Entries from June 2022 ↓

Sober Day 22.

A few days ago, I heard someone in AA about how many of us in recovery will never hit the “white light” moment. You know, that experience that others say that in a blinding flash of white light, they knew in their hearts that there was a higher power, a God even, and it kept them clean ever since.

Good for them, I say.

What the lady said in that moment was exactly what I needed to hear. I know myself, and I know that even the most enlightening flashes of light that come across for me will never be met with a due “AHA!” moment. That is just not me. For many of us, the process to believing in something is gradual – a slow momentous process that takes time and patience. Who would have thought? From the most unexpected person (a white lady in her 60s), the twist came at me: that my higher power was never a being, but a process.

That I’ve never been really true to myself, and if I was to survive and keep in recovery, I’d have to be utterly honest. I needed to accept my sexuality, my position in society – not because I had a misplaced sense of pride in my predicament, but because acceptance is the first step in changing anything. And so, in that moment, I’ve realized that the process of decolonization was my higher power. Ironic eh? Here I am going about I never had a blinding moment, a blinding flash of light, and yet, here I am.

Addiction has been a pivotal force that came about with the expansion of capitalism, and hence, colonization. That “God” was mentioned in recovery was really a major turn off for me. God was the driving force in the expansion of Europe, and its consequence was the robbing of life and ways of life for millions of people. When I first entered, it was hard to not see the irony. That the ideology behind much of addiction was present in recovery. It kept me out.

But now it is different. The last several weeks, I’ve been looking for non-Christian, even anti-colonial methods of spirituality. It’s been a refreshing endeavor, except I don’t have time with work and all. But when I do, I try my best to make my research as best as I can. I suppose I will keep this site updated on what comes of this.

The last relapse was pretty harsh. It was just having to stop that was really hard – it was getting over the now massive hump of shame, and stopping the racing mind, who now just wanted the fix. My sponsor was, of course, worried (if not panicked). He called almost everyday. Of course he knew where my head was. For a week or so, I did not go to meetings, didn’t pray, didn’t reach out. And though I stopped use in a few days, the scorched earth remains of those few days reverberated in my life across the board.

The new jobs I was considering as options? Well, in order to keep one, I gave one up. If I were even more reckless, all options would be out the window. The new job change and better pay would not be a reality anymore. It barely is, though I’m happy to say I’ve not messed up the interview process. It will only be possible if I keep clean.

Friends in recovery knew something was wrong. They called, and tried to get in touch. Frankly, it was effort to avoid their support. As I did that, I felt a massive source of shame. Shame that they’ll see my face, of their reaction of either disappointment or rage would leave me in hole of more desperation. Because you see, they would never, EVER judge me like that. I was. The judgement I thought they would pour on me, was really my own.

Finally coming to a meeting was just utterly reliving. My sponsor immediately hugged me, sat next me, and was there. It would be later that I learned that my relapse, and my very close call to quit recovery, hit him hard. I’m just happy I didn’t let those thoughts over-take me. I love my sponsor, and I could not bear hurting yet another caring person because of my use.

Today marks day two of the ninety meetings in ninety days “challenge.” I have to start over yet again. I just hope that following the fire of a relapse that’s left behind scorched earth, all that can happen are for the seeds of those events to grow. Hopefully, a tree of wisdom can show up once again. I really really really hope that this will be the last time. I just don’t think I can handle another failure. I’ve run out of recovery chances. This is the last one, and I don’t intend to waste it.

June 9th, 2022

I relapsed.

Unlike other previous times, overcoming the guilt and shame was very, very VERY difficult. I didn’t wanna show my face to meetings. I didn’t want to write. My sponsor called and called, and I am positive I made him feel bad by ignoring each and every time.

The pressure of leaving my old job and delving into a new one, the stress of possibly seeing family in a cousin’s graduation (we’re not all on speaking terms), the possibility of moving, just to name a few things, were all triggers. In the end its on me of course. But I’ve realized I still have some underlying emotional problems and baggage that I’ve put under the rug. Things that I thought weren’t issues all of a sudden, are.

Materially and career wise, I know have everything I want. I changed to job that is much more my skill set, with better pay, and with room for growth. I even got a side writing job. It’s pretty amazing, and I have recovery to thank for.

But seeing family has me mixed up on my own identity. There’s a new reservation… An overwhelming shame not that I am an addict, but one that is fearful to show that I’m queer. The fact that I’m typing this. I don’t know. I’m ashamed that I’m ashamed. Before the relapse, I had made a calculation: that the shame of using again was worth it rather than the shame of being judged by my hetero-normative family. Frankly, it’s still there. Knowing that this is a factor, and putting it out there, helps me think of counter-plan. I plan to overcome this too.

For now, I have to start all over again.