Thoughts From a Boiled Frog

Locks and Keys

2012-03-11T17:14:00.001-07:00

I know I've written this here before, but I'm going to probably mention it a lot when I write, because it is in my mind all of the time. God. I believe in God and miracles. I believe all of it. If God felt it necessary for me to move a mountain, a real, dirt and rock mountain, I would be able to move it. That's how powerful I know God can be. I also know He can be powerful in the other, quiet direction. I pray every morning. I pray in the car. I pray in the garden. I pray when I'm folding clothes. Not always long prayers, but thank yous and questions. I am just talking with God all of the time. Having said that, sometimes I need a break. I took a break, today. I didn't go to church. I didn't pray in the morning. I just sat quietly on the couch and watched the clock, trying to make wasting time an excuse for missing church. I know there's going to be smiling faces, encouragement, beautiful music, and an amazing lesson, but I stayed home.

I needed a break because things aren't working out here. I don't feel prayers are being answered fast enough. I go through this cycle. If God's not on our clock, then what's the point in praying? If He already knows your heart, why pray? I know the answers to these questions, but I still ask them. Mostly, because I'm pouting and being frustrated with God. I am playing that old, crackly song, "Why Me, God? What Did I Do Wrong?" in my head. I know the lyrics by heart, and sometimes I add new ones. I get tired of hearing the song, but I play it, anyway. I get so frustrated. I play this song, knowing that I have experienced God's hand pulling us out of tragedies, or preventing them all together. I played the song today, because there have been no miracles in my daughter's thinking, yet.

It was good here for a while, now it's not good. We talked today, and I felt scared because she didn't want to talk and seemed so distant. I think it is important for her to talk. To get out of the past. I need to get out of the past, too. I thought about that on the couch. And then I thought, "How can I get out of the past, when the past won't let me leave?" I think that's where she is stuck, too. So, on the couch, in the quiet, pouting and sad, I thought about ways to get out of the past. What holds me there? Resentment; What could have been. Sadness. Fatigue; It's hard moving forward at times. Anger; Why did this have to happen? Jealousy; I see how friend's children are moving forward and I fall back to resentment. Those are the locks on the door to my past. There are days when I think I have the keys that fit, but though the key goes in, for some reason, they don't turn, so that I can open that door and finally leave. I sat on the couch for about an hour, trying to figure out where to find the keys. I know God has them somewhere, hidden in a passage or waiting to be spoken by someone. So, I try to pay attention when I read or when I listen to people. I went back to talk to my daughter later in the afternoon. She was still sad, but I stayed and we talked. Things felt a little better. She is going to try, again. That might be the start of a miracle, I think.

The weather was beautiful here, today. Like Spring. I opened all of the windows. The fresh air smelled wonderful. I worked outside. I cleared my head. I'm going to pray, again, in the morning. I'm going get a good night's sleep so that I can move forward and keep an eye out for those keys.

The Old Ways

2012-03-08T03:09:00.001-08:00

I have a student in class who's behaviors reflect my feelings as I'm wandering through this part of my life with my daughter (He is the one I wrote about wanting a 'do-over'). I am always fascinated by how fragile we all really are. This child is very smart and loving. Regardless of how mad he gets at me (I am the boundary maker and it's hard to accept at any age) he always wants me to walk him to his bus. He thrives on unbending routine. He is from a good home. His mother loves him very much. He doesn't like surprises. I think this is because he has an older sister at home who is very handicapped. His mom has told me on several occasions that she is taken to the hospital during the night, or is up all night. Her disability causes a lot of disruption and inconsistencies. My student, I'll call him Sam (not his real name) I believe has in his young mind, become so upset by change and needs consistency so much, that he spends his whole life now, making sure things are done his way. If things are done his way, then he feels there will be no 'surprises'. He can be in control, and feel safe and comfortable. He has created an intricate maze of boundaries around himself. The only problem is that he can't always figure out how to get out of that maze. He locks himself in and any change, then, causes severe anxiety and stress. This is my opinion from observing and working with him, but I know I'm right. :)

Anyway, because of his needing to control, which also feeds into his need to have perfect grades, introducing a new concept to him must be attempted very gingerly. You have to talk to him about it first, several days in advance. "You know, Sam, you do very well at multiplication. We're going to be learning division in a few weeks. I know you'll do just as well then, too." Then show him some problems, just to get a visual. Then slowly introduce it in between the multiplication. It's time consuming and a little like baiting a squirrel with a nut, but it works. So, I have a student teacher in the room. She had just finished fractions. We are usually in small groups, but I told her to try teaching the whole class decimals. Addition and subtraction of decimals went well. Sam was doing fine. Understanding the concepts. Lining up the decimals for adding and subtracting fit into his tight comfort zone frame work. Then came multiplication of decimals. He could multiply but thought that he only had to count the decimal point not the spaces to figure out the answer. He couldn't handle this. First, he just sat at his desk, like his brain was trying but just couldn't accept that amount of a new idea. Then he clenched his teeth. His eyes got red, and he started balling up his fists. I'm watching him, preparing for what comes next. He gets up and comes over to me. Through clenched teeth, "This is not right. I am not going to do this." "What's not right, Sam?" "You know. I am not going to do this." "Multiplying the decimals?" "Yes. It is wrong. You are doing it wrong. I can not do it." "Sam, you're very smart. You know how to multiply, all you have to do is count the spaces to place the decimal." He talks like a robot when he's mad. He needs to make sure each word is perfect and explicit. This discussion continues for 40 minutes. He won't sit down. He follows me. If I sit down, he stands behind me. You can hear him taking in breaths through his teeth, breathing hard. And I patiently continue to reassure him, that it will be okay, and he will be able to do this like he's done all of the other times. His response, "I want to go back to the Old Ways." (He means fractions because they were easy for him).

When he said that, for two seconds I felt as though I were in an ancient Indian tribe. The Old Ways. The Old Ways are easier. They're familiar. More comfortable. Predictable. These 'New Ways' are so scary. I understand what he means. I continued to reassure him that, yes, these may be the 'New Ways,' but as soon as he understands they'll be the comfortable Old Ways. He just wiped his eyes (he was holding back tears) and looked at me. The panic in those big, blue eyes said it all. So, I didn't say anymore. We stopped talking about it. He continued to hang out by me, but I either busied myself with another student or guided the conversation in more positive, neutral territory. He's so funny. By the end of the day, he was okay, pleasant and I was walking him to the bus. We'll see what today brings.

The Old Ways. I want those, too. Even with the frustrations they produced, I could handle that. These New Ways of a life with addiction are hard and unpredictable and frustrating. I haven't learned how to work the equation, yet. I'm still counting the decimals instead of the spaces. Events aren't always going to line up for me, anymore. Not like they used to. So, I need to understand these new problems and figure out the answers that work for them, not the old problems. It will take time and patience. I might clench my teeth and ball up my fists. Tears might be ready to stream down my face, but I need to keep moving forward so that at some point, these New Ways become the Old Ways and I can finally work my way out of this maze.

Another Fence

2012-03-07T03:34:00.000-08:00

I haven't been to an Al-Anon meeting in a while. The people were nice, but there were some issues that came up that I had a hard time connecting with. The last was when the group leader said that they had received a notice from Al-Anon Central (I forget what she called the place/person) that groups were no longer to say 'God' as the Higher Power. They were to just say Higher Power. This was a small group, and she looked around and said, "I'm not sure I agree with that. Does everyone in here believe in God? Is God your Higher Power?" We all nodded, so we silently agreed that God was going to stay on as the Higher Power. The Higher Power as being 'anything' has always been an issue for me. I had always assumed it meant God. My friend, the one who motivated me to go to Al-Anon, clarified to me that no, it can be anything. "A tea cup?" "Yep, it if that is what the person chooses." I didn't like that. If a tea cup can represent the Higher Power, and I'm pretty sure the consensus would be that tea cups have little power when it comes to spiritual assistance, then the person is doing recovery on their own. Giving it over to a Higher Power implies, or at least it did with me, God: some being greater than you. God is all powerful. A tea cup is not. I know God can work through anyone and anything, however, giving the glory to a tea cup rubs me the wrong way. So, at the meetings, it was a mental obstacle for me, even though we agreed to stick with God, that this group was directed to take a fundamental belief, God, out of the wording was troublesome to me.

The other issue that started as a comment, but has grown into a blaring, neon sign, is the matter of trust. Several of the people in the group I went to had husbands that were alcoholics. They stayed with them, because basically, I guess the husbands were still able to work, and so, they needed the pay checks. However, they are not so 'understanding' with their children. Most said that they would be 'kicked out' if they drank. One women kicked her son out to the house next door that she bought and owns. So, is he really kicked out? Though judgement is supposed to be put on hold, with some of the people at the meetings, their suggestions and comments to me about my daughter, felt quietly judgmental. "You need to kick her out." "No, I don't. You didn't kick you husband out." "But you're just prolonging her addiction." "Really? I thought you said that they'll drink no matter what, so according to that, I have no control one way or the other." "You haven't let her hit bottom." "A DUI, wrecked car, loss of friends, and a laundry list of about seven more tragedies, feels like some kind of bottom. What was the bottom with your husband?" Conversations like that happened, though they were not confrontational (reading this may seem as though they were, but I'm not confrontational by nature, so my responses are not threatening in real life...my thoughts might be, though). Then the topic of trust came up. "You can never trust an addict." "Really? Never?" "No, they lie." "Well, what if they are sober for a while, can you start to trust them, then?" "Addicts will tell you anything to get their drug of choice. They lie." "So, I can never trust my daughter, again? But haven't we all lied at various times? Is anyone really the weight on their driver's licences?" "Yes, people lie, but addicts are different." So, even with their husbands sober for 12, or 30 years, they don't really trust them. Really?

That was all very distressing for me. Trust is so important for me, and to think I can never trust my child, is well, crushing. So, although the people were very kind and listened sincerely, there were some beliefs that clash with who I am. Al-Anon is good for reminding me about the boundaries. I had them in my life in other places, just not with this new experience of addiction. Al-Anon is great for helping you to not feel or be alone. Discussion is good. Hearing other experiences and resolutions is good. Some of those core issues, though, for me have caused me to set up a new fence. I'm not saying I'll never go back. I'm on hiatus, though, and turning to books. I'm going to read for awhile. I think you have to be strong to go to Al-Anon, and I'm not feeling very strong. Battling the situation at home, while pretending things are great when I'm in public, takes a lot out of me. I haven't given up on praying for miracles, though...for all of us.

Everything's Going to be Okay.

2012-02-26T13:53:00.003-08:00

I'm cleaning out my closets and bagging clothes and shoes for the St. Vincent DePaul store. I like downsizing. As I was going through some summer clothes, those bad memories of this past summer floated to the surface. As I folded and put them into a plastic bag, I was reminded of this site I found on the computer. Here's a crazy moment of mine. During the summer, I was getting so frustrated, that, sometimes in the morning when I was at the computer I would just type things into Google, like, "Are You Listening, God?" (I'm always looking for a more direct line to God, so I was hoping He had email) or "Is Anybody Out There?" Goofy stuff like that. Things did pop up, but I didn't pay any attention to them. It just kind of felt good typing that in. However, once, in a moment of total sadness and desperation, I typed in, "Is Everything Going to be Okay?" A site was listed, and I clicked onto it. It is a site with pictures of people saying, things like, "Mike says, 'Everything's going to be okay." or Jill says, "Everything will turn out fine." Things like that. Just seeing those smiling faces and reading those, short positive messages, made me start to smile. It really did help. I still click on that, sometimes when I'm alone and feeling that panic start to rise. So, if you're wondering if everything's going to be okay, the consensus seems to be, yes, everything's going to be okay. :)

Pausing

2012-02-25T15:13:00.001-08:00

It was snowing here, this morning. I was sitting in my room, in a chair watching the flakes drift down outside. The wind blew around and then stopped. The sun wasn't up yet. The light outside was bluish and gray, and white where the snow was on the ground. There was no sound, in the house or outside. There is something very cozy about that time of the early morning in winter. There is also something isolating about that time, too.

I don't know why but it made me think of the time we had moved down south. A job transfer had taken us there. The children were small, my daughter wasn't even a year old. We still had our house up north to sell. The market was slow at the time, so we packed what we needed, and left the rest in the house. Family and friends checked on the house while we were gone. Strangers had been walked through. We had been gone for three months, when I flew back with my son and daughter to take them for their check ups (A good way to spend time with my mom and grandmother, too). I remember us driving to the house after we had been to the doctor's. Driving up to it, it stood there in the evening light, silent and still. Windows sporadically lit by the timers attached to the lamps. I remember walking into the house. It was cold. Quiet. Our furniture and a few pictures were still up. Some clothes were still hanging in the closets. The house hadn't sold. It was still ours, but in a way, it wasn't ours. We had started a new life down south, and were only visiting this life we had left. There was a loneliness about it. Even when the heat came on, and all of the lights were lit, and food was simmering on the stove, it still felt as though we had broken into someone else's home. It made me sad. I loved that house (even when I have dreams about 'going home' it is that house that I find myself in).

My life feels like that to me now; like I'm wandering through rooms and spaces that I still own, but aren't really mine, anymore. We were on a path, not a smooth path, but we had plans as a family. My daughter had plans. And then this stranger called Addiction, set up house, and now I don't feel at home anymore. The life I was participating in, is not my life anymore. There are days were I do feel like packing up and moving; That new surroundings and people may help me to feel at home or 'right' again. I did call a realtor last summer, but when I walked around the house looking at all of the packing I would have to do, and being kind of sad and foggy in the head to begin with, I dropped the idea; though I have started going room by room and downsizing, so I'm not totally through with the idea of moving. But I'm kind of resentful that I even have to think of something like that. I'm just tired of feeling 'not like me'.

I'm really not whining. I do try to make the best of a situation, you know, 'bloom where I'm planted.' I've done a pretty good job of it. It's just that I miss the plan that was in place before this; life would be so much different now, if all of this hadn't happened. Anyway, that was what I was thinking of as I rambled around in my 'old house' this morning, while the snow was falling and for a few muffled moments, I paused between the past and present.

Building Fences

2012-02-20T05:06:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking a lot about enabling. Enabling doesn't just happen because a person with an addiction is in your life. Enabling happens other places, too. I think anytime you don't confront what you are really thinking, the potential to enable is there. For instance, if you are in a relationship that is abusive, and you finally come to that moment of clarity when you finally understand what is happening, but you do not change your behaviors, and the abuse continues, you have enabled that person to continue being an abuser to you. I realized this awhile ago about myself. I lived that. You are an enabler when you allow people to cross boundaries, no matter what type of boundaries, you enable them to continue wrong behaviors by not acting or saying something to halt those behaviors. Not being able to say, "No," to requests is a form of enabling. You enable people to turn to you, because you've made it easy for them by never saying no, and now, they don't have to think too hard if a project/favor arises, because you've enabled them to come to you.

So what's the difference between enabling and helping? I love doing things for people. I don't do it for praise. I don't do it for reward, I love doing things, or giving things to people for the joy of knowing I made someone happy or relieved or special. A lot of the time, I do it anonymously. Not just for my family, but for friends, and strangers. If you have the spirit of something, I have the spirit of serving, and I can't help it. It has only been an issue with me during a bad marriage and now, with my daughter's addiction. For me, it's hard to filter out help with enabling. I have had to readjust my boundaries and it's been difficult. A complete change of direction for me, and very uncomfortable. I started to feel isolated. In conversations with a friend who has her own experience with addicts, it was hard for me to explain myself because so much of myself had to change because of someone else's choices; my ex and then my daughter. I went to AA meetings and heard people's stories and saw how they had enabled in their past, then had enough, and finally set their boundaries. Good people, waiting patiently for me to see the light. This is how I felt. So, I started setting up boundaries. Different from the boundaries I already had in place, I had to tear them down, and build new fences.

I know that boundaries are necessary fences. There have to be fences around at all times. Boundaries are bad, however, if there are no gates to allow people in and since you are in charge of the gates, you decide who gets in and who doesn't. That is a truth for me.

Enabling still sounds a lot like helping, though. That's where I get into tricky territory. Is all helping, enabling? I don't think it is. When I read other people's stories, there always seems to be such a sad doubting that is entwined around the words, or a dusting of anger when it comes to assisting their loved one. If a stranger helps their loved one struggling with addiction, generally, that seems to be okay. However, if they (we) help, it's enabling. Each person's story has that shadow of wanting to help, but holding back, hoping and praying that a good Samaritan intervenes. It makes my heart sad. So, three years into this, and I'm still in my mental yard building fences and attaching gates. It seems like such a maze, sometimes. I find myself at a dead end, and attach a gate, but then end up in a wide open space, nervous and waiting, feeling very venerable. So, I start building, again. I am not sure where this is going to take me, but at least it is giving me some type of path to pursue. I'm still working on this.

All Consuming

2012-02-19T05:17:00.000-08:00

I was cleaning, yesterday. Sometimes, cleaning is very therapeutic for me. I'm trying to downsize; getting rid of the excess. Anyway, I had a movie on while I was doing this. I wasn't really paying too much attention, but something one of the character's said made me stop. The movie was about a girl struggling with anorexia and her family's interactions and responses. She was talking with someone, and said, "My brain is eating me alive." Boy, did that hit home. My daughter has often said how she drinks to stop thinking. Thinking of regrets, sad moments, lost opportunities, happy memories that are gone...she says she thinks too much, and just wants to be numb. I have never understood what she meant. That quote, though, hit the right note with me. That quote gave me a clearer picture of what it must feel like. Not only for my daughter, but of the other people struggling with addiction who want to get numb. So, now I have a new question to ponder. I know what thinking and thoughts feel like. I know what stress feels like. I know sadness. How, then, am I able to dismiss my thoughts or tone them down? How am I able to compartmentalize my thoughts? Why can't my daughter's brain do the same?

Words

2012-02-09T02:59:00.000-08:00

I realized something about myself, last night, that I don't like. I'm usually a pretty easy-going person. Calm, not quickly angered. I thought I was a pretty positive person, or at least I used to be. Last night, however, I was talking to a friend, and the conversation was generally neutral and good, however, I noticed that I would end a few of my comments or observations with a tiny critical, negative comment. For instance, we were talking about an email that one of our friends sent out. In the email (and this was a school-wide email) she wrote, "I know I spelt my name wrong..." My friend said, "That's not right is it? Spelt?" I said, "No, she should have written 'spelled'." My friend, "That's what I thought. Is spelt even a word?" (Turns out it is, it has to do with an ancient grain...who knew?) Anyway, I said, "Well, she should have known better before sending that out...she is a teacher after all." My friend: "Well, I'm a poor speller, too, it's easy to make mistakes." Me: (As I'm noticing I'm being critical and knowing I shouldn't be, here comes another critical comment) "Yeah, I am too, but she should have known better." Like I never make mistakes. I'm a hesitant speller, too. I carry a dictionary around with me. So, why such a critical comment to a good friend? We all make mistakes.

I thought about it all the way home. I thought about it last night. I thought about it this morning. I think I'm becoming critical because I'm still resentful of the situation, here. I'm still angry inside that my daughter and our family have been put through this experience. On the surface, I think I'm handling it fairly well, but on the inside, I think I'm still seething. That's not good. I don't like negative jabs. I don't like the feeling of those critical comments as they're leaving my mouth. I don't like knowing I'm saying something I shouldn't but doing it anyway. I think I'm wanting someone to notice my hurt and comfort me, so I randomly jab out, like throwing a net. That net is like asking, "Can your subconscious hear my subconscious crying? Is my small word-pinch enough to have you focus on the source--my hurt? Did I get your attention?" I think that's what I'm doing. I know about this because the kids I work with do the same thing. The difference is, I'm an adult.

So, today, I change. I know when I'm doing it, I'm just not forcing myself to either keep my mouth shut, or choose different words. I'm not being lazy in my speech, today. I'm not letting residue anger and resentment guide my thoughts. Today, my words will be more deliberate and focused on the positive.

Unchaining the Melody

2012-02-07T03:10:00.000-08:00

I am learning that addictions come in all shapes and sizes. What makes an addiction bad, it seems, is the amount of time and quality of life it takes away from that life. If you have an addiction to movies (guilty) and you spend a day watching movies, you've wasted time that could have been spent in a more productive way. One movie a day is okay; ten, not so much.

I have a parent who I think is addicted to chaos and sick children. She is a master manipulator and can compose another's caring emotions into a montage of disjointed and frenzied tunes. For a few years, now, she has been trying to get her son tested because she's sure he's autistic and stutters. I know the child. He's neither. He's been tested over and over and all of the experts say the same: normal boy. She has been 'luckier' with her daughter. Each time her daughter shows improvement (she's in my class) all of a sudden the mother has to up the meds, which causes major problems. The situation is static for a while, and I get frantic emails and phone calls, and slowly, things get back to normal, and we start all over. It's like a sick version of Groundhog's Day. (I think she has a form of Munchhausen by proxy syndrome, but I'm not a medical person, so that's just an opinion.) This girl's best friend is a cat at her father's house. One day a few months ago, I was checking my email and there was one from the mother. Panicked, she wrote that the cat was dead! Oh, no! This was going to send the girl into a spiral! The email said the mom wasn't sure but the dad has texted her saying the dead cat looked a lot like Smokey. There were four emails back and forth about this cat, and the tsunami of emotions that would be coming if it were true that the cat was dead. Then I get the email that said, "It's a miracle! It wasn't Smokey!" Whew! So, for an hour of back and forth, we were all panicked. We were doing the Crazy Dance. (I should say here, that I normally don't have the emails up when I'm in class, but I checked on my prep and saw that one, and kept them up to keep updated so that I would know how to handle the girl at the end of the day). Anyway, after the kids left and I was alone, I started thinking about how that mother had controlled my afternoon; and I had let her. I realized that she did that, a lot. It made me angry. If the cat was dead, the girl would have managed. Sadly, death is a part of life and we all experience it at some point or another.

That day was a moment of clarity for me. That day I decided to change the tune. I wasn't going to dance to this mother's manic music anymore. I put up those healthy boundaries. I have to say, there was some passive aggressive action on the mother's part after I started changing the tune. She had lost a dance partner (me) and it didn't feel comfortable to her. She would call into my room, while I was teaching. I didn't pick up. She would email me these exhaustive emails. I skipped over the emotions and only answered the 'facts.' I changed the tune, and things have been quieter and more stable. I spoke with the social worker and guidance counselor and they also, changed the tune. The mother is handled differently. In fact, I handle everyone differently, now. That experience brought some clarity to me. Without fighting, yelling, or panic, things have changed; everyone is now dancing to a more normal and stable melody.

Mending

2012-01-29T03:27:00.000-08:00

Well, we had been sober here for 10 days. Starting over, again, trying harder this time. Each time this happens, though, there does seem to be some new 'break through' with her thinking. Something as minor as she's decided not to drink diet pop anymore. I have never been comfortable with the chemicals and sugar content, and have asked her to try something healthier (so has her brother), but until recently she has continued drinking it, until 10 days, ago. So, it was going well here. We're joining a gym, and making plans. And then her dad decides to send her a text that jabbed her heart and soul, and yes, she bought alcohol. I don't know why she allows him to have so much power over her. She has been to therapy, counseling, rehab facilities, and has talked about this issue, but for some reason, she allows this to happen. I talked to her about it last night. She claims to hate her dad. I know she loves him, at least wants to love him, but is disappointed that he can be so mean and selfish (a big reason he's not hear anymore, especially the mean part). Anyway, I told her it was okay to love him, even if he is not a good person; that doesn't make her a bad person. I told her to pick out the bits of good, love that, and walk away from the chunks of bad. I told her it is okay to sift through someone's personality and actions. It's necessary to set those boundaries. Love is not an all or nothing contract that forfeits you for another. She started to cry.

My son came over yesterday afternoon. We talked. He has come a long way. When I first got a divorce, a good friend described it like a horrible car wreck, where three of the passengers were bloody, broken and trying to help each other up, while the fourth passenger walked away with a few bruises. It really was like that. My son was so angry at one time, and he treated my daughter and I so disrespectfully (those learned behaviors, that I too, take responsibility for, for allowing myself to be treated like that), that I kicked him out. He was in high school, but I couldn't take it anymore. It was the hardest decision I have ever made. It lasted two days, he apologized and we went to counseling. I am proud of the man he has turned into. He is patient, more confident and gentle with his words. He checks in on his sister, and while this summer was the summer from hell, he as become more understanding and less quick to judge. He buys her video games, that have women as the heroes. Every once in a while he will buy her a video game that may take her back to a place where she was happy, with good memories, and maybe build on that. He told me that last night. It choked me up, to see him trying to help in his way. He is still mending, but there is healing. Because he is finally healing and his pain is subsiding, he can understand others' pain, now. He is more open to another's experience. I am proud of him, to see how far he has come. So, I know my daughter can do the same. She has that same foundation. I remember when she was out going and funny, and electric. I know she still has that, but just needs to find a spot, and start mending.

The Power of the Mind

2012-01-25T03:23:00.000-08:00

I remember sitting across from my grandmother at her dinning room table many years, ago. We were just talking and the subject of her and her home came up. She still lived alone and took the bus when she had some place to go (if we weren't available due to school/work to take her). Climbed a ladder to wash her walls every spring (a ritual I've never been inclined to continue). She was totally independent. Anyway, she made the comment, "Some day I'll be too old to take care of myself and this house. When the happens, I'll worry about finding another place to live, but until then I'm okay." I remember taking that statement causally like, 'Okay, gram, whatever you want." When I went home, I was rehashing the evening in my head, and it dawned on me, my grandmother was 93 years old. She was making a statement about not being old enough yet to not be able to take care of things, at 93! What was more inspiring was that as we were talking and as you interacted with her, that fact went totally unnoticed. She did not look or act like what one supposes a 93 year old should look/act like. Amazing! I wanted her attitude. Then, at 95, she broke her hip, and after trying to go back and live on her own, she eventually consented to going to a nursing home, and it was down hill from there. Though physically, she was fine (not on any medications) mentally she refused to accept the change. Her home was her life source so to speak and leaving that, was like pulling a plug. At 99, she passed after her sister came to see her. My grandmother simply willed herself away.

I was reminded of that with Joe Paterno's passing. I went to Penn State. He was like a monarch, there. I think football and all that came with it was all he was. When he was fired because of the investigation I think he simply could not go on. I know there was a diagnosis of cancer, but I think it went deeper than that. The power of the mind.

I am trying to improve my mind. I am trying not to be so negative and fearful. I am trying not to retread the steps from the past and the horrible memories that tag along with them. I am trying very hard to push forward, with more hopeful and positive thoughts. I want to drag those long with me instead of the bad. But why is it so hard? I am exhausted most of the time, and I do think it's partly because of trying to force the negatives away. (Sometimes, forcing something away, causes it to be even more present). It's like when I'm flying. I am not big on flying in planes, but I also don't have panic attacks. I will admit, though, that as the plane is flying, I am mentally helping to keep it in the air. I try to visualize great hands cradling the plane, keeping it flying. It's exhausting! (is there a difference between visualizing and trying to control?) Well, that is what I'm trying to do, drive toward the positive as the negative eats my dust. But, every once in a while, I see a hitchhiker, that looks a lot like the negatives I've left behind. The power of the mind is amazing. Learning how to steer it in the right direction, I'm finding out, is where the real power comes from.

Too Much Information

2012-01-19T03:12:00.000-08:00

I was teaching a lesson on ecosystems. One of the questions from the book was: How do you interact with other organisms in your ecosystem? This is a word for word response from one of my students.
"The way I interact with other organisms is different everyday. One day I'm a very nice person. Another day I'm very selfish and mad. You never know how I'll feel. This is called mood swings."

I have to admit, when I first read it I laughed. This is a sixth grade boy who can be challenging, but is interesting to know. Something about his answer, though, made me uncomfortable (for lack of a better description). His answer sounded like something taken from a psychology book. He's eleven years old. He had a very bad experience with his biological mother at two years of age. An experience that he may have been able to forget or move past with, but because his family doesn't allow him to forget, he uses those 'memories' as motivation for his actions. He goes to counseling. He tells me he has ADHD, "which is why he gets mad and can't concentrate." I have had other students tell me their diagnoses. They have autism, oppositional defiant disorder. They are bipolar. These are elementary school children. Do they really need to know this information? Are we telling children too much information without the necessary emotional skills and maturity level that they need to process and understand the information? What seeds are we planting?

That reminded me of something my daughter told me when she was in her eating disorder. She said that they had seen a video in health class in high school on eating disorders (they show a similar video the the sixth graders, now). At the time, this was something she had never thought of. Did planting that seed offer a more dangerous solution to her problem that ushered in her eating disorder before more healthy solutions could have been offered? I remember we used to have a program called DARE in our schools. A local police officer would come in and instruct the children on the dangers of drugs, in elementary school. The officer had a brief case that when it was opened, an assortment of colorful pills were attached inside to show what the different drugs looked like. They looked like candy. In addition to the visuals, the children were told how the various paraphernalia was to be used. Of all of the information that could have been taught during that time period, to those children, was that the best subject choice? Did we give our young children too much information?

Last night, I was listening to the radio, some talk show, trying to fall asleep. There was a featured author of a book (can't remember the name right now) but the subject was about how detrimental always working in groups is. The author said that creative thinking is best when you're alone and in quiet. Brain storming sessions, with other people, according to him, have the least creative results. He said that people who work in offices with open floors, where people don't have individual offices but are all in the same space, show higher levels of anxiety and stress. We are becoming too used to 'group think' and losing the value and power of individual, personal think. It made me think of Facebook and Twitter. Cell phones that now seem to be attached to people's ears. It seems as though non one is allowed to be alone, anymore. There is always noise, or the need to tell everyone what you're doing. The need for 'friends.' I hear stories about people being friended on Facebook (I don't have a Facebook page). Who really has 300 friends? Do they really know what a friend is?

Anyway, I am always trying to figure out how so many people have become enslaved by addiction. It isolates them. Is that what they're craving, some 'alone time' but conflicted because of a need to feel like part of a group? Did we expose our young, immature children to too much information too soon without giving them the emotional tools and wisdom to hand that information? I'm not sure, but it is something I'm thinking about.

The Enabling Onion

2012-01-16T05:56:00.000-08:00

I am trying to peel away the layers of the enabling onion. I am reading other blogs and here is what I'm thinking: The fear of enabling clogs communication and can prevent connection.

Let me first say that boundaries are key. Boundaries help to mold everything. Without boundaries and communication, intention and all of life, gets fuzzy; like a blob spreading out and covering everything with a dark, gooey film. Clear boundaries are necessary for clear thinking.

As a parent, we have experience, memories, knowledge, and wisdom (just to name a few acquired gifts) on our side. As parents, I believe it is our job to pass on that experience, knowledge and wisdom to our children. Who hasn't told a toddler to hold your hand crossing a street because as a parent you knew the dangers. Who, as a parent, hasn't out of fear and knowledge of the possible outcome, grabbed a child off of a chair precariously positioned in a dangerous spot, or grabbed a hand away from fire? We do this motivated by love and because 'we've been there.' Growing up, I didn't have to get my hand sawed off to know that laying my arm on a spinning saw blade may cause serious injury. My dad warned me, and seeing what the saw blade did to a piece of word, I got the message. Not all lessons have to be learned first hand. In fact, you don't have to be a parent. Any adult would try to save a child from injury if the circumstances called for it. (Can I add here, that I don't believe that parental advice stops at 18. I still take advice from my dad, and even my friend's parents, because they have more life experience than I do).

God works through all of us, parents, too. I think that we hesitate doing a kindness for our children, due to a fear of letting down the boundary barriers. So we opt to keep a distance, so to speak, rather than to risk a possible venture into that swamp, again. A fear that a kindness or loving action may be misinterpreted as weakness or that the enabling behaviors are starting back up, prevents us from doing our job as parents. (We're not as critical if a stranger does the same kind act, but for some reason, we shift the options from side to side, weight and worrying if it is the right thing to do). I think the addiction of the child to drugs/alcohol permeates the interaction and communication between parent and child robbing that relationship of a very important connection in a family--the parent and child.

I think it takes a lot of soul searching and retraining your brain to move from being that fearful parent who runs toward all opportunities of connection with blind eyes and a bursting heart (I admit, I've done that). I think, though, that with the boundaries in place and wisdom as a the key to your voice, and patience as the lock, you can do those acts of kindness and love without disturbing the fragile balance of enabling and parenting. (We really do know in our heart of hearts when we should talk and when we shouldn't).

When our babies were learning to walk, and pulling themselves up, and suddenly plopping down, we didn't run screaming and crying over to them and decide to carry them from that point on to side step injury. No, we watched, held back when necessary, and only moved to avoid a tumble down the stairs or some other mistake that would cause a similar tragedy. So, we really do know how to 'step back' we've just lost touch with that because our helpless babies have shifted to independent adults.

I read once that chronologically (whatever the age that the person started their addiction) is emotionally where they are 'stuck.' So, even when they are sober, emotionally, they are still viewing life at that point in time when the addiction began. We get frustrated because we see an adult, but emotionally we may be dealing with a teenager. (How we acted with our teenagers is different than how we act with our adult children). As sobriety continues, the emotions do get caught up, and eventually the whole person is 'reconnected.' I believe this. I've experienced this.

I have read that it takes more than love. I agree. I also think that love has been been interchanged with fear and as a result has been used in the wrong way. Love isn't blind. Love is the source of how we should act. What is blind and causes us to get enmeshed in the addiction is fear. It is fear that is blind. Fear of what might happen. Fear of the future. Fear of losing someone. Fear blinds us. Love guides us.

Peeling this onion causes a lot of tears. Tears of sadness and frustration, for me. Peeling this onion is forcing me to retrain my thinking, and that can be painful at times. Peeling this onion, though, is helping me with more than I realized.

A Story

2012-01-14T03:40:00.000-08:00

I am going to tell a story that is true.   Nothing earth shattering, but it was kind of destiny changing for me because it changed my thinking and the way I focus my intentions--more like it changed the direction from which I see my beginning and wait for the arriving destination.

I was not in a happy marriage. The man I married was amazing on the outside, but behind closed doors he was mean. I used to try and figure out how I could change him. When that didn't work, I tried to change me to the point that I became so pretzeled-up I found it difficult to function. I was trying everything I could because I had (1) made a commitment, and I take those very seriously--my word is important; (2) I had children and no job and was young; (3) God hates divorce.

Those were the three reasons I juggled daily to continue in the marriage. But, after days and years of bad things, the commitment ball I juggled, dropped. Then, not having a job with children dropped. It was that last ball I kept tossing around that made it the hardest to leave; God hates divorce.

I have to say I've been richly blessed with a group of core good and godly friends. I began to open up that inner life that I was embarrassed about to them. They listened. Gave suggestions. Never judged. I still struggled with, "God hates divorce." So, I started reading and researching. And one day it hit me. Yes, God hates divorce, but not the person. God hates the act but not the actor. And I realized, I hate divorce, too. And, didn't it say, "Let no man put asunder?  Well, what about God, can He put it asunder?" Those were my thoughts. I just couldn't imagine that I would be held accountable for this decision for the rest of my life, especially when I was deceived by the person I married: The person he presented to me while dating, was the Dr. Jekyll to the Mr. Hyde I saw after the wedding. It was subtle, like a daily pinch of poison, but pretty soon, it took it's toll.

During one of my discussions with a friend, and now the subject of should I get a divorce was popping up, she told me to write a letter to God. Mostly to get things off of my chest, but also to sort out my thoughts and get clarity. Consider it a long prayer, she said.   So, I did. I sat in the living room, quiet and alone and wrote. I told God what I was feeling, how unhappy I was, how afraid I was. I wrote that, and a lot of other things, but ended with, "I'll stay if You want me to. If so, please help me work it out, but if it is okay, let me know if I can end this marriage. I am coming to You to release me from this marriage." I reread the letter, and then placed it in the fireplace and watched the flames embrace my prayer and the smoke swirl up the chimney.

I have to say here, that although I have always believed in God, I have never had those mystical experiences like hearing Him or seeing anything. I had seen, in hindsight, how God had had His hand in things, but nothing up close and personal in the way of 'direct contact' (so to speak).

Life continued to be stressful. About a week after I wrote my letter, it was evening. He hadn't come home from work, yet. My children were occupied, and I was doing dishes at the sink. I remember being bent over, thinking of nothing in general, when out of nowhere, I felt as if something had been pulled off of my back. I physically, inhaled and straightened up, and looked around the room. What was that? Literally, it felt as though someone had stood behind me, reached in and pulled something out of me. No pain, just an incredible feeling of being released or lightened to the point where I spontaneously had to draw in a breath and straighten up. I don't know how else to describe it. After a few seconds, the thought hit me. I had been released from the spiritual bond of marriage. He came home shortly after that, and when he walked into the kitchen, the feeling was different. I didn't have that connection with him, anymore. I saw him differently. We were separate. We were the two individuals, again, not "joined as one."   I spent the rest of the night reviewing in my mind what had happened. I even tried to 'feel' the same way (crazy since that was what I was trying to get away from) but still, this experience had been so subtle yet so powerful, I wanted to make sure I wasn't mistaken in what had just happened.

A few days later (I still needed to mull things over in my mind) I told my friend what had happened without telling her my thoughts. She also saw it as a release. I told two other friends, and they also came to the same conclusion. So, three godly women, with the same conclusion--confirmation. I wasn't 'seeing' things. It was real.

That was twelve years ago, but that memory and feeling feel as fresh as if it happened an hour ago. Because of that experience, I am always cautious of decision making and who I rely on. It is easy to get caught up in advice from friends, or books, or groups, and to lean on them, because they are close and real and comforting. But since that experience, even though I get frustrated and argue and ask, "Why?" I am more intent and more purposefully turned to God for direction. And once I find confirmation in that, I can move to the 'earthly' supports. It has forced me to be more patient. I have developed a small library on biblical books. I wait a lot longer.   So, I am still waiting for an answer to help me understand what is happening with my daughter. What I should do. I can't understand it, still. The same feelings are there. Different emotions blink differently depending on the day. Some times anger is bright while hope is dim, and then hope blazes and sadness blinks. I try to figure out the right words to pray to get a clear response. So far, I'm on hold. But since I know the answers arrive at some point, I'll keep waiting. In the meantime, my prayers have extended to this vast world of unseen parents, completely unknown to me until my unwarranted initiation. I am praying that you, too, find what it is you need and desire.

Four Days

2012-01-11T03:55:00.000-08:00

Life has been good here. My daughter had been sober for a month + and then the Monday before Christmas, when I came home from work, I was met with the old demon who refuses to leave my daughter, alone. Funny thing, I remember that day, during the course of the day, my stomach began knotting up and those old choking feelings began seeping into my mind. I shook it off, though, because it was the holidays and she had been so sober. Anyway, I went home and found her asleep in her room. When I woke her up, I could tell by the trail of her thoughts and speech, she had been drinking. So, up went the boundaries, I walked out suppressing all of the hurt and sadness that came flooding back and closed the door. Thursday, when I came home, I went up stairs to put on my sweats, and decided to check in on her. I opened the door, but she wasn't there. I called her name. I knew she wasn't out of the house, so I walked around the bed, and there she was on the floor.

I shook her. Nothing. My heart clicked to a pound. I shook her, again. Nothing. I called her name. Felt her chest, still breathing. To make a very long moment short, she was alive, but out, and more than just passed out. This was something different. When she is passed out, I can arouse her to at least a mumble. Nothing was happening here. It was a struggle, but I got her back onto the bed. That's when I noticed what I thought to be a seizure. In working with children with special needs, I have had a lot of experience with this. Though she wasn't convulsing, she did have all of the other signs. I made her comfortable, and waited it out. She came around, but was incredibly thirsty and tired, so I let her sleep. Later that night, I heard her stirring. I got up and went into her room, sat on her bed, and at two in the morning, explained to her what had happened. She has always been afraid of having a seizure. We talked, and she decided that it was time to stop. So, she took care of herself, and sobered up, and Christmas was blessed.

We continued to talk about it, and she would say over and over, "Well, I have a legitimate excuse to not drink, now. I have a medical condition." I don't know why she would need to have an excuse, but hey, if that is what it took and she was going to use that has her courage to change, then I was relieved.

Eighteen days later. I came home last night, and the suspicion goblins were buzzing in my head. Turns out, she bought alcohol! Ahhhhhh!

Boundaries up. Hope on hold. Resignation on full tilt. And my day has started with a cloudy vision of not knowing what else to ask for, pray for or hope for. I am in limbo.

Seven Things

2012-01-08T02:50:00.000-08:00

Thank you, Annette! What an honor it is to have someone want to know more about you. :) But, before I start, I would like to pass this on to Dee, Barbara and Sydney. I'm looking forward to reading more about them, too.

Okay, my seven things:

1. I used to row in a corporate crew team. I don't row anymore because I hurt my knee, and trying to crawl out of the boat with a bad knee is not only embarrassing, but very difficult. Crew is a sport you either love or hate, and I love it. I fell in love with it going to my daughter's meets. A friend of mine found a team, and we joined. The best thing; after our first summer of rowing, our boat raced in The Head of the Ohio. It's held in Pittsburgh, and starts on the Allegheny river and goes to the point, where the three rivers meet and the head of the Ohio river starts. It is grueling! We were one of two eights in our heat with only women (trust me, if you have a man rowing with you, it is so much easier). As it happened we raced against the only other 8 with all women--not planned, it just happened that way. It really was a neck in neck race, but we won! Better yet, we came third over all and got a bronze medal! That was like winning the gold.

2. I coached a girls softball team for 9 years. It was a huge learning experience for me about a lot of things. The guy who coached with me was hysterical. I love surrounding myself with funny people, and he was one if the funniest. I laughed for 9 years straight.

3. I love watching movies, especially the ones made during the 1940's. I loved the way the women dressed. I love that there was an honor and dignity about everything.

4. My dream is to have a cottage by the beach, or a stream. One that looks like the cottages in Ireland. Simple with a huge fire place in the kitchen. I would love to move to Salem, MA or Port Townsend, WA. Both of those places felt like home to me, and my cottage would fit right in there.

5. My favorite food is pickled herring. Next, is sauerkraut and dumplings. Buttermilk would be my beverage of choice. I blame that all on my Germanic and Swedish ancestors.

6. I could talk about God, and the spiritual and mystical all day long-literally. I never tire of that subject. I believe in the supernatural, miracles, and that the world as we know it is far more interesting and magical than we give it credit.

7. I love pottery. Not the refined kind, though I like that, too. I love the rustic looking, hand thrown pottery. I look for it at yard sales, craft shows, and I've made some of my own. At one point, my house was starting to look like an archaeological dig, I was collecting so much. I think it goes back the the biblical idea that God is the potter and we are the clay. I am also drawn to angels and ladybugs. The angels, well, because they're interesting and close to God. The ladybugs because of the movie Under the Tuscan Sun. In one part one of the characters talks about searching for ladybugs as a child and never finding them, until she fell asleep in a field and woke up and they were crawling all over her, so--relax, don't worry and life will come to you.

The End. Thanks for letting me share. :)

The End of the World

2012-01-05T02:33:00.000-08:00

Now that it's 2012, more of the kids at school come up to me asking if the world really is going to end this year (I cannot stand people who make a living out of peddling fear). I tell them, "No. No one really knows when the world will end. Today's a new day. Every thing's going to be okay." You can see a fresh infusion of hope creep into their faces. Some of them really do sigh and smile and make comments like, "Oh, good. I didn't really think it would." It amazes me that they have that kind of faith in me to ask such an important question. I feel like a sage. But, having been someone who's been through the end of the world, and come back to tell about it, I guess I am experienced in this field.

When this whole thing about the Mayan calendar started, the end of the world as I knew it was already happening. The addiction meteor had already crashed into the surface of my surroundings. I have had to find mental shelter, emotional housing, and food rations of crow for a while, now. I've survived the end of the world, and am starting to pick through the rubble of postponed dreams. Daily, I'm sweeping and rebuilding. I come out each morning, cautiously watching the skies for any stray meteors or bombs that may be falling; so far, they have appeared to have stopped. Though the air is at times thick with smoke and fumes, I'm breathing and functioning. The sun is shimmering though the hazy skies. There is hope. So, when I hear or watch the endless documentaries on 2012, on the History channel or Discovery, I can lean back, put my feet up, smile and say, "The end of the world? Been there. Done that."

Stuck

2012-01-04T03:01:00.000-08:00

I'm stuck. Even though things have been good here (except for four days, but I'll write about that later), things have been great. In the past, I have been able to swing my thinking right back to happy and free when my daughter was not drinking. I was so anxious to have a life without addiction as a part of it, I threw my whole heart into the first good feeling emotion I could, and I stayed there until that addiction anchor dragged my daughter back down, and me along with her. I hasn't been like that for a while, now, yet I can't find that relieved, smile-sighing happiness. It's more like my heart is tethered to some unseen peg that won't allow it to beat fully --it beats in anticipation of dread rather than delight.

I haven't been to an Al-Anon meeting in a while, either. The people were kind and unassuming. It helped to have someone to listen to me, who understood. It helped to listen to how other people maneuvered their way through this minefield. And then it got to be too much. I remember a friend of mine whose son (he's been sober for over two years) went through an addiction to Oxycontin. She said she left a meeting of Al-A, and sat on the church steps crying. She told me that she couldn't bear to listen to those despairing stories every week, so she never went back. I can understand how she felt.

I am trying to figure out how to explain how I feel. I am always cloaked in hope, I would freeze to death if I didn't have hope. Part of me is still resentful and sad-very angry at times. Part of me is very clear headed. I'm resolved to the fact that my daughter will have to want sobriety. That she'll have to find her own way to unravel the sick thinking into more healthy thinking. Some people need other people to do this. Some can self help with books. Some can cocoon themselves away, do that internal juggling and sorting out, and come away a new person. She is dabbling in all of it now, and I'm waiting to see what she resolves, before I can make my move. That is how I feel. And then there is a part of my brain that is in fog, like the part that was on high alert and ready to try my hardest--that resilient, 'refresh button' in my brain--feels like the battery is dead. It's not that I've reached an 'I don't care' attitude. It's more of a 'Oh, well' attitude. I don't like it. It makes my daily thinking more strained and less motivated.

Those are some of the ways my thinking is, now; like my tires got stuck in mud, I've been spinning them, and now, even though the rain has stopped, and the sun is coming out, rather than try spinning the tires, again, I'm sitting at the wheel, engine running, staring into the distance. I have AAA on my phone, but I just don't have the motivation to pick up and call the number, and I don't know why.

Lessons Learned

2012-01-01T06:54:00.000-08:00

Today is the first new day, of a new year. So much potential and hope sits waiting at the starting line. I don't really do resolutions at the New Year, because I pretty much am resolving situations and thoughts all year long. The New Year for me is more of a review of what I've learned so that I can continue to apply it to this next 365 days of the continuation of refining who I am. So, who am I now?

I am someone who has learned that you can't change people, you can only change yourself.

I am someone who continues to see that the amazing biblical applications applied to my life and the lives of people I observe, really do work. For instance, I completely understand the not worrying about tomorrow advice. Today is enough in itself and though 24 hours may not seem long, a life time can be lived and lost in that period, so cherish every moment, even the bad, because without that the good would not be as sweet.

I am someone who has learned that it's okay to make mistakes as long as you learn from them. That 'failure' depends on your definition; A failure can be a success depending on your attitude.

I am someone who has learned that I can judge tastes and right from wrong, but I can't judge someones response to life's situations. Doing that diminishes who that person is and the experiences that have been refining them, as well as sealing me off from becoming the complete human being I was intended to be.

I am someone who has learned that you can say and do whatever you want, but if your motives and intentions are self-centered, nothing good will be accomplished, in fact, you will cause more injury and hurt.

I am someone who has learned to calm down, and that calming down comes from being humbled. I have been humbled this year, especially this summer. I have seen God working and weaving His golden threads in the worn cloth of this quilt of many experiences that is my life. If I hadn't been broken and humbled, those threads would not glisten as brightly--I am grateful.

I am someone who now understands that you can be an enabler in a lot more than just addictions, including personal enabling.
I am someone who is learning to be more patient with others as well as myself.

I am someone who understands the value of boundaries in all situations. Vagueness and 'uni-vision' takes away the uniqueness of people. We are supposed to be individuals, unique and special. I think society has slowly dissolved that special quality we have as individuals with uni-sex mentality, and everyone having to look the same, dress the same, act the same--like a film over our eyes. Boundaries help to strip away that film, and allow us to see more clearly who we are, who someone else is, and how to work with individual differences more effectively.

I could go on. I have learned so much. I hope I never stop. I'll close with the biggest lesson (though I knew this all along, but like seeing that video in Driver's Ed. where the car is wrapped around the pole, you can know something but actually seeing it or experiencing it changes your whole perception). That lesson is (and it's another biblical truth) you can say and do whatever you want, but if Love is not at the foundation, you have nothing. So, a New Year's blessing to everyone is, "May you be guided by and lifted by Love. May you have the courage to love others. May the love of God be showered on you and yours like a cleansing rain."

Motivation and Intention

2011-12-28T03:57:00.000-08:00

Why are you really doing this? What are you really trying to say? What are you hoping to accomplish? These questions are like a sieve to me. In my prospecting for mining the right words and actions, I first toss them on my intentions and motivations sieve, shake them, roll them around, examine them mentally, and when they shine with the meaning I truly intended, I carefully choose them and hope that my motivation will transfer the right meaning. I do that with everyone. I started because when I did my internal readjusting, I noticed a few things about myself. The first was that I spoke a code that I was assuming others could decipher. I assumed that they would understand that certain inflections and word orders would clearly state my intent in an otherwise opposite sounding statement. I also discovered that I assumed people were mind readers and thought exactly the way I did. (Why wouldn't they, right?) The third thing I noticed about myself, and this was a little more ambiguous; I was hoping that I wouldn't have to show my negative emotions (frustration, anger, resentment) that my word choices would act as a bee's stinger would--stinging, injecting and making the receiver of my words have to figure out the cure or meaning, while I walked away relieved and somewhat less stressed. Crazy thinking. Selfish behavior.

I think what started my own inner house cleaning was experiencing those same techniques by other people. Someone would say something to me, it could be well intentioned, motivated by guilt, or just a request that they were hesitant to ask, and it wouldn't make clear sense to me. I started to ask myself, "Why did they just say that?" "What did they really mean?" It has taken awhile, but now it's pretty standard for me to sort through the words and realize the real meaning. I started doing that with myself. "Why was I saying this?" "Did it matter that I made this comment?" "What is my motivation for saying this, to help or hurt?" In the beginning, when I was sorting out my own stones from gold emotions, I ended up saying less because I realized that I was directing some hurt on a person, making them responsible for 'working it out'. I would be relieved for a little, but the hurt would creep back in and I would still have to deal with it. Sifting through the rubble of emotions to find the golden intent, has helped me to understand myself better. I'm more clear about what I want and think. I talk less, and listen more. My words are more valuable, because I now choose their value more carefully. Words are powerful. They can give a richness and hope to life, or they can hold you back, like mud. There is a responsibility in choosing the right words and understanding why you're choosing them.

This Christmas was perfect. My son and daughter were here, along with my dad. It was happy, and fun and everyone was well. It was an answered prayer. Yesterday, a package came from my ex for my daughter. Christmas gifts. With the gifts was a card. Here is what he wrote to her: "Another year has come and gone. Another year that I wish we were closer. I was so looking forward to you coming to Pensacola. At only 45 minutes away, you could have stayed with me. Ah, well, I guess God has another plan for you." Sounds innocent and caring, right? (Bring out the sieve) My daughter feels bad about withdrawing from school. I'm thankful she did, but she feels guilty, as if she's failed. She hasn't. My ex on the other hand, has never seen life from someone else's view. He views life as he feels it should be not as it really is. He can have a million 'do-overs', but will not allow the same freedom to others. Reminding her of the past (she was going to do clinicals in Pensacola) and then the 'Ah, well...' statement, was so barbed with guilt, I could feel her inner remorse pricking her as I watched her read his card. Of all the words he could have chosen, he chose those. Not to help her, or show her how much he loves her, but to remind her that he's disappointed that she made the choice she did. His motivation is guilt, his intention is to remind her of what he's going to miss out on, not what she has been going through.

Words can stir hope or crash dreams. What motivates someone to speak, what their intentions plan to convey, give the spoken words the ability to help someone live or they can add on another link that continues to bind them to their pasts. We are accountable for the words we choose and the way they're used.

Becoming a Rose

2011-12-20T02:50:00.000-08:00

I am never going to be the same as I was before my daughter's plunge down the rabbit hole of addiction. I'm never going to be totally at peace, totally worry free, experiences are not ever going to have the same total joy they used to have. Regardless of how wonderful an event is, I'm never going to be fully there because in the back of my mind, fear, worry, 'what if', and resentment hide, hunkered down behind some memory ready to pop up and yell, "What if she drinks, again? Remember...?" I really hate that nothing will ever be the same as it was or could have been, had this addiction not seduced my daughter. Life will be harder and I resent that.

That is what is on my mind every day. Not always in the front of my thinking, but floating around, a black butterfly amidst the beautifully colored ones. My friend and I were talking about this on our way home, last Saturday, from Christmas shopping. She picked me up, we went to breakfast at this cozy diner. I had a crepe banana walnut pancake with whipped cream--a perfect breakfast! Then we shopped in this area of town that has various vendors tucked in along the street, outside of cute little shops and old, ethnic grocery stores. I love that place. So many aromas, and sounds. It is so fun. Anyway, on the way home, we started talking. She is from a family who has had their share of tragedy involving addictions. She is a dear and trusted friend, and because of her experiences, so patient and wise. Anyway, it was while we were talking that it hit me. Before my daughter's addiction, I was like a bud on a flower. My thinking was like that. Kind of tight. But, because of the addiction, my thinking and attitude have blossomed into a rose. All of the different petals representing the new understandings I have, about me, someone with addiction and applying that to other parts of my life. Though it still makes me angry, I am more understanding. Though I am living in the shadow of fear, my hope is gaining light, though I resent what has been delayed in life, I am able to see alternatives more clearly. The petals are still opening, but there are two that I think are the most important; really understanding what it means to not be judgmental and loving more patiently. I reflect on that, a lot. So, through this process, as crushing and choking as it has been, there has also been healthy growth and maturing. Out of bad, comes good. In the darkness shines some light. Though there are thorns on the stem, a beautiful rose rises above.

Boundaries and Trust

2011-12-15T03:02:00.000-08:00

My daughter and I watched the movie Crash last evening. Actually, I walked in on the last forty-five minutes of it. She explained the characters and what was going on. It reminded me of the 'Lifeboat Scenario' where you're given a piece of paper with a list of seven people. They're in the middle of the ocean with one life boat. The quandary, only six people can fit into the boat. Who do you save? Then they give short bios of the people. There's a stay at home mom with 5 children. A prostitute/drug addict who used to be a nurse and has an expert knowledge of cardiac care. It goes like that-severe traits of good and bad. In my experience when I was in school, the stay at home mom was usually the one who got tossed over board, basically because she had no visible 'skills.' So, even the serial killer, who used to be a brain surgeon is saved over the mom. It was very telling to see the thought process and reasons for eliminating an individual. The movie last night was like that. A car thief who frees Cambodian refugees; a policeman who murders a thief (the thief was changing his ways) because he reacted too quickly and then hides the murder. Situations that gave fuzzy boundaries; is he good or bad?

I realized watching the movie that boundaries are vital for trust. Offering such severe examples fuzzies the boundaries and if the boundaries aren't clear then neither is trust, and understanding, and a handful of other emotions necessary to establish good relationships. Without clear boundaries, you're left in a kind of limbo of 'what do I feel?' In one of the scenes, Sandra Bullock's character tells a friend on the phone, "I'm mad all of the time and I don't know why." I think a lot of people are like that in real life. I think anger and confusion, desperation, comes from not having clear boundaries in a lot of areas of our lives. As a society, I'm not sure how to change that, but as individuals setting up boundaries is necessary for mental clarity. I'm not for judging individuals. I do believe people can change, and in general are trying the best that they can. I am for clear boundaries, though, as an emotional barrier to keep life clear. I think it can be scary not knowing how you should feel, or even worse, what should I feel? Maybe the fuzzy boundaries are a reason addiction is more and more prevalent. Maybe, there are some people who are so frustrated and stressed by not knowing or understanding the boundaries, that 'checking out' and not dealing with it is better than sitting in that hazy, emotional limbo.

Communication Through Association

2011-12-13T03:13:00.000-08:00

This is a real conversation that happened in class (I have changed only the names).
We are still learning about ancient civilizations in social studies. I read them a story about Gilgamesh. We were reviewing the story. Four of the students were sitting with me at the group table, and one student was refusing to participate in the group, so opted to stay at her seat.

Me: Okay, I would like us to review the story we read about Gilgamesh. Remember him?
All: (various forms of acknowledgement)
Me: Good. Well, remember in the beginning, the author told us something about Gilgamesh. A very important piece of information. The author wrote that Gilgamesh was special. Why was he special? What made him special?
Todd: I know!
Me: Okay.
Todd: He was a king.
Me: Yes, that's true, but there is something else that made him very unique.
Owen: He was mean.
Me: Yes, in the beginning, he was, but try to remember. Think about what made him so different from everyone else.
Todd: OH, I remember.
Me: Yes?
Todd: He was half and half.
Me: You're close! Half and half what?
Todd: My dad drinks half and half in his coffee.
Me: Okay, that's good, but what was Gilgamesh?
Jesse: (worried look on his face) My dad's not going to get me anything for my birthday!
Me: Jess, you're going to be just fine on your birthday. You know how much your dad loves you.
Jesse: Yeah, but I think that box I found is empty and I don't think he's getting me anything for my birthday.
Me: Jess, I don't think you have anything to worry about. I think you know how much you and your dad love doing things together. I'm positive he's getting you something you'll love for your birthday (his dad called me to let me know he is getting him the gift he's been asking for).
Jesse: Really? Do you think so?
Me: Yes, I really think so. It's going to be okay.
Jesse: (relief settling over his face)
Me: Okay, back to Gilgamesh. He was half what and half what?
Owen: I know. He was half man and half god.
Me: YES! Good job!
Amy: I don't believe in gods. I just believe in cats, like the Warrior books.
(All of the boys start grumbling at this)
Jesse: What? She can't believe in cats! What's that mean? Cats? I hate cats!
Me: Jess, Amy can believe in what she chooses, and you can believe in what you choose.
Jesse: Well, I believe in God.
Me: Okay, good.
Amy: I believe in the Warrior clan gods.
Me: Okay, you can. But we were talking about Gilgamesh.
Amy: Yes, but I don't really want to talk about that right now.
Me: Okay, then you're going to have to keep your comments to yourself, and just listen.
Jesse: Why does she say stuff like that?
Me: Because she's Amy, and thinks like Amy. You think like Jesse. (big smile)
Owen: Ms. R....
Me: Yes?
Owen: I have a question.
Me: Okay.
Owen: How do you wake up Lady Gaga?
Me: (inward sigh) I don't know Owen, how?
Owen: Poker face (big smile).

I just laughed and moved on to the next question.

That's how things go in class a lot of the time. The kids hear what is being said, but it's as if certain thoughts are lined up, waiting to be called and any word that is close to what is on their minds, ushers that thought forward, and nothing can progress until that thought is taken care of. Those thoughts are usually concerns or worries. Sometimes, they are just arbitrary thoughts, like lone bees that fly into the room when the windows are open. They buzz around for awhile and then back out the open window. Most of the time, however, the pressing worries and concerns take precedent, and need the most attention before their fragile brains can cope with anymore new information. This type of 'discussion' has helped me retrain my thinking. I've had to take those mental blinders off so that I can see all of the possibilities that might arise from one simple question. Especially those possibilites that have nothing to do with the question but have everything to do with if and how that child is going to learn.

I carry that technique into my life outside of school. I've notice in converasations with my daughter, especially when she is sad or influenced by alcohol, our conversations go like that. I will ask her a question, and her answer diverts down a path that has been overgrown with such distorted thinking that the origional thought (event or memory) is nearly indistinguishable. Cleaning off those memories or thoughts, I believe, is vital to getting to the root of her feelings. Finding the root to a feeling that is causing her sadness is helpful to understanding why she feels the way she does, and hopefully, help her to realize that thoughts are just that, thoughts; their power comes from the type of focus you put on them. Once she can face those thoughts, and realize that she is in control, I think she will be able to either place them away for safe keeping or discard them as 'lesson learned.'

Life is the Special Occasion

2011-12-11T15:41:00.000-08:00

My daughter and I went Christmas shopping on Saturday. It was such a nice day. We took our time, we didn't have a set plan, just went to stores we liked. Finished up with a late lunch, and then home. In one of the stores (TJ Maxx) we went to, there was a small purse I caught her looking at. It was pale blue, with sparkles and a diamond bow for the clasp. I asked her if she liked it. She said that she really did. I told her to get it. Her response was, "When would I ever use it?" "Well, negative Nance, when you go out. When you go to the store. Anytime." "Mom." Said in the tone that is harboring a feeling of 'my life isn't like that anymore, and doesn't look like it ever will be again' hopelessness. That kind of response always brings up a slight swirl of panic in me. I'm always afraid of the unknown piece of anxiety that might taunt her into hopelessness, and then drinking. So, I pointed out something else, and then, when she wasn't looking, put the purse under a shirt in my cart. Yes, it will be in her stocking. (These stockings for my kids. I am not a seamstress. One year, however, when the kids were small I decided to sew them each a stocking. I went to the fabric store, bought festive material, and sewed two stockings. They were so narrow, I could fit maybe two candy canes in them. So, I went and bought more material, and made two more stockings. That time, they ended up so big, that it would take me most of my time thinking of things to get to fill them with. Now, that is pretty much what gets filled. It's a fun tradition).

My daughter's response to the purse, though, got me thinking of my mom. In my parents' house there is a closet in one of the bedrooms. In that closet my mom stored 'the good sheets' for when company would come. A few 'good' nightgowns for trips she would take. Special towels, to go along with the sheets for when company came. Those items are still in the closet, almost in pristine condition. My mom is gone. What is also in her closet are some 'special' outfits, shoes, jewelery that she would only were a few times a year. For 'special occasions.' The good china is still in the dining room china cupboard, along with the stemware, that was rarely used. I'm not sure what company she was waiting for. When we would visit, we got the everyday sheets, and towels (soft and comfortable). We ate on everyday plates, and drank from the glasses I remembered as a child. Though I was content with that, as I look back, my mom should have been using the china and stemware everyday. She should have put a new set of sheets on every week. She should have worn her good jewelry to sit on the porch, because Life is the special occasion.

Now that I'm on this journey of trying to understand addiction, I feel as though I try to sift through every thought that used to be common, to find something uncommon or unique to apply to why someone gets sucked into addiction. Maybe it's because life as a special occasion has become such a far away concept. We can get so caught up in routine, and day to day sameness, and the stress of being someone else's success, that the special, Divine quality of life gets lost and we're left with the perception that there is no meaning to life. What's it all for? If there is no meaning, then there is no reason for hope. So, my conscious effort is to keep life as the special occasion I believe it was meant to be. Not to allow myself to get caught up in dull routine or become blind to the glitter and shine that resides in each day and the people we love.

Simple Successes

2011-12-08T14:29:00.000-08:00

I am a teacher. I teach children with emotional problems. I have done this for fourteen years. So many of my friends and fellow teachers have said to me that they don't know how I do it. I tell them, I love it. Those children are an enigma to me. One summer during college, I worked at a summer camp for children with emotional problems. It was my first experience with that population. I volunteered to be one of the people to ride a van that went to pick up the kids from their homes in the morning, to take them to the camp, and I rode it back with them when camp was done for the day. During those rides, I sat and listened to their conversations, or watched their responses to what they saw out of the window. I smiled at their enthusiastic waves good-bye until the morning. I learned so much from just watching and listening. During the day, I was paired up with a girl, who at the time, was not much younger than I was. We talked a lot. She had been in several foster homes, and for a 15 year old she had seen more tragedy and sadness than should be allowed, yet she was hopeful and positive in her thoughts, but her behaviors and actions reflected her skittishness toward trusting people. She relied on her survival skills when she felt threatened or scared, and would have to be calmly talked to, in order for her to relax, and see the situation for what it was and not what she perceived it to be (some shadow version of a nightmare experience of hers). I was hooked on helping those types of children when I was talking to her one day, and listening to her chatter on about the music she liked and where she would like to travel to, when it dawned on me--she and I had similar interests and, though my experiences were not nearly as horrible as hers, we did have the same fears and hopes. So, why was I able to cope and she couldn't? On this emotional tight rope that we all walk on, why was I able to stay walking while she was tumbling down?

That question still remains elusive to me, today. How can someone face tragedy after tragedy, and still glide through life with hope and high spirits, while another person has a bad hair day and it causes them to crash and burn? The allotment of each person's inner strength is like Mary Poppins' bag; some people can keep pulling out endurance, and positive outlooks almost endlessly, while others can only manage a dusty Kleenex.

The students I teach have all been like that. Most have come from homes where their emotions have been neglected. Physical abuse is common, but emotional and mental abuse is more common. Parents don't always realize how tragically a sarcastic comment or criticism can effect a young, trusting mind.

So, the school day in my classroom is not like a typical classroom. What I feel is a smooth day, is chaos to someone else. That happened, today. A friend of mine (another teacher) wanted to work on something, and came into my room to work at this table I have in the corner. I had a class going on. We were reading about Hammurabi and his code. It took us 15 minutes to get everyone to say the name correctly. It took us the rest of the class to talk about the laws he made, especially the 'eye for an eye' law. Was it fair? Why? Why not? It is a struggle to keep them focused (they were a sixth grade class). There was a lot of talking and regrouping. At the end of the day, she came up to me, gave me the sign of the cross (lol...it's a public school) and told me the usual, "I don't know how you do it." Her next question, though, kind of threw me a little. She said, "I couldn't do that. I...wouldn't...how do you feel, or do you feel, that you accomplished anything at the end of the day?" I smiled and laughed a little. She said some more, not meaning to be mean (which she never is). I told her I understood what she meant, but I answered that, yes, I did feel accomplished at the end of the day. Here's why: I'm a big academics person, but it took me a while to realize that academics mean nothing if your emotions don't make it meaningful. If you're hungry, hurt, feel afraid or nervous, adding fractions won't seem to have much value. But, water those emotions, and an interest in learning seems to blossom. That those students were focused enough to finally say, 'Hammurabi' correctly was a big plus. That they know he developed fair laws is an even bigger plus. That they trust me enough, and were able to express themselves openly without fear of being ridiculed, or yelled at was the biggest plus.

Sometimes success is a simple thing. I appreciate simple successes. A name said correctly, trust where there was none, and another day of sobriety here at home.

The Anchor

2011-12-03T03:54:00.000-08:00

I read Annette's latest post. My interpretation of it was that some anger was present because of a feeling that she is the one jumping through hoops, when she is not the person with an addiction. It got me thinking, and I kinda feel the same way. Racking my brain to see what I said or did wrong. Did I bake enough cookies, go to enough school plays, comfort enough bad dreams? We have become a society that has been forced to tolerate a lot, and made to feel guilty if we don't. I have to tolerate individual differences, ideas, life choices. Most of the time I'm okay with it. Sometimes, I'm not. Sometimes tolerating isn't the right choice and there aren't always clear boundaries as to what should and shouldn't be tolerated. For instance, I will not tolerate murder, or child abuse (or abuse of any kind for that matter), or cruelness, or bullying, there is a big long list of what I will not tolerate. But society wants me to tolerate certain school curriculum that goes against my ethical code, or be okay when a jury clears a person for murder just because they had a savvy lawyer who made people feel guilty for not being accepting. My point is, tolerating can break down normal if you're not careful, and there has to be a normal.

Normal is necessary. If we didn't base situations on being normal, we wouldn't be able to diagnose medical problems. There has to be a normal blood pressure so that we know when it's too high or low. There are normal growth patterns in children so that we know when there is a problem. Normal is necessary. However, when it comes to people and family behaviors, all of a sudden, that normal gets so stretched and pulled out of shape, in defense of individual differences, that the normal behavior of parenting and knowing how to raise your own child, is distorted into controlling and selfishness; when it's the child who is still too emotionally immature and selfish to understand how to maneuver in life, so the parent, who has more experience and wisdom, is there to guide and discipline them (discipline as in teach not hit, I don't believe in hitting). That's what parenting is!

I don't like that because I didn't know how to deal with addiction and its insidious nature that I'm considered the 'sick' one because I was enabling. I don't understand how I got to be the one who needs all of the internal analyzing when I'm not the one in hot pursuit of ruining my life through addiction.

I think that addicts who point the judgment finger toward the people in their lives who are upset with the addiction are a variation of enablers in their own addiction. My daughter will say to me when we're arguing, "You don't understand! You don't have this addiction thing! You don't know how hard it it!" True, I don't have an addiction. But I have gone through hard times, and I have seen what addiction has done and I do know the difference between the destruction it is doing verses the much better life that could be had if you worked harder at not giving in to the addiction. The very fact that I don't (and a lot of us enablers don't) have an addiction is the very reason we should be giving advice. Often during our arguments, my daughter has said, "You just want to control me!" One day it hit me, and I commented back, "Yeah, I do, because if I did control you, you wouldn't be doing what you're doing! So, obviously I'm not controlling you because you're still giving in to your addiction!"

Addiction makes everyone crazy. It not only ensnares the mind of the addict, it sends out tentacles to the minds of the people involved with the addict. I think a big, important step for the 'enabler' is to pull free of that tentacle, and know that you are the normal. You are the plumb line. Your experience, strength, vantage point of sobriety, and life wisdom is what makes you the stable normal. So, rather than running here and there, trying to reestablish and rethink and reset yourself all of the time, I think the answer is return to who you are with all of your experience and wisdom and nurturing, stay steady, keep those boundaries and remain the anchor--the boat on the surface might be tossing and turning, but you stay secure and planted and fixed on what you know to be true.

Ordinary Days

2011-11-28T03:41:00.000-08:00

There is a beautiful movie, I've mentioned it once before here, called The Magic of Ordinary Days. It's usually on the Hallmark channel and if you get a chance to watch it, I highly recommend that you do. It's quiet, slow, and ordinary, but so well done that you begin to see the magic in your own ordinary days. I find it so reassuring and affirming especially with the nonsense and ego-centered shows that are the usual t.v. offerings. That's what we had here this Thanksgiving break...beautiful, ordinary days. My daughter kept her word and stopped drinking. She is 6 days sober. We had a wonderful Thanksgiving with my son, daughter and my dad. The day, my favorite cooking day, was perfect and very ordinary. We were all at the table and no one rushed or argued. We enjoyed the present and it was nice. Friday, we watched some movies, and cleaned the house, getting ready for the Christmas decorations. Saturday, we raked leaves. My daughter crawled out on the roof to do some yearly maintenance so that there are no leaks (the house was built in 1910 and if you don't keep up with daily small maintenance, it grows to big, 'call the insurance company to see if they cover this' maintenance). I caught up on news with my friend (and neighbor) who I don't see often once the weather gets cooler. When we came inside, I made Shepard's Pie for dinner and for dessert, we had Dutch Apple Pie and ice cream. Yesterday, we went to JoAnn Fabric's and bought some supplies for refreshening the decorations, stopped by the grocery store to get ingredients for crab dip my daughter saw in Prevention magazine. At home, my daughter sat at the kitchen table and made her dip, while we talked and I made mashed potatoes and barbecued ribs for her and butternut squash ravioli for me. The dip was delicious. The day was magically ordinary.

Emotions

2011-11-22T03:43:00.000-08:00

Annette, Barbara, Dee...Thank you. You've had me thinking, I mean really thinking, about life here, especially, 'Why don't I kick her out?' It was a layered thought process, trying to peel back all of the emotions. Emotions are interesting to me, so many can tumble around in a few seconds, and you can feel each one. It's sorting them out that is the challenge.

Fear--probably the emotion that is neck in neck with love right now. Fear of what might happen to her. I know from talking to her how sad and regretful she is about mistakes that she's made. So, we talk and each time my thinking is getting clearer, so that I focus on zeroing her in on what she says. Kind of like making her see the absurdity of what she's saying. I don't have specific times and dates of discussions, but just recently when she makes a comment and I can take her down the direct path of, "That was caused by her choice to drink," and not some bunny trail that she uses as an excuse, she has been able to see that point and then we discuss. Granted, the discussions end in crying on her part (those emotions coming up) but I think that is a good thing. Back to the fear on my part. I am afraid that if something worse would happen to her (rape, more abuse) then it would be over for her. Her sadness and hopelessness would be too much for her. And I know I couldn't forgive myself for that.

Hope--I am so hopeful that she will get over this and be able to move on with her life. I have been ready for her to be out on her own. She has always had a job. Always helped me both financially and with the around the house stuff. She was always in school until now. She still helps out financially, and with everything else, when she's not drinking. She goes about life, and then wham, some memory bump throws her off the road, and instead of backing up and continuing the drive, she stays stuck on the side for a week, and then decides to start, again. I am hoping that with each talk and restart, she will finally see things clearer. She says it is a choice, she knows it is wrong, she is resentful that she has this addiction problem, she knows it all, except how to deal with her emotions. That's what we work on, here.

Sad--She is alone, and that makes me sad. I watched as her friends slowly stopped calling and stopping over. As she slowly stopped going out with them because she felt different not drinking while that's all they do when they go out. Drinks at dinner. Drinks at the clubs. Drinks at their homes. Drinks when they went skiing. She has to find a new set of friends, and that scares her because she feels she is shy (yes, she is but not overly), and so I feel that I am here to center and encourage her until she gets the courage to move on with that search.

Love--That's the biggest. One of my favorite verses is 1 Cor. 13:4 The definition of Love. Love is patient, kind, doesn't judge...Love is patient. My walk with God used to be like a football game. I'd run a couple of yards, feel good about the gains, and then bam, I'd be tackled and pushed back and argue with God like he was the ref. I could never get a touch down. I blamed it on bad calls. Though we have been through hell here, and this summer was by far the worst of it, even when I'm tackled, now, I don't go screaming at the ref. I have picked myself up, and looked to the side at God the coach not God the ref. (Touchdown!) I think that is the peace. I have to say that this is one of the few things that seems to have happened over night, though I know it has taken four long years. (Though, it feels over night.) It feels good. I believe in God, and if this journey has helped me get closer and now my daughter is beginning to fight her way to Him, then I can't be too resentful. I have to believe that it is going to work for good, and regardless what happens, we'll be given the 'tools' we need to handle it. The most important relationship is that one with God, and family next. So, I'm working on my Love, because unconditional love has been so hard for me to practice, but very easy to say.

There is a woman in my AA group that tells these crazy stories of all of the things she did when her husband was drinking. She commented that her driving record was horrible, and she never drove. What would happen is that her husband would be driving drunk on his way home and crash the car. He would call her and tell her to hurry up and get over to where he was so that she could take the blame for the crash. She said the police would come, ask her how it happened, she said she didn't know (not a lie) and that was that. She didn't kick him out because he worked, and she needed to support their children. He wasn't mean, but it was a burden that she was willing to carry because she wasn't ready. But, she said that when her children drank, she told them not in the house or they were out. She was ready for them because she had mental practice with her husband.

After sorting out all of this, the conclusion is I'm not ready, nor, in all honesty, do I know if I ever will be. There are boundaries here, that she does follow. What I've learned from AA is that they will drink or not drink at their choosing, at home or away. I know she is as safe as it gets, here. I don't want someone coming to my door telling me they've found her. I don't want her in an unfamiliar place, alone with her thoughts tormenting her. I want to be an intersessor for her. Pray over her. Talk with her. Support her in her good choices, not enable her in her bad. When she drinks, I rarely interact with her, for several reasons; it makes me sick to see her like that, I don't want to argue, I don't want to show support for that. She makes the choices, and when she's ready to get back in the car and drive, I'm there ready to step back into her life, and hand her the map.

You are all in my prayers and I am thankful for your courage.

Maintaining

2011-11-21T03:29:00.000-08:00

It has been horrible here, this week. I don't know why she is doing this, especially after the beautiful weekend we had last week. I check on her to make sure she's breathing, try to give her healthy things to drink. She drank some chicken soup, yesterday. Though she did say she was stopping today. I hope so. But from past experience, if I call an ambulance, they won't take her if she doesn't want to go (it could be looked at as kidnapping). Once, I tried to 302 her, because she was saying that she wanted to die. That was this summer. (fyi, Dante didn't include enough circles of hell-- obviously he was not a parent of a child with an addiction). They didn't accept that, because it was alcohol realted. (what?) If you call the police, they just say it's not illegal to get drunk and fall asleep in your home. And I can't kick her out. So, there is no one but me, and though I can distance myself mentally, now, my heart literally aches seeing how sad and pathetic she looks like this. I am relying on God. There is nothing else. I painted my living room, though. I think the color is called 'pure earth.' So calming. I have to keep make good changes forward, because running in this hampster wheel can make you crazy.

Working for Good

2011-11-18T03:30:00.000-08:00

I am still calm, and I shouldn't be. Here, another week of my daughter's life spent in an alcohol bog and I'm still calm. The only time it changes is when I go into her room, and start to talk to her. I can feel the anger begin to simmer around the sides, the more I start talking and thinking, the more the bubbles start rising. They they start popping and within a few minutes, I can feel a raging boil about to splatter. Yesterday, when that happened, well, before the final splat, I turned my head to the ceiling and yelled, "God, she's in Your hands, I'm leaving before I say something I'm sorry for!" (I'm glad the windows were closed). So, I left the room and came down to the kitchen; in my opinion, the most comforting part of the house. I sat at the table and closed my eyes, and that verse that says, "All things work together for good to them that love God," came to my mind. ALL THINGS. Wow. So, this little bit of hell we're maneuvering through is included in that, the only stipulation is that you must be loving God. Well, I do. So, (out loud, again) I started confirming to God (okay, a little sarcastically at first--I was still cooling down from the boil) "So, this must be working toward a lot of good! This waste of a life, this cracking of a family, this ripping out of my heart...this is all working toward some amazing good! (pause...a little calmer) "Okay, I can't see it all, I can't make out the true future yet, good could come out of this. That's what it says."(calmer still) "I trust you will hold my daughter through all of this and help me confront whatever I have to...it's all Yours." I sat there in the quiet for a few minutes, and then, I was okay, again. Life went on. I think I'm going to paint the living room.

Blown Away

2011-11-14T14:54:00.000-08:00

I just don't understand. First a blessing. I can't tell you how nervous I was about this weekend. I was scared that my daughter would back out at the last minute for whatever reason, fear mostly, I guess. Anyway, she didn't. It was truly a break through weekend for us. So spiritually filling. I'm still trying to take it all in; all that we learned and heard. Like when you're hot and trying to gulp a cool drink, some of it spills down your neck, you're drinking it in so fast. I'm trying to gather up every last drop. My daughter and I had some good discussion and at the conclusion of the weekend, she was making plans to follow up on the readings we were given. Ironically, her prayer partner was a woman who's son was struggling with a heroin addiction, and she was able to direct my daughter to this program called Celebrate Recovery. My daughter said she might like to go. My heart was fairly bursting with joy at the change. I woke up at 5 this morning organized and clear headed, full of belief and hope. I almost skipped out of the door to my car.

Then I came home from work. I could tell the minute I came into the room. She had been drinking, and I don't know why. She asked me if we could talk, so I went upstairs and changed and came back down, and sat on the couch with her. She wanted me to read the 'Day One' selection that she was given from the retreat to start this week with. I did. It was about truth. We talked, and she began to cry and then she quit making sense. I suggested she go upstairs to lie down, and she did. She is sleeping now. The same routine. The only difference is I'm not feeling that panic or rage. I'm just calm. Go figure. I stood at the back door, and felt the warmer than usual fall breeze, and watched the brown and yellow leaves swarm up and over the fence and with them went some of my joy and hope.

What to do. I don't know. I feel a little stunned, like someone knocked me in the head when I came through the door this afternoon. When in doubt, just plod forward, again, I guess. Staying calm and maybe going outside to rake up some lingering hope.

Still Thinking

2011-11-11T03:25:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about thinking. I've been comparing how I used to think to how I think now. Used to referring to life before my daughter fell down the rabbit hole. She is climbing out, again and I'm grateful. She stopped last Sunday (four days ago).  Again, out of nowhere, I went in to see if she was breathing and she looked at me. I asked her if she was done, and she nodded her head. "I don't like this," she whispered. I sat down next to her, and laid my hand on her, "I don't like this, either." So, we're back to soberity, and praying that it sets up shop in my daughter's mind, and decides to stay.

I could have sworn that last weekend was a weekend retreat (not over night, but for three days a few hours at a time) at our church. So, I leave Friday after I watched my friend's daughter. (My friend's father passed away suddenly). After she left, I cleaned up and got into the car and headed for church. I was very sad that my daughter wasn't going with me, but I decided to keep the boundaries and push forward with me. There were a few cars when I arrived. I was curious why because this retreat they have usually draws a big crowd. I go in, small coffee in hand (it was a long day and I wanted to make sure my brain was clear). There are tables and chairs set up, but no one is there. I looked at my watch. 7:05. Hmmm. Finally, someone walks out of an office and I ask them if there is a retreat somewhere. The raised eyebrows gave me the answer. Gentle smile, "That's next weekend." I smiled back. "Oh, okay. Thank you." I walked away, tossing my coffee in the trash.

You would think I would have been embarrassed. Well, not so much anymore. That senerio has become more common than uncommon for me. My thoughts are like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, free of the net that usually kept them secure and organized. Though, I'll have really clear, organized days, a lot of the time I write down the wrong date and time, or forget completely. Work is pretty focused and fairly organized (my focus energy is used up there), but outside of work...if I don't have a notebook with me at all times, to jot ideas, times and places down, well, what happened last weekend is pretty much a sure thing. Ironically, I haven't missed anything. Mostly, I'm early. Usually, I'll call to verify. A lot of the time I feel like one of those toy cars that drive and bump into a wall just to turn in another direction. I don't like this. But, I'm adapting. Going to those meetings helps. I go to work every day, so I need a schedule, but for some reason, knowing that Saturday meeting is out there waiting, gives me a focus point, and now I weave my week around that.  Usually, it works.

Chalk it up to more resedue of being a boiled frog. Even though the water is not boiling hot right now, the luke warm is still enough to keep my thinking murky. I think maybe because fear is still connected to each and everything that I do and think about, it stunts my thinking and focus. I used to be too mentally tired to do anything, so I didn't. I'm changing, but that change requires me to make some changes. Life is funny.

So, trying to work on releasing the fear, my daughter and I are planning to attend the retreat this weekend, starting tonight from 7-9.   So, a blessing; she is sober, willing to try and we didn't miss a chance to experience something new and good, together.

You Are What You Think

2011-11-07T03:06:00.000-08:00

You are what you think. That is a scary thought to me. Much more dreadful than, 'you are what you eat.' I can control what I put into my mouth. Thoughts come out of the dark and spring themselves onto you so quickly, like some manic Johnny Appleseed tossing seeds about. And with the mind being such fertile ground, who knows what seeds will take root and be fed by some arbitrary experience. It's scary to me and very stressful, trying to control everything you think. Staying positive. That is my goal, though, to make staying positive and harvesting hopeful thoughts, my mental crop, rather than continually plowing through the negative and choking on those cores.

My daughter is a good example of becoming what you think. Each person she has come into contact with, who had a behavior trait that she didn't like, she has assimilated into her own. Two examples are her dad and a counselor she had at a treatment place, once. Her dad's behaviors can be so negative, selfish, thoughtless. She is not like that. As her own person, she is kind, and helpful. But she has been so hurt by him, angry and resentful, it's like she has focused on what she resents about him so much, that she now acts like that at times. The same with that goofy counselor, who made the statement that, ' not everyone will recover from addiction.' Well, my daughter (I think she was scared by that thought) couldn't let that fear go, and now is afraid she is one of those. Regardless of the amount of reassurance I give her, or examples of dire cases that do change, she hangs onto those fears. The fears of becoming what she hates the most cause her to become that which she hates the most.

I believe with all of my heart that who you are as a child is who you are as an adult. Some of you may be hidden, some of you may have been distorted, but the essence of who you are is always there waiting to be cleaned off, fluffed up and shine as the person you were intended to be. The person you truly are, until life got a hold of you and you weren't prepared so, instead of facing it with full armor, you threw some rocks and didn't have adequate protection when the boulders came flying back. You may be bruised, and have some healing fractures, but who you are is still alive and well, ready to blossom as intended.

So, for my daughter, and anyone else who's been choked by the weeds of negative thought, there is hope. Not a clean sweep, but a methodical pulling of those weeds and letting that ground rest. Then replanting with better, more healthy thoughts. Church, good books, good friends, there are as many good choices as bad. It's all about choosing the right seeds, tending them with passion, and then taking in that good harvest.

Taking Notes

2011-11-03T03:13:00.000-07:00

I am teaching fourth, fifth and sixth graders to take notes. We start by watching a video and I will pause it and ask if anyone heard anything important, and the students will say what they heard and felt was important, and then I help them refine their choices and as a group, we write the first note. It's interesting to listen to what they perceive as important. At one point in the video (it was about ancient Africa) there were people walking with donkeys. When I paused the video, I asked what was important, and one of the students raised her hand and answered. She then went on to say (she is obsessed with horses and anything related to horses) that she saw the donkey, and explained how a horse and donkey mate to produce a mule. That thought led into the 'other' name for donkey. She commented that they say it in the Bible and, "my dad had a late birthday card that showed two people on ***es (she would nod her head, instead of saying the word--thank goodness) and the card said, 'sorry we didn't get off of our ***es to get you a card." Afraid that she would say the word asses, I kept telling her thank you, and telling her she could tell me later. As I did that, another student blurted out, "Ms. R, you don't have to tell her to be quiet. I know what she's talking about. I'm not stupid. I know what a mule is!" I laughed out loud and assured him I didn't think he was stupid. We moved on.

Just when we think we know what is going on, someone says something or clarifies it and a whole new picture arises. That is how I feel trying to understand addiction. Just when I think I have a grasp on it, some other issue arises and turns everything into a new meaning and picture. I'm finding that listening helps a lot more than lecturing. My daughter decided to drink, again. Almost three weeks, and for reasons I don't understand, (though I suspect it has something to do with a guilt she's feeling or a memory she can't let go of) she made this decision. We were going to go together on a retreat this weekend that our church is holding. I was so hopeful when she agreed and even filled out the registration form. But, it's not to be, I guess. I'm still going. That is the other thing that has changed. I'm not feeling rage (though I did cry) and I'm not angry at God (though I am still confused and hurt). I have a history of yelling and pouting with God when this happens but not now. I sat beside her and leaned over her, put my arms around her, and prayed over her. Then, I cried, again.

So, I'm back to my own mental video, trying to rewind and take notes on what I may have missed, new signs, editing to see if there was any new change inching toward sobriety. My mind works like that, trying to see the reasons for experiences or watching for patterns. I'm trying to see it for what it is (or was), and not assuming something that isn't (wasn't) there.

Kneading it Out

2011-10-30T14:17:00.000-07:00

My grandmother was a gifted cook. I say cook and not chef, because she was never formally trained, though she could make a seven course meal out of a chicken, potato and some broccoli. I admire those people who have the same talent with food as a composer has with musical notes. They seem to have the same ability to orchestrate with herbs and various vegetables and meats, a symphony of tastes, much as a composer can see the notes in their minds and create a musical master piece. I'm not that gifted. I need a recipe to produce a good meal. Another example of my need for a plan.

I remember visiting my grandmother on Saturday morning and like clock work, she would be making fresh dough, for the weekly batch of homemade cinnamon rolls she would nibble on and serve to guests during the week. Often there would be enough dough for a loaf of bread, and some rolls. Those rolls, hot out of the oven, spread with butter and jelly, would literally melt in your mouth. I believe she's serving the cinnamon rolls in heaven as we speak, to the delight of the saints and angels. I loved watching her work and talking to her has she methodically scooped flour, kneaded and rolled the dough. She was a master. I, on the other hand, not quite so skilled. One Saturday, she asked me if I wanted to try, again, to make a loaf of bread. Sighing, I told her, "Sure. I'll try, again." She passed me the utensils and I mirrored her every move, though I was not as graceful at the kneading as she was. And, again, we were both stumped when out of the oven came her typically perfect, golden brown loaf of bread. And mine, another door stop. It was a baffling experience. But, completely made null and void, once we cut into her loaf.

I was thinking about her last week. Her temperament was as sweet as her cinnamon rolls. Patient. Kind. Giving. She had been through a lot in her life. Raising four children alone. Her husband died unexpectedly at a young age. Life was hard for her, but to look at her, you would never know. Then I though about her on those Saturday mornings, kneading that dough. And I thought about me. How during this experience with my daughter I have run the gamut of emotions from numbness to rage; until recently. I think I have kneaded my rage out. I still teeter on fear and worry, sadness and anger but there is also a calmness that was never there, before. A calmness that, from a logical view, shouldn't be there, but it is. I have kneaded my anger into calm, and am currently forming my emotions into a more palatable menu. All of the crying, and yelling and calling to God has begun to inspire in me an understanding that I am truly helpless in all of this; the anger and rage does nothing but hinder whatever process has to take place.

So, now I am praying that we are all on more sure footing, as we walk this path. I am also praying that as each of us kneads out our emotions and experiences, we are all continually blessed along the way with golden servings of contentment and success.

The Best We Can

2011-10-27T03:17:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday, my daughter and I went to the cemetary that my mom is at to plant bulbs for next year, and a few mums for the remaining fall weather. Because of the situation here, I hadn't been able to go up there for a year and a half. It is about 2 1/2 hours from here. An old, country cemetary were all of her people are buried. 'Her people.' That reference has always made me laugh. I heard it first from my grandmother. "Their people, our people" It makes me think of tiny humans carried around in a little purse. Anyway, as morbid as it may sound, I love cemetaries, and the one my mom is in is lovely. She is on a hill near her mom and dad, some aunts and cousins, and her grandmother and grandfather. If you sit by her stone, and look across the road, on the other small hill lie more cousins, and neighbors, and grandparents. Everyone there seems to have related names. A lot of the stones are old. Someone's history. There are big, ancient oak trees scattered all over. Some were still in various stages of deep reds and gold. Some were bare. As far as a cemetary can be, it is homey.

We stopped at McDonald's and picked up lunch (my mom loved their grilled chicken sandwiches) went to the cemetary, and placed a blanket next my mom's stone. We had a picnic before we started planting. It was a very still day, sunny, no wind, sapphire blue sky. My daughter and I talked, and then I said out loud, to my mom, that I missed her and wished I could talk to her. At that moment, a swril of wind blew up in front of us, carrying with it a few fallen leaves. That wind, rushed over us and then stopped. It felt like a hug and kiss on my cheeks. My daughter said, 'Mom did you notice that the wind blew when you were talking to grandma, and then stopped?' "Yes." And I smiled.

I told a friend of mine yesterday, and she said, "That was your mom answering you. She was doing the best she can to answer you with what she has to work with." The best she can. Even the spirits are doing the best they can. An interesting thought.

My daughter is one week and two days sober. A blessing. I miss her when she's passed out. When I ask her why she continues to do that, she tells me, 'Mom, you never see all of the times I don't drink when I want to. I am trying.' She's doing the best that she can with what she has. I think we all are. We get frustrated, fall down, sit and cry, brush ourselves off, and try again. Hopefully, the trying and the strength to do so, lasts a bit longer each time until, this parasite called addiction becomes weaker and weaker and someday falls off. Another example of why we can't judge others. You can't see into their minds and the battle that is raging there. We can only see the winner. I think one of our jobs entails not only loving them, but when our children win, provide them with nurishment (soul, body) to keep them strong for the next fight, and if the enemy wins a battle, be waiting with supplies for the time they're ready to battle, again. Their choice, I know, but I'm still on her side when she decides to fight for herself, and she's fighting now.

Walk Away

2011-10-23T06:05:00.000-07:00

Last week in church, the pastor talked about forgiveness and what it does. He started by saying that your spirit is not intended to carry bitterness. (I like that) He also said that you choose to forgive you don't necessarily feel like forgiving. After choosing, you release your offender, and third you tell God that you trust Him to see you through this because forgiving is hard.   He also said, that after you forgive someone (or yourself) you can walk away. You can draw those boundary lines and not cross over them, again. He said that, "Forgiveness is for the present and the past." People often feel that right after forgiving someone, you have to trust them. He said, "Trust is for the future. It takes time."   Forgiveness is less about the offender and more about the quality of the soul of the person doing the forgiving.

I thought about the person I need to forgive the most, and am pretty good about doing that, letting it go, until something from the past comes up or something in my present reminds me, and I can feel that old hatred beginning to burn. It is really hard to forgive other people.

It is harder to forgive yourself, I think, because you have to take yourself with you everywhere you go. You can't really 'walk away' as easily. So, how does that work? I've been thinking about that. How do you separate yourself from yourself? I was reading, "Because of Winn-Dixie" to the class. It's a fifth grade book, by Kate DiCamillo. I want to quote a passage because it helped me with the answer. This is from pages 94-96.

     "Look at this tree," Gloria said.
     I looked up. There were bottles hanging from just about every branch. There were whiskey bottle and beer bottles and wine bottles all tied on with string, and some of them were clanking against each other and making a spooky kind of noise. Me and Winn-Dixie stood and stared at the tree, and the hair on top of his head rose up a little bit and he growled deep in his throat.
     Gloria Dump pointed her cane at the tree.
     "What you think about this tree?"
     I said, "I don't know. Why are all those bottles on it?"
     "To keep the ghosts away," Gloria said.
     "What ghosts?"
     "The ghosts of all the things I done wrong."
     I looked at all the bottles on the tree. "You did that many things wrong?" I asked her.
     "Mmmm-hmmm," said Gloria. "More than that."
     "But you're the nicest person I know, " I told her.
     "Don't mean I havent' done bad things," she said.
     "There's whiskey bottles on there, " I told her.
  "And beer bottles."
     "Child," said Gloria Dump, "I know that. I'm the one who put 'em there. I'm the one who drank what was in 'em."
     "My mama drank," I whispered.
     "I know it." Gloria Dump said.
     "The preacher says that sometimes she couldn't stop drinking."
     "Mmmm-hmmm," said Gloria again. "That's the way it is for some folks. We get started and we can't get stopped."
     "Are you one of those people?"
     "Yes ma'am. I am. But these days, I don't drink nothing stronger than coffee."
     "Did the whiskey and beer and wine, did they make you do the bad things that are ghosts now?"
     "Some of them," said Gloria Dump. "Some of them I would've done anyway, with alcohol or without it. Before I learned."
     "Learned what?"
     "Learned what is the most important thing."
     "What's that?" I asked her.
     "It's different for everyone," she said. "You find out on your own. But in the meantime, you got to remember, you can't always judge people by the things they done. You got to judge them by what they are doing now."

When I read that, it was like part of the puzzle for me to understand how to better talk to my daughter. She has a hard time forgiving, people, but mostly herself. She has hunkered down, and burrowed herself into a stagnant hole. Like her bunker, only she invites the enemy in instead of battling it (The battlefield truly is the mind). I think it is important to have a physical representation of what you're forgiving, because thoughts are so abstract. You need something more concrete. Gloria's bottles. It might be a letter that you write to the offender. Stones in a jar. Something to hold the past, I think, may help you face the past and once that's done, it's just an empty bottle, or a stone you threw in a lake, or a letter you burned in the fire place. Let the past go. After that, start judging yourself on the present. Each day a new way. And if you mess up, start fresh the next day. I have written on one of my walls, "Blessed is the life that finds joy in the Journey." I think that's how you find joy in your life's journey. Walk away from the past.

Joy and Sorrow

2011-10-21T03:13:00.000-07:00

As of 6 years ago, this day is always going to be a day of joy and sorrow for me. My son was born on this day, and though it was scary at the time, it was the biggest day of joy for me. I can still 'feel' in my hands what it felt like to hold him for the first time. I can remember how easy it was to make him laugh and giggle as he grew up. He was the one who taught me that learning never stops and how to 're-see' the world every day. He has grown into a wonderful man. He's a gentle giant (he looks like a Viking). He's funny, and smart. Kind and an incredible writer. Each day, regardless of the stress involved, is a comfort knowing he's in the world. He is a blessing.

Six years ago, I was at work. I never check my messages during the day, but for some reason, I did that day at 11:30. My heart sank, and I could feel my cheeks begin to tingle when I heard my dad's voice (who rarely calls my cell phone) saying, "Signe, this is the call you hoped you'd never get. Mom's gone." The rest of that hour at work was a blur. What'd he mean, 'Mom's gone?' She was coming home today. That Wednesday, she had gone in for an asthma treatment, she had done that before, and was to come home on Friday. I had just talked to her the night before and she was fine, a little tired, but fine. I didn't understand. The woman I work with took over, and I just remember being kind of 'packed up' and readied to go. One of the principals had asked me if I wanted him to drive me, and I said said no, that I was fine. I remember getting into the car. It was raining (how appropriate) and driving 1/2 hour to the hospital, where my mom was on a ventilator. My dad looked so lost and confused. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. The doctors explained that her brain had shifted, a bleed of some sort. She was on the ventilator until Sunday, when my brother flew in. It was all so surreal. It all seems like a bad dream.

My mom was amazing. A little powerhouse. Quiet, and calm yet so determined to reach her goals. She had polio as a child and fought through that. Her father died when she was 19, and she quit school (she wanted to be a nurse) to go to work and help her mom and 3 brothers. She was beautiful, and kind and generous. She gave piano lessons to the kids in our neighborhood growing up. She was an artist. She loved to garden, and play cards. She liked Bun candy bars, and shopping at Marshall's. She read everything she could. She ended up going back to school and for seven years, I fell asleep to the muffled tapping of the type writer (yes, type writer) as she did her homework, downstairs at the dining room table. She ended up graduating magna cum laude with a degree in Library Science, and three days after graduating she got a job as a school librarian and worked there until she retired. She loved working with children. She loved decorating the library. She was so precise in her work. When she carved a turkey, it was with a surgeon's precision. She was such a mixture of talent and personality. I miss her every second.

She loved her grandchildren. She loved watching them grow and learn. She would be proud of both of them, today. Thinking of her makes my daughter cry sometimes. Not only the missing of her, but her feeling that grandma would be disappointed. Of all the people in the world, she was not one to judge. For her, love was a fortress, and once you were behind that fortress with her, nothing could take you away, and she would fight for you forever, so regardless of your circumstances, you were loved. Sometimes, I believe that if she were still here, her love would be the final pull that my daughter would need to stay sober. At any rate, losing her, has been a lesson in so many things. Most importantly, never, NEVER end a conversation with anything but 'I love you,' because you don't know if it will be your last words. Along with that, anger, and resentment are pointless. The only thing that matters is love and forgiveness. I don't think about money, or house or clothes when I think of my mom. I think of how much I love her, and how grateful I am that our last words were, 'I love you.' No regrets. I want my words to my daughter and son to only carry love. Life carries enough hurt without me adding to it. So, my mother's legacy is to be kind, work hard, never give up, enjoy a candy bar now and then, and never forget to say, "I love you."

Anxiety at 6:00

2011-10-17T03:20:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking a lot about how did we get here concerning addiction. I know times have always been tough, and I know that there have always been struggles with addiction, but it just seems that it has such a huge membership now, and I can't figure out why. Through watching various shows (Intervention, Dr. Drew), Documentaries (PBS station),and listening to the news, it just seems as though there are so many hurting people. The common thread with the majority of programs I've heard, concerning people with addiction, have to do with some emotional hurt that happened. The degree of hurts vary, but emotions seem to be the seed to all of this. So, what has happened to stir so much emotional unrest?

In Al-Anon, we went through some readings. Each of us read one, and commented on it. One of the women there read reading #8 that had to do with less stress and pressure. That we're supposed to pace ourselves and not let stress overwhelm us (I'm paraphrasing). It started me thinking. A few weeks ago, I heard on the news (actually, it was the alarm in the morning, so I woke up to this) that people are losing approximately $750.00 a day waiting in traffic. What!? I heard that and felt a little surge of panic shoot through my body (remember, I was in the fog of waking up), even though it only takes me 15 minutes to drive to work. As my head became more clear, and I continued to listen, the announcer explained that because people are waiting in traffic for so long, they are losing that amount of time that they could be working. So, that added up to around $750 dollars a day. They didn't specify the amount of time in traffic, just that dollar figure. But that opened another door in my thinking and I began noticing how much we, as individuals are allowing other members of society to feed our stress. The news goes without saying. Even the little blurbs between shows produce anxiety about what you can view during the 6:00 news. We are being conditioned for doom.

There are too many examples to list, but I bet I can tally at least 10 during one day. Even when the stress isn't announced, I have noticed I'm beginning to anticipate it. For instance, the first time I saw the movie Babe, the farmer was doing this dance for Babe (Babe wasn't feeling well) when he jumped into the air, I thought, "Oh, he's going to have a heart attack." He didn't. The first time, I watched this BEAUTIFUL movie called, The Magic of Ordinary Days, Livy was pregnant and pulling a huge gas can out of the truck, and I though,"Oh, she's going to loose the baby." She didn't. But it's instances like that, that I have become so accustomed to anxiety and dread, that even when something lovely is happening, that little bit of anxiety begins.

So, could that be why addiction is the new growing epidemic? These sensitive souls are being bombarded to be the best, be successful, doom is coming, you're too old, your too something else, and my daughter's anxiety, "It's (your?) never good enough."

Feelings lie. But all of the stress, and the isolation that technology brings, is hard to struggle through on a daily basis. It didn't used to be this way. When my parents were growing up, it was a slower, more dignified time. Life has gotten so fast paced, and isolating, that if you don't keep those plates spinning, it's all going to crash down around you. And somehow, more plates keep being added.

Everyone is different, I get that. Everyone handles emotions, experiences, life differently. But something has happened to cause people to want to escape from the hear and now. Something has shifted from, "Tomorrow is a new day" to "Tomorrow may never come."

Do Over

2011-10-14T19:18:00.000-07:00

I'm struggling. I'm trying to find God in all of this. Almost a month of sobriety, and bam, we're back, again, to drinking. I don't get it. I know all about free will, but a toddler has free will and I wouldn't let them walk across the street alone, or drive a car. Even though their free will was telling them that is what they wanted to do. So, why, then does God, who could pull my daughter and everyone else's child away from the terrible rush hour of addiction, as they run headlong (head strong) into on coming traffic, allow them to continue that stupid, harmful choice? Why can't He pull them back? Scold them, and put them in the time out chair to help them rethink their choices? When you think about it, in the big picture of us and God, we are infants-teenagers at best-in this spiritual family we are a part of. God the head of the family. The Holy Spirit like a loving mother. Our amazing and loving big brother, Jesus. Who wouldn't want to belong to that family? Then why this feeling of such abandonment?

I don't get it. I sound like the whinny kid sister. Maybe. But tell me where my logic is wrong. So, feeling once, again, that I've missed something, some spiritual clue, I'm racking my brain, again--what did I do wrong??? What is the key to this mystery? I feel like a spiritual archaeologist, trying to dig up clues as to how this all works. I just don't get it.

I give spelling tests on Fridays. One of my students (a fourth grader) was upset that he missed a word. He still got an A, but was upset that it wasn't a perfect score. He was getting so frustrated. I was patiently telling him that he did extremely well. Top speller. He couldn't be consoled. He was quiet for a minute, and then he looked at me, gritted this teeth, and said, "I want a do-over." I couldn't help but smile. "Sweety, we don't have do-overs for spelling tests, especially when your score is so good." (Teeth gritted, and cheeks getting red) "I want a do-over." It took several minutes before I could convince him, and he could accept that his score was wonderful. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and with pursed lips, he nodded and walked away. On my way home, I was reviewing the day, and thought of him, and I understood how he felt. I don't feel my score is that good.
I want a do-over, too.

Why?

2011-10-11T13:08:00.000-07:00

I don't know if it is the full moon, too much humidity, a bad hair day, or fear of repeating the past, but I have mentally argued with God all day. This is all just SO UNFAIR. I was driving home, and saw a mother waiting for her young daughter to get off of a school bus. That used to be me. I see the female students in school, and think, once, that was my daughter with so many exciting unknowns in her future. Where her biggest worry was who was she going to sit with on the bus. She used to be so alive. Honor role, honor society, a ton of friends, so much ahead of her. And now, this. A life of rehabs, and worry and horrible memories. Sometimes when I think of the things I've been through with her, and the situations I've seen her drunk in, it makes me physically ill. When I think of the insanity of her reasoning concerning the past, it is so frustrating. This is so unfair. Why? Why us? Why can't we know that either the prayers will be answered or they won't. Why drag on a situation if it has no hope of getting better? Why, why, why? I want this all to be over. I'm craving my normal, again. I am just so overwhelmingly sad, today.

Insidious

2011-10-09T13:34:00.000-07:00

My daughter went to an AA meeting while I was at my Al-Anon meeting. They meet in the same building. This was last night. I am so hopeful. Today, on the way to church, we talked about what was discussed at our meetings. One issue that was discussed at the Al-Anon meeting was the idea of alcoholism being a disease (all addiction, for that matter). The woman who heads the meeting called it a disease of choice. I raised my hand, and said that I wasn't sure it was a choice. Another woman said that she agreed, that it was a difference in brain chemistry. I said that I agreed more with that. It was explained to me once, in a more scientific way. I explained (more simplistically) that imagine that there is a bridge in your brain that connects part of your brain with the section that aides in feeling good/content, where the serotonin is stored. In non-diseased brains, that bridge is strong and can handle a lot of traffic, so the serotonin is always able to be carried across the bridge to other parts of the brain. In brains of people who have that addiction disease, that bridge is not so strong. And if they drink alcohol or take drugs, pretty soon that bridge gets worn away and depends on the alcohol/drug to transport the serotonin, BUT it does not transport the good serotonin. It kind of substitutes itself and tricks the brain into thinking it is working but really it isn't. When a person sobers up, and stays sober, the miraculous healing of the brain, rebuilds the normal/natural bridge. BUT if they would start using, again, that artificial substance (alcohol/drugs) tears the bridge down, again, and begins substituting the harmful poison of the alcohol/drug instead of the healthy serotonin. That is why it is a disease. When I was done with that explaination, the woman in the meeting said, "Maybe it isn't so much of a choice."

As my daughter and I talked about it, she said it is a very insidious disease because it creeps up on you. You don't realize what is happening. She said it is like Type 2 diabeties or skin cancer. With both of those diseases, you can have remission (just like with substance abuse). With Type 2 diabeties, if you eat right, and exercise, you can pretty much stay healthy. But, if you decide to eat cake and ice cream and not exercise, then the disease takes over. Same with skin cancer. If you get it taken care of, and then stay out of the sun and wear protection when you are outside, chances are you will be okay. If, however, you decide to continue going out into the sun unprotected at the worst times of the day, then you risk getting cancer, again.

The choice in alcoholism and addiction, is to choose to abstain. But being sad, and wanting to feel good (happy) are strong motivators. Alcohol is all over movies, commercials, picnics, parties, socializing events. It is hard, once you have the disease, to readjust your life. So much interfers. Socializing, the stigma involved, shame, guilt, all of those horrible feeling emotions. But it can be done. It takes committment to yourself and a shift in thinking and, I think, an understanding of what the disease is about. And the true happiness comes with sobriety. I haven't heard on person say, my life is worse being sober. I have only heard from those who have reached soberity say how blessed they feel finding soberity.

I am praying for recovery for all of those fighting addiction.

Believe

2011-10-07T03:28:00.000-07:00

I believe in God. I believe in what the Bible says. I believe in supernatural healing. I believe in the power of Love. If God felt it necessary as part of the plan for you to physically move a mountain, I believe it would happen. I believe all of it. I just didn't believe it worked for me.

I was (and still am) always amazed and awed by the people who truly love and believe in God. They seem so accepting of everything. They seem so strong. They radiate that 'peace that surpasses all understanding.' It's inspiring to witness. I always felt that if there was a table to feast at with God, I was sitting underneath it frantically picking up crumbs that fell. It's as though I could hear everyone laughing and talking and enjoying the presence of God all the time, but my experience was hit or miss, and crumbs at that.

Every day, I would put on the 'Armor of God', but I'd begin battling God. When something happened that I didn't think was right, I'd argue with God. When I was feeling hurt, or upset, I would argue with God. It got to the point that if I was in a hurry and I didn't get a good parking spot, I'd send a small grumbled complaint to God for that, too. I was beginning to wrestle with God as I was praying. I was becoming the champion of the WWF technique of communicating with God. Each time I started a prayer, in the back of my mind was that voice yelling, "Are you ready to rumble!" I stopped going to church. On Sunday mornings it progressed from finding someone on T.V. to listen to (and there are some very good pastors there) to deciding I'd just go walking, to reading something to just sleeping in a few extra hours. My taking to God--my prayers--continued to slowly deteriorate. A lot of this happened because of what my daughter was going through. My son, too, was having some issues, and there were other things like my mom dying suddenly. All of it was getting to be too much, and who else to blame but God?

Then something happened, I can't say exactly when, or how or what I was doing, but one Sunday, I was so tired, I just decided to go back to church. It is a good church. It took me awhile to find it. The pastor is an excellent teacher. He explains, unravels and applies the teachings. I take notes. So, I would get up each Sunday and force myself to go to church. When my daughter was sober, she would go with me. When she was passed out, I went alone. I honestly don't know why I did go other than, I had reached that point I'd heard about where I was totally empty. So, I would go and just sit there and listen. Pretty soon, I started feeling the stirrings of a calmness, and I started feeling stronger. Not all at once, and I'm still not completely there (and by there I think I mean that peace that surpasses all understanding), but I'm getting there.

I was plodding in one Sunday, and a women who greets people, asked if everything was okay. I started tearing up. (I was doing that a lot there. People I didn't know, even the pastor at one point, would say hi, and ask me how I was and I would just start to cry, so I had people praying for me almost every Sunday. I was starting to get embarrassed because I didn't know how to stop that). Anyway, she asked me, I told her about not feeling that it all worked for me, and she told me it was because I was believing my feelings and not the truth. I had to believe the Truth of God. So, I had to not only recover from being an enabler, I had to recover from believing in feelings. (Which, as I think of it the two are kind of intertwined).

It is getting better. I am loyal to my meetings and church. I am learning a lot. Before my daughter came home, I was praying all over the house. In her room, especially. I wanted a supernatural healing in this home so that the same memories wouldn't entice her to fall back. I was cleaning a few days before she came back, and I found a stencil that said, "Believe." I had bought it about a year ago at this colonial festival I went to. The thought came to me to stencil it on her wall. So, I did. I continued to pray, and the Monday she was to come home, when I was at work, I was starting to feel those twinges of worry. I was beginning to crawl into my mind's attic and unpack that suitcase of old feelings I had packed away when she had left. I was walking around the room, and happened to look over at one of my students, and on the back of his shirt was with word, "believe." I couldn't help but smile (and yes, got a little chill). So, I started to relax, again. I had to believe that God was in this and my prayers were in the process of being answered. Fast forward to my daughter getting home. We had talked, and she told me that she had made a plan for staying recovered here (thank you), and, oh yeah, she had made a mug while she was there. So, she went and got it and showed me. On the mug, she had written the word, 'Believe.' I laughed. I told her to go up to her room. She did and when she saw the 'Belive' stencil, she looked at her mug, and we both smiled at each other. I told her about my student's shirt. God communicates in many ways.

So, I am believing. I am still weak, relying on feelings at times, but I am forcing myself to believe the Truth of God. I am believing that God does love me (even though I still feel awkward saying that). I am believing that whatever may occur, God is working in all of this. This time, I am truly believing it all.

God's Maneuvering

2011-10-05T03:30:00.000-07:00

Good can be gleaned from any bad situation. This is what I believe. Sometimes it takes time (even years) to see the good, but it is there. Seeing the Hand of God move and shift people and situations always amazes me. Here is how He worked with my daughter during her visit to Crazy Town.

Of course, she didn't know anyone when she arrived. She is shy to begin with, and her not knowing anyone or anything about the situation was causing her anxiety. She was afraid to face the unknown. She arrived at night, so she was placed into detox and stayed there for the next day. (By the way, they only gave her a vitamin, nothing to prevent seizures, just a vitamin during the detox) During lunch, the next day, an older man who was there came over to her and started talking to her. He was genuine, kind and a recovering alcoholic like her. The next day, another older man, also a recovering alcoholic befriended her. They were like loosely choreographed tag-team. Because of their company, she did not feel isolated. In addition, they had some good life advice and encouragement. The one man was a professor, and they ended up having some very good conversations. He gave her a book to read, that she really enjoyed. Then he gave her a reading list! (teachers) Anyway, one afternoon, when the weather was nice, there was a break and my daughter was working on this packet she was given about recovery. She needed the NA book, so she asked one of the men, I think she said his name was Chris, if she could borrow his. He said yes, and then told her she should go outside and sit at the picnic bench to write because the weather was so nice. So, she did.

When she was out there working on her packet, one of her roommates came over and sat with her. She was writing a letter to her boyfriend. While they were there, another man, (this big guy as she described him) came over to her. "What are you doing?" My daughter looked up. "I'm working on my recovery packet." "Really?" "Yes." He said, " I have never seen anyone working toward their recovery during break like this. That's impressive." My daughter smiled and he walked away.

A few minutes later, one of the female techs came over to my daughter. This made her nervous, because this particular tech was hard to read. The tech asked my daughter what her name was. She told her. She wrote it down, and informed my daughter that she would be attending 'Big D's' group at 6 that evening. "Who's Big D?" "The big man who was just talking to you. Consider yourself honored. Everyone wants to be in his groups." (Big D had also picked the friend of my daughter who was writing the letter, thinking that she was also working on her recovery)

(So, there is the first had of God, Chris suggesting my daughter write outside. The second had of God was the roommate sitting next to her and writing her letter).

My daughter went to the group and said that it was the most powerful group she's ever been to. What he talked about and got them to talk about was very moving and my daughter said that she was crying most of the time. My daughter's roommate also got a lot out of the group. There were about 9 people picked to attend. After the first session, Big D, said that he had felt God was working here, so they were going to have a second group the next night. And they did. After that group, he said he wanted a third group (the second group was apparently unheard of since so many people want to be in his group, he usually has only one per group). It was that third meeting, however, that she had to miss because of the 'whole unit' acting up incident. That was why she was so mad. (See how evil also has a plan and how people can also be used to carry that out?)

It is always a choice to do right or wrong. Good or bad. I believe we are in a spiritual battle--always. The choices are there--always. Who's side we pick is determined by our intentions. Do we intend to help or hurt? Do we intend to be faithful or fearful? It's all about choices. In this case, the choices are clear: Big D-Man of God. Supervisor on the unit-works for the other side.

A Plan

2011-10-04T03:11:00.000-07:00

So, my daughter and I talked most of yesterday and last night. She came home sick, with a temperature of 102. She said that four people had been diagnosed with pneumonia while they were there. She said to see a doctor, you had to put in for a medical slip. She did that twice, and was seen once. She was feeling achy, sore throat, headache, chills. The doctor looked in her mouth, and listened to her back. Never took a temperature. Never gave medicine (not even aspirin). Just told her to drink some water. It was this kind of treatment that was hard for me to hear. Her being denied treatment both mentally and physically. The more we talked, the more this was sounding like One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. I think the supervisor of her unit fit the nurse Ratchet role like a clone. There was an underlying cruelness to the facility. For instance, though my daughter's drug of choice is alcohol, most of the patients there were struggling with heroin or other drug addictions. One night, for recreation, they showed the movie Basketball Diaries. This is a movie about drug addiction. My daughter said that after the movie, several of the patients commented that they had just relapsed. Whether joking or not, I think it makes no sense to show a movie like that to people who are trying to get away from that life style.

There were a lot of instances like that, where the supervisor or the general 'rules' were not in support of recovery. It's all very sad for me. It's as though the people who are supposed to be in charge of the healing of people with addiction, themselves don't respect those struggling with this. They don't respect the steps to recovery. They don't respect the trauma that began the addiction. They don't respect that this is a person, not a number or a thing, but a human being who deserves the time and compassion to be helped. The stigma of addiction was shadowed in the attitude of the people in charge and routine of the place my daughter was staying. So frustrating.

I'm a letter writer. I write letters when someone has done a good job. I write letters when someone does a bad job. If I can't find the address, I make a call. I have done this for a long time. My inspiration was a quote I had seen on a church marque once. Ironically, I had been working at a school that took in adjudicated students. Even though they were a hard group to work with, they could be worked with! Yes, it took time, and energy, and a ton of patience, but they could be reached. However, not everyone had this same experience or view. There were some people who were not helping, and I was so frustrated driving on the way home. I happened to be at a red light, and looked to my right, and there, in big black letters was the quote: "Evil Prospers When Good Men Do Nothing." That has been the motivation for me to speak out when the time calls for it, good or bad. I'm not an in-you-face type of person. Once, someone used the description Velvet Sledgehammer. I like that.
So the plan is to write some letters. To the man who went to see my daughter, because apparently he didn't listen too hard to her and he misquoted me to her. Then, I found the CEO of the whole medical group that this place is tucked into. For what it's worth, he'll be getting a letter, too. Will it have an effect? I don't know. I hope, though, that my putting these concerns forward, with the intention to clean it up and get the help snowball rolling, will throw out some good in the universe. I think God works that way. Anyway, that's what I feel motivated to do. So, I'm following that. I don't want to end this, though, feeling like all was horrible. God did place people in my daughters path while she was there that helped keep her motivated and did inspire her. Prayer is definately a powerful tool. And God surely does work in amazing ways.

Recovering from Recovery

2011-10-03T13:55:00.000-07:00

Well, my daughter is home. It seems like she's been away for a lot longer than she was. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I'm happy to say that she seems different in a good way--calmer and wiser. That's the result. This past week, though, has been wild and unsettling. There are so many emotions and thoughts I have been trying to sort out. So, here was the process.

First, about me. I want to make an observation. The first week my daughter was gone, it took me about a week for my emotions to catch up with my brain. I would go to work, and come home, let the dogs out. Let the dogs in. Put on the sweats, and lay on the couch. Sometimes I would fall asleep. Sometimes I would watch some T.V. and then fall asleep. Most of the time, I would watch T.V., take a nap so that I would have the energy to go upstairs to go to bed. It was like I couldn't focus on how to function without worrying. All of my energy went into work, I couldn't push my brain anymore when I got home. Then, the next week, the week I was packing up my daughter's box, my brain kind of did a fast forward, like they do in the movies where the character goes through five years of life and zip, is in the present. That was me. As I was packing her box, my thinking just go clearer and clearer. From that day until today, I was on time, laundry didn't sit in the basket for days, papers didn't get pushed aside. I cleaned out 2 closets, the dinning room (turned into 'study'), I worked in the yard, and was not only on time for work (I am always) but I went in early to work ahead! It didn't take me years to re -find myself. It took me a week. It felt great. Even with the crazy situation that happened at the facility she was in, I was having my own self-rediscovery recovery.

Her recovery: My daughter had called me the Friday before the box, and she wasn't happy. She said she wouldn't be able to call me until the following Friday. I recieved a letter from her on Monday that pretty much told of a place similar to House on Haunted Hill. I didn't know what to think. Well, Tuesday night, around 6:30 the phone rang. My daughter was angry and panicked. She was telling me she was going to leave AMA (against medical advice) She had demanded to use the phone, even though it wasn't her day. I told her to calm down. She said that someone in her unit had stolen a key from one of the tech's and so no one could go to group. She was upset because she had said that this group was actually helping her. (Even in her panic, I felt hopeful because she said that something was helping her, but it made me angry, too, because she was being denied treatment for something she didn't do). So, I told her to stay there, and don't go anywhere I was going to make some calls. We hung up and I started to panic because I had no idea who to call. So, I went on line to look up names from the facility. I left a few messages, but I didn't feel satisfied. Then I remembered Diane, the Angel of Mercy who had helped us, before. So I called her and left her a message. Well, by now I was worried and worked up, so I started dusting. Diane called back around 8:30, and she sounded madder than me!

I explained to her, again all that my daughter had said, and her exact words to me: "You get on that G** D*** computer and type all of this up! I will give you a fax of the guy in charge of all of this and you send it to him! I'm so fed up with these counselors! People have complained to me before, but no one says anything!" Me: "Hold on, Diane, do you have a number? I'll call the guy." Diane: "Yes. You'd do that? That's even better. I'll text him right now and tell him you'll be calling him tomorrow morning." When I got off of the phone with Diane, I was happy that she was there, again, ready to help. Then I started wondering why she sent us to a place where she felt the counseling was sub par. (hmmm).

So, I wrote it down, had my daughter's letter and waited until the morning. Before I could call this guy, Diane called me making sure I had all of my paper work ready. I assured her I did, and then I called. On the phone, this man, Mr. B, sounded sane. In fact, he was in the car on the way to the facility that was two hours away from his office. I was feeling hopeful. He listened to what I had to say and then assured me he would talk to my daughter, make sure she was safe, and get to the bottom of things. After all, this facility was where he started. His statement: "I built that place." (hmmm).

He said he would call later that afternoon. I had to go back to work, but called Diane to tell her about the conversation. After I was done, Diane said that my daughter was no longer there. That someone said she had left, AMA. "WHAT!?" She told me she would make a call and get back to me.

Five minutes later, the phone rings. It ends up being the supervisor from the facility. The very woman who denied the treatment. She introduced herself, and said that she understood that I had a question about my daughter's treatment. (How did she know so quickly?) "Yes. Is she getting any?" She then read me the daily schedule. I said, "That sounds very nice, but is that schedule followed EVERY DAY?" Pause. "Well, it wasn't yesterday because the unit was 'acting up.' Me: "The WHOLE unit was acting up? (silence) "Well, I find that hard to believe." (silence) "Are you still there?" "Yes." "Okay, well, I don't care what the whole unit is doing, you can't deny my daughter, or anyone else there, treatment because that's why they are there." "Well, she sees her counselor every day." (that ended up being a lie, by the way) "Great. She needs the other groups, too. Especially the one that is helping her. Make sure she gets there." Her: "Do you have any other questions?" "Yes. Is my daughter there?" "Yes." "Let me talk to her." So, she put her on the phone. I asked her if she was okay. She was. Then I told my daughter that a man would be coming there and she was to tell him everything. She said that she would. I told her I loved her and hung up the phone.

I called Diane to tell her about that conversation, and that my daughter was okay. I went to work.

That is part one. I wanted to wait because my daughter's view on what happened is my guide to how this will be resolved. We talked when she got home, so, I'm back to trying to put my thoughts together. This recovery business really does take some time...and a lot out of you.

The Box

2011-09-26T03:07:00.000-07:00

My daughter called on Friday evening. That's her time to call. She wasn't happy or feeling that she was getting the right help. I'm still thinking about what she said, and trying to figure out how to react. Anyway, near the end of the call, she asked if I could send her a package of a few items she need (pair of jeans, favorite flip flops, tropical trail mix, things like that). So, I wrote down the items as she listed them, and we hung up. As I went around the house looking for the items that were here (others I would stop by the store in the morning before mailing the package) I started thinking of a size of box to mail it all in. I went to the basement, and there, sitting on a chair was the perfect size box. Last Christmas I bought a tea pot for a friend, and it came to my house in that box. I usually throw them out, but this one I kept. Even this summer, when I was cleaning the basement and throwing out stuff, I obviously kept the box for some reason.

As I was packing the items, I started thinking about the box. It's not that it was an earth shattering moment to have the box (though it was the perfect size and it did save me time and a little money from having to buy one). Or maybe it was. As I was packing it dawned on me, "Had that box been kept there because God knew this moment was going to happen, and by a succession of events- my friend needing a tea pot, me buying one for a present, and then discarding the box into the basement to wait for this exact moment-God was preparing me for packing these items for my daughter? If that is the case, then this moment is what is supposed to be happening and we really are where we are supposed to be for a reason. Honestly, my first thought was to get a little mad. This was planned for my daughter to hurt like this? But then, just as quickly, I thought, even with a strong faith (or a growing faith) life wasn't promised to be easy. The promise, I believe, is that God will carry you through it. The box is just a reminder that God is planning and caring and watching. We buzz through life, and get all caught up in things, but in those close, quiet moments when we get a chance to think, and start to organize, a box shows up to remind us we are not alone in this.

That thought is a hesitant comfort for me. Hesitant because I wish none of this was happening to any one, and my faith is not yet strong, enough, in the truth that God does love me, but a comfort that I can see the message, and even as I come to terms with God's love, He's still setting up boxes long the way.

Alyssum

2011-09-22T13:33:00.000-07:00

I miss my mom. She died unexpectedly Oct. 21, 2005. I had talked to her on Thursday night, telling her I would see her on Friday. Fortunately, the last words I said to her and she said to me were, "I love you." She was gone Friday morning from a bleed in her brain. I can honestly say my mom was the only person to ever take care of me. Even when I became an adult, her nurturing nature enveloped me. We talked every day. When I went over there, just her listening to me refueled me. I miss her so much, especially now, struggling with my daughter (whom, I might add she adored). I don't think I would be telling her anything that has happened, but just to be near her and hear her voice would be so helpful to me. Sometimes I miss her so much, tears well up in my eyes.

So, last Friday, after I came home and my daughter was on her way, I started talking to my mom. Telling her how much I missed her and how much I need to know she is still here. I need to know I'm not alone in this. Sat. afternoon I went to my dad's. I stopped and got him lunch. He is 89 in two days and still lives alone, cuts his grass, drives, walks a mile a day--it's pretty amazing. Anyway, each spring I plant flowers in his yard, more as a tribute to my mom, than anything else. She loved pink begonias and impatiens. She also liked to plant white alyssum as a boarder. Two springs ago, I didn't need to plant the alyssum, because some have been reseeding themselves, and it looked as though it would continue. By midsummer, they were very sparse. This year, I planted the begonias and impatiens but no alyssum, hoping they would reappear. (Each time I went to my dads, the other flowers were doing well, but the alyssum was sprouting in pockets, and very thin).

After lunch, my dad and I went out to look at the yard. I don't know how I had missed it when I went into the house, but the begonias and impatiens were doing well, the formally patchy alyssum, however was everywhere! It was bordering the flowers, pouring over the wall at the side of the house like a waterfall, but the most amazing part was that it was growing where the driveway meets the foundation of the house. There is no dirt there, but in one continuous stream of delicate, puffy-full plants, it runs all the way to the back of the house. My dad just looked at me. My eyes started tearing. I looked at him and said, "It's mom. She's still here." The look in his eyes was, for a moment, like a child's. He smiled, "You think?" "I know, dad. I"m sure." And we stood there, smiling at the alyssum, blooming so beautifully and full. Thank you, mom. I feel refueled.

Working Something Out

2011-09-21T14:05:00.000-07:00

Well, my daughter called me at work yesterday. Where she is they can only call home at certain times. Though she sounded well, I could tell something was amiss. She was talking to me in code. She kept repeating, "this place is like Gateway." I finally got the meaning. One time she went to a place to get counseling, and the counselor was not good. I noticed that when I went to the family meetings. Anyway, she told me that she had written me a letter, and was mailing it, yesterday. I don't think it's going to be a good letter. She said she was meeting with her counselor one-on-one, today. I told her to tell the counselor what she was thinking. Part of her problem is that she internalizes everything, so let it out. Right?

I bought her a card, today on my way home from work, and I'm going to tell her that just because the counselor isn't good, doesn't mean she still can't get some good out of the program. Even if she just journaled and prayed every day, it would be better than what she was doing here. Being away from here I think is good for her, just to break up the spiral she was spinning in. Being sober. Seeing different people. A change.

I can't let it worry me, though. I have to have faith that God will work something out. I am praying he will position people to guide her. Mostly, I'm praying that she will finally move closer to God. I think things would work out, then.

A Good Thing

2011-09-18T04:24:00.000-07:00

My daughter went to get help. It happened on Thursday night, when I got home from work. She had been eating (she doesn't eat when she drinks, so when I saw the dishes in the sink, a spark of hope flickered). I went up to her room, where she was lying in bed, but awake. I asked her how she felt. She said, "Horrible, but I need help." "Are you saying you'll go to that facility?" "Yes." "Then you need to go down stairs and call Diane." "I feel too bad." "Then you must not want help." (Big sigh) I left the room, and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later she came down and called. Diane was able to get a bed (what a sad commentary that this facility holds 226 people and only one bed was vacant--so many hurting people). She was to be at Diane's office by 11:30 the next day (Friday). I took 1/2 a sick day. I was still not 'exhaling' yet. Friday morning, she was still feeling bad, but we took time and packed. At one point she did say that she thought she should get a drink because she was feeling so bad, I told her I wasn't going to argue about it, and left the room. When I went back (about 30 minutes later) she never brought up the subject, again. We leave (I'm still nervous, thinking she may change her mind because she would periodically say she was scared and begin to cry).

But, we got to Diane's office. As we waited for the van, there was another kid, my daughter's age, waiting in the room. He looked at us and said, "I was where you were a year ago. I'm a recovering alcoholic. I know you're feeling anxious and scared, but believe me, this is the best thing you can do for yourself. Last year at this time I thought 'How can I get through life without drinking? Now, I think 'How was I getting through life drinking?' I have my own place now, I'm back in school. Pay my own bills. And, I was robbed last night. They took everything, and I don't want to drink over it. Life is good." (He was one of God's people placements. Thank you, God.) I eventually had to leave to get back to work. I was nervous that she would leave the office after I left, and roam the streets with her suit case. (The crazy scenarios I'm starting to imagine). I hugged her. She was tearing up. So was I. I hugged her, again, and left.

I went back to work, and after the day was over, I called Diane to see if she got onto the van. Diane said, "Yes. Once their support person goes, and they don't have anyone to worry with, they get the courage." "Like leaving them off at kindergarten?" I asked. She laughed and said, "Exactly."

Oddly, I was still kind of shell shocked. I thought I'd be happier, but I was still worried. I (and this is another irrational fear because she has no money) was imagining her taking a bus from 4 hours away. I almost expected to see her on the door step at midnight. But I went home, made some macaroni and cheese (a favorite comfort food) and after I ate, I fell asleep on the couch. The phone woke me at 8:00 pm. It was my daughter telling me she had arrived there. She sounded okay. Of course the phone card I bought her is the wrong one (they were not allowed phones) so, she'll call collect when she can, but other than that, all was well. I hung up the phone, and I could smile.

My response to stress is to sleep, so I went back to bed. The phone rang, again, but this time it was my best friend (more like a sister) who was going to be in town on Sat. and wanted to meet. We decided on breakfast in the morning. I went back to sleep. All day, yesterday, I felt as though I was in slow motion. I initially thought that if she ever went, I'd get this done, and that done, I'd be like someone drinking coffee and listening to banjo music--I'd be all over the place, but I wasn't. I went to my Al Anon meeting last night, and told everyone. They were happy, and I looked at the woman leading the group and said, "It's a good thing, right?" She smiled and said, "It's a very good thing!" I told her that I think I'm so used to broken promises, and horrible situations, that I can't see or maybe don't feel as though I deserve that this is SUCH a good thing--like I"m afraid another shoe (or a boulder) is going to drop. She said that's not unusual, and again commented to take it one day at a time, and it is a GOOD THING.

So, it's Sunday morning, and my emotions are catching up with my brain. I'm recalling what Diane said about it being a process more than progress. I can smile as I write this because regardless of the future journeys, today a good thing is in progress.

An Angel Among Us

2011-09-15T03:29:00.000-07:00

My daughter is still drinking, and refusing to go to treatment. She's afraid, she says. Not ready. (Too afraid to live and too afraid to die, I think) I feel like we're in a dark forest--the Forest of No Return, from Toy Land. But as we are stumbling, and bumping round in here, an angel appears. Her name is Diane. This woman, whom I've never met is the Behavior Specialist/Case Manager who my daughter was told to call if she wanted to go to inpatient. This woman has never met us. We've only spoken over the phone 4 times, for less than 2 minutes. Since I spoke with her on Monday, after the fight, and she calmed us down, she has been calling at least 2x a day to find out how we are. I finally was able to talk with her last night to thank her. We are total strangers (even thinking about this kind gesture is making me tear up), and she said, "Just calm down. Take a break and get some rest. When she's ready, tell her to call me and we'll get her help." Simple words, but so powerful. Like she brought me a down comforter and a feather pillow in the middle of this cold, dark forest. May God Richly Bless Diane. Praying for us all.

The Spot on My Faith

2011-09-13T02:47:00.000-07:00

Another crazy day, yesterday. My daughter said that she was going to go to a rehab facility about 4 hours from here. She had to be at the office to catch the van at 11:30 am. I left work during my prep (thanking God for such a compassionate and understanding boss) to drive her there. On the way over here I was praying, praying, praying. When I got here, she was asleep on the couch. I woke her and she said she wasn't going to go. Long story short, a big fight, verbally and physically (pushing each other, grabbing, pulling hair) I called the counselor, and told her to forget it. She said, "You're dealing with the disease now, not your daughter...it's a process, not progress." (or something like that). She said we'd try again, later. After all of that, I splashed some water on my face, brushed my hair and went back to work. (Insanity). And on the way, asked God why He didn't intervene.

Last night, I was lying in bed thinking about all of this. For a few weeks there, I did have some calm. I can feel the rage bubbling back, again, though. But I do have faith that God is in control, and could work miracles...all of it. But this doubt pushes in, and I say, "But if You were a loving God, You wouldn't allow all of this bad to happen." It is hard to block out that other voice, especially when things are so bad. Then I thought about this TV commercial I saw once. I think it was about some laundry detergent, because the person had on a clean shirt, but there was a spot. When he was talking to another person, that other person didn't hear what the person with the spot on his shirt was saying, he only 'heard' the spot." It was funny, but is a good metaphor for my faith, I think. Each day, I wake up wrapped in clean, fresh Faith. Except, I look down, and once the day has started, I see a spot, and that spot all day long is 'talking.' So, when something frustrating happens, I don't feel covered anymore, I hear, "If God really loved you He wouldn't let this happen." or "It works for everyone else, but you." or "You're always going to be on the outside, God's never going to invite you in." Thoughts like that. And so, I end the day feeling spotted, and not crisp.

I know life was never promised to be fair, or safe, or even happy. But I can't help but fall back to that thinking (and I do feel as though I'm 10 years old, pouting in my room). God is in control of everything. Our family has committed themselves to God, and yet here we are in this damp, dirty laundry room, dark and musty with resentments, spotted with lost hope, and chest crushing sadness. As always, I will try to wash something today, but what I really need is a good spot remover.

Riding the Yoyo

2011-09-11T09:47:00.000-07:00

I'm so exhausted by these up and downs. After drinking for 4 days last weekend (the Labor Day weekend) my daughter woke up Tuesday morning, and told me she needed help and wanted to withdraw from school, because she couldn't do this, anymore. Second time she announced this, first time she admitted she couldn't go on with school until she got help. Kids weren't in class, so we had a longer lunch. I told her I would come home on the lunch break, take her to school to withdraw (ironically, Sept. 6th was the last day to do this). So, she was ready when I got home, and we left, she filled out the papers, I brought her back home, and she said she would call this rehab place to ask for inpatient services. She made the calls.

Summing up the week: She was recovering from the drinking and not eating for 4 days, it is a slow process, but by Friday (2 days, ago) she was feeling better. She had called the place, and because she had been sober for 5 days, they didn't think she needed inpatient. SHE DOES! But they made a call, and they were going to take her on Sat. morning (Thank you, God) but then someone called back and said that she had to call Monday (tomorrow) to see if her insurance from school, that she just withdrew from, would still accept this treatment. So, yesterday morning, she said that she wanted to drink. Did we argue, YES. Did I lose the calm I have been cultivating? YES. She bought alcohol, but assured me that she was still going to call Monday. It is so hard to get help. It is such a fragile existence. I'm so tired and dizzy with this.

My horrible thoughts: Last weekend there was a concert here, I think it was Journey, and a friend of mine's daughter was killed in a car accident on her way there. She was the same age as my daughter, a full life ahead of her. She had just begun a job as an occupational therapist. And now she's gone. In funeral home, as I looked at her lying there, it could have been my daughter. I cried on the drive home. And then there's my daughter, caught in his Titanic of a life situation, slowly sinking, throwing out all of her gifts. I feel as though I come home to a funeral home. I feel as though two precious lives have been taken, one quickly and one slowly. How do you cope with the walking dead? I know God is there, and I pray all of the time. But if His time is not our time, then what time is there?
I have a headache, thinking and living this.

God Lifts

2011-09-04T11:37:00.000-07:00

I went to church this morning. We had a visiting pastor from Sweden. Though his English was very broken, and he would stop every once in a while to figure out the corresponding English word that would express his thought best, his passion and love for God was so infectious, I couldn't help but believe what he was saying. His message was from Ezekiel, talking about how God lifts people up from seemingly dead circumstances. One of the stories he told was of an old gypsy violinist who went to a music store to buy a new violin. Though he spent an hour testing and looking, he could not find the new violin with the right sound. The pastor went on to say, that the old gypsy had to use the bathroom, and the only one available was an outhouse behind the shoppe. He also explained that in Europe, people used to have a pile behind their homes where they would put junk, old furniture, etc. and burn them. So, the old gypsy walks out back and happens to see, on top of the mound of ash, an old violin, with only one string. Curious, he picked up the violin, and put it under his chin, and began to play. The music from that discarded violin with one string was so beautiful, in the hands of such a master musician, that people began gathering around. The gypsy, himself, was so enthralled with the beauty of the music, it took him, mentally, away. When he finished, he opened his eyes, to the crowd who had gathered to appreciate the beautiful music.

The lesson: God does the same thing. He can pick you up from whatever ash heap you are sprawled on, gather you, regardless of the holes, lack of strings, take you into His arms, and produce beautiful music through you. This was helpful to me because I have always hoped God would go looking for you, but some of the teachings, or maybe it's the way they've been taught, make it seem that, yes, God is there but you have to seek Him out. But, if you're lying on top of a pile of ash, you're too broken to go looking. Just like someone in addiction, may be too broken mentally or physically, to go looking or even KNOW what to look for. The supernatural healing of God is where the miracles come. And so, when God walks by, and looks down and sees a broken soul, and tells them to, "Live," the prayer is answered.

I paraphrased a much longer and more eloquent story, but as I was listening, tears were beginning to blossom in my eyes, and I became choked up. I thought of my daughter, and everyone else's daughters and sons and loved ones who have been thrown upon a pile of ash by addiction. Broken, disheartened, hopeless and lost. My heart ached. I prayed for all of us trying to clean off the ashes and those still buried or covered in ashes that God walks by, today, lifts them up and begins to play the beautiful melody of their lives that addiction has silenced. May God pour blessings on each and everyone one of you. Amen.

Hope Sinks

2011-09-03T07:55:00.000-07:00

Well, I can't tell you how sad I am as I write this. Last Sunday, with my daughter telling me she has to 'own this' and asking me to dump the hidden bottle, was such a hopeful moment for me. I literally said a hundred thank yous to God (should I have said 1000?). The week went well, and then she came home, yesterday from class. I could tell by the look in her eyes. (No, I didn't ask, "Did you buy alcohol" I used my new code phrase system: "Is everything okay?" --did you buy alcohol?; "Is your day going well?"--are you sober?; "Are you feeling okay?"--are you thinking of buying alcohol? I'm not sure if she understands the code, yet, but that's what I do) Anyway, I looked at her and asked her if she was okay. She paused and then said that she had stopped on the way home and bought a bottle (maybe she does understand the code). (my heart sank, but was also a little hopeful that this may be different, because she didn't hide it, I turned and saw it on the night stand, and she didn't lie to me about buying it). So, I didn't panic. I sat down with her on the bed and talked about it. I could tell by were the liquid line was on the bottle that she had already had her first drink, so I wanted to talk with her while she was still able to talk.

In as calm a voice as I could muster I asked, "Can you tell me why you bought it?"
"Because I heard some of the other kids in class saying they were going out to the bars, tonight."
"And you were jealous that you couldn't go and drink?"
"Yeah"
"So you're wanting to have that same experience, alone, here, in your room?"
"I want to feel normal."
"You are normal for the most part. You just can't drink."
"I know and it makes me upset."
"Why?"
"Because that's what everyone does."
"But they're out with each other. You can go out and not drink."
"I'm too shy. I'm not as out going. Alcohol makes me outgoing."
"And passed out in your room is outgoing?"
"I don't have to think when I drink and pass out."
"Sweet heart, don't you see how this 'lie' you're drinking is robbing you of your life?"
I could see her eyes getting heavy. "You have so much life, a good life, a head of you if you just stop drinking. It's the drinking that has given you all of these regrets. I love you, and it is so painful to watch my child do this to herself."
"I love you, too." And she fell asleep.

I said a prayer over her and then left her room. I had such a feeling of hopelessness--that she will never recover from this, and it is breaking my heart. I think part of my problem is that I pray, and still live in fear. I don't think you're supposed to do that. God doesn't give the spirit of fear, right? How do you keep faithful and hopeful when there is so much darkness? It is morning. I heard her moving last night, but she is sleeping now. I have a meeting, tonight, that I am looking forward to going to. I am planning to get out, today, and just do stuff, so that I don't have to think about this. I don't know what else to do. This numbing hurt can produce such cloudy thinking. What I prayed last night was: "God, please take her home or heal her, but do it today, because I can't take this limbo anymore." Was that a lack of hope, or the beginning of letting go? Did I pray the right prayer?

Starting My Day With a Cup of Worry

2011-09-01T02:58:00.000-07:00

I start back to work, today. After a summer of being around and able to monitor (sometimes from a distance, sometimes up close) my daughter, I'm feeling a little anxious. That nervous stomach feeling, again. After what happened on Sunday, I have been very hopeful. She has made an appointment for intensive out-patient therapy beginning next week. She will have classes in the morning, and then Tues.,Wed., and Thursday from 6-9 counseling groups. She went in on her own, and has even said she wanted to start going to a bible study group Sat. @ 6 p.m. with some other students in her class. (I have always admired the people who are so committed to God, that no matter what they do, school, work, free-time, they find the time to come together to study the bible). Anyway, this has all been good. My brain, however, seems to love slopping around in past memories and miseries. For three weekends in a row, something negative, and potentially devastating, has happened concerning alcohol. Was that the grand finale? Or a speeding up of a crisis to come? This is how my brain works. Then, for a split second, it relaxes and tells me to relax. (Do you know I have gone through red lights because my brain has been so occupied with this type of thinking? I have made repeated trips up and down stairs, into stores, turning around in various streets because I passed up the one I was meaning to turn onto, because my mind has been so occupied). Then, I start thinking, "Will these unspoken, worried, negative thoughts somehow seep into her aura, then to her brain, and then to the bottle? CRAZY thinking! I have found those pockets of peace the last few days. I think I'm ready to attach them to a vest, now. Wish I was a more accomplished seamstress.

Normal--the Seventh Sense

2011-08-30T03:19:00.000-07:00

I was thinking last night about something one of the people at Al-Anon said to the group last week. She was talking about her experiences and commented that addicts are expert at lying, manipulating, they'll tell you anything you want to hear. Observations like that. She said you just can't trust them. So, with what has happened the past two days (My daughter is still reviewing Sunday and saying how she doesn't want to drink anymore. She also called a rehab place in our area for out patient treatment and an assessment that she will go to, today.) can I trust her? I want to. I think I have forgiven and 'retrusted' almost immediately during the past three years. Is this time different or just a variation of a repeated behavior?

That thought lead me to, "Why does enabling start in the first place?" I definitely didn't want to help get her deeper into this nightmare. So, why? Then I started thinking about what enabling has done to me. It has heightened my five senses, amazingly. I can smell alcohol on someone from across the room. I can detect the slightest change in speech, movement, thinking. And then I realized what I felt like. I felt (and still feel) like a person who has lost a sense. Sight, for instance. I have heard and read that when people lose their vision, their other senses become more refined. Well, I have lost my sense of 'normalcy.' My enabling has been developing because I want Normal back so badly, I have done everything, and believed everything I can to get my 'normal' back. My super sensing of a change of routine, smell, sound, is all due to that. So, back to trust. Trust is so essential to maintaining normal. I want to trust her current resolve to change. I want normal, back. Regardless of how addiction can launch the person you love into a soul floating on the river Styx, today she is my normal child, back from the dead. I will trust with clearer eyes, and a more loving, less desperate, heart. I will try to heal my normalcy, to some extent. That's what I'll do for, today.

A Graceful Ending

2011-08-29T07:17:00.000-07:00

While I was with my son, I wasn't worked up, nervous, panicked, as I would have normally been. I had a feeling my daughter had been drinking, but I wasn't in that full-throttle, Tasmanian Devil, mind racing mode. I was calm. I talked with him, made him a sandwich, and then explained what I felt was happening. Let me pause here and say that my son loves his sister. He hates, though, how this disease is changing her and effecting the rest of the family. At times he is very patient, at others, he is disgusted. Yesterday, though, the calm I was feeling seemed to spread to him, and we were able to talk about what I was suspecting without getting into an argument.

He drove me to the pool. I took a book, and sat in her car, until she was through. Then, we talked. She admitted that she had been drinking. (She has told me that she drinks to be more out-going OR numb and stop the thinking of things she regrets). Yesterday, it was to be out-going. The plus side of our conversation was that she opened up to me about issues she has never really talked (or admitted) to me about. We didn't yell. (I kept the feeling of love for her NOT resentment for the disease at the front of my thoughts). It was a good talk, and she mentioned, again, that this is starting to ruin her life. When we got home, she went up to her room to (I thought) drink some more and pass out. I did not ask for the bottle, I didn't look for the bottle, I just covered her up, told her I loved her, and left the room. Later, I went into check on her, and she was awake, just staring. I asked her if she was okay, and she just started crying. I laid down besider her, put my arms around her and started praying over her, out loud. I kissed her, again, and left the room. Before I went to bed, I checked on her, again. She was still awake, and I asked her if she was okay. She said, "No, but I have to own this." "Own what?" "Own what I"ve done. I have another bottle." "Really?" (my heart double skipped) "Yes, it's either over there or under the bed, I can't remember." "What do you want to do?" "Dump it out." (my heart started beating faster) "You want to dump it out?" "I can't get up now, I want you to dump it out." (I could hear it in my ears) "Are you sure?" "Mom, I'm sure. Take it and dump it out." I found it under her bed. A jug (1/2 gallon?) of White Tavern vodka. I took it and dumped it out, whispering a million thank yous to God, at the sink.
Then I asked her if she needed anything else. We sat there for a few minutes, and then she asked for a grilled cheese sandwich. So, we went downstairs, and had a grilled cheese sandwich and some soup. A healing meal for a healing moment. I prayed a thank you for an experience that has never happened, before. I am praying now that she is working toward recovery. Time will tell, but I can't help but feel...no, know, that devine arms were holding us last night.

Grace

2011-08-29T03:47:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Sunday, was a transitional day for me. Transitional in the sense that it notched up my coming closer to God, instead of being angry and resentful and turning away because He wasn't doing anything to wake us up from this nightmare we've been in for 3 years.

The day started with my daughter leaving for work. Since I wasn't sure, but maybe suspected, that she had bought alcohol on her way home last night, I was still following my 'not asking' commitment, and we had a pleasant morning and off she went. I showered and got ready for church.

In church, the message was about God's Grace. That it wasn't a 'one time fill up' but that it was necessary to pray a lot to ask for Grace in the moment. I left the service feeling peaceful and equiped. My daughter is at work for 10 hours a day on the weekend. She is life guarding at a small community pool. I told her that I would stop by (it's a 20 minute drive from our home) and drop off some lunch. So, after church, I went grocery shopping, made a run through the drive through, and on to the pool. I was calm and still refreshed by the sermon. When I got to the pool, and she came over to take her lunch from me, my radar kicked in and I picked up on some traits that develop when she has been drinking. Mind you, not noticable by anyone else, but I know. BUT I didn't ask. I didn't get upset, I still had the peace from the morning. I calmly drove back home, and calmly made a plan. (Reminder: I said I wouldn't ask, I haven't committed to letting her hit rock bottom if that means driving while drinking, even though it isn't sloppy drunk). So, I arrived home, unpacked the groceries, and made a plan to walk back to the pool, and read while I waited for her to close, and then drive her home. (I get the, 'let them be responsible for their consequences' idea, however, I can't condone letting those consequences interfere with someone else's life, especially in a potentially tragic way) So, that part of my enabling is still present, I guess. Anyway, though the drive is 20 minutes, the walk is about 3 hours because of the alternate route I would have to take to stay off of the highway. As I was getting my tennis shoes on, I was pray for Grace and help.

I left the house, and began walking down the street. I happened to look up and saw a black and white cat run into some bushes across the street. My neighbor has a black and white cat who is always escaping from the house, and she worries about his saftey. The thought came into my head to turn around and mention the cat to them, just in case it was her cat. Initially, I thought no, I'll keep walking. But then that inner voice advised me to turn around, so I did. When I turned around, I saw my son pull up infront of the house. I walked to my neighbor who was on her porch and asked about her cat. Fortunately, he was safe inside. Then I went into my house with my son, who ended up driving me to the pool. When I went into the house, here is what I realized. God took care of that small situation. If I hadn't followed that small inner voice, and turned around, I wouldn't have seen my son. So, I prayed, "God, if you can take care of this small situation, please continue working in the storm we are in."

I will finish later, but I think it is important to say that God is there. There is a devine, supernatural God who is there--we just have to ask and then be aware.

Learning to Let Go...baby steps

2011-08-28T04:39:00.000-07:00

I went to another Al-anon meeting last night. That I could get off of the couch was a major turning in my recovery. I just can't stand feeling like this anymore. The meeting was bittersweet for me. So many hurting people, but simmering in all of that, was great hope. I tried to latch onto the hope. When I heard one of the parents talk about how addicts lie, and steal, and are smarter than us to manipulate, I started to feel as though there was no hope. That my beautiful, graceful, sweet child has morphed into some shape-shifting demon. But then, I heard how some of those same manipulating, lying, injured people, were able to stop at some point, and turn there lives around. I grabbed onto that hope. I feel as though I may have swallowed some hope to help relieve the ache in my stomach. I asked, 'How do you stop the worrying? How do you lovingly detach from your child?" The answer was that it took time, but it can be done. One step at a time. One day at a time. My step is not asking if she is going to or has bought alcohol. BOY was it hard when she came home last night. I still found myself silently doing the math on the amount of time it took her to drive home, stopping to get gas on the way, if she would have had time to buy any. Then I listened when she went upstairs to change. Then I listened as she made her dinner. I fell asleep on the chair in the living room, 'listening'. BUT, I didn't ask. So, as a modified Scarlet would say, "Today, is another day."

Hit with the Pot

2011-08-27T04:23:00.000-07:00

After all of that, she still drank after work last Sat. When she wasn't home by 11:00, my enabling kicked in and I went looking for her. THANK GOD I found her car at work, where she had fallen asleep on the couch in the lobby. I had called the police to help look for her, and they were kind, came, knocked on the window, and didn't do anything but let me take her home. I took her home, and picked up her car the next day. She did wake up the next morning saying that she needed help, so we went for an assessment at this clinic that is open 24/7. She is in the process of calling places now, but I still can't stop the worrying. I think I'm developing a stomach ulcer. It is burning constantly. I wish this was over.

The Pot Blows Up

2011-08-19T08:37:00.000-07:00

Wow, I am feeling sick as I write this, oddly, a little hopeful, too. I think the sick feeling is coming from all of the horrible events that could have taken place. Here we go. My daughter is not a daily drinker, she is like a binge drinker. She can go for several weeks or months and not drink anything. Then a sad emotion over takes her (usually about the old boy friend she refuses to emotionally let go of) and then it starts. I can pick up on the initial signs almost perfectly. If I could get paid for that part of being a psychic, I would be head to head with Oprah in Forbes.

So, I could tell Sunday morning that something was up, but she was still okay, and said she hadn't been drinking (did I mention that drinking turns her into a Ms. Hyde, and compulsive liar?) But, I was following the, 'Let them go and hit bottom' advice, and let her go to work. She was supposed to be off at 4, but never made it home. I did take a friend to go looking for her at 7:00 pm, dreading that I would see her car at work and her passed out somewhere. But, no, no car. I checked a few other places, and nothing, so I thought maybe I was wrong. Though worried, I was trying to let it go. I ended up falling asleep on the couch, and at 11:30 get a call from the hospital saying that my daughter was there, brought in by the local police because she was confused and disoriented. Long story short, she was found in her car, in the ally behind our house, with a bottle of vodka between her legs. Car not moving. She was not arrested. Two o'clock in the morning, I walk to the police station to find out what has happened, after I go to the emergency room where I leave her because it is making me too sick to sit there and watch her passed out.

No one is at the police station at 2, so I go home and fall asleep until I get a call at 5 from the police (I had left them a message to call so that I could find out what happened). After the call, I went down to the station to talk to him in person. She has already had one dui, but it was expunged because of a program our state has, three years ago. The officer told me that he wasn't sure what he was going to do. He said that it was at his discretion, as long as the man across the street from me, who's car she apparently bumped, didn't want to press charges. The next morning, I pick her up from the hospital, and take her home, then go pick up her car at the garage where it was towed. Not a mark on it, so I wasn't sure why they were saying she hit the truck across the street, but anyway, a very long three day wait. My daughter is going to school, and on Tues, and Wed. when she came home, she tried to go and see the officer. She caught him there Wed. afternoon. They talked. (He still had the bottle of vodka in the office, a little less than half full, and asked her if she wanted it. She declined.) He told her that he did not want to ruin her schooling with a second dui or charges. He asked her if she would enter a program or get counseling and check in with him, because if he did charge her, that would be mandatory. She said yes. He told her he could arrest her within the next two years, so that she needs to take her sobriety seriously. Basically, A GIFT FROM GOD that no one was killed, injured, disrupted by this STUPID act. I am so mad and sick right now.

On the positive, this may have been her scared straight moment. We did talk and she (first time ever) asked if I would come with her to get evaluated this weekend. She is back on the antabuse (makes her extremely ill if she would drink) and even was open to finding info in breathalyzers for the car. I know this all sounds crazy, but trust me, it is much lower on the crazy scale than we've been in years. I can't thank GOD enough for no deaths, injuries, and the mercy this officer showed. Hopefully, my daughter really is scared straight with this. Keep praying.

Church in the Pot

2011-08-14T09:18:00.000-07:00

I just came back from church, but wasn't really present. I know you're supposed to press closer to God, and I'm trying, but I just don't know. The message was ironically, 'Questioning God and Why Do Bad Things Happen?" Waiting on God is hard. Even harder is knowing that He may allow this to never end, or if it does, end badly. I am so exhausted from all of this, and then I think of all of the other parents going through this same hell, and I can't help but wonder if God is really listening, and if so, why not just stop all of this pain?

Back into the Pot

2011-08-14T05:57:00.000-07:00

A month sober, and this morning I had that radar pop up. Something didn't feel right. I'm telling you, living with an addict heightens your awareness almost to the point of super-human abilities. I noticed slight changes in her behaviors, not much this time, but very slight. And that change in healthy routine. When she drinks, she doesn't eat, and she didn't eat breakfast this morning, so my suspicion was that she drank last night. So, I went searching and found a small bottle of vodka. To her, that isn't much, just enough to relax. She can drink a lot, and has withdrawals to the point of seeing and feeling things. The last time the help line people came and I explained what happens to her, his eyes widened and said that she's halfway to a large seizure. I am so sick to my stomach, now. I can't understand this. She just bought herself a new car. Needs to make payments on it, so she needs to keep working. She says she loves that car and I reminded her that a DUI would take that car away from her. God forbid she hit someone or hurt herself. I don't know what it will take. Then I think, did my fear and dread cause this in some metaphysical or mystical way? I keep reading how thoughts are so powerful. I just don't know, anymore. I'm starting my crazy thinking. She is at work now and is insisting she did not drink, so how'd the bottle get there, when I know it wasn't there on Friday evening? These are the times I wish I wouldn't wake up.

The Bubble Over Effect

2011-08-12T12:21:00.000-07:00

I halted my morning today (it's what vacation time is for, right?) and watched the movie, "The Five People You Meet in Heaven." I read the book a while, ago, and liked it, so I was interested in the movie. I really liked the movie. One of the characters he met in heaven, told him that hate has a curved blade. I liked that saying. I can see how it applies to being an enabler and a parent of a child with addiction. It also made me realize how many people are effected by addiction. Not just the person who's afflicted, and the family, but the Bubble Over Effect that those experiences and emotions have on everyone and every experience you have. My work, friendships, person at the check out, person in front of me at the check out, all of these people, and then some have been effected by this. The hatred I feel for what this has done to my child can turn that anger on my child, and God, and my boss, as well as myself. The list is long. How I deal with my child and the addiction, effects how I deal with other problems, and joys. It has caused me to bypass some joys that may have been helpful to dealing with this. It has turned that hatred into myself and the choices I've made have been fueled by that hate. So, having said that, my thoughts on enabling and the experiences of living with addiction is not limited to just those two topics, because everything bubbles over onto everything else.

While I Was Boiling

2011-08-11T07:42:00.000-07:00

I keep thinking back to how convoluted and hazy everything seemed during the worst times. Most of it is hazy to me still, though like the frog bobbing up and down in the bubbling water, I get clear, harsh glimpses of the most horrible memories. Like the time I picked up up from school, once, almost passed on the curb. Another time, she fell asleep on a bus, and I got a panicked call that she didn't know where she was. I came home another time and I couldn't wake her up and had to call an ambulance.

I would continue to go to work, though not fully focused, dread coming home to what I might find, Once home, depending on the situation, I was either releaved and then had a few hours of normal, or my daughter would be drinking and I would feel the heat rise a little more. I would try to leave her alone, but then I would get so mad that I would go up to her room and verbally berate her. Then go back downstairs, feel bad for what I had said, and then apologize and help her to sober up. Those anger and resentment moments went from verbal anger, to throwing things, to taking things, to eventually, she and I would be pushing and pulling on each other. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would become physical with my beautiful daughter, but I did. And then, the night would take over, I would have a fitful sleep, and the day would start, again. While this progressed, I did pray that I would not wake up, but I continued to meet another sunrise. During all of this, she was going to school, earning a degree, and I was going to work, earning a living. This went on for three years. It amazes me what people can endure before the breaking point.

Trying to Change My Thoughts

2011-08-10T12:26:00.000-07:00

I am still stuck on stress. I just can't seem to leave the Fear and Worry Zone. The longer my daughter is sober, though, I do notice more frequent periods of calm. I was reading an article on miracles. I can't remember the rabbi's name, but I liked the way he described miracles, because it makes them more accessable and less 'hit and miss.' He said (and I'm paraphrasing) that miracles, by definition, mean something supernatural. An event that is above what nature would normally, do. So, he explained, the birth of a child, though a blessing, is not necessairly a miracle, because it is what nature does naturally. ( I would argue, here that those people who have been told that they can not have children and then get pregnant, in my mind that would be a miracle, because the natural progress of those individuals would have become supernatural if they did have a child). Anyway, a few days before I read that, my daughter and I had had a fight. I really can't explain what happened other than I couldn't take it anymore, and I came home, never intending to begin to cry and explain how horrible I felt, but I did. In that conversation, I said how I just don't feel like living (meaning ending life) in this situation. This hell that addiction has lowered us into. She left the house, angry, saying that she was going to buy alcohol and find a hotel, and drink herself to death. I was panicked. I called this help line, and they sent people over, who said to call the police, too. I wanted to hospitalize her because I was sure she was going to go through with it. The police did find her waiting for a bus (we live in a rather small town) and she told them that she was just going to go cash her pay check. While she was out, the people from the help line place, stayed and talked but there was really nothing they could do. So, everyone left, and I was alone, imagining the worst. A few hours later, my daughter came back home. We had both calmed down, and she did not buy alcohol. Instead, she bought two books, as well as one for me, called: Fail Better. It is a book of quotes about failing, and rising above it. So, then I find the article, and reflect on what happened, and realized I had witnessed a miracle. I told my daughter about the article, and SHE proposed that, "So you think it was a miracle that I didn't but alcohol, as I would usually have done if I was sad or upset?" I said, 'Yes." And she agreed. That memory gives me hope when I'm Stuck on Stress. That it is possible for people to change, and miracles surely do happen.

Another View from Outside

2011-08-08T08:00:00.000-07:00

Fear is a horrible thing. I don't like to use 'thing' as a description, but that is what fear is, a horribe thing. And so powerful. Life is good now, but still, I struggle with that fear, that it could change in the time it takes to swipe a debit card. Is fear more powerful than Love? I don't know. I do know that you can love someone so much, and feel proud of them and hopeful, and there is fear, again, seeping into every little crack and pin hole it can find. How do you get rid of fear? Fear must be the roach of the emotion world. It can appear dead, but then just get up and hide out in some other dark corner, waiting for that weak morsel to drop so that it can slither out and begin to gnaw on it.

A View From Outside the Pot

2011-08-07T06:52:00.000-07:00

I was taking my daughter to work, this morning, and I made a comment about how upset my stomach always is. She said, "Mom, why can't you just appreciate the moment? I know we've had some difficult times with my drinking, and then when I'm sobering up, but I'm sober now, and intend to stay that way. I'm really working on it, so why can't you just appreciate this good time?" She is so right, and I know that is the way to move forward, AND I have that internal debate with myself DAILY...'Things are good! She's sober today. Enjoy the moment!!!' And for two seconds, I do, and then that little voice begins slowly and distantly, "it could change", and then the memories and fears start to follow, and pretty soon, I have an entire band playing, Doom and Gloom to a marching beat in my head, and I dance to that all day long. I have got to find some new dance partners.

Three Years of Boiling

2011-08-06T17:57:00.000-07:00

I hate to even think of the events that occurred. Everyday wasn't bad, but those days that were, were hell, and even that description doesn't do the feelings justice. To relieve the horrible anticipation or to help my own brain be able to cope, I think that is why the enabling started. Though, as with the addiction seeping into our lives, the enabling does the same thing. The lies are not to lie, but to buffer the situation. I created lies, or 'modified the truth' to help me be able to cope. I have a stressful job, starting over, money was tight, my only goodness was my children, and when that was starting to falter, too, I think I started to create a different life, if not in reality, in my mind. To enforce that 'reality' I had to become a keen observer (so that I could sense when the situation was going toward the alcohol influence) a super sleuth (so that I could sniff out where the bottles were hidden), a verbal ninja (so that I could confront and either yell and scream or plead and pray), and a facade of calm (so that no one else would know or suspect the maddness that was occcuring in my personal life). I was rebuilding myself to modify my reality so that I could cope. But, that doesn't work. As I understand and can see now, it only allows the demons of addiction to imbed themselves deeper into the situation, and blind the modifer to the extent that it becomes increasingly more difficult to make the change from what is really real, to the choreographed reality invented in the enabler's actions and lies.

What I Pray

2011-08-06T16:08:00.000-07:00

I believe in God. I come at everything from a spiritual foundation. I was watching the movie Taken, and this overwhelming prayer/desire filled my mind. I want God to go after my daughter--His daughter--like Liam Neeson went after his daughter in the movie. I want God to fight for my daughter and get her back into his arms; in spite of her bad decision, I want him to fill that emptiness and sadness with hope, grace, mercy, and love, and I want Him to fight off all of the demons, just like Liam did in the movie, until He finally meets her face to face, and she can fall into His arms and know what Love is and regain her hope and know that she is His. That's what I pray happens--right now.

Reflecting on the Water

2011-08-06T13:44:00.000-07:00

Enabling. I was trying to think about why and when it happens. The why is easy. I think people enable mainly because of loving the other person, it's kind of a mutated sense of giving. But the other reason is quieter. I think it has to do with trying to ignore what is going on. A big game of pretend. Like life can go on, just as it always has and we can ignore this Monster that is growing right in front of us. That's the scary thing, though, the enabling feeds the monster. It helps to cloak it while it's growing, and it helps to make it stronger because enabling blinds and confuses. I am so angry at this disease. I feel so terrorized and crushed by what addiction has done to my child. It has turned me into a non-person. All I am is a bunch of nerves, knotted in the pit of my stomach, fearing another 'mess up.' I have read and listened to a mass of people, and they all say that soberity is possible if the person wants it. No magic formula, just wanting a sober, better life, and working at it. For my daughter, that would be changing her habits and stearing clear of the places to buy alcohol. I know life can get hard, let me rephrase that, I know that life IS hard, but why make it harder than it has to be? Why do addictions have to always center on something destructive? Why can't people be addicted to being kind, or good health, or healthy thinking? Now, I am in recovery. It is very hard changing a way of thinking. When I talked with my friend, her direction was to pray and walk, so Monday, I begin to walk. I have been praying so hard, I pretty much walk on my knees, now. Wonder how that will effect the walk on Monday?

Fast Forward

2011-08-03T07:55:00.000-07:00

I am fast forwarding because I wanted to tell what happened to me this morning. I was walking to the post office, and on the way was feeling very sad, my stomach was upset as usual, and the anxiety was churning. All of this, and things have been going well, here. Sober for almost 3 weeks, and she is seeming a little more cheerful, at least less sad. Anyway, I shot out a prayer to God, asking Him to show me a way to relieve this sick feeling I have. I feel as though I'm stuck on stress all of the time. Anyway, on my way back from the post office, I saw a neighbor putting her daughter on the bus for day camp. I stopped and we started small talk, and somehow, I think it was because we were talking about how humid the weather has been, and how it changes your personality, and makes things seem so negative, we started talking about praying and she was saying how it helps. And she told me how she is on two antidepressants, and was still not feeling great. She didn't want to get on any more medication, and was determined to do something else. A psychiatrist that her son goes to (her son has autism, and her daughter has Downe's Syndrome) emphasized the importance of exercise (those hopeful endorphins) and so she started to walk. She was walking for several weeks, when it started to rain, so she started to run and realize that she could do that, so now she runs everyday. She is in training now, for a race she wants to compete in, and she said that her mood is so much better. She credits a lot to God and prayer, and people being put into her path that help her to learn. I asked her about intercessory prayer, and she said that is very important, too. She said that her sister is in recovery from a heroin addiction, and her brother is still in his addiction with heroin. He is on the streets. She said that they had tried very hard to help him--get him to rehab, force him to get sober--but nothing has worked, because she said, he needs to want to change. So, she continues to pray, but she keeps away. She said, (and this is what clicked with me) we don't even by him a sandwich, which we used to do, buy him food, clothes, etc. because the money that he saved not buying is own food, he would spend on drugs. Something so simple, as a sandwich can be a means to feed an addiction if the person does not want to change. We enable even when we don't realise it. Today, she was an answer to my prayer walking to the post office. Why some prayers get answered within minutes and others take years, I don't know, but what I do know is that I can't ask for an answer, and not accept the answer when I get it. I did tell her that I had prayed and felt she was an answer to that prayer. She said talking about it helps her, too. I get frustrated because I was always under that impression that God didn't give you more than you can handle (and this has been way more than I can handle). Then I found out that that is not true. It is a misquote from a scripture that says something to the effect that if you are tempted, God always provides an out. The temptation to stay sad, and let fear and anxiety control my day (life?) was given an out, today. I get it. I have to work on that, today.

A Pause

2011-08-01T05:56:00.000-07:00

I have been trying to sum up the past. I think the worst has been the last three years, when the drinking has been slowly growing worse. As her therapist commented, she isn't the normal alcoholic. She is more of a binge drinker, when she can go several months without drinking, and then bam, a week straight of just passed out drinking. She drinks enough to stay passed out, because, she says, she's tired of thinking. The sad part, though, is that the things she thinks about have been the result of the drinking getting too much: the isolation, loneliness, feeling like a failure. I heard Dr. Drew say one time that people who drink get emotionally stunted at the age that it started. Well, though it has been the past three years that have been bad, I think the social drinking in early college/late high school is where she is frozen. Part of me thinks that she is frozen there because that is the time she liked the best. Life was good for her there, and she associates the drinking with that for some reason. Sadly, it being such a sickly, seductive disease, it will kill her if she doesn't stop and never go back. Having said all of that, I have found in myself that I can't stop worrying. Is that a residue of the enabling behaviors? Is that my withdrawal? Me not taking control of the situation, letting her go and rejoice in the accomplishments or suffer the consequences, has caused me to have an upset stomach all of the time. I live on Imodium. I know things are good now. She is back on her medication, and is doing well, but I can't seem to move forward this time. I have never really been at this spot, before, on the road to recovery as an enabler, so, I'm not sure if this is normal or not but I really don't know how to break free of this. Scary thought: I wanted to just stop the worrying, and wondered what it would be like to just sleep through life. How DO you turn off the thinking and the worrying? I am praying all of the time, but I just learned, too that it doesn't say in the Bible that God won't give you more than you can handle. So, it can get pretty rough. So, now I have to figure out what I have to do, and I don't have a clue.

Still Learning the Strokes

2011-07-30T03:27:00.000-07:00

A quick back track last time concerning the eating disorder. I explained how the drinking started, very slowly and sinister in its ability to seep in without looking dangerous. But it was. That all started in 2008, so it has been three years. The time it hit home with me was when she wrecked the car. Fortunately, no one was hurt, including my daughter. Also, no other cars were on the interstate at the time she wrecked, it was after she hit the guard-rail, that cars began appearing. That is itself is amazing, since it was an interstate notorious for heavy traffic. Yes, it was a DUI. She did not do any jail time. Since it was her first (an only) she was put into a program of counseling, and abstinence for one year, and it has been expunged. That year was stressful, because although she was not supposed to buy alcohol, she did on 5 occasions throughout that year. But no one found out, and she remained in the program and has moved on from that. That time, though, is when I started noticing how God, despite our most crazy moments, is present, seemingly to save us from ourselves. The most evident is that no one was hurt in the accident. The accident took place in another county from ours, and so we had to travel there for court dates, counseling, etc. Each time we traveled, during the winter months, we would avoid snow storms by a day, or the counselor for that day had an amazing message, things like that. I know it may sound trivial reading about it here, but when I reflect on how much worse things could have been, to how they turned out, I know I see the hand of God holding ours. Even the judge, who singled out my daughter over everyone else at the court hearing (people went up in groups because DUI's apparently are very common) had asked her to stay behind, and he lectured her, which I was thankful for. I wanted something to sink in. But it was going to be awhile for it to happen. It was during this time, though, for me that I would have moments of truth, or some type of clarity in my mind about her habits and reading between the lines of what she was telling me and what was really happening. I was beginning to not understand that I was an enabler, yet, but began that internal arguing with myself that was, I believe, the beginning stages. Like the stages of confronting some one's death. I was in denial, and now I was going to start bartering/arguing with myself, her and God, and anyone else who was seeing things differently than I was.

Learning How to Swim

2011-07-28T13:52:00.000-07:00

By that point, I was swimming around and learning new strokes. I would eat more myself, so that she wouldn't have as much to eat. I became an expert in searching out hiding places (this would come in handy when the alcohol took over) I made up excuses to the extent that I was starting to believe them, myself. And through all of that, I was still sure this would all go away, and things would be back to normal. But they didn't. It was so bad that at one point, she clogged the drain, and I had to have a plumber in to unclog it. He asked if we had a garbage disposal. (We didn't) We were watching an episode of Intervention one night, and it was about a girl suffering from bulimia. I cried through the whole thing. I had no idea it was like that, even though I was living through it myself. Denial can be such a strong cloaking device. It was then that we both looked at us, though the distortion of tears, and she asked for help. I started making calls. I ended up calling the one shown on Intervention. Unfortunately, my insurance company didn't feel that she needed to go there, so I had to pay out of pocket (I took out a loan). Remuda, the place I sent her, did help reduce some of the fee for me, so I'm grateful for that. She stayed there for 6 weeks. When she returned, much healthier both mentally and physically, things weren't perfect, but she did eventually get a handle on it, and as of this writing, is still in recovery from that.

So Far the Water Feels Cool

2011-07-23T15:53:00.000-07:00

My daughter's eating disorder was the jumping off point of my education. I didn't believe it was happening. It was my son, and then my daughter's best friend who would point things out to me. I was still completely clueless. I wasn't even near that river of denial, let alone floating on it. When my son pointed out what he noticed, I confronted my daughter, and she admitted to it but assured me that it would never happen, again. Well, that was easy! Life goes back to normal. Not so much. It was a very long and isolating process, but I do believe that the pattern of addiction (lying, isolating herself, guilt) began during those years. She battled bulimia for 5 years. Once she finally had enough, I did send her to a rehabilitation place specifically for eating disorders. I was so relieved when she was there. It did help her, though, it took several more months after she returned home, for her to be established in her recovery. Though, I must say, that although the drinking wasn't a problem, yet, it was developing on the fringes. She still was able to drink socially with friends but I noticed her drinking more at home. She always had a reasonable excuse, and she was legal. No parties, just a drink here and there, and since I was concentrating on the bulimia, the alcohol wasn't waving any red flags with me. Anyway, she was back at school, and doing well. During her second year at school, her roommate committed suicide. The next year, my mother died unexpectedly. Both events took a toll on her. That following summer, she had to stay at school to take some summer classes. It was during that time that the alcohol was establishing itself as a problem. It started because she was there, alone. No friends, her boyfriend was not there, and she considered herself shy so it was hard for her to make friends and complete the amount of studying that she needed. So, she would take a test, complete a project/paper, whatever. After class, go get some dinner, and have a drink as a reward. It relaxed her and calmed her thinking. And still, after all we had been through with the bulimia, I was still slow on the uptake. I just didn't want to have anything wrong. Life had enough problems, without my children having anything serious happen to them, especially something they were doing to themselves. Too, I was praying a lot, and believed that God was hearing my prayers and would come to our rescue. I believe in miracles, and who needed on more than us? Well, this experience has taught me a lot about a lot: People, God, myself, and ultimately, I have learned what it means to not judge others.

The Pot Begins to Fill

2011-07-20T03:18:00.000-07:00

After those three days of not being able to get out of bed, my daughter, returned to school and life went on. And it went on, well. She had a lot of friends, active in school, home life was fine. My son was starting to go through some of his own stuff. I didn't then, but do now, realize that divorce is hard on everyone no matter what the age. But everyone has good and bad days, and I just thought we were experiencing the normal ebbs and flows of a family relationship. Apparently during this time, though, my daughter's self image was being chipped away. At one time in her life she had be very comfortable in her own skin, and now, she had to be a certain weight. She was on a school rowing team and over heard some of the boys on the team make negative comments about some other girls they saw in the spandex suits the girls had to wear. And so, she became very aware of her body, and very structured in here eating habits and exercise. A comment she made years later was that it was at this time that during health class, the students were introduced to several mental and emotional health problems that girls might experience, and eating disorders was one of them. She commented to me, she would have never thought of anything like that had she not been exposed to it. She thought it was 'gross' and 'disgusting'. Two cups of water into the pot.

Choosing a Pot

2011-07-18T03:18:00.000-07:00

Still trying to summarize the early stages of this experience. Up until my daughter was in high school, she was fine. What wasn't fine, was my marriage. So, after 18 years of marriage, I asked for a divorce, and that process was even more stressful than the marriage. It was during that time, I think after looking back and talking with my daughter, that her emotional 'pot hole' began to develop. One morning, in 2001, I was telling her to hurry to get ready for school, and she was in the bathroom, sitting on the bathtub, crying. She didn't know what was wrong, but she couldn't finish getting ready. This from a girl who rarely missed school, straight A's, involved in activities. I didn't know what to do, but thought that maybe it was stress, and I told her to stay home. I went to work, and when I came home, she was still in bed, and still very sad. This lasted for three days. During that time I talked to a friend, and she told me to have Amanda try to write down her thoughts. On the fourth day, Amanda went to school, and I thought things were back to normal. I realize now, that during that time, somewhere deep inside her, the darkness had taken hold. On the weekend, when I was stripping beds to wash the sheets, I saw the book she had written in. I read what she had written. She wrote that she was afraid. That she didn't know what the purpose of everything was, and then talked about her brother and dad. She felt that they had abandoned her. She felt abandoned. I realize it was at that time, that she and I had begun to design the pot. Anger, feeling abandoned, fear, doubt, and sadness blended together, is a stronger material than steel. It can cut with more precision than a diamond into a person's soul. And so, without any understanding, because I thought things were back to normal, and resumed the normal routine and mindset, I chose a pot. Very deep, sturdy and dark. I also didn't realize at the time, but I was on the rim of the pot, getting ready to take a dive.

Before the Pot

2011-07-17T07:47:00.000-07:00

I did everything right as a mother. We did everything right as a family. I was able to stay at home with my children, my husband had a very good job. We did things as a family. There was no alcohol in the house. When the kids got older we talked to them about not drinking or taking drugs, and how to respond if someone tried to tempt them. We did it right. Both of my children were successful in school. My daughter had a lot of friends, was involved with sports, on the honor roll and in the honor society. This was a life that the word addiction was never considered. Never in million years did I expect life to take the direction that it has. I have reviewed the past over and over and over, trying to see what wasn't right, and I come up with nothing. I read to them, I baked cookies, they had birthday parties, we spent a lot of time together, yet they weren't smothered. We went to their games. Carved Jack-O-Lanterns. We had arguments, but we made up. They were loved to over flowing. I remember one morning my daughter came into the kitchen and said to me, "Mommy, I love you as much as flowers smell sweet." Life was sweet.

Hello From the Pot

2011-07-16T10:19:00.000-07:00

I'm a boiled frog. I didn't realize it until three days ago when the lightbulb finally clicked. I had heard of that expression several times before, but never applied it to my life, because I was living in a fog. I get it now. It has taken me three years to come to this point, so I will be writing backwards. The clarity of the situation is unfolding from this point, and like a sunrise, it is lighting the past so that I can begin to see what happened to get me to this point, and hopfully, save time for anyone who may read this. Regardless, I need to talk about it, and this seems like as good an outlet as any. My story: I live with an addict. My beautiful, talented, funny daughter is developing from a binge drinker, into an alcoholic. I never believed it would happen to me, and that unbelief is what kept me in the pot as the temperature slowly, steadily, and sadly continued to rise.