Apologies

I know it's not really necessary, but I want to apologize for my lack of blogging lately and for not visiting my regular blogging friends as often as usual. I'm still in sufficient pain enough of the time to not feel much like sitting at the computer. I do, however, want to direct you to this post. It's important.

Running?

Since you've not finished telling us your story, I don't know what it was you were running away from when you moved to Montana. Have you considered that "it" will also follow you to Bozeman or Missoula?

This comment was left anonymously on my last entry. I didn't intend to give the impression that I was running from anything as I have no desire to leave Polson and hope it doesn't come to that. However, economic necessity may prevail and if it does and all signs point to moving as a viable option, I will probably do so.

If the commentor would like to know what I was running from when I left Georgia, he/she can find part of the answer in this post. The longer answer, and what I'm realizing a little more each day, is that I was running from standing in my own power. By the time I left Georgia in 2002, I had given my power over to so many, so much and so often, there was really none left. As I have begun to learn, ever so slowly, to inhabit myself fully, to allow the innate power that I was originally gifted with to come forth and to most importantly, not be afraid of it myself, I no longer have a desire to run from anything or anyone. It no longer matters to me WHY I gave my power away so freely, or why I am finding the strength to inhabit it now, it only matters that I am.

There's a lot of talk in recovery circles about the "geographic cure". What they mean by that is that many people with drinking problems will move from one city to the next on a regular basis to leave the wake of destruction that was created. I was never one of those. As a matter of fact, I probably stayed in places a lot longer than I should have. But when I made the decision to move to Montana, I was "reminded" many times that it was probably a "geographic", as they're called. Well, maybe it was. And if it was, thank goddess. Because had I remained in Georgia under the conditions that I had created for myself there, I would likely not be writing this today. And I guess that's one thing that bothers me a lot about recovery circles. There often seems to be no room for individual circumstances, or stories, or decisions, or plans. WE have found it to be that if you move, you are only doing a geographic and all your problems will follow you. Well, I gotta tell you. A lot of them did. But not all of them. And apparently, it was enough because I no longer drink a bottle of vodka a night with a handful of pills as chaser. But that was five years ago and I can tell you for sure it wasn't a seamless cross-over.

I'm paying close attention to my body these days, and the more attention I pay, the less I drink. I realize that some will not be able to believe that. It's okay. I know. It's clear to me that the recovery movement is this country leaves no room for an individual to naturally move out of addiction unaided by the 12 steps and/or not having abstinence as a goal. But I want to tell you, I'm just allowing it to happen and it's happening.

The Beauty of Struggle

Those are the Mission Mountains which are due east from Polson about 2 miles I guess. I don't have words to explain what living in the brilliance of their shadow does for me. I always wanted to live near mountains, but never dreamed I'd be so close to ones like these. I can see their peaks from a couple of the windows in my house on a clear day like today.

I think those mountains struggled a lot against the glacier that formed them. Or maybe it was the glacier that did all the work, eh? At any rate, they are a reminder to me of the beauty that can come from struggle, whether it's the struggle of tectonic plates and ice ages, or the struggle of one human soul trying to make her way in the world. And while they don't seem to be struggling now, I'm sure there are underground movements at work on them all the while they seem to be resting.

The Electric Orchid Hunter left this comment on yesterday's post: In my opinion that book has got it all wrong. By nature, we don't put up a fight, don't expend more energy than necessary; life is all downstream from here. Situations and people like those two men are more like rocks that you wash against and end up clinging to, assuming that that'll stem the tide, prevent you from being swept over the cataract. But what these rocks actually do, is prevent you from moving at all. Clinging to these rocks leaves you marooned.

It is only when you realize that you can swim upstream unaided, that you don't need to give up and drown, or bleach and dessicate on those rocks, that you have undreamed of potential and resourcefulness, that the river of Life breaks its hold on you.

And here's my reply to him: EOH,

What a beautiful and thoughtful comment. And I agree with you. I actually believe in struggle as a positive force sometimes, a builder of character and a strengthener of spiritual and psychic muscles. When people say life can be lived without struggle, I wonder what kind of life it would actually be. But when is enough enough? And how do we get our thoughts moving again in whatever direction works for us - be it upstream or downstream? The process described in the book helped me do that.

I highly recommend checking out his blog - just make sure you've got your Webster's Unabridged handy!

I dream that more people in the world could find such an eloquent way to agree to disagree, or agree on some points and not on others, or disagree with respect. Don't you think the world would be a better place?

I'm headed up to spend the weekend with the cowboy. This is major progress for it requires a 45 minute drive which I feel I'm up for at this point. I'm wondering if it's time to leave these beautiful mountains - the opportunities in Missoula or Kalispell, or even Bozeman would be much better than what I might find here. Then again, I would have to leave those mountains and the incredible network of friends and associates I've developed here over the past 5 years. I'm glad I don't have to decide today.

Have a great weekend and I'll check in with you all on Monday.

Struggle or Paddling Upstream

If you've come here looking for an uplifting post, you're in the wrong place today.

I am struggling. Best to just admit it and get it out in the open where maybe some light will shine on it. I've been lucky that in 46 years, this knee surgery is the first surgery I've had - if you don't count dental surgery, and I don't. Intellectually I understand that a traumatic invasion of the body for whatever good reason is going to be depressing to some degree. The medical practitioners tried to prepare me for the pain and the long recovery time, but until you're actually living it, it's just a concept. Three weeks out from surgery I'm starting to get it. 8-12 months total recovery time. We're talking gradual here. Gradual lessening of pain, gradual increase in motion and strength, gradual healing. There will be no overnight miracle.

I've got some things floating around my mind that aren't helping any either. There are two men in this town that I am on the serious outs with. This is a small town - about 6,000 people. I've already run into one of them in the past week - the ex-live-in boyfriend of three years. The one who told me the last time we spoke that I was a lost cause, a hopeless case that he didn't want to have any more to do with. We broke up two years ago and for some insane reason I thought we could salvage a friendship out of the deal. The other? The ex-boss. The one who seems to have laid me off for reasons more personal than business. The one I had to threaten with calling the Dept. of Labor if he didn't pay me all the money I was owed. I've been pondering both of these situations a lot and while I'm not going into any more details here, I realize that the reason I've had problems with both of these men is because I am no longer willing to submit to the whims and emotions of despots and petty tyrants. I am no longer willing to let others dictate how I live, no matter how well meaning they may seem to be. I think this is the first time in my life I've actually felt like I wanted to avoid people. Which of course means it's something I will absolutely not do. Because I've been around and around both of these situations and while I know it takes two to tango and all that crap, I'm ok with my behavior. No, I didn't do everything right. Yes, maybe I did a lot wrong. But what I haven't done, and they both have, verbally or subtly, is to say YOU are wrong, your entire personhood is wrong, you don't deserve happiness or money or love or anything worthwhile. As much as I tell myself to move on and forget about all of it; as much as I believe that these experiences will make me a stronger person; as much as I know what's happened is much more about them than it is about me - it hurts.

Now, add to that the fact that I can't really exercise yet and I'm still in pain about 70% of the time and all the family's gone back to Georgia and what do you get? Me. Struggling. Do you ever feel like that's all there is to it? As my sister's friend, Mary, says, "What the fucking fuck???"

Before surgery I ordered a couple of books I thought would be inspirational to read while I was convalescing. "The Astonishing Power of Emotions" by Esther and Jerry Hicks, and supposedly channeled through a benevolent entity known as Abraham, is part of the popular Law of Attraction material. The Hicks' break thought processing down into really simple ideas. Either you're thinking upstream, against the current, with struggle, or you're thinking downstream, allowing the river to carry you along with its power and trusting in the outcome. Now, we can paddle upstream as long as we want, working hard, struggling, straining to keep our little boat moving upstream, or we can just decide to let go. They posit that the only place to start is right where you are, no matter how negative and depressed you may feel and try to find one downstream thought about any given situation. And they say that nothing you want is upstream, it's all downstream. I did that with the two men I've mentioned and it helped.

And on that note, here on this public blog, I release both of these men and the events, circumstances and emotions surrounding them with as much love as I can muster. It ain't a lot right now, but it will have to do.

The Soul's Companion

As is often the case, today's reading from The Soul's Companion is ever so appropriate.

In order to grow, we must struggle. Children struggle as they move through developmental stages, sorting and resorting what they learn and adapting it to new challenges. Our brain grows with use; new information creates brain growth and alters cell assemblies or particular constellations of memories. Part of struggling is working through previous stages into new ones, changing thoughts and behavior patterns, continually shaping and reshaping the self. When I am able to struggle, I can change, and I can allow others to change in my presence. I can move through stages of life without getting marooned in one because I can't face the anguish of the struggle toward a new one. Tian Dayton, Ph.D.

Just because I haven't had much to say here lately doesn't mean nothing's going on in that noggin' of mine. Hopefully, it will come out in a post soon.

The Absurdities

Is that not the ugliest thing you have ever seen? OK, not the leg, the stocking. It's a compression stocking and is used after surgeries to prevent blood clots from shooting to your heart and knocking you dead, and to keep circulation moving. But, why, I ask you, can't they make one that looks like black fishnet? I mean, really, how difficult would that be, and how much better would I feel wearing it if it were? I wonder if healing would occur more quickly if one could feel just a little bit sexy in the process, you know? I could just get one for the other leg and drive the cowboy nuts while I'm recuperating. Prime that pump so to speak.

If the stocking itself isn't absurd enough, imagine my dismay when I realized I was down to two people to help me change it: my dad or my boyfriend. Arrrgghh!!! Somebody save me from this humiliation! Funny that I don't mind the gorgeous PT changing it - must be because I know he's a professional and he's seen tons of hairy, un-cared for legs and feet in his job(remember, my injury occurred on Jan. 19th and I have not been able to reach my left foot since then!). I have PT again tomorrow and an appointment afterwards for the sutures to be removed. And even though I don't have the money for it, I'm treating myself to a pedicure afterwards and maybe a pair of black fishnets to go with it.

Yesterday, they let me switch from this leg brace to this one. The first one I have actually had to sleep with since surgery. Trust me, I'm definitely ready for something else to be sharing my bed. Honestly, can you imagine having to sleep in that thing??

I guess the biggest absurdity was receiving a pink slip three days after surgery, when I was in the most extreme pain and surely not in a psychic place to be hit with not having a job. I experienced hurt, anger, dismay, that someone I worked hard for for two and a half years felt I could be treated with such abject dismissal. And then I remembered the source. And I remembered that I had been toying with looking for another job for quite awhile, and I remembered being ambushed on the pontoon boat, and I remembered the week that I went to detox in September of 2006, which I was paid for and which got me off that awful drug, ativan, and I figure it all worked out in the end. I have acted with integrity, which is certainly not a given, but which is something I will take with me to my next job - whatever it may turn out to be. In the meantime? I'm just relaxing.

Knee Sundae with Whipped Cream and a Cherry on Top

A friend of mine gave me that card. Isn't it great? Now, I will admit to having felt picked on in the past few months, and to having been sorely tempted on numerous occasions to fall into that old yucky Victim mentality. But I've decided that whoever is doing the picking knows exactly what they're doing. Me? I'm just gonna relax.

I'm far enough away from the surgery now, and dealing with enough less pain to realize the absurdities and blessings that have occurred from this unplanned interruption in my life. My mom and sister, Pam, arrived the day before surgery. Mom flew back to Georgia last Sunday and Pam just left this (Sat.) morning. Dad got here yesterday and will stay until I feel comfortable driving myself again. They're doing me in shifts. I'm sure this is for their sanity as well as mine and is just a brilliant plan.

While I'm definitely ready for some alone time, I sure did hate to see Pam go. I've only known her for 44 years, but I learned something about Pam I never knew: in her daily life she's a school-bus driver - a no-nonsense benevolent dictator with the kids on her bus and the lung power to be heard over 20 or 30 of them. But by night I think she's a frustrated Florence Nightingale. She patiently fetched me water, food, and anything else I needed, washed my hair, did the grocery shopping, rented movies for us to watch, drove me back and forth to doctor's appointments and physical therapy, and generally took excellent care of me. And I only had to nudge her a little to keep the floor swept and the dishes washed. I'm really lucky to have the relationships I do with my sisters and I appreciate them more and more.

Speaking of physical therapy, I've decided it takes a special kind of person to deliver such torture all the while convincing you it's for your own good. I hit the jackpot with my physical therapist as he looks like this guy and despite myself I find I kinda look forward to PT. Wouldn't you? It's great to have something nice to look at when you're being twisted, and stretched, and prodded and pushed and you know you're going to hurt like hell when it's over.

You might call all that stuff one flavor of ice cream in this scrumptious little sundae I'm making. The whipped cream?

On Monday, three days after surgery, my co-workers, Peggy & Tom, showed up at my house with a letter. The letter was from my employer of the past two and a half years, and in its entirety read: "Due to seniority, you are laid off effective March 1, 2008." It had postage on it and was ready to mail which is exactly what that cowardly lion was going to do.

The cherry?

I can't seem to make myself unhappy about it. As a matter of fact, my sundae is covered with a mound of cherries on top. I'll tell you more about them in upcoming posts.

Thanks to all of my blogging friends for the great support and encouragement. It is appreciated!