I attended an in -person meeting last night for the first time in ages. I think I've dropped in on one other 12-step meeting in the past year, and last night it wasn't even a 12-step meeting. Recovery is something that is dynamic, open, organic, and also looks different for people depending on what they are recovering from.
Recovery is like healing. Its growth. It takes effort. It takes time.
I like to think of it like this;
Addiction has 3 D's (and no, not dees nuts!)
Dereliction. Desperation. Degradation.
However, its compliment also has three D's
Recovery's 3 D's
Duality. Divinity. Discipline.
I made that up. But it sounds good though, right? People have to recover from their trauma, their pain. Their misfortunes. Unlikely upsets and freak accidents. Things happen. Life. Happens. So what do we do? Well, some people live in it. That is dereliction. Living within a self-imposed crisis, feeling like there may be a way out, but its too hard, too much work. Most likely, I wasn't willing to make the necessary sacrifices, or I wasn't really ready to admit the extent to which I was responsible for certain things. Walking around with a dark cloud over my head, miserable. Too afraid to take my own life, but knowing without a doubt that this world would be a better place without me in it.
Unable to cope with these thoughts, these "truths" about myself, I put chemicals on those thoughts and feelings until they were gone. I would use any number of methods to self-destroy. Degrading my physical self through harm and starvation, and later when the substances really had me in their grip, all of my values, my beliefs, my convictions would be for sale. The price I paid for 15 years of rampant, unrelenting, insidious use and abuse was much greater than the cost of a hit or a shot.
The lengths that the using addict will go to for one more are the epitome of desperation. The early onset of detoxification creates immeasurable physical pain through cramps, nausea, headaches, sweating, hot flashes, cold sweats. then the real symptoms begin to surface when we reach the crest of the 3rd day. Diarrhea. Vomiting. Insomnia. Emotional distress causes the sick addict to use "dope fiend" logic. Irrational. Impulsive. Dangerous. Potentially fatal, poor decisions. No reason or logic can convince the sick addict not to use. Desperation creates chaos within the addict.
We arrive at a place in life whence things begin to look differently. Our interests shift. Our values may change. People who we could have swore were our close friends seem to fade into the background. But the timing must be perfect for the addict to successfully not use. Or "to kick" as I like to say. And by perfect, I mean it is usually brought on by an outside force. The addict has the will to change, but have the drugs completely hindered their ability to do so.
I have said a lot of things, many of which do not bear repeating. Some though...
"recovery is not for people who need it, its for people who want it" -but wait. I want it. and I need it.
Did I want it before I needed it?
Or need it before I wanted it? I would have to conclude that I needed recovery far before I wanted it. Before I knew that I had a problem. Before I knew what recovery was, I already needed it.
We can't automatically assume there is all of this sickness and misfortune, bad luck, or whatever one would like to label it as; Without also admitting that there is good in the world too. Someone could believe that there is only a heaven, angels, guardians, God, all of that, but if they argued that Hell was made up or the devil wasn't real, their argument would collapse on itself( if I was the jury) because just as there is good in the world, so there is evil. Things go up, they come down. Some of them, anyway. One cannot fully appreciate the brevity, glory and liberty without at least knowing(not necessarily experiencing) the lowest of lows( 3D's)
people don't have to believe in God to be religious. People don't have to go to church to believe in God. People don't have to leave their house to practice either. Someone who is in recovery does not necessarily have to be a religious person. They don't have to believe in God, perse. I believe in divine creation. Nature. I have always admired the natural world. the complexity of ecosystems, the self-sustaining life within a biome. the way that creatures interact and play on each other in their environments. Have you ever heard someone ask
"If a tree falls down in the middle of the forest, does it make a sound? " -we wont know, because that's one of the secrets of the forest. and that's divine. Yeah I know they put a video camera in the forest all camo'd out and recorded, so no body was there, and it made noise, so....
Well this is a post about spirituality, and not science, so....
Discipline is perhaps one of the most pertinent aspects of my personal recovery, I can attest to its relevance. Like working out. Exercising. While I was incarcerated I developed a routine of working out religiously everyday. To the extent where I had to evaluate my habits as potentially harmful. This due to my obsessives compulsive tendencies, as well as something called body dysmorphia. Which I used to believe was viewing my own body as never good enough, being obsessed with being thin, and making myself sick. Not being able to see things in the mirror for what they are.
One of the only ways I could explain it to others at one point was, "when I look in the mirror, I don't see the same thing as people see when they look at me." Apparently body dysmorphia isn't as much about self-hate as it is about the incessant desire to have the perfect body. I can relate to that. I didn't need to collect another reason to hate myself growing up, I was doing a really good job of that already. I had one sister and not many friends. I was a queer little boy who was shy and scared. He felt like he was wrong just for being and he didn't understand that. He had reason to be shy and scared because all the times he can remember trying to be nice or make friends, he got mocked or heckled. Made fun of for the way he talked, the way he walked, the way he dressed.
But when he got comfortable, when he found the courage to speak up, and to let go of the constructs in place everywhere around him, he felt like he could almost spread his wings. but it never happened. He got shot down every time he stood up. It seemed like the world and everyone in it just weren't interested in anything he had to offer,.
