Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

34 years ago my Daddy found an alternate route home by passing the plan hys addiction had for hym. I am so fortunate to have met hym on this path!!!!




My Daddy is the coolest ever!!














Happy Sober Birthday!!!





all my love, the girl

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 7


Dion


Everything in the world happened before I was born and the cinders sift through my fingers. Accomplishing cohesion of the ashes is a goal I have not yet achieved. Cremains precious but meager are a difficult building material, shifting due to emotions and wind, I find they stick too well to my lungs and not well enough to anything else. Tears help, but I will not cry forever. I must draw from a fresh water source and wet the powdery scratch I have inherited and form the world anew.


Use caution when interacting with the crème de la crème this may trigger intolerance



*


OLD GOLDFISH

I got them when my sobriety was new.
They were tiny little guys, ten cent feeders.
I wanted my stepson to sleep soundly
In our strange jumble of a home, fresh from purchase.

The tank sat on a dresser under his elevated bed
Space to fit my hand to feed them
No space for baby boy to climb in
I loved my goldfish.

There is never a NO with goldfish
Feed them as often as you want
Let the water get cold
Put them in a big space, small place, plants, no plants.

NO was so hard, I hate and fear No.
I am hard, fish are easy.
Tears and mesmerizing aquarium
Meetings and steps.

I could not keep myself alive
I don't know how I kept the fish fed.
The program kept me going,
Kept hope flowing and the fish swam.

In this century when we are finally outliving wild goldfish
We are sober together,
By the grace of Higher Power, in this century.
It's been a wonderful time.

I am grateful to be here with the goldfish.
I am grateful the goldfish are here for me.
Expecting so little
Maybe I could return the favor

[Tommi]

What it was like: What a sobering thought. I did ride those dangerous bikes, I did chase with the CHP on the LA Freeways. I did dance and fuck the years away with girls I never knew , but for that fucking experience, another high.

My biggest excursions from the past I used to have SOME memory of.

It did not scare me to wake up and not remember the night or day before.

Did not care about the headaches, or what people told me. Did not care if I went to work dizzy, if I went at all. I didn't care that my Mother and I , and her girlfriend were homeless and lived in a park near Disneyland. Didn't care that I made money from spending time...with older women in the Hollywood Hills.

It did not concern me that hanging and retching over some filthy stinking toilet bowl in any dirty bar I could get to, if I was fortunate to make it that was not a normal thing when I drank. It just seemed to give me more room to drink again, when I woke up. At those times, I was the party animal, the social bad boy who could leap tall girls in a single bound. I was loved and I loved, or ...so I thought.

The startling pictures of me trapped beside a porcelain throne and the wall is one of my startling wake up photo's. They told me they wera about to call the fire department, because i was so stuck. They did not, but took the time to take pictures, and let me sleep it off right there. I never recalled it, but looked at the ugly pictures of a drunk and realized THAT WAS ME, and I did not look like I was having a good time.

I did care about the holes punched in walls, the wrath when i turned on those I loved, who took the blunt of the unhappy drunk. I did care about the money I wasted over many years, over many people. I did care when I caught my partner cheating on me and almost killed that other person. I moved out and left the house to her. I did care after another nasty breakup, that I had to file bankruptcy and I left her keep the house. Signed a Quit Claim deed for a dollar.


What it is like now:
Since then, the sober walk taught me, I can dance...even better, because I don't fall. I choose the time and place to crash. The memory isn't affected by alcohol and drugs, but..where DID I PARK my car, is a common thing I hear. Where my keys are is important..and what I had for dinner two days ago don't matter. If I forget your name, I may remember where we were, and what you were wearing.

and as for the Love/s in my life. I remember all the loving beautiful, and sexual creatures I have been blessed to be with. I found my bio-family to be accepting of who the sober me is. I found my chosen family to be the best people on the Planet, whether or not they are sober or not, and I get to be surrounded by those I choose. My Ex of 21 years, and I raised a beautiful daughter, who had a small wonderful wedding , and now 5 years later, I have two amazing, Grandkids.

I was able to go back to school and work, and back to school while I worked 3 jobs, and and, I loved school, so ..well two Master's Degrees later, I now enjoy the career path started after the USAF. I was helped by the strong character of a mother who got sober the same time I did. I had the help of loved ones that knew I could make it. Have healthy relationships with Ex's and my family/s.

Now, I just do the fun stuff, travel, do photgraphy, plant a garden, and mow the lawn, and move the rocks, and take fun sculpting and art classes for the fun of using the kiln and racks, and being with other artists.

I have a career that gives me joy, pleasure and helps others as I have been helped. Security of a job which I will choose the date when I leave. My own home in the safest city in America for the past 6 years, and many people in my life that are pure and sound, and loving. I have a girl I met on-line that adores me, loves writing and art too, accepts this LDR, and I adore in my own sobering selfish way-Plus she has been sober for over twenty years. She posts here, and other places every day in her giving back service to those that may join her on the path.

I am thrilled to be the designated driver. I am uplifted to travel and attend an AA meeting with total strangers , and feel at home, and who for that time are not picking up, offering hugs with no strings attached, and of course drink a cup of that famous AA coffee.

Tonight, I will take my chip from someone who is probably new to the program, and doing service because they were told it is good to do. Who is probably younger than the years I have been sober. They will be scared of someone with so many years, and don't know if they could ever do it. I will tell them.

Just For Today, we are sober together, and hope to see them again as we trudge this road of happy destiny. My God has blessed me in many ways, and for 12, 418 days, or 1072949261. 62 , 63 hearbeats i have been one of millions doing it One Day at a Time.....

Check yours out here->

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 8


Lathe


Turning into a spin, the edge cuts into my misconceptions, the point sharp and accurate to a fault digs into the excess I carry around, keeping me from my useful purpose. A good eye and steady hand are needed lest breakthrough ruin me. Not that all is ever lost for a spoon with a hole in the bowl will stir a soup smooth. Relinquishing my burdens and trusting the carvers tools and methods takes great commitment. I am carved commitment or no, but things turn out better when I don’t flinch.

If you can’t make hay then mow the lawn

*

IN A BACKWATER

There is a place so removed, uninspired, ignorance flourishes
I hate to go there.
I avoid it when I can
Today I could not avoid it.
Today I saw the gable end of a small barn
Half hidden in the scrub trees.
On the face of the gable end are two plywood cutouts
They are large, taking up the major portion of the space.
The first is a budgie, a bright blue parakeet, 7 or 8 feet tall.
It is tilted to it's side, it looks dyslexic but intriguing
Above it is a cutout of a black guitar, similar in length.
Hanging long ways across the top, almost from eve to eve.
I don't know what it means.
Why they are there.
Who could have put them there.
A story is there,
Just sticking it's tongue out at me.
I can hardly bear it.
I think of God and laugh.
If my God has nothing better to do then tease me,
I need a better God.
I think of my Higher Power and wonder if the power is curious too.
Am I overlapping a layer of consciousness I have no part in?
Is this subliminal previews of my future?
Am I too nosey for my own good?
I just don't know
It could be something all together different
I have only time.
Time will tell in the end it always does.
I hate to wait

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 9


Crestfallen


“Whoa is me, I have crested the rise only to slide down the other side. Hard work and determination culminated in victory but alas it was short lived. Success is barely meaningful if it is permanent. Poor, poor dear, I will have to strive once more at the face of a new challenge or even worse might have to make another run at this one. How shall I ever bear it?” I lament, my sponsor smiles.
“Are you learning to be amused at yourself or hoping to bring back melodrama to the everyman?” She queries.
“A little of both I think, whining is a consolation to me,” I reply.
“It’s nice that you’re not doing it at me, but even nicer that you have let your achievements teach you to laugh at your mishaps,” says my sponsor with a kiss to my forehead.

Butter both sides of your intentions



*


BREAKING MY OWN GLASS

The police of a small town caught a serial glass breaker today.
The man who owned a plate glass repair shop
Was breaking store front windows.
I break my own.
I go through my life, I slash my own tires
And break my own glass.
I fear continuity, stability, success.
I love damage control, making arts and craft from my slivers and shards
"Think what you could do with undamaged goods." Says my sponsor
I don't know how to do anything with undamaged goods
Except damage them or give them to others.
"Saddest thing I've ever heard." she counters
I can make a quilt from discarded clothes, mosaics from shattered dishes
A collage from junk mail and rescue every stray on the block,
See the potential in every person in a crowded hall
And hold your hand and cheer you on.
"What have you done for you lately?" my sponsor taunts
She is making my point, what can I do for me?
Search and destroy?
Live outside myself?
I have to be sober to be me, I can't go around making a mess
Just so I have something familiar to wallow in.
What if I can't do anything fresh?
"Learn to market the retreads.' she says

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 10

Hoarfrost


On balmy evenings dew forms in my life and moistens my extremities. This friendly act requires the maintenance of temperature. If I become suddenly cool the landscape changes and the once welcoming vapor is now a show of crystalline rigidity. Cold to the morning light I am brittle and snap at even a tentative touch. For want of passion I have replaced it with definition and structure I can not absorb. I am outlined clearly but no longer myself. I am frozen, formally changed within and without. Warmth is necessary, but how to start my own fire? Learn, I must and quickly lest frostbite set in.

Wear your mantle don’t leave it to the fireplace


*

LONELINESS EATS MY LUNCH




There are days loneliness eats my lunch
And I can't fight back.
How can I stand it,
How can it still be this bad?

I pull out the old chestnuts.
If I'm not happy with what I have
How could I be happier with more?
Even tickets on the 50 yard line don't interest me, I came to play.

I think of other slogans, the tidbits, the smiles and hugs.
I roll them around.
Still, there are days my lunch is gulped down
And I sit with my plate empty.

Pickle juice, coleslaw drool is small comfort
Actually, it's a jeer.
I stare at my empty plate
I turn and twist it, stick my tongue out at it.

"Your good company." Says my sponsor
Then why am I alone, if I'm so good
If my company is worthwhile
Why do I sit her hungry and desperate?

"Are you sure you are?"
It sure feels that way.
"Well, it might be true and it might not."
I get it.

I am unhooked from myself
I am ignoring the multitude at my elbow
While looking for someone in my lap
I'm holding out for old terms from a new contract

I am loved by people
Who aren't trying to consume me
And I am letting my expectations
Dine for free.

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 11



Pepo


My father used to destroy a perfectly good watermelon by cutting a triangle in the top and pouring a bottle of vodka into it. I used to destroy my perfectly good melon the same way. Emulating bad ideas in new ways was a onetime pastime of mine. Giving it up was harder than I had expected. Flawed thinking blends so freely with my mental landscape I have trouble distinguishing it. Condemning the action and not the man is not usually my preferred method. I would rather condemn the man, but this leaves me with the actions in place and him long gone. And though I prefer him gone I will recreate him within myself if I don’t flush his actions as well. I have a good pumpkin on my shoulders but it is my job to keep it intact.

No need to wait for joy, jump when you please



*

LIFE IS TOO GOOD





I know it sounds crazy, is crazy
But I hate having the fear, the gnawing gut, of WHAT IF
WHAT IF I can't maintain this, the sober life I live.
WHAT IF I get struck, unable to connect to my Higher Power?

I had a spiritual awaking
WHAT IF I get spiritual narcolepsy?
My spiritual cord was cut when I was young, not by my choosing
WHAT IF it gets cut again?

"WHAT IF this line of thinking cuts it?" Asks my sponsor
I hate when she's right.
WHAT IF this is a test?
Be like them or not.

Follow the path of the twelve steps
When there is no weight of need pushing me
When everything is going in my direction
I have to keep my eye on the ball for myself.

I am still not God
This is the lesson
The abusers never learned
The one I have to.

What went wrong was not bad people
Making bad choices, in bad circumstances
It was disconnected people
Making decisions without help.

I have to stay in your pocket
Never be a free bird
I have to remember what true freedom is
It's not being cut loose.

I have had that
And it never felt free
Keep your eye on the ball
And hold onto my hand.

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 12

Live Bait



Is being a taunt to others really a life? Dangling as the cover for a hook, luring intended and unintended to their deaths, is that living? Or if I draw you with my attack rather than my appeal is that a worthwhile existence? If I carry myself filled with poison praying for a strike is that anything other than a march to an unhappy grave for two, or more? Hidden under an avalanche of harassment strips me of my vital quality and my soul loses its true nature. I am allowed to transcend the setup of competition and social strife. It’s alright to be tempting with no agenda. I could be an appetizer if only I removed the barbs or better yet I could be dessert.

Tuck tiny wishes between your toes.



*

JOY IS NOT ENOUGH

I was driving around in my car
Eating a meltingly ripe persimmon
On the radio came a fiddle playing band
Performing their rendition of In The White Room

I was traveling with the three drafts of my first step
Version one consisted of 690-some words
And the final had only four, JOY IS NOT ENOUGH
That's it, the whole thing.

Today my life is unmanageable
Due to the fact that having a balanced life
Feeling my wide range of feelings, including joy,
Is not sufficient to eliminate the pain and damage of the past.
My horrific childhood has not healed
Has not mended seamlessly
I have joy today, everyday, at some point
In proportion to my sober choices.

I fail to realize the promise doesn't say, Heal the past
It says, I will not regret the past.
I don't, at least not any of the choices I made,
Other peoples choices are not mine to regret.

I will not wish to shut the door on the past
And I don't wish to.
I want it Healed
I may not get my wish

Just because I am doing my part to heal the past
Doesn't make anyone else do it
I can't strong-arm the perpetrators into recovery
The way they strong-armed me into the abuse

JOY IS NOT ENOUGH but it's a hell of a start.