Everyone's thinking it. I'm just gonna say it.

I don’t know how I feel right now.  Plain and simple. 

I’m confused, and ideas and feelings are coming too swiftly for me to focus on just one.  I try to stop and process a thought, only to have another voice ask a question before I’ve even finished a sentence in my head.  At least the simple physicality of writing is making me slow down at the moment and finish just one, simple statement at a time.  That’s my immediate goal.

Yesterday morning, I took my 15 year old son to a consultation at one of the Invisalign competitors, and the young lady at our meeting was answering my questions.  I asked her how long he needed to wear the liners each day, and she said, “at least 24 hours.”  At least?????  Isn’t that all the hours in a day?  Don’t the days begin to overlap once you get to 24.1?   I giggled inside, but didn’t make any outward reaction, because I didn’t want to embarrass her or let my son know that I was being slightly disrespectful in my mind.  Did she know something that I didn’t?  Are there more hours in a day?  Well, yes, sometimes it feels like it.  Maybe she’s smarter than I gave her credit for.  Maybe she knew what my day would feel like.

So, I went to bed annoyed, and I woke up annoyed. Not every moment of the day, I mean, it was pretty successful in general, but the anxiety of the morning returned by night’s end.  The hours before attempting to sleep were filled with restless movement and efforts to redirect my energies.  Some of them worked, and sometimes I just moved my body, so the frustration just moved right along with me to the next room. So therefore, I was just annoyed as I watched TV (I don’t remember anything about the show), annoyed as I put clothes in the washer, and annoyed as I tried to be patient saying goodnight to the kids. I’m grateful that I slept at all, but I know that it may have been more helpful to just stay in bed, frankly.  Maybe no one needs words today.  No, I’m not dejected.  I’m just annoyed.   Can’t that be okay? 

It has to be, because it’s my responsibility to work through this shit.

And to be honest, I’m a little bit pissed right now.  It’s a selfish thought, really, and I hope that by using gentler language like “a little bit,” that I’ll minimize the feeling as well.  Because I’m pissed that I have to deal with the fact that my morality is questioned now that I’ve admitted that I drank.   I’m not saying that it shouldn’t be questioned, I’m just saying that I live in reality, and I know that it is.

Here’s the lowdown: 

There were many more reasons to stay quiet in my addiction.  And there are many more reasons to stay quiet now. 

It’s just that the short list of Pros, to speak out, is much more important.  They ask to be qualified as action items.  It would be great if I felt like I had a choice, but I don’t feel that way.  It simply doesn’t matter how long the Con list is, it may as well be erased with one of those big, ole Kindergarten erasers.  I shouldn’t even put those items on my mental list to begin with.  They shouldn’t even be considered. 

I decided that the following is true for me:  That my thoughts and opinions change around issues of possible moral failure, when someone I know and respect admits to the activity in question. AND, my inherent prejudices are challenged and usually overcome by that personal connection. 

And addiction carries moral implications, right?  Of course it does.  Many of us have done things that we aren’t proud of.  We know without asking, what others think of those actions, and we know that if we say them aloud, if we acknowledge the elephant in the room, he might never leave.  So even once we stop those behaviors that carried the shame, it’s best to stay quiet.  I am proud that I am living a sober life, but most people have more questions now than they ever did before, now that I’ve been open.  I was the one who opened Pandora’s box here, and I have to be willing to see what’s going to fly out next.  Wow, it’s great how society has given me such easy metaphors to use when discussing things that we don’t talk about or can’t control!  Thanks society, I appreciate it. 

Are you picturing the elephant opening the box?  Good.  You are right here with me.

In the 80’s, I was an early adolescent and my family gatherings during the holidays were filled with love, and laughter, men who played dominoes, and loud women who talked over one another.  My grandmother always announced her entrance with a high-pitched, “Howdy do!” (I think its translation is How do you do?)  And we stayed for hours playing games and watching football on multiple screens, and laughing at some of the more skillful storytellers in the room.  And my Uncle Fred usually came for at least part of the event, a quiet man who had a gentle smile and a kind disposition.  I remember the gifts he gave to me…always James Avery trinkets that made me feel special and understood.  On each occasion, his gift was wrapped simply, and it came in that oh so telling, petite box, so I was joyful even in the anticipation of its revealing.  I appreciated that he didn’t try to vary each year.  He knew what I liked, and he was happy to oblige. 

Around when I was 15 (I’m 46 now), my mom told me that Uncle Fred was gay and that he had ARC, Aids Related Complex.  Yep, its namesake even carried implication of confusion and doubt.  Related how?  What complexities?  No one openly talked about his orientation or his condition at gatherings after this point, after my mom told my brother and I in a car traveling down I-45 headed home.   I don’t even know who in my extended family knew then, and who knows now.   All I know….is that THAT explanation changed everything about two things for me.  About how I viewed homosexuality and how I viewed AIDS.  The mere knowledge of both were transformed in my mind…..because I KNEW him. 

My brother and I have discussed those gatherings a few times throughout the years.  We wished that we would have known sooner, that we could have been more supportive, even at our ages of 15 and 18.  Because we’ve now lived many years since, and hope that we’ve passed onto others how we felt about Uncle Fred.  That we loved him.  That we didn’t care about who he had sex with.  That we hate that a condition defined his last years of survival.  And that I hate that he felt like he had to be silent.

I hope that I can touch people personally in the same way.  That by simply knowing me, they can challenge their existing prejudices and ask questions.  

Morality is all up in this son of a bitch called addiction, so let’s just open that box, shall we?

To be continued…