I never made lemonade when life gave me lemons. I angrily hurled them back at life. I squeezed and squirted juice into the eyes of everyone I could reach. I spit in the pitcher and dumped the ice cubes on the ground. It was always bullshit, the way life treated me. Like I didn’t have enough strikes against me to begin with.
Step 3: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God, as we understood Him.
Here’s what my alcoholic brain failed to recognize: most times, life was providing me with oranges, peaches and grapes. I just chose to treat them as lemons.
First of all, if the crap situation was of my own making, then the lemon law doesn’t apply. Second, if I absolutely had nothing to do with it, then it’s nothing personal, so I shouldn’t be offended.
But to my disease, everything’s personal, an affront, an agreed-upon standard that I’m not coming close to meeting. Which explains my need to isolate and escape. I’m tired of being surrounded by people who are just putting up with me. The secret comparisons that reign down upon my head with each success story of another pushes me deeper into the hole and reminds me how pointless I’ve become: a joke, a stand-in until someone better comes along (and everyone who comes along is better).
I understand that I’m not top banana. I’m not even in the bunch. Most likely I’m a lonely, misunderstood tomato, sitting untouched among a bushels of apples. And how do I like them apples? I don’t.
For today: Understand that analogy can only take me so far. See things that are presented to me as they are, not as the horrible, soul-crushing taunts of the happy people. That’s almost never their intent.