Comfort in my own skin has never come easy. Body issues, face issues, social interaction issues; you name it, I cowered from it. I envied the fat guy in a Speedo; those who “should know better” but apparently didn’t care what I or anybody else thought. Of course, that envy would mutate into righteous anger, born out of misguided pride and internal judgement: I could never do what that guy shouldn’t be doing.
Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
Living a day on an even keel. Not only was this impossible, but I viewed it as pointless. Things needed to be pushed to extremes, only to be pumped up or settled down with alcohol. Constant adjustments were made. I was the classic fool in the shower, oscillating between freezing and scalding myself.
I’ve been told (by a very credible source), that I like to create drama. I won’t go as far as to say I’m a queen about it, but without something to bitch about or fixate on, what’s the point of living? When nothing’s happening, when everything’s okay, that’s when it hits. It’s too quiet. It’s too normal. My mind’s bored; nothing’s firing. There’s no need to run, and I needed to run. I’d create a stress to rationalize my escape; and release myself into the light with each gulp.
This extreme thinking is something the Fourth Step brings into sharp focus. For every resentment, there are many overreactions and many paths to run down, with head aflame.
Seeing them on paper, strangely, defused them to a certain degree. They became less intense. Things aren’t as nebulous as before, and I can begin to appreciate living right-sized.