Prayer: I will remember that I am a living example of the Twelfth Step. I cannot “fail” when I try to carry the message to another addict.
I wake up exhausted once again. I have been dragging my old, but firm, ass around for the past week. I have zero energy and could literally sleep all the time. I’m not the only one suffering from these symptoms as Ted, France and Aron are all fighting similar exhaustion. Maybe being fabulous is tiresome after all.
I head downstairs and Ted starts in about Hassan’s boyfriend once again. I’m not sure if this is because of recovery or because I just don’t give a shit, but I’m really turned off lately by gossiping about others. Perhaps this is due to the super-sized helping of my own problems that are currently on my plate. I make my breakfast and my lunch, only paying slight attention to the onslaught of complaints by Ted. It’s time for me to move out.
I’m thrilled that DOAA has more followers this morning, bringing my numbers up to a whopping 12! I’m actually quite proud of this and feel that I’ve accomplished a lot already just in having one person read my insane ranting. This is how Sarah Palin must feel each and every single day of her life.
Work goes by without any fanfare and I head out early to see my doctor to address my “backne”. As mentioned my entire back is covered in pimples and let me be a frank vain cow here; but it’s gay pride next weekend and I plan on being shirtless. She prescribes me some tetracycline (yay more meds) and some topical cream. As I’m heading out she says: “You know, you’ve been through a lot this year, so while it may be a reaction to the ongoing antibiotics, my feeling is that your system is still coming down from the intense anxiety levels you’ve experienced. Be good to yourself.”
Be good to myself. A concept that is still quite elusive at times for me.
I head to France’s apartment and take his dog out for a walk and feed her. He gets home, we have a quick chat about the tetracycline and we head out to the gym for an intense and quick workout. It’s 6:30 and my home group meeting is at 8.
I rush to grab Dan and we get to the meeting just minutes before it starts. I’m instantly in a pool of sweat, as the lesbians in this group always close all the doors and turn off the ceiling fans. I guess these lesbians are frigid. The room is hermetically sealed to the point that one couldn’t inch a pubic hair between any given door.
I focus on the meeting and notice that a member sitting in front of me is completely in tears. After a few minutes, he gets up and rushes out of the meeting. Aron is quickly on his heels.
Tonight it the one year cake of one of the members that I’ve really admired from afar. I have seen his progress and his determination and he’s always struck me as an intelligent well spoken man. His share is very powerful and I find myself in tears on a few occasions. He wraps up and I feel like giving him a standing ovation. I have never been so moved by a speaker. The rest of the meeting is as passionate and as honest. I check in with Aron at break about the member that left in tears and Aron states that this person struggles with depression and is really not in the best space. Immediately I kick into counsellor gear and ask Aron if this man is safe for tonight. Aron says that he’s not sure and so I instruct Aron on exactly which questions to ask this person to make sure that they are not currently a risk to themselves.
I head home while chatting with France and I share with him how incredibly moving the speaker was tonight. We have a good chat and confirm our plans for tomorrow and for the weekend ahead. We end on a good note and say goodnight. I have to be honest here, but something is still unsettled within me about this whole relationship. I feel that the values of recovery no longer mesh with that old lifestyle. I’m not triggered being around people who drink, it’s more about whether or not I want to be around those people at all. It doesn’t make them bad and I don’t want to paint them all with the same judgmental stroke, but I’m just not that person anymore.
Aron asks if we can speak on the phone as he is having a bad night. Well, turns out that there’s a whole bunch of gay AA drama that unfolded tonight. I won’t get into details, but it ties in with the guy who took his cake tonight and the guy who left the room crying. The piece that creates anger with me is the judgment that an addict can have toward someone with a mental health problem. I’m sorry, but that shit’s just not cool. How can we as addicts, who are already marginalized, turn around and marginalize another already marginalized group? Makes no sense to me at all…
Anyway, following this conversation, I am wiped out. As I try to fall asleep, I cannot help but further reflect on my current relationship status and the growing disconnect that I feel with my partner.
Diary of an Addict 