Detox Diary: A Night Tech’s Log – Thinking Of My Thought

I am thinking.
I am thinking of my thoughts.
I can’t see them.
I can’t touch them.
I can’t stop them from entering my head.
And when you are an addict, or alcoholic, your thoughts can be torturous.
They remind you of things you’ve tried so hard to forget. They bring back feelings.
And we do not like feelings.
We do not use to feel good; but to not feel.
We don’t want to feel anything, because what we usually feel is, Pain.
And guilt.
And shame.
We’re not used to feeling good,
Or worthy.
I could go on with other adjectives, but that sums it up right there.
We do not feel worthy.
Of love,
Of kindness,
Of friendship,
Or of happiness.
I do not feel worthy of these things.
If you know an alcoholic or addict, know this; our self esteem is almost non-existent.
No matter how we bluster and brag, we are so afraid.
Afraid you will see behind the mask and know the real us.
We are the most insecure, yet egotistical, creatures.
My God has been incredible to me, the things He has shown me.
After what I did.
He has shown me such things so that I know, I am forgiven.
Loved.
So special in His eyes that He parts the curtains to show me I am a part of His plan.
My ego says not only has God forgiven me;
He’s raised me above others by what He’s doing in my life.
What more do I need?
Yet I crave accolades from my friends, from people.
So I feel good about myself.
If only till the next thought comes along.
Because my insecurity says, “Are you nuts?! Why would He?”
This tug-of-war.
This delicate, yet deadly, battle goes on inside my head.
Constantly.
Because alcoholism, or addiction, is cunning, baffling and powerful.
And I have learned, through AA/NA that the battle is never over.
I am granted a reprieve just for today.
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

Getting ready to go visit my little girl’s grave,
I am filled with thoughts.
With feelings.
“I going to give Joy my nine month chip,” I think, “I going to show her I’m trying so hard to keep my promise.”
“I’m living a life that will make her proud of me, instead of the life I lived after she died.”
Then pushing its way into my head right behind that comes, “Do you remember why she’s there?”
“Did you end her life to stop her suffering, or yours, Charles?”
“It’s going to hurt so bad, why don’t you wait?”
I swipe at the thought.
But I can’t see it.
I can’t touch it.
I can’t stop it from entering my head.
Wanting to go see Joy.                    
Scared to go see Joy.
The eternal, internal, tug-of-war.
What comes out from my hand doesn’t stay in my head, so I write.
And as thoughts of visiting Joy swirl through my head, they come together
 into this;
Visiting Days  
I’ve made my way across a hot scorched prairie;
To this very spot, where I must unbury.
Memories laid to rest, they’d been put into the ground;
What I had fought to untangle, I am now once again bound.
It’s rope drawn so tight, it cuts into my skin;
I might loosen it a little, but I will never win.
My burden’s shouldered, and this I must carry;
As I enter the cemetery.
The memories come, I can’t make them leave;
They are here to make certain I remember to grieve.
Show’s over, curtains drawn, no more acting brave;
As I slowly approach my little girl’s grave.
Now sitting beside her, telling Joy how I feel;
How do I describe it? It’s feeling surreal.
Then I give her my chip, and I tell her I’m trying;
I tell her every thing’s great! But she knows that I’m lying.
So I cry for awhile, the father bereaved:
Then climb to my feet and get ready to leave.
This is what was coming out of my head when I remember.
It just came into my head.
Fighting myself, torn about visiting Joy, I REMEMBER!
I remember the first time I went to visit Joy clean and sober at her grave.
I could never go there without getting completely wasted. I just couldn’t
handle it.
This was going to be the first time visiting her, not taking anything, in 20 years.
The same turmoil. The same fear.
And the God Shot.
The absolutely, unbelievably, AWE inspiring, stop-you-in-your-tracks-and-make-you-look-over-your-shoulder-to-see-if-He’s-standing-there glimpse
of something so much bigger than we can EVER imagine,
God Shot.
I’ve written about everything in my stories.
Everything.
I’ve left nothing out.
But this. I can’t believe I forgot about this!
And now I remember.
Readying to go and visit Joy at her grave; wrestling with myself.
I remember the God Shot.
And the peace it gave me
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

Last June I was going to visit Joy’s grave site , for the first time clean and sober, on a Sunday.
Father’s Day.
I was still in Treatment. They wanted me to stay until after my visit
with Joy.
Probably with good reason.
I was clean, sober and just starting to think I might be able to live like this, without numbing myself into oblivion.
I had met myself in group, and while I was still trying to accept the forgiveness I was offered, I found out I didn’t hate me.
But this.
Visiting Joy’s grave. Going to face, head on, with what I had done.
Without a drink, or a pain pill (or 3).
This was a test.
And I honestly didn’t know if I was going to be able to pass it.
Another problem, I still had not found a place to live when I got out.
Then Judy, the Realtor Transitions Treatment Center had hooked me up with, called on Friday to tell me she had a duplex she wanted me to look at the next day.
Saturday. The day before I was going to visit Joy and make amends.
I was not up to it, but I had no choice. My time at Transitions was up, my dogs had been boarded for over 30 days, and I needed to find a place to live.
Judy gave me the address, and told me a Realtor would meet me there.
The next day came and I was not feeling good.
At all.
In fact I was nauseous at the thought of what I had to do tomorrow.
Father’s Day. Why I picked that day, I don’t know. Self-flagellation maybe.
I got to the duplex, and there was no realtor.
I paced out front, thinking of having to face Joy and telling her why I took it upon myself to decide her life should end.
I felt so guilty. I was so scared.
Praying to a God I wasn’t sure of, “I can’t do this. Oh God, what am I going to say to her?”
I wanted a drink and a handful of Percocets so badly, I believe I would have left, and used, if not for what happened next.
A lady, carrying a little girl, came out of the other duplex.
The child was about two years old; the same age as Joy before she got hurt in the recliner chair.
Looking at that beautiful little girl, I thought about what I had to do tomorrow. My throat tightened. My nerves were frazzled. I thought I was going to cry.
“Are you moving in?” She asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m waiting for the Realtor now.”
I looked at them. “What’s her name?” I asked the woman.
“Faith.” She said.
“Really? My daughter’s name was Joy.” I told her.
“Really? My name is Joy!” She said.
A sense of peace, a calmness, washed over me.
I know this sounds stupid, but if I had to describe how I felt at that moment what comes immediately into my head is: It felt like liquid love was poured over me.
I felt God.
I met Faith and Joy the day before going to visit Joy for the first time clean and sober.
I met them when I really needed them.
And then I forgot about it.
And now I remember.
Maybe I’ve gotten too many God Shots.
There have been so many, coming so fast, in the last nine months.
How could I have forgotten about that?
Could God have made me forget, knowing I would need them today?
A thought enters my head, “WHY? Why would God be so good to me?”
I swipe at it, though I can’t see it.
I can’t touch it.
I can’t stop it from entering my head.
I am a recovering alcoholic and addict; these thoughts will come.
And I will continue to swipe at them.
peace
PS – I just got back from giving Joy my nine month sobriety chip.
Two things happened.
I took my dogs,  Teddy Bear and Flop with me. I always do.
And I met a couple. The wife’s mom had died and been buried very close to Joy.
The couple and I started talking. We were talking about Flop and Teddy Bear.
Whenever I go to visit Joy’s grave, once I sit down, they move off about 10 – 15 feet and lay down.
They stay there, giving me, and as if paying their own respect.
I hadn’t thought about it till the couple spoke of it. “They understand,”
the man said.
They had taken a picture of them and me and gave it to me.
As they were leaving, I could see the wife was hurting over her mom.
“I’m glad your mom is near Joy.” I said to her.
She started crying, and then she thanked me.
The husband smiled at me, and they left.
I sat back down with Joy and opened my Bible. I open it at random when I’m there.
It opened to 1 John. Verse 3 starts like this;
How great is the love that has been lavished on us, that we should be called children of God? And that is what we are! The reason that the world does not know us is that it does not know Him. Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when He appears, we shall be like Him….
And a page came out. It was a torn out page from the Daily Bread. It was for April 4, 1993.
April 4th is Joy’s birthday.
I must have torn it out and put it in there while I was in prison. 1993 was two years before I was released.
It’s theme for that day was “Lonely, but not alone” It quoted Hebrews 4:15 – We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin.
Its “Thought for Today?”
“God understands that our journey in life is not an easy one.”
Think about that.
This piece of paper stayed in that Bible for almost 14 years. I don’t remember if I’ve come across it before.
But when I needed it, it was there.
Oh! Just a thought that came into my head; the “Thought for the Day”? Yesterday we decided to name the recovery magazine;
It’s All in the JOURNEY!
I’m not taking a swipe at that.
Peace

Charlie.

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