All Aboard!

Wow, two posts in a row. I must be feeling kind of crazy. Actually, my daughter has had me up since 3am, and I am getting no sleep in my own bed so I've found refuge in the den, blogging and watching Food Network. Probably not the best thing for a compulsive overeater to do alone at 4:30 in the morning.

Since most of you from group are already aware of just how messed up I am, I figure, what have I got to lose with this next post.

I wonder, am I drawn to the drama that living with an addict creates. It seems that anytime life began going smoothly, I would sabotage that peace with a crisis, either real or imagined. For example, when there was a lull after the birth of our second child, we adopted a dog from the humane society. Of course, not just any dog, but an abused dog. How fun...not! He would attack us whenever we would pick up a broom or a belt. He died not long after we adopted him after consuming a softball that he found in the basement and then washing it down with my nephew's sweater. That was very sad.

I took on an additional full time job when I already had a full time job. Got pregnant. Dumped the second full time job. Then, while pregnant with our third child, we purchased a pure bred pup, an commitment we couldn't afford financially or with respect to the training involved. Started school full time. Had an affair. Bought a house. Bought another dog we couldn't afford money- or time-wise. Then the drama of kicking out the husband and taking the husband back. Another baby, a new house, a couple of cats, several tanks of fish. More drama on D-Day number two.

I'm exhausted just thinking about all of the ways in which I've complicated my life without even giving it a second thought. I know much of this stuff is just life. But I recognize that whenever there is one of those uncomfortable lulls, I add a child or a pet or a situation that will create anything from severe stress to, at the very least, a temporary diversion. It's as if I am only happy in the midst of chaos. Ever since I was in middle school, I've admitted to working best under pressure. Given too much time, I putz around and ultimately forget what it was I was doing. Maybe I have ADD...or maybe I'm insane and can't help but enjoy a good rollercoaster ride every now and then. Either way, it's not good.

Repeating Patterns

I'm digging deep lately, and without seeing a private therapist, I'm taking on the role of psychoanalyzing myself. Mistake, I know. But I've formuated some questions for my therapist for when I speak to her again.

First of all, I noticed that in all three experiences I've had with men, the men were undoubtedly sex addicts. My husband, for obvious reasons. Matt, a man I dated before marrying my husband, was certainly a sex addict. He even went so far as to make a reference to me regarding our brief sexual relationship while at a party we both attended with our respective spouses. And then Dave...the voyeur who, while married, was also seeing me and another female that he eventually married. Once married to her, he sought me out after a wedding to inform me that he still thought about me every day.

Personally I would have taken myself for the wife of an alcoholic. Why, in all three cases, would I pick a sex addict? I don't consider myself to be a sex addict, so why wouldn't I choose someone like my dad, or at least throw in an alcoholic for variety? I'm a little surprised at how drawn I am to sex addicts. I even had a perfectly sweet male friend that was on his way to being an alcoholic, and when he asked me out, I turned him down. Why would I exclude him like that? It was as if the alcoholic wasn't unbalanced enough for me. And not to minimize the damage an alcoholic can do to a family, because I have many alcoholics in my life too. I just chose not to have sexual relationships with any of them.

The harsh reality is I chose this for myself, not once, not twice, but *three* times. Something tells me this was no coincidence. I was repeating a pattern that I was unable to control or identify until now. A little late, I might add.

Getting Honest - Defects 9 and 18

In the past year, the group has become a lifeline for me. We've shared on such deep levels with each other because of the nature of our husbands' (and our own) addictions and our desire to heal and move forward in recovery. I just wanted to let you all know how much I appreciate your honesty and openness with the most sensitive and protected areas of your lives.


At this point in the process of being restored to sanity, I need to give you some information that I was previously holding back on for reasons of shame, fear, and my own unwillingness to admit that my life is not perfect. My eldest son is a homosexual. So is my younger brother.

Some may be turned away by this revelation. That is alright. At least it is an *honest* response.

I know that some of us have had the topic of homosexuality arise in our conversations together. Let me just say, that I do not go back on anything I previously stated. *But,* I love my son. And he is gay.

I am sorry if anyone feels deceived by me. Please know that it was my own issue of feeling judged that lead me to bury the truth. This fear has caused me to become dishonest and phony, not just with you, but with myself. I've juggled my schedule and postponed get-togethers with friends to avoid times when my son is on break from college, keeping him in *my* closet, hiding him from friends who would judge *me.* Ashamed of my own child. Shame on *me!*

So for today, I am trying to walk in truth. For today, I'm abandoning my people-pleasing ways. And for today, I am 100% ready to have God remove these two character defects and to never ask for them back.

Character Defects #s 5, 6, 11, and 23

So, I'm still working on Step Six. Becoming entirely ready. I thought I was doing pretty well until yesterday afternoon when I was hit in the face by the two-by-four known as reality. My middle son came home from school and, as he usually does, wanted to share with me the events of the day. He is a very passionate young man, very exhuberant. He is not unlike me when I was his age. And this, for him, has proven to be a challenge when dealing with a mother that doesn't particularly like herself very much.

Things started off as they usually do with the traditional, "How was school? Did you have any tests? How are your friends today?" Well, I should have stopped with the question about having any tests. He started telling me about his friend, Jill, who advised him (for reasons he will not disclose) not to wear his hair in the "liberty spikes" that he has come to love. And then the story went on to tell how Adam advised him to wear them anyway. So like a snake, ready to strike, I went at this poor child and his choice of friends. "What is with this kid? Does *he* wear his hair like that, or does he just like to stand around and laugh at *you* for doing it? Why do all of your friends have to be weirdos? Why do they all have such bizarre hairstyles, and piercings, and body art? Why can't you just have *normal* friends?"

After him saying, "That's it, mom. You have been banned from this conversation," and then leaving the room, I was left alone with my self-pride and judgement and hypocrisy. And that was a good thing. I was proud of him (after, of course, a good romp with my old friend anger). I was very proud of him for setting a boundary and keeping it. Once I went into my attack mode, he immediately cut me off. And after a few minutes, I was grateful for him doing that. Not only did it benefit him (not having to hear more rotten things about his friends) but it benefitted me too. It stopped me from spewing anymore venom at my child. It smacked me in the head that I was being a self-righteous hypocrite.

This whole scenario is a flashback to my own childhood. Both of my parents were *extremely* prejudiced. Their friends were all white Catholics, mostly Irish. There was no room for variety in their house. I only realized this was going to be a problem after fourth grade when I became best friends with a girl who happened to be Korean, and very good friends with a girl who wasn't Catholic, but Jewish. So, for most of my teenage years, I heard my share of racial jokes, with my friends as the punchline. And these were nice, respectful, extremely bright kids. None of them were leading me down a destructive path, quite the contrary. But they didn't look like my parents, therefore, they were not accepted.

So here I was, faced with the same wound that I suffered as a child, and instead of mending it, I added salt to it and rubbed vigorously. And today, I don't want to get out of it by saying, "It's different." It's not different. I'm doing the same thing to him that was done to me. I'm judging his friends and him. I've never even *seen* Adam or Jill and I already have it in my mind what they are like. I hated it when my parents would make comments about my friends or say, "Why can't you just get some *white* friends? What do you have against white people, anyway?" And here I am, twenty years later, with the question, "Why can't you just have *normal* friends?"

What is the deal? Am I just doomed to keep repeating history in these cases? My mind says no. My eldest son had some really "out there" looking friends. One even dyed her hair magenta. Actually, that was just the one time I saw her. My son told me she colored it a different color (think "Lucky Charms," not Miss Clairol) every month or so. But I had no problem with *her*.

Do I conclude that I am working out things from my past with this child? He is the one that looks most like me (minus the liberty spikes of course). And he is the middle child (me too). And he is the most codependent of the bunch. Sometimes I feel my self-deprecation has rubbed off on him in a variety of ways and that it manifests itself in his making himself physically unattractive. I don't know...I'm just guessing at this point.

I feel like a giant failure as a mother. And "being aware" doesn't even help at this point. It's actually making me feel worse, because now I can't blame ignorance on this mess. The only one to blame is me and the light speed at which I judge people and situations.

Yep, definitely 100% ready to let God have *these* character defects. The other ones, I'm still clinging to for now...

Thief!

I must admit, I stole this video from another person's blog. I've been reduced to swiping blog material, a new personal low. Great stuff for Step 7, 8, and 9, though. I love it, although I am not proud of it not being "original." Someone else did the dirty work of finding it for me. Oh well, it's a beautiful song and the lyrics are amazing...

"I'm Not Who I Was" by Brandon Heath

I wish you could see me now
I wish I could show you how
I'm not who I was

I used to be mad at you
A little on the hurt side too
But I'm not who I was

I found my way around
To forgiving you
Some time ago
But I never got to tell you so

I found us in a photograph
I saw me and I had to laugh
You know, I'm not who I was

You were there, you were right above me
And I wonder if you ever loved me
Just for who I was

When the pain came back again
Like a bitter friend
It was all that I could do
To keep myself from blaming you

I reckon it's a funny thing
I figured out I can sing
Now I'm not who I was

I write about love and such
Maybe 'cause I want it so much
I'm not who I was

I was thinking maybe I
I should let you know
I am not the same
But I never did forget your name
Hello

Well the thing I find most amazing
In amazing grace
Is the chance to give it out
Maybe that's what love is all about

I wish you could see me now
I wish I could show you how
I'm not who I was

You're Uninvited!

So, I think I finally had a breakthrough this week in my recovery. My husband and I celebrated our anniversary last week, and so we recruited our mothers to watch the children so that we might have some "adult time." We spent a good portion of that time just talking and listening to each other.

One of the things I find is bothering me with the recovery work is that I spend so much time thinking lately, that I don't spend enough time doing. As I've shared in my check in's, fantasy seems to be occupying a major chunk of the old gray matter as of late. It's a giant nuisance because it immobilizes me. It's not anything that motivates change. It just sits, rotting, in the stinking cesspool of my cranium.

I confessed this to my husband while we were away. I told him my thoughts are controlling me and have jammed the circuitry in my head. It's like any time I even try to think of something useful, this daydream floats in and starts wheeling and dealing with the pleasure centers of my brain.

What is going on??? It's like I'm addicted, and I guess I am. I think I'm finally figuring out that I'm not just a coaddict, I'm also an addict. Whether it's food, fantasy, or whatever, I'm using this stuff to escape from my pain. And none of it is helping me! I'm wasting a life I could be living, instead of thinking about living it! Oh, God, I hate this! Help me, please!

People tell me to read the Bible when I feel crazy like this. I do...and it becomes addictive. I will sit for hours reading and reading and searching.

Today I am thankful that I am self aware regarding this issue. It needs to be served an eviction notice. I am definitely not living in the present while all of these thoughts circle around my mind, like buzzards waiting for me to succumb to this disease.

On a different, bizzare note from the depths of my psyche, I am sufficiently freaked out by something that happened this week. In addition to giving us money, my mother bought me a negligee for our anniversary. And not just a tasteful nightgown. I am talking about a black, sheer, breast enhancing, extremely short, piece of polyester! What the...?!? This is really bothering me!
Just a few touchpoints that might be triggering me: 1. Does she think that she knows my husband's sexual preferences in eveningwear so well that she felt inspired to buy this for him? 2. Is this a way to get into my husband's head while we are making love ("Wow, gotta remember to thank D----'s mom for this Frederick's of Hollywood bedroom adventure!") 3. How would she even guess that I would wear lingeree? I don't talk to her about sex, ever!!! Like, never-ever!!!

Freud would have a field day with this! Somebody f---ing help me! I'm totally crazy!!!





"Can you help me I'm bent I'm so scared that I'll never Get put back together"

Amazing Grace

As mentioned in my check-ins, I'm reading an awesome book by Philip Yancey called, "What's so Amazing About Grace?" This information is coming at a very serendipitous time, as I'm doing Steps Five and Six, and I firmly believe it's grace that's getting me through.


I never really understood "grace" until I started this book. Merriam-Webster defines grace as "unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification ." I guess.

"Unmerited," certainly. Often, the word "unmerited" is reserved for my day to day debacles, as I vehemently complain when someone has eaten the last slice of bread, or used the last square of Charmin. The "I don't deserve this" outcry rarely emerges when blessings appear in my life, though.

"Divine," again, definitely. Who else but God to give such a reckless, unabashed gift of love?


"Assistance." Mmmm...assistance? If my tire blows out on the freeway, I call roadside "assistance." When I'm waiting on hold for what seems like the best years of my life, I'm told that an operator will be picking up soon, happy to "assist" me. When my child's school is putting on a magic show, there is always a lovely "assistant" playing second fiddle to Marco the Magnificent. Assistance might be an understatement, depending on the need of the individual. In *my* case, assistance is a gross misrepresentation of what has been granted me. Maybe aid, benevolence, or charity might be more fitting, but there are truly no words for the magnitude of the concept.


"Given humans." Given, meaning, it's free folks! Note to self: definition did not say, "given humans in exchange for participation in and dependent upon attendance at Sunday Mass, a 10% tithing, volunteering to assist in the CCD program and any and all potluck suppers, and any other fair exchange of services, as determined by the gift giver. D-...remember...free! God's gift to you!


"For their regeneration." Okay, if I am interpreting this correctly, "for" is not meant to mean "in exchange for." Rather, I believe "for" to mean "to be used for." So, to be used for the process of regeneration, or becoming of a new creation in Christ. Maybe it means grace is given to help us become someone new in Christ. Anyone?


"And sanctification." Easton's 1897 Bible Dictionary says sanctification is "the work of the Holy Spirit bringing the whole nature more and more under the influences of the new gracious principles implanted in the soul in regeneration. In other words, sanctification is the carrying on to perfection the work begun in regeneration, and it extends to the whole man." So it seems that grace is also given that we feel encouraged and moved to avoid sin? Yes?

The problem I see with understanding grace, is that I believe one must experience it in order to "know" it. The definition in and of itself is not "wrong." In my opinion, it seems just a little sterile when trying to explain this level of intimacy.

I think "grace" is one of those words, like love. It is difficult to put onto paper all of the feelings associated with the enormity of such a concept.

Relying on Merriam-Webster again, love is defined as "strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties." Although true, it feels incomplete. It's incomprehensible to me that what my family and I have been feeling for the past twenty years is reduced to "strong affection." If that were the case, I could have settled on adopting a cat, nevermind choosing to remain in an addictive relationship despite odds that were stacked against recovery. And even at that, I, dare I say, love my cat! Would I die for my cat? No (sorry Boots!). Would I take the hit for any one of my family members? Without even thinking about it! Strong affection? That feels a little watered down.

Back to grace. I think the process of grace begins when we abandon our self righteousness and work through His love, not for it. If we reverse the process and try to earn it, then it is no longer grace. It becomes about who we are, and not about who God is.

Truly, grace is amazing...

Eph.2:8-10: "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith; and this not from yourselves - it is the gift of God - Not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."