Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 24


COMPOST

Looking at the bins, the stages of decomposition remind me of my disease, the stinking garbage I came in with. I have learned to work my program the same way I learned to tend my pile: personal experience, advice, watching and smelling the mistakes of others and myself. I learned that covering thoroughly with meetings and steps works like leaves and hay to eliminate the immediate stench. Circulation is important to prevent me from becoming stale. In the end, the secret is turning it over. If I don’t turn it over, I become putrid; I rot and ferment instead of decomposing, breaking down in a way which restores me to usefulness. When I work the process, my Higher Power turns me into a medium of growth, a renewed source of life and depth. I become rich in all the things that matter and sought after by all the people involved in planting seeds of hope.
My sponsor says it’s a sign of humility that I aspire to be like dirt, encouraging sprouts from the remnants of my past.
She might be right.


Speak from your heart, listen with your mind.
*


Frankie


“Why do I expect new leaves to grow on dead sticks?”
I pleaded to my sponsor.
“Is that a ‘why do fools fall in love’, question?” she retorted.

“Oh, I suppose it is. I was doing so well having a ‘listen only’
relationship with someone then she asked why I don’t tell her
my opinion and I like a ‘fool’ I told her.
The ensuing pile of rationalizing and justifying
she gave stank up my whole day.”

“I bet your steady stream of self-reproach didn’t help either,”
my sponsor added.
“But, I know better!” I cried. “I mean this is why I stopped
my speaking role with this girl.
I know she is a reactor NOT a listener.
How could I fall apart at her first recognition that I am wordless
in the face of her diatribes?”

“You were hopeful, is that such a crime?
You think better of people than they really are.
I think that helps you stay willing to help them,” she soothed.

“Yes, but this snapped my willingness to work with her in half.
How do I put it back together?”
“Maybe you needed to learn that it’s okay to leave the dead sticks behind.”


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 27


DEEP IN THE SEA

Under the mirror, there is a life. Under what I reflect to the world, I am a world apart. I smile sweetly, political in my response to confrontation and conflict. Deep, deep in the sea, is a current of sadness I can’t always shake. Pain is the past, but it’s there like a moray, lurking to strike aimlessly, pointlessly, at the passers-by. The ripping teeth and cold stare, my terror. No way to escape it, I focus on the topside, the reflective part of me. I keep the surface as clean and free as can be. I stick to my business, list goals and make plans. The water runs cold and then hot beneath. I carry the steps to this under-water grave, trying to inflate the rubber skin of god, but no. There is no life in the god of my understanding, or maybe there is no life for the character the drowned balloon represents. The sea is bigger than me, the life stronger and more abundant. The sky it reflects as vast as the liquid I swim. There is a Power and it doesn’t need that comic book face. Safety is not the requirement that can be granted. Lack of safety does not end my life. It does not end God.


Tear open your thoughts like a letter you read mostly between the lines.
*

A Living Love




What I love about the program
is that it is a living thing, like me.
It is not perfect, it is growing and changing,
adapting and correcting for each experience and need.

AA is a life into life process
and saves me because life begets life,
no matter what I was told.

The answer to life is living
and I get to see that being done
by everyone from newcomer to old-timer
each at his or her personal ability.

I am allowed to dangle my feet,
wade, tread-water and swim,
all under the watchful eye of
loving support and critical pretender.

Difficulty is not removed nor is the way made smooth,
but I am no longer without a thread to hold.
I love the web I help weave myself into
and feel protected from the spider of my addiction
because together we are living proof.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 28


AMENDS


Amends is about truth and change. The relationships of my past were places of little truth and even less change. I tried to be nice not honest; I tried to keep things going even when they needed to die. Making amends has ended most of my relationships from the past. A quick strong 10th step keeps me from starting too many new ones. Good healthy relationships require time and attention, so this necessitates a short list. Sometimes I wish for more quantity, but I realize in sobriety I cannot accept less quality.



Tie your shoes with humor.
*

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.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 29

MY MOTHER’S FACE


The way that age pours down my mother's face when she is sad reminds me that grief runs through my blood. Generation after generation has been transfused with anxious woe. Heartbreak vexes minds full of fear. There is no easy way to round the bend on sharp pointed issues; the route is circuitous. I battle the chaotic thinking to fight my way back to a place where my mother’s eyes sparkle as they squint closed with her smile. The war of peace is not easily won by contemporaries. We must close ranks between the ages to keep the joy from sheeting off our skin and keep the sadness in proportion. Restore us to our possible bliss; we can overtake ecstasy from there.


Build ladders for the boxes that confine you.
*

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 30


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 succor, but never look for the breast. I am the child of God; I must learn to draw God in.


Paint a picture of life after expectation.
*

Inertia

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. 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?


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 31


TRUST

My sponsor always says, “You can trust people to be who they are.” I am a different being in relationship to different people. To some, I am the center of their constellation, the sun burning bright; I’m all they can see. To others, I am the moon, orbiting them, silent and dedicated. With another group, I am a comet streaking through the sky, seldom seen but well remembered. For many, I am a distant star, one among the multitude, blending in the night with the other signs. Then, there are the folks who see me in a more down to earth way. I am the dirt beneath their feet. The farmers see me as a plant to be tended. The cowboys view me as a horse to be broken. To fishermen, I’m a catch. I am what people want to see, so what can I trust them to be? Wrapped in their own worlds? Yes, mostly, I guess. None of my business in the end. I watch them and learn what I want to do, who I want to be, in large part, by avoiding what I see them do. I do trust people to serve as bad examples often and good ones infrequently, and for each of them to see me through their own filter, if they see me at all. From me, they can expect the same.



Find a corner, then pitch a tent.
*




The Was and the Is

The Silent Scream that existed as a placeholder
for my G-d was incomprehensible to me.
I entered AA and was informed
that understanding my Higher Power was required
not just some far distant goal.
In true alcoholic form my first move was to shun G-d.
This made room for my rage
which was in much need of the space.
After a few fine years of dissipation
I lost interest in incendiary devices
no matter how large their detonation capacity.
Having cleared the room I brought in G-d as potted plant.
I talked to it occasionally, watered and fed it, mostly ignored it.
Growing in spite of lacking ministrations
G-d was an unobtrusive force living in the corner
changing gas into air and demanding nothing.
As I quelled my apprehension and lived with the Presence
I looked, listened, probed and questioned
the subtle Force sharing the room.
“Add it up,” chanted the children in my ear,
“run the numbers, settle the accounts.”
I calculated proofs and discarded the faulty and inaccurate.
What was left, the whole, not the remainder was mine to keep,
But it was not everything. I haven’t an everything G-d,
because I am not a nothing person.
I am something and G-d is something too.

We are complimentary,
like pairs of angles who come full circle.



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

It's today!!

A whole 2 years sober!!

Amazing stuffs.

This thread and it's lovely OP has played a huge part in my recovery, I will be forever grateful for your words Sherrie.
Thank-you from the bottom of my sober heart.

[LeftWriteFemme]

Congratulations my friend!!!

Thank you for doing all the work to walk this sober road!

[LeftWriteFemme]

February 1


WHEN I WAS YOUNG

I’m sure it will come soon, a time I can be a carefree innocent. Worn and weary, I slog through the painful over-awareness of what was considered my childhood. What can I do but hope things will get simpler as I age? My sobriety takes years from my face; lines slip from me and I feel the weight lift from my shoulders. My tender branches, twisted with the constant force of wind, bud and flower in the shelter of recovery, holding themselves in their own embrace. Colors seep to the windows of my mind, form pictures and carry me to a new world. Through limpid pools I dive as I look to the mirror. Serenity, a rebounding of life fills me, and I am the gentle girl I missed so long. Longing for my loveliness, I cry at the sight of my baby one. I have not yet taken my place on the swing but I have been down to the edge of the playground and run barefoot in the sand. I will be who I was to be; it’s late but it’s better. I know well enough to enjoy it as it comes, treasure it for every sweetness. I will come into my youth.



Listen for a bridge that calls your name.
*



Principles before Personalities............and Gratitude!


As with everything I have to be careful
of how I infer meaning.
You say ‘Principles before Personalities’ and I hear,
Their principles and Their personalities,
immediately I’m on a tear.

How different if I think of ‘my’ principles and ‘my’ personality.
When I face it this way it is reflexive;
I embrace my principles and my personality falls into step.
I am safe and sane therefore gratitude follows
just as the topic suggests.

Good orderly direction is elegant when I don’t reverse direction.
There is an obvious way to pet the cat when I accept that
we get along fine, when I don’t………well, need I say more?


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

February 2



THE DIFFERENCE


Falling and flying are the same, save the landing. No matter what you do in the air, how well or how poorly, in the end, if you don’t land it, it’s a fall and if you do, a flight. How we begin seems of ultimate importance but is seen as a farce in the face of ruin. The most promising of starts can be sucked groundward, compass and instrumentation rendered useless, through a lack of humility. Piteous starts, starts without plan or goal are viewed as triumphs when safety has been captured from defeat. Willingness is my aileron. It contributes to my lift in ways I cannot explain, smoothes the gusts of life which forever blow in my face, and willingness brings the ground up to meet me. All I have to do is be willing and stick out my feet.



Use all your words.

*

Know Enough to Clap




If I know I’m happy I can clap my hands,
but if I’m happy and I don’t know it, what then?
Will my face display telltale signs
without whispering a word of it to my mind?

Will I whistle a happy tune
therefore revealing my inner state?
If I can’t demonstrate my reality does it cease to exist?

Does my retarded ability to reflect my emotion
condemn me to remedial society?
Is there any other society?

If I become well enough to reflexively feel
and exhibit my mood will I graduate
to the advanced class or be forever alone

No longer having a place
amid the emotional head bangers,
hair twirlers and cobweb pickers?

Is it a choice of knowing happiness in isolation
or confusion with a crowd?
Could I know? Should I know? Would I know?
Who knows?



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