Chapter 28
No matter what the negative consequences are, we just keep doing the same shit over and over.
We all have the same stories. The location is different and the characters aren't the same, but it all comes back to the same truth. We keep doing the same things over and over and each time we keep expecting a different result.
The true definition of insanity.
Our counselor Adam is reading one of his favorite stories out of the Big Book in our small group today. The book can be very humorous at times because it was written so long ago. Adam tells us you just have to look past that and "feel" the message.
The story is about a Jaywalker. This guy walks across the street one day and gets nailed by a car. Just a couple bruises the first time. The next day he jaywalks again and I'll be damned if he doesn't get hit again. This time his injuries are more serious. He recovers a couple days later and jaywalks again. A car breaks bones this time and he goes to the hospital. After a long period of recovery he walks out of the hospital and does it again.
He is hit and is killed.
What a fucking idiot, I hear the Hippie mumble.
He is finally out of his drooling stage and has resorted to mumbling. I feel for him though. I heard that his detox from heroin was almost fatal, at least that's what the rumor was.
I can't say that I don't agree with him.
The guy IS an idiot. If I keep getting hit by cars I am going to use the damn crosswalk.
Aren't I?
Then what the hell am I doing in here?
We sit around and talk about this insanity. This disease. Every one of us has a story. Every one of us has MANY stories about the insanity. We know the hell that addiction has caused but we STILL pick up that drink, that drug, that woman.... What ever it is. We can't stop by our own power.
Powerless.
We are ALL powerless.
It sucks to be powerless.
I am talking about the progression of abuse in my relationship with my ex-wife. I have talked about the subject a few times in group but it still burns inside of me. It has been a few YEARS since it all happened but some days it feels like it was just yesterday. I use to hate looking in the mirror because of the scar under my eye where she kicked me.
I hate looking at my scars.
All of them.
When I talk about this in group I can still feel the underlying rage I have. That suppressed rage that I released while drinking and using. Now I have taken both of those outlets away. Sometimes I just feel like one big timebomb waiting for the little hand to make its final tick.
My release today would come in the form of the new guy, Bill. He showed up much like the Hippie, drugged beyond belief. Half of his head is shaved and there is a fresh horseshoe scar on the side of his head.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is all I can think about.
Damn, what the hell did they do to this guy?
He sat for most of our group in silence. I was talking about my ex-wife and the punches and kicks and how helpless I felt.
He laughs.
He fucking laughs.
Sound like she could have been a hell of a boxer.
Silence.
Tick
I am out of my seat and in his face faster than I know how it happened.
SHE STOMPED ON MY FUCKING FACE YOU ASSHOLE!
I slam my foot into the floor as hard as I can for effect.
I don't know who is terrified more, him or me. A couple guys grab me and pull me away.
What the fuck was that all about?
Adam just stares at me.
Steve, what the fuck? Go cool off.
I walk into the back room and I am literally hyperventilating. I feel trapped inside my own body. I can't escape. I just slump against the wall and bury my face into my hands.
I cry.
I hurt.
I realize that this road that I am starting down isn't some quick fix. I don't say some magic prayer or go to a meeting or spend all this time in rehab and suddenly become a new man.
I want to run again.
I just want to kill this feeling with anything I can get my hands on. I want the blackness. I want to open a bottle of Jack and swallow as much of it as I can until I can feel the skin peeling off the back of my throat. I want to blur it all.
Shut down.
Turn off the pain.
It has been close to four years and it feels like it was yesterday.
I am outside bleeding in the dark.
tears.
We all have the same stories. The location is different and the characters aren't the same, but it all comes back to the same truth. We keep doing the same things over and over and each time we keep expecting a different result.
The true definition of insanity.
Our counselor Adam is reading one of his favorite stories out of the Big Book in our small group today. The book can be very humorous at times because it was written so long ago. Adam tells us you just have to look past that and "feel" the message.
The story is about a Jaywalker. This guy walks across the street one day and gets nailed by a car. Just a couple bruises the first time. The next day he jaywalks again and I'll be damned if he doesn't get hit again. This time his injuries are more serious. He recovers a couple days later and jaywalks again. A car breaks bones this time and he goes to the hospital. After a long period of recovery he walks out of the hospital and does it again.
He is hit and is killed.
What a fucking idiot, I hear the Hippie mumble.
He is finally out of his drooling stage and has resorted to mumbling. I feel for him though. I heard that his detox from heroin was almost fatal, at least that's what the rumor was.
I can't say that I don't agree with him.
The guy IS an idiot. If I keep getting hit by cars I am going to use the damn crosswalk.
Aren't I?
Then what the hell am I doing in here?
We sit around and talk about this insanity. This disease. Every one of us has a story. Every one of us has MANY stories about the insanity. We know the hell that addiction has caused but we STILL pick up that drink, that drug, that woman.... What ever it is. We can't stop by our own power.
Powerless.
We are ALL powerless.
It sucks to be powerless.
I am talking about the progression of abuse in my relationship with my ex-wife. I have talked about the subject a few times in group but it still burns inside of me. It has been a few YEARS since it all happened but some days it feels like it was just yesterday. I use to hate looking in the mirror because of the scar under my eye where she kicked me.
I hate looking at my scars.
All of them.
When I talk about this in group I can still feel the underlying rage I have. That suppressed rage that I released while drinking and using. Now I have taken both of those outlets away. Sometimes I just feel like one big timebomb waiting for the little hand to make its final tick.
My release today would come in the form of the new guy, Bill. He showed up much like the Hippie, drugged beyond belief. Half of his head is shaved and there is a fresh horseshoe scar on the side of his head.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is all I can think about.
Damn, what the hell did they do to this guy?
He sat for most of our group in silence. I was talking about my ex-wife and the punches and kicks and how helpless I felt.
He laughs.
He fucking laughs.
Sound like she could have been a hell of a boxer.
Silence.
Tick
I am out of my seat and in his face faster than I know how it happened.
SHE STOMPED ON MY FUCKING FACE YOU ASSHOLE!
I slam my foot into the floor as hard as I can for effect.
I don't know who is terrified more, him or me. A couple guys grab me and pull me away.
What the fuck was that all about?
Adam just stares at me.
Steve, what the fuck? Go cool off.
I walk into the back room and I am literally hyperventilating. I feel trapped inside my own body. I can't escape. I just slump against the wall and bury my face into my hands.
I cry.
I hurt.
I realize that this road that I am starting down isn't some quick fix. I don't say some magic prayer or go to a meeting or spend all this time in rehab and suddenly become a new man.
I want to run again.
I just want to kill this feeling with anything I can get my hands on. I want the blackness. I want to open a bottle of Jack and swallow as much of it as I can until I can feel the skin peeling off the back of my throat. I want to blur it all.
Shut down.
Turn off the pain.
It has been close to four years and it feels like it was yesterday.
I am outside bleeding in the dark.
tears.
posted by steve at 11:38 AM
6 Comments:
So sad. I'm so glad you have recovered.
I could feel the rage, I sometimes still feel the rage. Hurt never really goes away, it stays as a reminder like a torn ligament, it reminds us every now and then that we have been broken. But thank God we have him as our healer.
I am listening to your first song from the weekend while reading this. Steve, God has worked so big in your life and he's just barely getting started.
What a great song. Thanks for sharing them and the story.
I've read all 28 chapters of your book since yesterday and I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach. I haven't been through half of what you have, but what I can relate to is the feeling of alone-ness. And that's the worst part - being part of a Christian community and still feeling like you can't be truly transparent because of fear of judgment. I'm still there. God bless you for sharing.
Wow. Great chapter. I relate so well. Your scars are from physical abuse while mine are from rape. It's the same, that look in the mirror, that hatred and unclean feeling. Thank you for writing.
Feel it, write it. Release the poison.
You're doing a great job with this. I'm so proud of you.
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