A few months ago, God put the perfect person in my life. If you were to meet us, you would quickly think that we have nothing in common but are instead exact opposites. But the main thing we share is our complete belief that life goes better when you trust God. Reaching out toward others and accepting their help and support makes our life much easier.
I scan about 300 blogs weekly so I get a lot of chances to read about a lot of interesting lives. I am grateful for those who are walking a more difficult path than I yet who retain humility and grace. They help me so much to stay centered and focused on the good in life.
1. From Through an Al-Anon Filter:
I have reached a point in my recovery, where I rarely become angry. When I do, I am able to count to ten, remain silent, or speak without heat.Since this last operation, I find myself more short-tempered with all the appointments, visits, chemo treatments, dressing changes for my PICC line (a catheter inserted in my upper right arm and left in for the entire duration of the chemo, six months) trips to get bloodwork, and waiting waiting waiting to be able to do all of the above.
On Tuesday I had to go see a chemo oncologist for my regular bi-weekly checkup, to make sure I was healthy enough for the next treatment. I was sent from pillar to post to try to get the dressing change, because I kept being told by ward and clinic clerks “Oh, we don’t do those here, go there, and they’ll do it for you.” I went back and forth several times before suggesting that one clinic clerk come with me to tell the other, that someone over there was supposed to do my dressing change. I then waited for another hour and a half, so by the time I was called, I was feeling quite annoyed. I’d forgotten to bring a book to read, so was reduced to either Economist magazine, or home decorating.
When I did get in to see the doctor, I was short with her, and said that I didn’t appreciate being kept waiting for an hour and a half. She gave me several reasons, and we talked about it a bit, but I was annoyed, and stayed annoyed throughout the 10-minute visit.
At home that night, I felt that I owed this doctor an amend. So, knowing that the chances of me being able to catch her long enough to make an amend face-to-face were slim to none, I wrote her a two page apology.
This morning she called me at home to thank me for my apology, and we talked for a bit. I’d explained what is going on for me, how I’m struggling with the limitations imposed upon me by the second surgery, and waver between acceptance and anger. She revealed that her daughter had undergone the exact surgery, and asked if she could refer me to another specialty doctor who might be able to help. I agreed, apologized again, and we parted on good terms.
I felt the enormous relief that comes to me after I’ve made an amend that I know I need to make, and I also found my eyes welling up with tears. Had I not been willing to make the amend, we would most likely not have ever spoken about the limitations, we’d just have discussed the cancer. God puts these people into our path, and it’s our choice to either turn away, or turn towards them.
2. From Oh for the love of …me:
So I made an appointment with a therapist yesterday.
Close your mouth – it’s not THAT big a deal.
Okay…maybe it is. It’s no secret the way I feel about therapists. I have three and two of those were a disaster. The third could have probably turned into something but that was during my quit/relapse phase and I wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say. Add to that the therapist that my nephew had when he lived with us that not only robbed us of our money but then refused to assist when we were fighting for custody and…
Well, you get the picture.
But I can’t shake this depression! I’ll go for a few days and be okay (not good…just okay) and then I find myself back into it again. It’s not the crying nonstop (yet) it’s the “I don’t give a fucks” which are far more dangerous. I’m bored. I have no initiative to DO anything and so I stay bored.
If it walks like a duck…then it’s probably a depressed duck.
So yesterday I pulled up the website for my psychiatrist’s practice so I could make an appointment with him and get his opinion when I saw that they just added a new therapist. Hmmm…. I kept reading. Turns out he specializes in addiction, cross addictions and adult children of alcoholics.
Whoa. Rewind. I read it again. Then I called and made an appointment.
THEN on the bus on the way home, I read my Twitter feed (which I only read when I ride the bus which I haven’t done in weeks…just sayin) and there was a post from a website that I frequent called Band Back Together – here’s a blurb from their website
Welcome to Band Back Together, a community weblog open to all, created by Aunt Becky from Mommy Wants Vodka.
Who are we? We’re The Band.
We’re a band of survivors. We’re here to put a face to everything once kept in the dark. We’re here to show the world that you can go through hell and come out the other side.
So, pull up that old tattered leather chair and make yourself a drink. Pull your skeletons from their closet and make them dance the tango. Alone, we are small. Together, we are mighty.
We are all connected.
We are none of us alone.
Share your story.
It’s time to get the Band Back Together.
I can’t read it all the time because frankly, it’s just too depressing. But it gives a voice to people who don’t feel they have one – they do good work people.
ANYWAY, the tweet in question was one on adult children of parents with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. The level of anxiety reading that damn thing created made me cry…on the bus…with other people…not the snotty ugly cry but still. I sniffled all the way home. Hmm…
So let’s recap – 1. new therapist that specializes in the effects of my father; 2. specific post about the effects of my mother = latest brick upside the head from God.
So I’ll go and see what this guy has to offer. I have to do something. I’m not myself and while I’m not opposed to changing my meds, I want to see what a little talk therapy will do before I go that route. I feel like I’m in a rowboat with no oars and so I’m drifting into a storm. My oars – smoking, alcohol, food – have been cast aside and I don’t know how to replace them.
BECAUSE I have no idea how to be “normal”. I have no idea how the non-addicted people of the world process their feelings, thoughts, events, etc. I never learned and I’m tired of relying on other people, substances or meds to do that for me.
Time to get to work. Time to chart my own course.