Hard-Ass Work

"Since the media is no longer here, no one is asking the questions, and BP seems to have the run of things. I have been in a deep depression the last two weeks coming to term with the fact that the nation's attention span doesn't seem to allow for any more real reporting about the spill. One of the main problems is that to solve this issue involves confronting our very own personal behaviors and habits, and it makes it a much harder thing to deal with day-in and day-out. We just want it to be rosey and good and for the birds to live happily ever after, and that's not the case."

The above quote is from Drew Wheelan who blogs for the American Birding Association and has been reporting findings from the Gulf that are much different than what you will hear on the evening news. Drew has become one of my heroes, along with most of the other organizations and bloggers I link to. For some reason, though, I was drawn more personally into the experience through Drew's covering it. In the past few months, Drew has awakened to a reality he finds difficult to face. And yet he continues to face it day after day, he continues to consistently report what he finds and try to gain attention, and he's man enough to tell us how dmaned depressing it all is - especially the head-in-the-very-oily-sand attitude of his fellow Americans.

He linked to this site by the Louisiana Environmental Action Network. There is very disturbing video on this site - hundreds of dead birds on Raccoon Island, not necessarily oiled, but definitely killed by something.

I understand Drew's feelings all too well. I continue to experience depression and some anxiety as I learn about the true state of the world, my complicity in that state, and how very late it is in the game. Like Drew, I'm learning about these things in a very short period of time. These intense negative mental states were not new to me. My life-time struggle with alcoholism and mental health issues had wrought similar states in the past. Everyone assumes that awakening is a glorious, spiritual experience usually accompanied by states of bliss and oneness. I beg to differ.

Awakening is hard-ass work; it's mostly not fun at all and the frustration level itself can be paralyzing. But there is something through the other side and for me it's a burgeoning sense of purpose. Every day that I stay sober I beat the odds. Every time that I post about the crime in the Gulf, which is only a symptom of the larger crime being perpetrated, there's a chance the right person will read it. Every plan that I make and implement to live closer to the earth is an opportunity to feel my true place and share how I think such village living is a huge part of the answer to the world's woes.

My wish for Drew, and for anyone else struggling with anguish over our world, is that they find this same sense of purpose. That they know there is no small action now. Everything counts.

When we need comfort around here, we turn to our food. Slow comfort food. One of our favorites is roasted roots, rustic. Here's my favorite version:

Roasted Roots, Rustic

1 sweet potato or yam, sliced

1 yukon gold potato, sliced

1/2 red bell pepper sliced in strips

1/2 yellow or orange bell pepper sliced in strips

1/2 onion sliced however you want it

cloves or garlic, as many as you want, these turn out so yummy and are packed with myriad health benefits along with all the other ingredients

2 tbsp olive oil

1 tbsp coarse ground sea salt

1/2 tbsp ground black pepper

few sprigs of fresh rosemary (optional)

Place ingredients in an oiled cast iron skillet. Drizzle olive oil over all and bake in the oven at 350 degrees for an hour. Eat. Go to heaven.

Thanks, Drew! For all your hard work and commitment. You are not alone.

Meaning? What's that?

When I was little, I would lie awake in bed and try to imagine the number of people on the earth, or the number of stars in the sky. Both seemed infinite and boggled my too-young mind. I would become depressed about the people - too many of them. How would I be anything but a number? How would I ever mean anything? How would our beautiful home sustain it all? At 11 years of age I was suffering from an existential lack of meaning. My body felt what my mind couldn't comprehend.

In my own way I foresaw the collapse. I felt deeply that things weren't right; that something was seriously wrong. I seemed to be the only one with any concern, so of course I determined that there was something seriously wrong with me. That was my first mistake. Don't let it be yours.

I turned away from this world and I wonder if I'm ready yet to turn back to it. Those people who used to keep me up at night? Well, they've swelled. They've swelled and they've produced and they've consumed. Even though mentally and emotionally and in my soul I turned away; still, physically, I did my part. I am complicit. All of us are guilty. Therefore, all of us are innocent.

I sought solace in anything that would provide momentary relief. My relief was overt, rebellious, in-your-face. Does that mean that your way is any less effective? I don't think so.

What Happens to Me

It's going to be two weeks before I can get into treatment. I'm not drinking now.

The last few times I've begun drinking after a period of sobriety - four months in April when the tension with the owners of the Inn got to be too much, two months the last two times, it's like I'm actually leave my body. I'm observing myself get the alcohol but I don't feel like I have any control over whether I do it or not. The only place I felt really safe was at Claudia & Bob's house and I suppose I should've stayed there but I needed to check on Attaboy and they've already been way too kind to me by opening their home when I needed a place to stay.



So my hope is that in an in-patient treatment facility they can begin to help me with the mental health issues that accompany my alcoholism. The medication I'm taking for depression helps a lot but my anxiety is hard to control and I literally get into this frozen place - body frozen, mind frozen, spirit frozen. I have severe insomnia and sometimes go a week or more without sleeping well. It's my belief that my inability to effectively deal with the depression/anxiety is what causes me to drink again. It's so hurtful when someone thinks I'm just making all this up or that it's not that bad or that I should just get over it. But I guess that's what the majority of people do think which is why having a recovery community is so important. In a recovery community they understand the powerlessness over alcohol; they understand the deadliness of it; and they understand that there is a real person in there and they're suffering, a lot. Especially if they want to quit drinking, which I do. They understand that we don't want to start drinking and smash our own lives and everyone eise's that we're close to. They understand how difficult it is to gain a foothold on life and sustain it. They will never say it's okay to have a drink and I've had several people very close to me in my life who have said that to me over and over again. "It's okay if you need to take a drink, Angela. We all need some relief sometimes. " Yeah, some relief. These people can be dangerous for us if we take them seriously which I've decided to stop doing.



I see so many women with these same issues. Mosf of them are highly creative, caring, sensitive women and they're usually holding someone else afloat, either financially or emotionally, but they have a helluva time solving their drinking problem. And they're so easy to blame.

The Holidaze

It's been a rough week for me. The cowboy went to California to see his family and my friend and employer, Roberta, is in Portugal so I've been alone at work, alone at home and right now my head is a bad neighborhood to be alone in. I don't know when the tears will come and when they come I don't know when they'll stop. I made some phone calls yesterday and wrote a couple of friends this morning. My one goal for today is to make contact with someone I can talk to - physical, face to face contact. Next week I hope to see someone (as in a professional) about depression, which has always gone hand in hand with alcoholism in my life. Right now, I'm not really sober and not really drinking and neither action seems to make much difference.

My ability to be in denial until I'm almost unable to function is amazing even to me. Maybe that's part of the problem, though, is that somehow I do keep functioning. I get up, get dressed, go to work, smile, say I'm fine and believe it. Ever heard the term highly functioning alcoholic? That's me. Only I ain't functioning so well right now. I saw a movie recently where the main character had disassociative (sp?) disorder. That's how I feel. I'm unable to connect with anything right now in any meaningful way. I'm just going through the motions. It's not much fun. To say the least.