bear, which is my disease, roamed about the house and made forays out into the world. I had no plan or tool for these events. Finding a legion of people who had worked out living arrangements with their bears, I happily joined their ranks. My bear wakes and sleeps at its will but I am no longer afraid or unskilled at handling this creature. Today I am so grateful for the bear in my life and would never want a life without it. I live in a world filled with bears and would be at a loss as to how to exist if not for the practice and success with the bear that is my own.


Draw a picture of time.
*

Limen


Do you leave when it is time to go
or are you the type who exits early?
Does departure time find you lingering
trying to squeeze out one more minute
rooted in this spot?

Are you the kind of person who loves the street,
but avoids the parade?
Can you bear to go, bear to stay,
bear to think that the world exists beyond this door?

Do you move with the other sheep
when all the crowd says, “Baa.”
Are you fleet with a sky full of clouds obeying the breeze,
flaunting the tides?

Do you change with the seasons
or are you passed from hand to hand,
living your life in the snow of a globe?

My life is my life,
but the most vital evidence of how I live it
is what I do on thresholds.



.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 17


BOUQUET

I love the flowers in my garden. Their upkeep is my solemn trust. With my shears, I must cut, clear and swift, the runners that detract from their health and structure. When fruiting is heavy, I must spare the stalk and choose what stays and what needs to be taken. I am scrupulous in my observation of form and function. The bucolic scene thrives; the pageant of color sweeps the rows. I bend to nurture and stretch to prune. I pay over-much attention to the plucking and forget I need to bring the blooms home.


Allow a dark worldview to illuminate a lightness of spirit.
*


Tea Totaler


My alcoholism was anonymous
even while I was active.
My destruction was internal,
outside evidence kept to a minimum.

It is easy to understand why so many
from my past as well as my present
are shocked to see me a member
in good standing for a club they never saw
me pay the price to join.

But cost doesn’t always advertise in the public square.
I know the score, the numbers etched upon my soul.
I need to be well even if you didn’t know, I am sick.

I take the medicine;
offer a smile to those who think it prophylactic
and keep upon my path.

Just because you didn’t know the contents of my bottle
doesn’t mean I didn’t earn the tag on my tea.




.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 18



CLONING DAYS


The novelty of sobriety causing sweet days wore to gauze and I attempted control. I cut, pasted and sutured elements of good living in an effort to make 24 hours of personal perfection. I was so sure I could replicate these jewel like days. I would make perfect spheres, everything round and even, one after another like a string of pearls. The more I tried the harder God laughed. Days are their own planets; Saturn is different from Mars and today will have just as little to do with tomorrow if I let it all work out. Perfection is a thing, which is born to live, not a thing I can craft in a dish or a test tube. Life must will-out or chaos will prevail.



Take two words and make a seesaw in your mind.
*



Who is Who

Remake the bed for the restless child in you
who sleeps better if attention is paid to the small kindnesses.
Placating her saves you the sound of her plaintive cry.

If you teach yourself
or allow yourself to grow fond of her, this child you,
these simple chores will seem light, refreshing, natural.

If you fight her she will grow strong
and you will grow weak.
Don’t resist nature.
Don’t resist your nature.

Take a hug to share
as you would take an apple divided
on a walk in the woods with a companion.

Share emotional embraces,
let your thoughts surround her
when you make plans and do deals.

If you treat her as if she is the best of you,
you will become the best of her.



.