New Life

I went to Des Moines this weekend for my sister in law's baby shower. I think she's an amazing woman and I love my little brother with a passion. I think they're going to be awesome parents. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Baby Z will be here any day now... I can't wait to be the Fabulous Dancing Auntie.

It's a trick to get our whole family in one place at a time, but we were all there. And since my brother and sister are super into yoga and I used to be at one time, we went to Yoga in the Park. It was incredible. My sister is a Registered Yoga Teacher in Anusara Yoga. I've always done Vinyasa, so it was fun for us to go to a class where there was no agenda.There were over 200 people there. I freaked out just a little bit when my brother told me there's always a mob, but he kept saying it wouldn't feel like it.

I'd just like to point out that there's a 40 mile stretch after you get on I480 to connect with I80 from Sioux Falls to Des Moines where there is no Diet Coke. No where to stop for Diet Coke.

And? That if it says there's a rest stop? It ought not to be 12 miles from the interstate. When you gotta go. You gotta go. I'm of the immediate emergency type. Don't people know that? Doesn't the world and it's interstates revolve around me?

And for the speculation on the earlier post. Good God, no. It's just my medicine and lack of sleep. That, or the swine flu. In which case, I'm going to infect my entire family including baby to be with it. AND I get to go to Lindy in the Park on Sunday in Omaha. So there.

I'm pretty sure that in the whole scheme of health and wellness, one should not be waking up and throwing up every morning for a week. I gave that up when I quit drinking. Hello?!

You know those people in your life that you can just talk and talk and talk and talk to? And then it's much later than you thought it was and you don't want to go, but you have to? Where the topics just fly by and you don't know how you got on one or the other, but in the end, it doesn't matter? I've missed that in my life. I hesitate sometimes and I don't have the words sometimes, but with Captain Crab? It just comes. And that's a gift. Talking to him is like writing my blog. What I think comes out my mouth and it doesn't get judged.

People may call us bloggers narcissistic, but I don't care. I still posit that we're the most awesome people I know. Because tonight? My mind is quiet. For the first time in a long, long time.

You know I worked for the church for 10 years, right? As an upstanding, knowledgeable Bible scholar and educator? Capable of organizing massive youth trips funded by millions of dollars and hundreds of volunteers? Addressing congregations of over 2000 members on a regular basis? Teaching at seminaries? Speaking at the national level to groups of youth workers? Publishing curriculum with the most respected Christian publishing company in the United States? I was kind of a big deal. And I threw it all away to drink. Weird, huh? And had I, or any of the people I worked with, been more informed about alcoholism, I might not have gone as deep into my addiction and I might not have been asked to leave my job when I finally asked for help. And I might not have continued to live in the shame of my addiction well into my recovery, no matter how hard I tried to shake it. Could have beens and should have beens really don't belong in my life today, but hope for the future does.

Advocacy is a big deal to me. I used to do advocacy work all the time - for the kids that I worked with. I visited schools, juvenile justice institutions, community organizations, wherever I needed to go in order to get kids the kinds of services that they needed. Whether it was providing evidence in abuse cases, going to court for CHINA verdicts, speaking at health and wellness events, giving voice to youth concerns in a world that doesn't give women, much less children, a venue for understanding, petitioning community organizations to step up and provide food or shelter or counseling or whatever it was someone needed. And usually, the reason people weren't providing those services was because they either wouldn't or just simply couldn't see the need until it was pointed out. So, I pointed it out. I had a reputation for being kind of a bulldog. Because when it comes to kids, I will not back down. I lost some of that when I started drinking and since then, I have had to focus so much on my recovery that I don't have the confidence at the present moment to stare down the need and then start squawking. I'll get it back. Of that, I am certain. My passions run deep. I didn't lose everything in my battle with alcohol. Mostly just time.

So when it comes to advocacy, I know what I'm doing. Except when I'm asked to do something about educating the community about alcoholism. That's a new one. I'm very open about my addiction. I don't pretend that it didn't happen and I'm very candid about what indeed, did happen. It was sordid and ugly and some would call it embarassing, but I'm not ashamed of it. I know that my story is not any worse or any better than anyone else's. It's just the facts. When I talk at a meeting about drinking in my closet, wondering how and when I was going to be able to find the courage to end it all, we all start laughing. But normal people don't think that's funny. It was horrible, and now it's not. And I can only hope for it to improve as the days turn into weeks, months and years. It really is a miracle I'm alive today. And relatively happy. And sane.

I have recently come to find out that there have been people in the faith community watching my recovery. And they want me to start talking about it. Advocate for awareness. Train pastors and lay people about the signs and symptoms of addiction. Talk to youth groups about underage drinking; about loss and shame and guilt. My initial reaction to that email was rage. I rarely get angry. In fact, Carolyn tries to make me get angry all the time, but it's just not a comfortable feeling for me. It's too frightening. But I recognized that flash. That hot faced-how-dare-they-fucking-hypocrite-assholes flash. I mean, the church fired me. Not this particular one, but the church as a whole - like guilt by association? Plus, I felt like they were spying on me somehow. How do THEY know I got sober and stayed that way? Yeah, that's how irrational I got. And I'm still not ready to respond.

I laugh at myself sometimes about all this. I mean, once it was decided that I was no longer a candidate for the crazy hospital? I thought it would be a good idea to be a voice for NAMI, since technically I didn't fit the criteria for any of the psychiatric diagnoses they used to give me to explain away my alcoholism. I thought that speaking up for the mentally ill could be my new crusade, because let me tell you. When you're mentally not with it? You can't HANDLE things like bills and insurance and making day to day decisions. I remember telling the crazy hospital billing department one day, "I was inpatient at the psychotel and you want me to be able to handle all this insurance bullshit without completely losing my marbles?" She kind of agreed. But guess what? That's not my place. NAMI is the voice for the mentally ill and I never WAS mentally ill, I just masqueraded as someone who was in order to cover up my drinking. And now that someone wants me to be the voice for what's REALLY wrong with me? I shy away from it?All I know is that once I make up my mind one way or the other, there will be hell to pay. Either for me or for the advocacy of alcoholism.

Okay, so I'm slow on the breaking news, but this is pretty amazing. That serial killer they were searching for in the Carolinas? He was shot and killed in the little town where I USED TO LIVE. I'd like to think it was my vigilante ex-marine turned community college professor neighbor who sat outside my apartment with his shotgun the night after my purse got stolen, just so I'd feel safe. The same neighbor who asked where Jason had gone after he moved back to Sioux Falls and said, "Good." How is it that everyone else knew he was a hopeless cause and not me? Hrmph.

And in other news, I'm no germaphobe. I'll eat things off the ground (my kitchen floor is another story), but I cannot and will not ever be able to take a pill that fell into the litter box. If you don't know about Tiny Apartment, you wouldn't know why that is a possibility, but I spilled a whole bottle in there this morning. There will be some explaining to do at the pharmacy.

The devil is in the details...

I have bad news. When I got to work this morning, the good doctor took one look at me and ordered a blood test. I have not been well. I'm tired and I'm worn and I've been holding onto the shred of health that tells me if I just get enough sleep, I'll figure it out. Well, suffice it to say that one blood test and a lumbar puncture (which hurts like fucking hell) later, my viral meningitis? It's back. With a vengeance. I do not need to be hospitalized. (Unless I get stupid and do too much.) And I am not catching. I'm just exhausted. Which means that I can go to work, but I have to make my world as small as possible for a little while. Work. Home. Bed. Work. Home. Bed. And that is boring and it's not pleasant, but it's reality. I can't go to meetings. I can't go dancing. And I most certainly cannot do anything that wears me out. I have no appetite. And I have no drive. I'm just aching and tired. My head pounds and my back wants so much to be caressed. Books do not hold my attention either. My saving grace and escape in literature is no longer working.

I have to take morphine for the pain, which scares the living crap out of me. But I've been assured by my doctor that he will not allow me to take it irresponsibly. It frightens me. Very much. And I'm scared of being this sick once again. It was awful last time and if I can only stay out of the hospital, I'll consider it a success.