Addiction Recovery Program

Lots of Words.  Not Enough Pictures.

Male woodpecker watching out over Pelican Lake, Juno Beach, FL.

I have been attending a weekly meeting for recovering addicts with a friend of mine.  I thought that I would just be sitting in the back and doodling or doing homework while they did the stuff that they do there--but then I saw and read the materials that described the program.

This was something I needed.

It was a slap upside the back of my heart.  There were habits I had gotten into over the last decade that I did not like and wanted to change, but was too comfortable or too afraid to change.  I made a list of things that I liked about me--and wanted; another about the things I didn't like--and wanted to get rid of.  First:  UNWANTED HABITS
                         
1. I have a hard time keeping sudden promises--someone asks for me to come and help them, I usually fiddled away some time making excuses and crawling back into my own project.  It is as if I wanted to stay in my own little world--even if the person asking my help and time was someone I dearly loved.

2.  I lie.  I'm much better at telling the truth than I used to be--but I still exaggerate because that is what I am used to doing.  We always moved so often when I was growing up that I wanted to fit in--for others to WANT to be my friend.  Stories just kind of started--and I have been telling them ever since.
    Garrison Keillor tells a story about one hot summer when he hit his sister in the backside with an over-ripe tomato.  Years later, a young listener asked if the story was true.  Not wanting to disappoint the boy, Keillor relates that he assured him the story was, indeed, true.  He tells the audience listening on tape that it did happen--but it happened backwards:  His sister got him with a rotten tomato.  He says
that he got the best job of ever--he is paid to lie, to change the past and the truth in order to entertain people.
     Brent has always known when I was lying--but I did not know this until about a year ago--after 29 years of marriage.  He didn't want to hurt my feelings, he told me.

3.  I get nasty when I know that I am going to get the run-around on the phone with a "customer service
representative."  I have found that if I go in on the offensive, then, instead of meeting my wrath with
stern defense, the person on the other line crumbles and I am quickly transferred to the person's boss's boss and get what I need done.
     I have gotten my credit card company to lower my credit rate from an intended 8.5% (a raise in over 3% over the current rate) to 7.5%.
     Another credit card story:
     When the credit card I used to cover [and keep track of] college expenses for my children was denied (because I was traveling in Utah and needed to buy my daughter a new laptop), I was transferred from person to person to person--until I was informed that the offices were now closed for the day.  At this point, I went into over-drive .  I do not mean that I yelled [I do not yell when I am angry--I get very quiet.]  [I do yell when I am about to give birth, which, I have been told, scares other mothers nearby who are also in labor. . . at which point I invite the nurses to shut the door.  I am paying for this room and I can make noise if I want to.  Even then, though, I do not use profanity--just lots of
volume.]
     Back to the credit card.  At this moment I put on my "you are going to die," low, quiet voice.  I told the person I had worked in huge corporations before and that I knew there was someone in the company that had the power to do what I needed done.  I was transferred one last time:  to "Customer Retention."

At the beach of a Saturday early evening.  Jupiter, FL

     "What can I do for you today?" came a cheerful, male voice.  "I understand you are having some
problems with your credit card account.."
     We spend about 2 minutes talking.  This person approved my credit and the purchase was made.
     My final question:  "Why did it take so long for me to be transferred to talk to you?"  I got an answer about how he was the person of last resort.
     I resolved to use my  "you are going to die," low, quiet voice more often.
     I did so for quite awhile--avoiding much trouble and waiting when I needed help with a product or problem.
     This changed me, though.  I did not see it, but Brent did.  He told me that I was becoming an insensitive, mean, demanding person--the kind that made his workplace a really uncomfortable place
to be.  Just as Brent can see when my manic depression meds are starting to go awry and I cannot, he can see though and around me to understand when he needs to get help for me . . . and I need to change myself.

4.  I am quick to judge people and situations without having the perspective to understand what is really happening . . . unless someone does something stupid on the highway.  I have no problem with road rage.  I have had too many near-accidents that were my own fault to do other than try to drive defensively and keep those around me safe.

5.  I expect others to see things that are wrong or dirty or out-of-place and do what I would do--make them right or clean them or put them back where they go.  Again, perspective--no one sees the world as I do or wants it to exist in the same state that I want.

6.  I am lazy.  I need to exercise every day, but I am usually only active when I am working with my physical therapy person at 7am on Monday, Wednesday and Friday every week.  Three hours a week.  Pretty sad.  I don't like to clean my house--it just gets dirty again.

Ibis -- find one bit of food, come all.  Pelican Lake, Juno Beach, FL.

7.  I am selfish.  I don't want anyone touching any of my stuff.  I used to tell my kids that I didn't want them to "re-arrange" me.  For years, the only brush that stayed in my bathroom was one I used fire engine red nail polish to write "MOM" on the back of.  Apparently, though, there were some touchy moments even with that brush--I overheard my 7 and 8 year old girls talking in my bathroom one afternoon:
     Here's a brush we can use.
     We can't use that one.  It's mom's.
     But we need a brush.
     Not that one we don't.  Mom said not to touch it and I am not going to touch it.
So sad that I couldn't even allow my children to use a brush because I wanted to keep it right where I knew I could always find it.
     I also am selfish with my time.  I don't get many opportunities to be with Brent when he has any energy.  My body has undergone massive repair to recover from massive injuries I have inflicted on myself.  Suffice it to say that there are many years when, if I had not needed major medical stuff, Brent could have boughten a new car and paid cash.  Time to heal, though, I count, though, as wasted time--and I do not want others setting goals for me about how I am to spend my "free time."

8.  I am proud, too.  I want others to know how smart, how talented, how virtuous, how dedicated, how creative I am.  I talk incessantly about what I have done in the past and activities that take lots of money when I know my companion does not have the resources to enjoy or even understand what I speak of.  I need to keep my mouth shut and open my ears:  especially to Heavenly Father.

That is a start.  I also need to read and pray about the scriptures every day.  I need to help us have meaningful Family Home Evenings again.  I need to get in bed before 10pm so I don't need to take naps in order to keep my eyes open during the day.  I need to spend my evenings with people--not pasted to the TV screen.  I need to do my Visiting Teaching in person--not just by sending notes every month.