I’ve always prided myself as being a truth teller, no matter how tough it would sound or how much damage it would cause. I always joked about not being good at it. Turns out, I’m an excellent liar. I’ve actually mastered it by predominantly lying to myself. So yesterday as I cruised forums, websites, apps and groups on addiction I started to question this entire endeavor. The internal dialogue begins. “I don’t sound like the majority of the people in recovery. Their problems sound way worse than mine.” I was focusing on the difference between the stories I was reading and my own. It was me prepping myself with doubt, the cliche’ devil on left shoulder angel on the right. But my angel doesn’t speak much she’s been beat down over the years and my devil is tricky.
The internal dialogue continues. “I don’t have cravings, what are these cravings they all talk about? I’m not in rehab or talking anti drinking drugs. I haven’t lost my job and family.” I continued down this path of prepping for awhile. Occasionally a thought of previous debacles flashed across my mind. Thats the angel she has a memory but little voice. There was the time I passed out in a hotel room in the tub with the water running and it flooded the room. The time I blacked out and tried to fight my own daughter. The multiple times I drank and took pills or cut myself and ended up in the hospital clinging to life … “SHHH…It was different then”, says the devil. “You were younger, for the most part, things were different then.” And just like that the devil sweeps the doubts back under the rug of insurmountable shame, the rug I walk around daily. A rug that has become as common place as a coffee table in the living room of my mind. I never clean under it but I it’s there in the event I need to hide dirt.
It’s funny how as we get older we have enough life experience to recognize the game. But we still let it play out, perhaps we enjoy the banter. For me I think my angel needs to feel like she tried. But the devils tricky and on the scoreboard of time the angel has a low batting average.
“Besides, what if you do change and it causes you to lose your family? What if they won’t like you sober? Would it all be worth it then? Doesn’t it seem silly to take that risk?”, the devil continues. “So, it’s a rock and a hard place”, I think to myself. “I mean, shouldn’t you stick with the devil you know? You’ve managed this far and you already know how to mitigate the risk and smooth over the rough patches.” he says. “Besides, this wasn’t exactly YOUR idea. What do they know, you’re not hurting anyone. You just sit at home, you don’t drive and you don’t bother anyone. They can’t tell you what you have to do!” There it is, the closing argument. Eye roll from the angel. “Maybe it’s their issue and not yours” the devil throws the cherry on top. It’s time for the lie. “You’re not an addict, you just need to cut back… on stress, thinking, helping others, over eating, making poor choices when drinking and yes maybe a little moderation once in awhile and some exercise wouldn’t kill you.” The devil rests his case.
Sure, I think. He’s right. I do need to cut back on all that stuff and yes, the choices I make when drinking are the polar opposite of what they should be. With a little moderation and awareness of the situation, of course I can do this. I mean don’t have cravings and the risk of recovery to my entire house of cards is unknown, but I already know how to dance with this devil. After all we’ve been tripping the light fantastic since I was a teen. This is only feeling like a big deal because everyone is making it a big deal. It’s NOT a big deal.
And this is where the devil wins, typically. I’ve finished the game and lied to myself and bought it hook line and sinker. It’s an art form really, to see the sky is blue and yet somehow convince yourself that it’s white. After all, it is white sometimes, on a cloudy day. So it’s not really a lie it’s more about perception. I’m not lying to myself I’m just offering up an alternative truth.
I open up my phone with my morning coffee and I see all my notifications. I have so many apps for so many things. Daily devotions, affirmations, reminders to breathe, drink water, take a break accept my lives from friends on candy crush, Facebook, instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, poker, trivia the weather. I begin the daily process of clearing them all one by one. I can’t stand having the red notifications, it’s maddening.
When I get to my daily affirmation. I open it up and place my thumb on the circle, I’m to breath as my divine inspiration for the day appears over a back drop of sunshine or field of sunflowers. “I choose to be free.” I sit there for a minute letting the meaning of the phrase sink in. Free, I thought… choice? I as in me? The angel flashes a glimpse of the rug. That dusty mound of tapestry with fringe that has yellowed with the passing of time covering all the emotions and memories the devil told me I didn’t need to worry about. It’s day 6, and for today I will choose to be free and give the angel one for the win column, but be mindful that my devil is tricky. Because this isn’t just about putting down the drink, it’s about cleaning up under that fucking rug. I hate that fucking rug.
Lola Trying 