07:25. I apparently still have this urge. It’s pretty quiet but it’s there. I can attempt to purify and strip my life bare (of toxins, alcohol, whatever) but even in doing that I’m annihilating myself somehow, if I lose touch with the source of strength that inspired me to do this.
I do have blogging addiction. The writing is not the problem, you were right, thanks lovely people. The blogging itself is not the problem either. This sobriety blog, or your interaction with it, rather, is the thing that makes sobriety fun for me and therefore keeps it going. I definitely thrive on social interaction.
But I still have a lot of problems. I wonder if I am having this “dry drunk” thing sneak up on me again. I suddenly realized at 02:22 (a.m.) that I was using blogging like I used to use wine, in other words, making time for it when there was no time, and doing it when I should better have been doing something else (namely, sleeping).
I loved interacting with Monica last night (she has started a fantastic series of posts based on her body modifications — tattoos and piercings! So much fascinating fun. I’ve never had a tattoo and have always been curious). I could have left it there and gone to sleep. But there was so much going on in my mind and I wanted to blurt it onto the (public) page. It’s some weird urge I have. But I was tired, and it was a mish-mash of loose ends spun into a tangle.
I’d had a wonderful first segment of the morning, had done so much even before a single other soul had risen from bed, and it was very positive for me. I’d had another uncomfortable-yet-replenishing meditation, and I can see how it could become addictive, just like anything that’s challenging but worthwhile. Just like journal-writing used to be for me.
Journalling is a different animal, because you can allow a kind of brutal truthfulness that you might not want to allow for a public (even if anonymous) blog. Before I ever had the guts to blog, I had very high ethics about blogging and writing in general. I was obsessed with reading others’ blogs and had developed all kinds of “I-would-never-do-this” and “one-should-only-do-that”-kinds of rules; namely ones, I thought, designed to protect others from words, in general (at the same time knowing there is no real altruism). When I started blogging I promptly broke them all. I’m basically like Chidi and Eleanor (from “The Good Place”) in one body.
But anyway, because I chose to exercise and meditate in the slot of time that I might usually interact online or do some writing, and then the day was busy and duty-filled, I didn’t have any time to blog. I still wanted to blog though! (By blog, I mean not only blog but also read others’ blogs, and interact). So what did I do? Cut into sleep time. All I have to say is nothing good happens after midnight. Even sober, people! Well in my world at least. I keep proving it again and again.
DoctorGettingSober (another wonderful new sobriety blogger btw, do check out her blog if you haven’t already) posted about shame the other day, and so much of that post resonated with me. I have read a bit from Brené Brown and Glennon Doyle on shame, and I am familiar with the topic. But there is constant work to be done around it in my own life.
I feel massive shame over what others might think are minor things, but it’s because that shame is always a major indicator for me of two things. 1) I have crossed my own moral lines in some way. 2) I care too much what others think (and that’s usually why I crossed that moral line in some way, in the first place).
Anyway, I have been getting a lot of stuff wrong lately, and I can feel this self-sabotage tendency re-surfacing. I already know that doesn’t end well. It results in a giant mountain of shame that I don’t know how to get rid of. Then one part of me takes a metaphorical stick of dynamite, when the other part isn’t looking, and blows it up. But that doesn’t make it disappear. Now it’s just a huge mess of rocks.
Was it one of you, on one of your blogs, who wrote about those lines in that song? I’m sorry I can’t remember where I saw it… “So high, can’t get over it, so low, can’t go under it, so wide, can’t get round it…” But it “struck a chord,” so to speak, since my mom used to sing and play that song on the guitar. She would sing it as part of a medley or mashup with the first lines from another folk gospel song: “Joshua fought the battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho / Joshua fought the battle of Jericho / and the walls came a-tumbling down.” She wasn’t religious, she just picked up songs from everywhere in her travels. That one she learned from her Jamaican friend. She taught it to us kids for fun when we were at Jericho beach one summer. She would sing that Jericho stanza and she would lead right into “so high, can’t go over it” and finish with “Oh rock-a my soul.” We adored this song. The visuals were strong.
The “shame” thing is indeed something that must be gotten *through,* not around, over or under. And I guess it needs to be privately done, to have any real power. Without dynamite. Oh rock-a my soul.
I guess I might have to go back to actively working the 12 steps. The 12 steps scare the living daylights of out me, at this point, because I don’t want to admit to my own powerlessness. I cling wildly to control. Also it’s that intellectual shame I have about attachment to a “higher power” (again, caring what others think). I also know that’s why I’ve lost my cracked-open state of being… once again, I’ve lost contact with “flow,” “god,” “Love,” “Universe,” “Tree,” whatever you want to call it.
When I last got intimate with god, all kinds of crazy and amazing things started happening. And I loved it at first, or rather, just experienced it like a fish in a wave or a leaf in the wind. Basically I was helping anyone and everyone in my immediate vicinity or who crossed my path, and that was in turn helping *me* in spiritually satisfying (but also at times terrifying) ways.
Then I started trying to surf that wave, and look stylish doing it, instead of just being part of it, and then I crashed on the beach. And had to start all over.
14:24. Badminton with the kids. Very important summer game. The zen of making the birdie fly, again and again.