I spend an inordinate amount of time dealing with anger on some level, which is always masking either fear or depression. I seem to be constantly walking around with a mild irritant that I scratch until bleeding occurs. Then, when someone says, “Oh my God, you’re bleeding! What happened?”, I am left dumbfounded and even more angry. “Why can’t I be normal?” sadness follows, with resentment close on its heels. I hate the reality that this is something I’m going to be dealing with until death.
Now. This is where, if I’m paying attention, I can find the crack in my alcoholic, all-or-nothing, hopeless, pointless thinking. Were you paying attention? I’m resentful about dealing with something for the rest of my life. Well, that’s in defiance of the number one bumper sticker in the program: one day at a time. And today, even though it’s overcast and cold, I’m upright, sober, and grateful that I have tools that can work me through this. If I work them.
Which, of course, isn’t easy, hence the name of my site. My disease loves to assume that if I work the steps and use the tools, I’m merely fooling myself into accepting all the slights and back-stabbings and betrayals and insults; that I’ve become a toothless, wet rug that thanks everyone for wiping their shoes.
Somewhere in between is where I hope to land, preferably closer to the top.
Today: Even if every horrible what-if scenario in my head came true, and everyone was laughing and pointing at me, why would I immediately blame myself for all of it? That’s a whole lot of ego to get in check: believing that my poor actions in turn make everyone around me reprehensible.
Remember: I’m not that important. In a good way.