blah

I'm sitting here watching the recap of the Michael Jackson memorial. It's all just very sad. It's hard to hear about all the different drugs he was taking because I can completely relate. Obviously I never took anywhere near as much as he did, but I understand wanting to escape. I understand being willing to do whatever it takes to be able to fall asleep at night so that your brain will just stop running overtime. I understand the craziness that comes with the disease of addiction; the absolute obsession and preoccupation with getting your next fix. It's still crazy to me how after years of being clean, if something happens that I'm not sure how to deal with, the thought of using still goes through my mind. It doesn't happen all the time, and it may only be for a split second, but it's still there. It's like a dark cloud that just permanently hangs over your head. It doesn't always affect you, but it's always there, just waiting to swoop in. Of course there are things you can do to keep it at bay, but in the back of your mind you know the insanity will come back in a split second if you aren't careful. And what really, really sucks is that it will never go away. Ever. And every time another person dies of an overdose, whether it be a celebrity or a regular person, I think about how that could be me. I think about how at one point during my using I actually wrote a note and left it by my bed listing what I had taken and how much of it I had taken, so that if I was found unconscious (or worse), the EMT's would know better how to help me. Of course it didn't occur to me to just not use. The need to escape was too strong. I knew I could be killing myself, but I did it anyway. That's the definition of an addict-knowing the consequences, but doing it anyway because in that moment, when you're in full blown addiction, you just plain don't have a choice. So yeah, I can relate.

P.S. Don't worry, I'm not all depressed or anything, I promise! I'm grateful to be alive and sober, and this is just a good reminder to be careful with my thoughts and actions.

P.P.S. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors in this post. I don't want to reread it all, but I'm so completely anal about spelling and grammar that I can't let it go without acknowledging that there may be mistakes. That's what happens when your parents are both teachers.

the righteousness rat race

Today in New Testament we discussed the clean/unclean aspects of the miracles Jesus performed and some of the stories that are told in Matthew. We talked about how the Law of Moses compartmentalized everything into being either clean or unclean and if you touched something that was unclean (lepers, dead people, things having to do with death, bodily fluids, etc.), that impurity was then transferred to you and you would have to then purify yourself. But despite all this, Jesus went out of his way to touch unclean people and spend time with those who were seen as unclean or sinners.

So then, if Jesus focused his time and efforts on the "sinners" and unclean, what does it really mean to be Christlike? Do we get too caught up in being righteous and following the letter of the law that we forget to love and embrace the people who could most use it? I think too often we reach out to people because it's what we're supposed to do, not because we actually care. There were many times as a teenager that I felt like I was the Young Women's service project but there were also times when certain people reached out to me and made a difference, all because I felt like they genuinely cared about me; I wasn't just a good deed to cross off their to do list. Religion shouldn't be a rat race to see who is the most righteous. We shouldn't avoid people who are "unclean" for fear they'll rub off on us.

I see things like this a lot with addicts. We tend to do bad things and we'll be the first to admit that, but I can pretty much guarantee you that if you try to spend time with us, we're not going to hold you down and inject heroin into your veins or make you smoke a crack pipe. The thing that most helps me when I'm dealing with someone who has issues is to realize that events in their lives helped make them that way. No one just decides one day to start doing drugs or randomly sleep around or go steal a car. Chances are they've spent a good part of their lives feeling like they weren't good enough in some way (not to mention, of course, serious issues like abuse, addicted parents, etc.). So why on earth would you treat someone like a project or look down on them when all they want is to be loved? Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love! (Sorry, Moulin Rouge was just on t.v.)

Don't worry that I'm completely horrible at this. I think my motives for doing things are suspect a good bit of the time and I'm sure that comes across in my actions. So I guess my question would be is this a case where you fake it til you make it, despite the fact that people can see right through you? Or should you not do certain things because because they're fake? I know that feeling like I was being treated like a service project did a whole lot more harm than good, but would I rather have just been ignored? There's got to be a balance in there somewhere, right? If you can figure out where that balance lies, please let me know!

Two for two!

I went to another meeting tonight. Have I mentioned how much I love the meetings, the people, etc.? At this meeting there were a bunch of younger girls (as in under 18) who sat across the circle from me and it was odd to watch them because they were fidgeting and chit-chatting and basically doing everything I did when I was first going to meetings. Funny how I now find it irritating! Also funny how they reminded me of my little Primary children! Drug addicts, CTR 7's, it's all the same! Tonight's topic was honesty, which I found kind of ironic because after last night's meeting I looked through my journal from the time when I was in rehab and, despite the fact that it's something no one but myself will ever see, it was totally full of lies. I don't know if I believed what I was saying at the time, or if I was just trying to convince myself, but there were definitely some things in there that were completely false. I guess I should just be grateful that I (somewhat) know better now. Not that I'm completely honest now, but I'm pretty sure I'm a bit better. Or at least I don't lie directly to your face, I just don't say anything! Haha, kinda just kidding! Oh well, it's progress, not perfection and really, some things just don't need to be said. Maybe in another four and a half years I'll actually be fully honest. One can only dream, right!

Oh, how I've missed you!

Lorri and I went to a CA meeting tonight and I'm ashamed to admit it's the first meeting I've been to in probably three years or so. It was a little weird at first, but when people started sharing, it felt like home. One of the first people to speak mentioned how we were in a room full of "black sheep" and I loved that. As an addict, I tend to believe that I'm somehow different than everyone else. Not necessarily better, but just different. Tonight I realized how true that is; I am different . . . from all of the rest of you. Thankfully, while I may be different, I'm not alone in my differentlyabledness (yes, I know that's not a word, but I like it anyway!) It was such a comforting feeling to be around people who are just like me and who have the same messed up thinking as myself. I've been around BYU people for so long, and don't get me wrong, they're great people, but they're not MY people. I always feel like I'm holding something back around them. For example, when people ask me what I was doing before I went back to school, I'm never quite sure what to say. If someone from the program asks me that question, I can say, proudly, that I went to rehab. Proudly, because to them it means I was getting clean, whereas to someone who isn't an addict, it just shouts out that I'm an addict, and there are a whole lot of preconceived notions that come with that. It was also interesting to see all of the people who are new in recovery and remember when that was me. Back then meetings were a novelty and more of a social event. Now I actually listen to the people who are sharing and really appreciate what they have to say. It really makes me want to be a sponsor again. I have the time and I've worked the steps, but I haven't worked a program for years, and I really need to get back to doing that. Anyway, I just wanted to share how encouraging this meeting was and how great it made me feel. Most of you probably have no idea what I'm talking about, but that's o.k. Frankly, I hope you never know what I'm talking about. But for those of you who know what I'm talking about, hopefully you can relate and share in my happiness a little bit.

this afternoon

This afternoon was kind of a downer. Ty's mom, Lisa, didn't have much time to visit with us on Monday, but wanted us to come back again, so we stopped by today. We ended up going over to the mortuary to see Ty because we weren't going to be around Friday for the funeral. It was weird. He didn't look how I remember him. He was really swollen, clean-shaven (that was the first time I had ever seen him not scruffy), and all of his piercings had been taken out. And he was just so lifeless. I know, he's dead, and dead people tend to be lifeless. That didn't make it any less weird. I'm kind of glad that he didn't look like himself. The whole way over there I just kept praying that I would be able to hold it together. If he had looked like the big ole puppy dog of a guy I know, I would not have been o.k. And now my last memory of him isn't so much him lying in a casket because it just didn't seem like him. I don't know. It's all still very surreal.

We were going to go home tomorrow because Lorri had to work Friday, but she found people to cover her shifts so we can stay for the funeral. I'm really glad we'll be able to be here for it. The last funeral I went to was my Uncle Soren's and it was sad, but not overly sad because he was old. He lived his life; his wife had been gone for years already, etc. This won't be the first funeral I've gone to of someone my age, and I'm sure it won't be the last. They are definitely a different kind of funeral. It makes you think about why you're still here and they're not. You think about how you're not so different from each other and if you're not careful, it could be you. And you wonder just what it is you're supposed to be doing with your life. Or maybe I'm just doing too much thinking!

Ty

One of my favorite memories of Ty is when he, Lorri, Ryan and I went tubing . . . in a drainage ditch . . . underneath the road . . . fully clothed. Ty is the one on the left in the picture above. I'm not sure why he's holding the mug. It wasn't even his. And I'm standing all weird like that in order to show the mud coating my butt. I don't normally pose for pictures like that. Another memory of Ty . . . he put together my bookcases for me because I was a helpless girl who didn't know how to use a hammer or a screwdriver. Well, that or I didn't want to do it myself and manipulated his generous heart into doing it for me. He used to always drop by our apartment (the first apartment; the one stupid Billy got us evicted from, but that's a different story for another time) just to hang out. We had some really great times. Have I mentioned that he had a really great heart and was a super nice guy?

That's a nice way of putting it

Amy Winehouse Hospitalized Due to 'Bad Reaction to Prescribed Medication'

Um . . . I think that's called an overdose. I love it when people use the prescription medication excuse. Technically every pill I took was prescribed as well . . . just not necessarily to me or for valid medical reasons.

Sadness

Shortly before heading up to Star Valley yesterday, Lorri and I found out that a friend of ours overdosed and died. Ty is our sixth friend from treatment to OD in the past three years. That's just how it goes in the addict world. It's been over a year since the last death and I've gotten perhaps a little too comfortable, so this really caught me off guard. It still doesn't quite seem real. Oddly enough, Ty is from Star Valley, so we went and visited his mom this morning. We just spent a minute with her but it was kind of surreal. I can't even imagine losing a child. I don't even want to think about it.

Every time another person dies I get angry. Going through rehab you meet all sorts of people and it seems like it's always the best ones who die. It's not the jerks who add absolutely nothing to society; it's the sweet, genuinely kind-hearted ones. It pisses me off that if someone has to go, it seems to always be the good ones.

I also hate that this will never end. There will never come a time when friends will stop dying. I'm only 27; friends aren't supposed to die this often until I'm old. And when I say six people, I'm only counting the ones I actually attended treatment with. If we want to talk about people I know from the program, the numbers shoot way up.

Addiction is such a horrible thing and it is so misunderstood. I don't think you get it unless you've been through it. Too often society seems to blame the addict and assume that they are choosing to use, when in reality, addiction is a disease. And yes, there are things you can do to manage it, but there is no way of curing it. All too often people ask why, when we see the damage we're causing ourselves and those around us, we don't just stop. I really wish we could. If we could just stop using and change the way we think, life would be a whole lot easier. But it just doesn't work that way.

Alright, that's enough sadness for now.