Category Archives: Life Sober

Star Boxes

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Coven Birthdays in July.  We have 2 Cancers with Leo stelliums, one Leo with a Leo stellium, and one Leo.  What a fun bunch of folks.  We ate Thali at our High Priests restaurant, gave presents, laughed, talked, and generally really connected with each others energy.  Awesome.  I then left to go to my home group AA meeting where I got my 15 year chip.  Yes folks.  I celebrated 15 years clean and sober this month.  Yes.

Here are the little boxes that I made for my coven mate’s birthdays.  Note the butterfly box, each side has a snapshot in the life of a chrysalis becoming a butterfly.  The sun is for the other Cancer with Leo stellium, and the flowers for my fae friend, the Leo with Leo stellium.

Growing PAINS

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Over the years I’ve approached and worked on what I thought were some of my most glaring character defects. Most of the time I really dislike that word “defects” when used with our humanity but this time perhaps I’m willing to consider that it applies to me. This is not a healthy instinct taken past it’s usefulness. This is a defect and it’s creating more wreckage, something I try to avoid at all costs. Well, perhaps I should be kinder to myself and say that it is a learned behavior that is biting me in the ass and one that I can unlearn and need to, fast.

I’ve been noticing an increased level of discord with people in my life. There are a few that everyone I know has discord with and while I haven’t discounted their value and have tried to find ways to communicate with them I have not seen it as my own personal problem.

This time is different. I am the common denominator. Oh goddess how did that happen? Is it simply because I’ve not been working or loving for a long period of time and have had very little opportunity for stress and for miscommunication and interactions with others? Is it just a simple matter of continuing to peel the layers of the onion and after all this time I’m getting really close to the core?

Yes and yes. Big time to the second one. This is very old, very ingrained stuff. The past two weeks Mr. Furnace and I have had a number of dust ups. We’re butting heads over our damage, because of our  filters, and over semantics and language styles. He said the deadly words Sunday. I need the week off, need some space. Something was NOT right. I looked at it. I thought I had it sussed. I didn’t. I looked some more, thought I had more insights. Perhaps. But still something was not right. He was getting tired of talking about it and I knew things weren’t right and couldn’t remain silent. The more I dug to find clarity and truth the more I felt stonewalled. And the crankier we got. Until both of us were at the very least irritated and definitely very tired. I felt unheard and misunderstood. He felt controlled and didn’t want to meet what he saw as my demands. I didn’t think I was making any and well, stand off.

I’m the kind of person that can’t leave it alone. I have to look when something is causing me distress. If I don’t find the pea in the mattress, it will dig at me forever. I know that that kind of irritation will eat at me until I explode. Or drink. For me to drink is to die. This is no small matter, not something I can shrug off. Not when it pertains this strongly to my heart, my well being, my healing, and my love life.

So what have I been doing? Breaking all the laws of loving conversation, discourse, and healthy dialogue and there I was thinking I was communicating fairly and clearly. You statements, not I statements for starters. I know better. I thought my stuff was well thought out. I thought I was being fair. I thought I was not asking for anything of much import. And what I kept getting back from certain people (not the ones who are total squeaky wheels) was that I am being demanding and controlling.

Did that hurt?  Oh fuck yes. HELL. YES.  I kept saying “but I’m not trying to be” and still getting the same response and the more we talked about it, the more I dug, the worse it got.   The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  I’m crazy I guess.

Last night we did get somewhere, Mr. Furnace heard me when I said I need to know what you want for this relationship. What is it you are needing?  He’s going to get back to me on that.  But otherwise?  It was a mess.  On the other hand, he said some things that got me. I heard him.  Not myself but him.

My buddy A. was online and I IM’d her when we ended our whatever it was. I had saved the chat with Mr. Furnace (yes this was in chat) and started sending her snippets, digging some more. And she was floored. And kind. She was amazed at what we were both saying. I asked her to help me see what it was I wasn’t seeing. Three hours later major tears, major epiphany. And because it was A. it was laughter through tears. I was up very late last night talking with her, taking my inventory, searching and fearless. Man, I hate that. I do it because it must be done and sometimes it takes me longer than others to get to that 4th step but we worked it. I got willing.

I wrote the most heartfelt letter I could to Mr. Furnace, telling him that I saw my part, what I think it is, that I’m very sorry. His response was positive. Today he said he can be so full of shit. Perhaps. Right now I need to focus on what I’m doing, what I’m saying, and how I’m saying it. I need some sleep.

We are both considering how we want to structure, or rather, restructure our relationship. What can we do to make this work now with our damage, our needs, and the fact that we really care about each other.

I’ll tell you this. I’d rather have a man going intensely toe to toe with me, sticking it out, getting it out in the open, than a clam. I’ve only known clams. This? As hard as it’s been, I just love that Mr. Furnace is in the game with me. That I seem to matter enough to him that he’s willing to fight for this, to work for this, to give me the respect of an argument. Seriously, I do believe that arguing with someone like this is a loving act. Refusing to participate is not. That’s my opinion. Now mind you, I don’t mean arguing for argument’s sake. But working hard to figure out what the other person needs? That is worth a few tears. This is a new experience for me. It’s what I wanted. Someone strong enough in themselves to not let this scare them. Yes, he’s tired, so am I. Yes, we need to rest. But we’re still in this and that? Says more to me about how he feels about me, about us, than words.

I really, REALLY, needed this. A man with a backbone. He’d say it’s really a bonehead. I say that is a good thing. I don’t mind stubborn, I don’t even really mind cranky. What I mind more than anything? Is a man who won’t participate in his own relationship. Mr Furnace is not that man. He’s here, he’s willing, he’s being soft today.

I have work in front of me.  How to change this behavior that is so not serving me well at all.  I’m going to fall down, stumble, make mistakes.  I’m going to pick myself up and apologize and try again. I’m going to make progress on this. I am not going to lose this one because I’m not being mindful. I’m not going to look back on this and regret the loss of him because I ran him off without thinking about what I was saying and how it comes across. I might still lose him, but I swear to god, not for this. I’m going to learn from this lesson.

To All My Friends

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And that means YOU!

I’ve had a very good day. My uncle turned 90 and cousins were here from out of town that I haven’t seen in a long time, one in particular that I just adore. Good food and lots of laughter. Two more days too!  Score!

I got a letter from a man that I dated in 1978. We reconnected through other old friends on FB. When I contacted him at first he told me to go to his website where he has written about how much I influenced him in the beginning of his music career. It was really sweet.  He’s now a producer who lives in Berlin and travels the world producing records for bands, he’s in Buenes Aires right now.  Cool beans.  The other day I wrote him a letter because he was the first person to ever take me to a witchy event. I couldn’t participate and with others had to wait downstairs and I wanted to know if he could tell me all these years later what was going on. Turns out it was a Rosicrucian meeting. Cool enough.

We started talking about other things, one intense night in particular. He and I were dating and had gone to see the Ramones. There was a party at my house and the Ramones were coming and the house was full of people I knew and totally didn’t know. He and I were in the bedroom doing what people do when my ex burst through the door. The house had been wide open and no one stopped him. He threatened my friend with a weapon and kidnapped me out of the house, took me to his house where he raped me among other humilations. When I got home the next morning my friend was still there waiting for me. What a brave man. He was not in any way anything other than one of the most gentle men I’ve known. It was totally brave. It was exactly what I needed, he really was there for me when I really needed a gentle friend.  I can see him there today in my mind’s eye.  I’ve rarely been so glad to see someone.

So, we were talking and he said:

At the time, I probably thought that my rural friends [the Rosicrucians] would be boring to you, and old fashioned, cuz you represented the forward movement of music, fashion, and history to me, and I wanted to be part of that!

I said:

I did the music fashion history thing, still do but in different ways (You knew I was into history? How amazing, I didn’t share that with just anyone).

and he replied:

it wasnt that i knew that you were into history, more that you were making it! Seriously- you were gently telling me to wake up (from all that pot smoking it was hard to do anything resembling ‘awakeness’!) and get on with the present instead of clinging to the past.

Now this might not sound like much and there was much more written that I’m not sharing but you must remember that I am a recovering alcoholic. What was happening in the Seattle punk movement in that late 70’s was intense and we were pretty messed up a lot of the time. There are a lot of details that I only remember if someone brings it up and there is some that is lost as my own memory for ever as far as I can tell.

What I do know is that in all my inebriation I seem to have picked (with one or two STELLAR mistakes obviously) some really good men to be in my life and they have come back into my life this year. To find that I don’t owe them amends, that they remember me and tell me how much I meant and how much I did for them, well, verklempt I’m telling you.

I was able to go to my homegroup tonight and had a really good talk with the woman who shared her house with me before I moved home to my parents.  She and I got sober together in 1995 and while we have ebbs and flows in our relationship, we’ve always had a very special bond and always find our way back to conversation as if we never stopped our non-stop talk fest.  We had a good talk tonight and I was able to tell her about my year of dealing with hurt and loss from friends when I needed them the most.  I was able to tell her because I’ve rounded the bend and have detachment with love with these people.  It doesn’t hurt any more.  We talked of many things, caught up over a late dinner.

My mother gave me a huge boquet of flowers this afternoon in eggplant and lime green with a hint of magenta.  Gorgeous.  She saw them and they reminded her of me, she knows they are my current favorite colors and she said she wanted me to know how much she appreciates me.  Awah!

I feel myself surrounded today by people who love me, past present and future.  Who loved me at my worst and my best.  Relationships I didn’t trash, lovers who have thought of me fondly my whole life, and a mother who I am working things out with in beautiful ways.

Thank you to all of those friends but also thank you to you friends.  You read my life, my highs, my lows, my sideways tangents, and you seem to still, well I don’t know if I would say you love me, but you keep coming back for more and I’m grateful.  Sure, I can sit here tap tap tapping away, pouring out my heart, I need a journal but it helps more than you might know to know that folks are listening to some of your darkest secrets and they still come around.  That’s worth a lot.

So thank you.

Breathing again

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I can now say out loud that which I only told my mother and my coven.  I’ve been struggling with stomach pain and stomach area chest and back pain, often quite intense and last week I finally realized it wasn’t a temporary thing to throw Tums at.  I began the round of oh so enjoyable tests to determine if I had either a peptic ulcer, abdominal aortic aneurysm, or cancer.  Those tests a week later came back negative.  *whew* I didn’t realize how stressed I was over this until this morning when the stress was relieved.  My doctor assured me (the nurse practitioner didn’t) that because of my age if I had the aneurysm I would have shown no symptoms and just died suddenly.  Well.  I was actually hoping for ulcer since that is easily treated and the hunt for the problem would be over and it would have been caused by NSAID’s and believe it or not aspartame and caffeine.  But nope, no ulcer.

We are now doing tests for Celiac Disease, dyspepsia, and anemia.  I’m skeptical regarding Celiac because this is a sudden thing, there’s no sudden unexpected weightloss, I am clearly not undernourished but we have to rule everything out that we can.  We’re throwing very strong antacids at it currently until we have more information.  Whatever the cause, we know that while it is exacerbated by stress it is not caused by stress.

I’ve been taken off NSAID’s and diet coke and all other forms of caffeine and aspartame.  *sigh*  I use NSAID’s pretty regularly to treat the fibromyalgia.  I have to switch to Tylenol which I have always considered a very insufficient pain reliever and sometimes a migraine trigger and rebound headache culprit.  I’ve asked to switch to something less addicting than oxycodone to treat the bad pain days as I hate how befuddled it makes me feel.  Which is interesting in itself as I used to love to get goofed on narcotics.  I can’t stand it now.  I love to have a clear mind.  So now muscle relaxants, which also befuddle the mind, are the thing we’re trying.  At least I won’t have to worry so much about relapse.

I keep getting asked to do commissions now that I actually have a job. When I had no work friends practically disappeared.  Now that I’m working they are coming out of the woodwork with requests for web sites and large bags and and and.  Which doesn’t half  irritate me frankly. Where were they when I needed them so desperately.  I could really use the money but one thing that 50 has shown me besides the desire to be a freer spirit, is that physically I must be gentle with myself.  No more overdoing it.  Fibromyalgia is my reality and I can’t ignore it any more.  I can still have a life, it’s much better than it was when I was diagnosed 13 years ago, but I still need to remember not to push myself so hard.

My doc is working on getting massage therapy approved for me, which will be somewhat difficult because insurance doesn’t really want to pay for lifelong massage but it would be such a boon for me if this were to happen.  Crossed fingers and candle magic tomorrow.

Why the anemia? I’ve been having periods every three weeks for over a year.  Which has been fun let me tell you because I suffer, depending on the month, from either severe cramps or severe PMS. Cranky hurting beotch every three weeks. Enough to make anyone a bit “whimisical in the brain pan.”  Discovered yesterday that it’s been 4 weeks since my last period.  I’m hoping it will extend a long time but I’ll take every 4 weeks if I must.  That would be a respite at least. But I’m really over this whole Mother thing and in this aspect at least looking forward to being a crone.  I can totally embrace the crone in my life.  It is a freeing time.

Dodging bullets, applying for jobs, finding ways to deal with the frustration of a job that is just beyond ridiculous.  Thankfully folks who’ve known my boss a long time are giving me hints that it isn’t me, that she is a handful, quite challenging actually. Which helps more than you might think.  I’m always so willing to see myself as the culprit. While I do still want to make sure that I don’t lash out at others when I’m highly stressed and I’m making progess I’m happy with, it’s nice to know that it is only my reaction that I need to work on.  That I am not the cause.  My High Priestess says is a big part of the lesson for me these days.  My sponsor says I need to look at my part.  My true spirit tells me that I need to start listening to my High Priestess more, that I need to find balance between my part and my healing.

So, I persevere.  I’m slow on projects as I try to live gently right now. But I do work on them, I do enjoy them, but I also enjoy reading candy books right now.  Love mysteries because there is a problem and a solution and I don’t have to think too hard but there is some fun of trying to figure it out.  They are my complete escape.  I am going to bed earlier than usual.  Need good sleep.  Tea, lavender, aromatherapy, calming music.  Sunday I get a massage from a friend who is known for going more than 2 hours for a one hour session.  No problem there, can hardly wait.

Happy Childhood

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“I never meet anyone who admits to having had a happy childhood,” said writer Jessamyn West. “Everyone appears to think happiness betokens a lack of sensitivity.” I agree, and go further. Many creative people I know actually brag about how messed up their early life was, as if that was a crucial ingredient in turning them into the geniuses they are today. Well, excuse me for breaking the taboo, but I, Rob Brezsny, had a happy childhood, and it did not prevent me from becoming a sensitive artist. In fact, it helped. Now I ask you, my fellow Cancerian, whether you’re brave enough to go against the grain and confess that your early years had some wonderful moments? You’re in a phase of your cycle when recalling the beauty and joy of the past could be profoundly invigorating.

This is seriously a little uncanny.  I don’t know if it’s because Rob Brezsny has the same sun sign as I do or what it is but his horoscopes really rock.   The stuff is always just a bit behind the work that it describes for me, I’m always just a little ahead of the planets but it’s spot on every time.

I realized not too long ago that while I had a pesky brother and a father who had anger management issues, a mother who wasn’t in touch with her feelings, I had a pretty normal childhood.  I was talking with my sponsor and she said that we should just face it, we were born with anger issues , born resentful alcoholics, etc…

And I said, hey, you know, I don’t think that’s true for me at all.  I remember being a very happy child.  Sure, I liked it when Dad was in a good mood and when he wasn’t if he had a meeting that night.  Sure my little brother took great pleasure in messing with me until I blew up.  But on the whole, my personality was pretty chipper, fairly happy.  I spent a lot of time with friends but even more time alone.  I was perfectly happy sitting in my room or outside, drawing in a sketch book, reading, sewing, playing with toys.  I had no problem being alone, I liked myself and I liked the things I did.  I didn’t feel ugly or stupid most of the time, I remember feeling pretty darned good.

I remember vying for Dad to carry me first on the stool to go get our teeth brushed.  I remember an awesome trip to Hawaii, to Alaska, playing in Volunteer Park in the trees (I had favorites then as I do now).  I remember going to the museum all by myself just to look at the art.  I remember hot summers at the beach, riding the bus, riding bikes, my first motorcycle ride, my portable record player, the dolls I dressed, the clothes I learned to make, the books I read, and the round houses I designed. The boys we tried to tempt, discovering my new more rounded body, my first period. Yes, I had life frustrations, things that upset me. I got into trouble like any kid. I got a few spankings. But I wasn’t born resentful.  I wasn’t born unhappy.  I distinctly remember being a pretty happy kid. I remember adults being kind to me, telling me nice things about myself. I remember being told that I don’t accept criticism gracefully every year on my report card and I still don’t do it all that gracefully. I’m working on that. Mostly I rebel when the criticism is based on some stupid rule about being normal or when it is only that other person’s opinion, not the truth about me.  You bet I rebel.  I had lovely friends, young and old who nurtured me and my interests.

I think this photo says a lot.

I did get braces…  and isn’t that mod dress just the coolest? Thanks Mom for always nurturing my love of clothes and textiles.  Not so much for the goofy home perms… *laugh*

I have some really happy memories from my childhood. Friends, things I did, places we went, stuff I made.  I have been making things, drawing, since I was at least this age.  I have my first embroidery from 2-3 years earlier than this photo.

It really helped me to realize and re-experience my childhood because for years I heard in AA how messed up folks were before they started drinking. For a long time in sobriety I thought that was true for me too.  And it isn’t true at all.  Hey, I started drinking when I was 13, but it was to do what my friends were doing. I already belonged to their group mostly, but the drinking brought the boys and hey I wanted boys too.  I liked the cool kids because they were cool.  I became cool too.  I found it very fun, partying with my friends, getting snockered.  That switch got flipped when I first got a buzz on.  But I didn’t start drinking because my life sucked and I wanted to blot it out or forget things, not at all.  That crap happened much later.

In the end it wasn’t about fun and friends and silliness.  It was about forgetting and killing the pain.  But the pain that I wanted to forget wasn’t something I was born with.  It wasn’t there before the drinking.  The drinking created it, pure and simple.  No doubt about it.  And it changed the way my brain works forever.

That little girl that I was?  The creative artist, actress, reader and writer I was?  Is still here.  Yes, there is some baggage for certain but little by little it’s being dealt with. The happy returns, the free spirit that I was is still there and little by little I uncover her.

Remembering her. That happy, little, sweet, girl with the clear, grey eyes and the crooked teeth, always smiled, always shone.  I’m so glad I found this photo and started thinking about what it really meant about me as a person.

That underneath the drama of life, I am, at my core, a very happy, shiney, free spirit.