I decided to dust off a few other old writings. This one was written on March 10th of this year, my 7 year sobriety date.
Seven years ago today I walked into rehab a shivering, mortified, miserable, drunk & high mess. I went to The Meadows, in Wickenburg, Arizona...a town out of the old west, with cowboys, Indians and old storefronts. It looked like a set from 'High Noon.'
I swear to God I actually saw tumbleweeds blowing across the dusty road as we pulled in. It was a Sunday, so there was only one Nurse on duty who took her sweeeeeet time checking me in. I was utterly dreading the opiate withdrawals, and begged her for something to offset the symptoms. However, she insisted that I was way more of an alcoholic, and made me take Librium instead. Which is why I stumbled around the rest of the evening in a dark murky haze, slurring my words & barely able to walk. NEVER check in to rehab on a Sunday.
A friend who's struggling recently wrote me to say he knows he needs to stop drinking, but the thought of the spiritual journey he knew he would have to embark on in order to get well overwhelmed him. This reminded me of something that happened to me all those years back in Wickenberg.
After the inevitable the shock of being in rehab wore off, and my ass sobered up a bit, I began to notice that people kept talking about things like "my spiritual journey"or "my higher power" and "God."
The message was subtle yet absolute: if I didn't believe in a higher power (preferably God), I would never stay sober.
Oh, shit. I racked my brain, desperate to find a loophole so I could suspend my disbelief in this "faith" crap and join all the shiny happy sober people.
You see, I went to Catholic grade school for 8 years. Therefore, to me, "God"& "religion" represented punishment, judgement, scratchy uniforms, miserable old priests, nuns who hated me, constant torment from schoolmates & endless, droning masses.
I left the school believing in nothing.
Kind of the opposite of a 'Born again.'
'Dead Again'?
There was this spiritual counselor at The Meadows who I avoided like the plague, mostly because, well, she was a spiritual counselor. Also, she wore tons of enormous turquoise rings on every plump finger, feather earrings, Birkenstocks, and she stank like patchouli.
As if her occupation & hairy legs weren't enough, she topped the whole look off with a PERMED MULLET. Yes, my friends. A full-on biz/front, partay/back. BUT WITH TIGHT CURLS.
When I'd see her in the cafeteria, I'd stop whatever I was doing & stare open mouthed at her, imagining the discussions she had at her hair salon.
"Hi, Louise. Same as last time, but could you make the curls even tighter? I have a blind date Friday."
A few weeks into my stay there, she gave the Friday evening group lecture.
I was surprised and a bit ashamed at myself when I discovered she was incredibly smart, quick witted & dry. I couldn't help but like her. She had survived the death of a child, her husband's suicide and stage 4 breast cancer. Oh, and alcoholism. All with her sense of humor intact. My kinda gal.
Two days later, I was on my early evening walk to kill time/not smoke, and I happened to walk by her open door. She was at her computer. I knocked, not even sure why or what I was going to say.
"C'min"
"Hi, Sorr-" She held her hand up, not looking at me.
I stood there for about 3 minutes while she typed. I've never been good with silences, especially back then. I saw the Dreamcatcher above her desk & suddenly deeply regretted being there. I could hear the evening Volleyball game in the distance. Maybe I should g...
"Hi Kristen. What's up?" She was looking at me expectantly.
"Hi...um, sorry, I, umm....well,I was thinking today and, um.....well, I'm sure you can't answer this....?" I asked hopefully.
She just smiled and waited.
So I looked at her dreamcatcher & took a deep breath.
"Ok. Everyone around here talks about spirituality & God, and for many reasons I don't believe in any of it. I WANT to, but I'm sorry, I just can't & I'm worried I won't get sober if I don't."
I couldn't believe I was crying.
"I guess I was wondering - what's been weighing on me is....what exactly IS a spiritual journey, and how do you start one?"
I couldn't believe I was crying.
"I guess I was wondering - what's been weighing on me is....what exactly IS a spiritual journey, and how do you start one?"
She smiled.
"You're already on one. You started the minute you asked that question."
"I know, but...Wait. Really?"
She laughed.
"Yes, Kristen. A Spiritual Journey is just being curious, asking questions & trying to find the right answers for you."
I can't put into words the relief I felt. I left her office with such hope in my heart. Hope that maybe, just maybe this was possible....that I could live my life sober, but still be me.
Before, the words "Spiritual Journey" had always brought to mind some lonely gal who watched way too much Oprah.
Or a very thin, dirty bearded man who wandered the desert for weeks with no food or water, wearing nothing but a cloth diaper.
Or a very thin, dirty bearded man who wandered the desert for weeks with no food or water, wearing nothing but a cloth diaper.
Or people who go to Church everyday, and have the Bible memorized.
Or people who attend self-help seminars every weekend.
Or people who hang dreamcatchers above their desks.
But it's not really about any of that, at least to my understanding.
To me, a spiritual journey means you're simply searching for your own answers, trying every day to learn from your mistakes, forgiving yourself for yours & others for theirs, if possible.
But mostly, it's learning how to love yourself no matter what.
But mostly, it's learning how to love yourself no matter what.
In these past seven years, I've made many mistakes. The road to sanity is not smooth. No one's journey is the same, and sometimes our paths require us to make choices others don't understand or agree with.
The minute I began to accept that, I began to let go.
After a lifetime of drugs, alcohol, disappointing people, hurting loved ones, lying, people-pleasing, despising myself, so much heartbreak and sorrow...
Today I'm proud to be 7 years sober, I'm proud that I'm no longer 'Dead Again,' I'm proud of the person I'm still becoming and I'm very proud that I actually like who I am. And sometimes, if it's a foggy day and I squint, I even love myself.
Not enough to buy a dreamcatcher, but still...
