Smoke um if you got um

I tried to give up cigarettes this morning. I cleaned the backyard, and found a dead squirrel, and smoked my last cigarette. That was at 10am. It's 3pm and I just bought another pack.

I think smoking is harder to give up than drinking. I've been drinking longer, but for some reason smoking means more to me. It reminds me of high school and sneaking out at night. It reminds me of sitting in bars and listening to karaoke. It reminds me of sitting out by a fire at night and of relaxing.

My therapist agrees. Apparently people with mental illess, I'm bipolar, by the way, get a different reaction to cigarettes. They really do relax them, and change their brain chemistry. That's why you see schizophrenics chain smoking - it does help.

When you loose one mental crutch, like booze, it's hard to get rid of the rest of them. In fact, I've been leaning on smokes every time I want to drink. It also prevents me from eating more ice cream, which is an addiction in itself.

So, again, this is my last pack. This is the one that's going to end it all. I'm going to set limits - no smoking at work or in the car. That should get me down to 2 a night, and from there, I can stop smoking pretty soon. Let's hope.

A sponsor, a sponsor!

Finally got myself a sponsor! Her name is Maureen, and she's pretty cool, I think. She's in Al-Anon as well, so I know she'll get the family shit.

I saw her tonight at a meeting with the best speaker yet. He was hilarious, telling his tales of drunken revelry and multiple marriages. I was almost crying listening to him.

After the meeting, Maureen came up and said, "Have you read the Big Book yet?" I was proud to say I had, and I'd read the twelve and twelve, too! "Well, it's time to make your powerless and unmanageable lists. Work on those this week." My wha? Oh, list what I'm powerless over and how it was unmanageable. Jesus, that's kinda a tall order, but sponsors don't ask you to do anything they haven't done themselves.

Well, I'm powerless over life. I don't control anything, and I couldn't even control my drinking. So I guess there's a start. And unmanageable? My drinking had become unmanageable. I guess it all comes down to booze, in the end. Here's to lists.

Oh, sugar, sugar

I guess diet Coke counts as sugar, too, but I've been inhaling mass quantities of chocolate, ice cream, and cookies. Like MASS quantities. Last night for dinner I had a turkey slice, an ice cream sandwich, a chocolate Popsicle, two cookies, and a diet Coke. This morning already I've had a chocolate croissant and a chocolate chip Fiber One bar. Those things are damn good.

Alcohol is sugar, I know this, and your body tries to replace that, but this is just getting ridiculous. Is a bottle of wine really the equivalent of cookies and ice cream in mass quantities? I need a scientist, here. I need to know when my body will stop trying to give me diabetes.

Diet Coke is my new lover

I love the feel of a good frosty beverage. The way it makes your tongue tingle, and cools your throat. Um, nothing better.

It's not hot yet here, but I'm still already into the cold beverage months. And now, instead of that frosty Blue Moon, I reach for that equally frosty diet Coke. In fact, I went to Costco the other day and got myself one of those gigantic Costco size things of diet Coke to keep in my kitchen and bring to work. I started out with one maybe every other day, and now, today, I'm having two.

That's right. Two. It appears my tendency towards addiction does not stop with drugs, alcohol, or cigarettes. It extends to Coke, eating, running, anything. My obsessive nature wins out and I get on these kicks.

So, I'm also trying to quit smoking, which is apparently super hard. I've done it before - just put them down and not picked them back up for a year or so. Like booze, cigarettes seem to alleviate the stress. As soon as I quit drinking, I ramped up the smoking. Instead of maybe one a day, or a few at night, I'm smoking morning, noon, and night. What the hell?

So this is my last pack. Really. I've been able to just put them down before, and I'll do it again. I'll use the steps to get me through that, too. And diet Coke? I suppose I'll end up drinking even more just to have a filler, and then I need to cut that off, too. Let's go for free of addictions by year's end! Except running. I think that might be a good addiction.

Women, women, everywhere

There are some truly wonderful women out there, sober and not, but I think I've hit the jackpot.

There are two women's meetings in my town, and both are incredible, and incredibly different. The first, on Mondays, is a big room and always a full house. Jamie walks around and pours coffee in the middle of the meetings. Michelle does her job as secretary reading out the millions of announcements from the central office. Everyone is welcoming and ready to share.

On Wednesdays, the meeting is in a small upstairs room with couches and tea. The lights are low, and the meeting is, as one woman called it, "warm and fuzzy." People are still welcoming and loving, but the mood is more relaxed and the women seem calmer. Maybe it's the tea.

Both of these meetings offer something beautiful. As in every meeting, they all seem to be speaking to what's happening in my life right now. Tonight, many people spoke about how they ask God to come into their lives, and try to live by his will, not their own. This is something I've been struggling with for a week now. "But I WANT it!" I say to God. I know he hears me, he's everywhere, at least to me. But on the other hand, I know that asking things for myself is not the way prayer works. You have to open your heart and soul over to God and trust that his plan is the way things are supposed to go. You may not get it, but what you end up getting is always better in the long run.

As Paulo Coehlo says in By the River Piedra I Sat and Wept, "..When we were quiet with each other, I was able to see how close I felt to him. Neither of us had said anything. Love doesn't need to be discussed; it had its own voice and speaks for itself. That night, by the well, the silence had allowed our hearts to approach each other and get to know each other better. My heart had listened closely to what his had said, and now it was content."

I hope that my heart can be content listening to God and loving that he has a place in my life. I hope I can be open to hear what he says in the silence, and live my life in a way that he would want me to. I need to be quiet in his presence so that I can hear. Be still my spinning mind; listen, just listen.

And that's the third step.

Retroactive Arrest

They can't arrest you for drunk driving if it's been a long time, right? I suppose I could have gotten an open container ticket up until about 5 minutes ago. See, that's when I had a little too much energy at work (must be all the diet Coke) and stepped outside to clean up my car.

I found the usual stuff: receipts, a corsage from Yelp prom, my dog's blanket, etc. And then I reached for my water bottle, which is in a cup holder in my door. "I'll wash this out," I thought to myself. And then I said, "Self, what's that sticky shit on the top?" As I slowly unscrewed the bottle and it hissed out a steam of beer, I remembered: margabeer.

Now, a margabeer is a fascinating concoction: take one can of lime aide or canned frozen lime juice and pour it into a pitcher. Take that can and fill it with tequila. Then add about 5 really cheap shitty beers (preferably Coors) to the pitcher and mix. Voila! A margarita beer. Simple, inexpensive, and invariably fucks you up. Just one and you've got the buzz.

Well, a month or so ago, my buddies and I all got together to make margabeers. I can't remember where we were, I think at Rebecca's house in the WC. It's hot out there, and you need a margabeer by the pool. So we mixed up a few pitchers, and on my way out the door to drive the 30 minutes home, I poured myself another one for the road.

From the mess it made in the parking lot, I expect I only got about 3/4 of the way through with it before I got home and completely forgot that it was there. Usually, that SIGG is filled with water for my post boozing rides home, or for playing hockey in the fall. Not so much.

So into the sink at work it went, and now it's full of purified water from the awesome bottle system. Next time I go to reach for it, there's no way I'm getting pulled over.

The thrill is gone, the thrill is gone away.

It's all gone. The drugs, the booze. It all left my house in a box last night.

Even while smoking a half pack a day (only since I quit the booze)I'm training for a marathon in November. I know, that's crazy. And I missed the last two weeks of training cause I was too hungover to run on Tuesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. Luckily those were only 3 mile runs. But then yesterday came the 9 mile run, and I was fresh and ready for it. Also luckily, my respiratory system is in awesome shape, so no wheezing or anything. And so Michael came over and we ran. We ran across the bridge to the ferry, around the bay side and back.

About three miles in I knew it was time. "So, if you haven't guessed, I joined AA." And then an amazing thing happened: he was supportive. I hadn't expected that. See, Michael is my drinking buddy. We usually have 4 bottle Fridays and Saturday cookouts filled with cold, bubbly white wine. We always drink together. And yet, he was supportive of my getting clean. "I never knew you drank so much alone, or blacked out so much."

And then he asked questions. Questions about whether AA blames only character defects or family problems. Whether AA pushed God on you. Whether or not this meant sober for life. And then he did the expected: "Can I have all your booze?" Damn. I knew I needed to get it out of the house, but to someone who will suck down my good wine in 5 minutes and not even taste it? These are $30 and $40 bottles of wine! Damn.

We got back to the house and the clean up began. "What about the drugs?" I'd forgotten about those. I had a serious temptation to just keep those, or take them immediately. They're not MY prescription, but they are prescription meds...

But I didn't. And so out the door went a case of beer, a bottle of vodka, 5 bottles of wine, some Adderall and some Ativan. All gone. My wine rack looks so empty. What in the world will I fill it with? My fridge now is full of diet Coke. And my prescriptions are all ones given to me by my doctor.

So my house is clean, just like me. It's all gone. Now, if I want to relapse, I've gotta go looking for it. And as someone said in a meeting, that gives you a chance to rethink what you're doing and stop. God, please lift this obsession, and quickly.

Oh, lordy, troubles so hard.

I believe in God. Always have. Well, maybe not ALWAYS. I've had my share of doubting Thomas moments, or more accurately, a few years of trying witchcraft, Taoism, Buddhism. You know, rejecting that Catholic upbringing for something else. Anything else but nuns and priests and an unforgiving God.

And then 7 years ago I went to a conference at a nunnery round here for a college course. There were nuns (maybe 3) still living there, and they helped run the days for us, giving us food and tending to our needs.

One day, I sat down in the library and picked up a little Thomas Merton book. A nun came in, and I asked if I could ask her a question. "How do you still believe, when the church hates gays and abortion and fights wars? How do you keep the church separate from God?" And she said, "You're not a true Catholic until you question your religion."

You have to question. It's better to take a good hard look at what you believe, and decide if it's something you can take or leave. And I realized, God isn't the catholic church. My God is forgiving and all loving.

A few years later, maybe 1, I started going back to church. I thought, "Maybe this can save me. Maybe being there and reciting the hymns and prayers will take away this pain and loneliness I feel. And it did, for a while. Until life got in the way. Or to be exact, I was too hungover to think about going to church on a Sunday morning, and when I did go, I felt guilty the entire time.

So when I came to AA and they asked me to believe in a higher power, I knew that was one step that would come easy to me. I believe in God, a loving God who could forgive me my sins and help this alcoholic a second chance. I knew that I could and should go back to that fellowship that feels so comfortable and sane.

And so that's the second step: believing he can help even me. Believing there is a power out there that loves me and can help restore me to sanity. Now, the biggest step: asking him for that help.

Remembering your last drunk

According to Living Sober, that "pamphlet," it's not the last drink that counts, it's the last "drunk." That last time when you were stupid wasted. Well, it's not eventful. I didn't get pulled over or go to jail. I didn't end up in a ditch or take somebody home, but I did get drunk.

It started out a normal day. I was only a little hungover, but definitely still feeling the effects of the bender I'd been on the last two weeks. I came home and was lonely, which isn't necessarily a new thing. In fact, I think loneliness is an every day kinda thing. Just part of living alone, perhaps.

I opened a bottle of wine, just to take the edge off my loneliness, and called around to see who was home. Couldn't get the first few folks, so I decided to return a call from my cousin, you know, the one who wrecked her car. I listened, and laughed, and egged her on. I walked over to the corner store and bought another bottle of wine. I'd have to drink more just to get through all these stories. I thought she was so cool to have gotten out of all that with no consequences! How awesome to trick those cops, to have her family support her and buy her a new car that next week. Wow, what a role model. And as we raised our glasses together over the phone, I shook.

I knew then: this wasn't cool. This wasn't something I should encourage, or even think was acceptable. I was scared. Would I end up like her? Would I be saying these things to anyone who would listen, some day? Would there be anyone left to listen?

I think not.

And so I went to bed thinking how frightened I was. I made one last phone call, to Adam my sober friend. He's been in the program for 5 years and I've always been amazed and proud of him. And now, as usual, he listened to my drunken ranting. He listened as I slowly blacked out and talked about God knows what. But I know one thing: I talked about not wanting to do this anymore. I knew, I couldn't keep on like this.

I woke up Thursday with an idea: I can be saved if I just stop the insanity. I just have to stop. And so I did. That night I attended a party, with my horrible, shaking hangover, and I didn't touch any alcohol. Not a drop. And on Friday I looked up my local AA meeting and walked down during lunch. I listened, I said hello, I got some numbers. I started. All it took was that one step, to take my fright and my remorse and bring it to a place where they've seen it all before. And so I went to my first meeting, clean for a day.

There's a party in this house!

Apparently AA's party like crazy. I guess after years of throwing drunken bashes the need for a gathering never fades.

First Friday, the marble meeting, had over a hundred people gathered around listening to a fabulous gay man speak about his past and his journey into and through AA. He started with his suicide attempt, and it struck me: I was wasted when I tried to kill myself. I always told myself I'd never do that; my mom tried too often for me to ever want to cause another person that kind of pain. But I got wasted, and one comment put me over the edge. I put myself in a position to hear bad news that cut me to the heart. So I cut myself to make it feel better. Did it work? Hell no. I felt worse. I'd just done what I promised never to do. I hurt my dad, my boyfriend, my friends. And I was drunk still when the doctor sewed me up with no anesthesia. "I never want to see you back here," she said. And so every time I was drunk and looking at that razor, thinking that might make it all better, I thought twice.

Drinking, I suppose, is like that razor. It cuts you up, cuts your life into pieces. Makes everything unmanageable. Just that one drink could lead me to the brink of insanity, again. Just one.

Saturday nights' talent show and speaker meeting brought more to me, through the fellowship of an amazing group of women and men. These people welcomed me with open arms, fed me, even told me it was ok to have a second cookie. "Alcohol is sugar," they reminded me. "You may just be trying to replace it." Oh, huh, that makes sense. I've been eating more ice cream than ever and cookies like it's going out of style.

And the amazing women. I've met so many strong and intelligent women who I never would have thought could have problems. They are so smart! And yet, alcohol took them over, too. I guess you don't have to be stupid to get yourself in this position; to make yourself want to get dumber. Maybe it's the smart folks, the smartasses who take to drink. Just maybe.

I feel like I've been invited into a different life. Adam called it stepping through the looking glass, which is really funny since my next three planned tattoos all have something to do with Alice. I was supposed to get one this week: Alice pushing through the looking glass. Broke ass be damned, maybe I should get it next weekend. A commitment on my back: I have broken through the looking glass, and I don't want to look back.