Joe said : I meditate at least one hour every day.
We're in high school, I said. Don't you try to get drunk?
I do that afterwards, he said.
After I meditate.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
We Act Our Way to Right Thinking
I always was the person who wanted to "think" my way out. Acid was the best. Because I could think outside all worlds and in them and for HOURS. Whole nights, and hours. My mind was expanded. But I don't need that. I'm not giving up anything grand to go into recovery; I'm learning how to access that which has been there all along. It's like teleporting to heaven: "now what?" Where'd the journey go? The novelty of perfection wears off quick! Stepping on the sand lost its magic when I was always on it. (I just got back from beach time. Next we'll make a mountain/forest reference)
But here: this is what the journey's all about for me: it's: acting our way to right thinking. We have to act as if, sometimes. Like John Nash's character in the film A Beautiful Mind, when he said that all he had was a problem that he needed to form a solution to and solve? And his physician was very firm that he couldn't think his way out: "Your mind is where the problem is in the first place".
There it is.
Can't tell you what a relief it is to know my mind can be its own problem. It means I don't have to believe everything I think. Everything I think is not real just because I think it or feel it strongly. Holyfuck!
Oh.
When I am stuck I take the next right action. Inevitably, I feel better. The next right action was historically a drink or other drug because I Could Not Stand the way I was feeling. And it's true! My feelings alone are unbearable without actions to overcome and work them out. The actions used to hurt me though I really thought they were helping me. I did feel better! It was the price I had to pay to erase my own awful feelings. I used to feel better on a drug induced come-down depression than, you know, without it on a regular depression because on drugs I could say to myself "hey. you're fucked up on drugs. it IS ok. you'll come down." the other druggies told me when and how long it would take to come down. No one could tell me how long my natural self would take to feel better, to come down, to feel less weird.
It's bad to risk your health for feeling better, but certainly understandable, like a wolf chewing its paw to escape a trap. My drug friends and I (and yes, they were friends. they stood by me countless times both physically and emotionally, good and bad, and I for them) could trip together and feel weird or good or crazy or awful but at least we were on the same trip.
In recovery, we're on the same trip. It is so cool! It's such a big deal. I have a code to live by, and I always wanted that.
But here: this is what the journey's all about for me: it's: acting our way to right thinking. We have to act as if, sometimes. Like John Nash's character in the film A Beautiful Mind, when he said that all he had was a problem that he needed to form a solution to and solve? And his physician was very firm that he couldn't think his way out: "Your mind is where the problem is in the first place".
There it is.
Can't tell you what a relief it is to know my mind can be its own problem. It means I don't have to believe everything I think. Everything I think is not real just because I think it or feel it strongly. Holyfuck!
Oh.
When I am stuck I take the next right action. Inevitably, I feel better. The next right action was historically a drink or other drug because I Could Not Stand the way I was feeling. And it's true! My feelings alone are unbearable without actions to overcome and work them out. The actions used to hurt me though I really thought they were helping me. I did feel better! It was the price I had to pay to erase my own awful feelings. I used to feel better on a drug induced come-down depression than, you know, without it on a regular depression because on drugs I could say to myself "hey. you're fucked up on drugs. it IS ok. you'll come down." the other druggies told me when and how long it would take to come down. No one could tell me how long my natural self would take to feel better, to come down, to feel less weird.
It's bad to risk your health for feeling better, but certainly understandable, like a wolf chewing its paw to escape a trap. My drug friends and I (and yes, they were friends. they stood by me countless times both physically and emotionally, good and bad, and I for them) could trip together and feel weird or good or crazy or awful but at least we were on the same trip.
In recovery, we're on the same trip. It is so cool! It's such a big deal. I have a code to live by, and I always wanted that.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
The Color Pink Feels Safe
Believe me, I'm mentally fighting something right now. Growing up, my sister and I shared a room until we decided it was in the best interest of my teenage years that she move across the hall. We each got to choose the colors of our new rooms - blue and white for me, pink and white for her. I was totally merciless in making fun of her. In my defense, her room was really, really pink. Like walls AND carpet.
She was a girl. Girls like pink.
This was clearly pre-women's studies class. Now we're grown up and both less rigid in our thinking by virtue of the fact that we are older. But I didn't like pink as a girl. I wanted to be different. I was adopted. I AM different. Right?
Before you slam the page shut on this blog, let me say that I realize it's pretty lame to invoke the color wheel to make a larger point about life. A friend recently started a blog about ways he's different from anyone else he meets. I have been through some pretty awesome Lets Make Our Lives Better years of late, and one thing those people tell me is to look for the ways I am similar to everyone else, not ways I am different. So, ok. I still like my friend's blog. I keep starting blogs and then shutting them down because I'm afraid of revealing too much. See? I think I'm waay more "X" "Y" or "Z" than anyone on the planet and it's just not true.
I hope.
But here's the fact and reason for doing what I do ... : until about a year ago, I had never given myself time or space to actually be myself. As a 32 year old person I had no idea until age 30 that I'd spent nearly two decades hiding in drugs, booze and a fear of being "unmasked" as an actual human. I wasn't hiding, I was being myself. Right? Wrong. The shock of my life has been enjoying people, places and things without taking something first. Does it blow you away that I did not think it was possible to feel good on my own? I couldn't do it. I was defective. Etc. Hello, the past.
But look. This is not about princesses and fairy tales. Back in the day (the high school day) I had a shy, dry sense of humor and my favorite authors were William S. Burroughs and random, off-beat poets. My favorite music was acid jazz, Bone Thugz, jungle music, some classical and random pop. I loved My So-Called Life on tv and wrote prolifically at the expense of everything else because I was special and entitled to do so, god dammit. I rode horses til I couldn't any more. I was enraged at just about everything. I would have put my life on the line for a friend. You were stupid. Unless I worshiped you. Then I was inferior to your presence. And sometimes, at points, I was very, very cool. And had great taste!
The life of extremes is tough.
I'm honored you are reading this blog. And you weren't stupid, I was jealous of everything you could do, because I couldn't. Or thought I couldn't. Or made it so I couldn't. At any rate. Somewhere in here I hope to say something profound, but until that day comes I'll state that my goals for this blog are for me to get to know me, to let you know me honestly, and hopefully to say something you'll relate to - maybe even something that helps you or someone you love. Humble aspirations. I've had a lot of rockiness but that's all smoothing out now for taking the right road, and I have a terrible fear of being view as the 'walking wounded' or anything too ridiculous. But from this point on I'm not in control of what you think of me, my life, or my goals. It's pretty real.
She was a girl. Girls like pink.
This was clearly pre-women's studies class. Now we're grown up and both less rigid in our thinking by virtue of the fact that we are older. But I didn't like pink as a girl. I wanted to be different. I was adopted. I AM different. Right?
Before you slam the page shut on this blog, let me say that I realize it's pretty lame to invoke the color wheel to make a larger point about life. A friend recently started a blog about ways he's different from anyone else he meets. I have been through some pretty awesome Lets Make Our Lives Better years of late, and one thing those people tell me is to look for the ways I am similar to everyone else, not ways I am different. So, ok. I still like my friend's blog. I keep starting blogs and then shutting them down because I'm afraid of revealing too much. See? I think I'm waay more "X" "Y" or "Z" than anyone on the planet and it's just not true.
I hope.
But here's the fact and reason for doing what I do ... : until about a year ago, I had never given myself time or space to actually be myself. As a 32 year old person I had no idea until age 30 that I'd spent nearly two decades hiding in drugs, booze and a fear of being "unmasked" as an actual human. I wasn't hiding, I was being myself. Right? Wrong. The shock of my life has been enjoying people, places and things without taking something first. Does it blow you away that I did not think it was possible to feel good on my own? I couldn't do it. I was defective. Etc. Hello, the past.
But look. This is not about princesses and fairy tales. Back in the day (the high school day) I had a shy, dry sense of humor and my favorite authors were William S. Burroughs and random, off-beat poets. My favorite music was acid jazz, Bone Thugz, jungle music, some classical and random pop. I loved My So-Called Life on tv and wrote prolifically at the expense of everything else because I was special and entitled to do so, god dammit. I rode horses til I couldn't any more. I was enraged at just about everything. I would have put my life on the line for a friend. You were stupid. Unless I worshiped you. Then I was inferior to your presence. And sometimes, at points, I was very, very cool. And had great taste!
The life of extremes is tough.
I'm honored you are reading this blog. And you weren't stupid, I was jealous of everything you could do, because I couldn't. Or thought I couldn't. Or made it so I couldn't. At any rate. Somewhere in here I hope to say something profound, but until that day comes I'll state that my goals for this blog are for me to get to know me, to let you know me honestly, and hopefully to say something you'll relate to - maybe even something that helps you or someone you love. Humble aspirations. I've had a lot of rockiness but that's all smoothing out now for taking the right road, and I have a terrible fear of being view as the 'walking wounded' or anything too ridiculous. But from this point on I'm not in control of what you think of me, my life, or my goals. It's pretty real.
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