Winehouse

Yes, it's the obligatory Winehouse post.  But I'll let someone else do the talking.   

I'm no Russell Brand fan.  I don't appreciate his humour, his actions.  But my opinion of him went up 100-fold with his posting about his friend, Amy Winehouse.  Here are the first two paragraphs:

When you love someone who suffers from the disease of addiction you await the phone call. There will be a phone call. The sincere hope is that the call will be from the addict themselves, telling you they’ve had enough, that they’re ready to stop, ready to try something new. Of course though, you fear the other call, the sad nocturnal chime from a friend or relative telling you it’s too late, she’s gone.

Frustratingly it’s not a call you can ever make it must be received. It is impossible to intervene.

He speaks for legions of us.  

Shower brilliance

Okay, maybe not brilliance, but I think a good thought. 

Yesterday, I met with Al - in fact, we spend the morning together.  It was good, although I think we both felt we were walking on thin ice.  And, near the end, I fell through it.  (Don't I wish this were other than a metaphor!  It's sweltering hot here.)

I do love to give advice.  I've always been a strong personality, although not necessarily the "fixer" so often attributed to alcoholic family members.  But I do have a tendency to take charge, and have to consciously put brakes on myself to prevent myself from taking too much charge in any given situation, be it work, social, family, or other.  But what Al-Anon is teaching me (or trying to, at least) is that the alcoholic in our lives has to make decisions for him/herself.  This, of course, is the old immovable force (Al) meeting the unstoppable object (me).  Example:  Al is out of a job.  I wonder whether his unemployment is his biggest issue, but it's clearly important to him, so I have some (many!) ideas on how to approach his joblessness.  I've given them before.  And yesterday, despite Al-Anon (in fact, prefaced with the "I know I shouldn't give you advice, but . . . .") I gave him employment advice.  Non-critically (at least I don't think I was critical), but he immediately picked up on it, and reminded me I shouldn't be doing it.  He was right. 

But . . . I'm a good advice giver.  I've got good ideas, and my research skills are solid.  I do think I could help him.  If only he'd listen to me.  The Al-Anon conundrum:  I must learn to keep my mouth shut, even though I think that opening it would help us both. 

This morning - in the shower, of course, where I do my best thinking - I thought of a possible solution to this issue.  Rather than telling Al what I think he should be doing, I need to ask Al if he'd like my assistance in the various areas that I think I might be helpful.  And, dammit, I have to listen to and honor his response, regardless of what that might be.

I'm going to try to introduce this approach into our relationship.  I know I'll fall off from time to time - decades of being bossy (indeed, even making a career of it!) don't go away overnight.  But oftentimes acknowledgement and recognition of a problem is the first step to solving it.

Let's hope it works.  Let's hope I can work it.   

Positive 3

Both last evening, while enjoying a beverage with co-workers, and today, while shopping at a used-clothing store (a favorite activity), I heard Moondance by Van Morrison.  Both times my feet started moving my body backwards.  You see, I think Moondance is wonderful song by which to Foxtrot. 

I've mentioned that Al is kind.  At times he's also thoughtful, as well. 

About 10 years ago, for my birthday, Al surprised me - and I mean really surprised me - with dance lessons at Arthur Murray.  I think it may have been the best surprise he's ever given me.  We had several lessons - 6? 10? - but didn't buy the $3,995 special that they tried so desperately to sell after those initial lessons.  Although we declined (wisely) to invest our savings into more lessons, I've never regretted the lessons that we took. 

Were we talented?  Nope.  But I thoroughly enjoyed it - enough that a couple of times we went to dances on Saturday nights at rather odd clubs where Al & I were among the youngest, if not the youngest, in attendance.  I think that at least at first, Al enjoyed it too.  We learned very basic Foxtrot, Rhumba, Tango, Meringue, Cha-cha, Waltz.  We got to point that our dance partnership would impress non-dancers, for example at our company holiday party.   We followed our lessons briefly with lessons at a local community college, but within a year or 2, our dancing had dropped by the wayside.  My subsequent broken leg didn't help. 

Given the opportunity, it's something I'd very much like to re-start, even with my gimpy leg.

How I pray that someday Al and I can recapture what was so good about us as a team - and begin to tackle new challenges!  In the meantime, Moondance is resonating through my head, bringing back wonderful memories. 

He loves me, he loves me not.

Remember that childhood (girlhood might be more appropriate) game where we'd take a flower with petals, and one-by-one pick them off, with each petal alternating "he loves me" "he loves me not"?  That's how I'm feeling about my relationship with Al right now. 

Sometimes when I see him, I get a sense that, amidst all the other noise that's going on in his head, he still cares about me.  Othertimes, it seems that he can't wait to have me out of his sight.  That hurts. 

Today I picked up our cat from the house.  I told him when I would be arriving, and he told me he'd have her in her carrier when I arrived.  I thought that odd, as she is quite complaining when in her carrier.  I honestly thought that he'd reconsider so we'd have a little time to chat when I got there.  It wasn't to be.

I drove the 30 minutes, knocked on the door, and I bet I wasn't in the house for 30 seconds.  It was pretty clear he could not wait until I left.  I said something about talking, and he declined.  I wonder if he saw my eyes well up when I was leaving. 

And I wonder if he has any idea of the effect it has on me - whether it be a 30-second visit (wedged between 30-minute drives), or a one-line response to an e-mail, or no communication unless I initiate it. 

I wish I had an explanation.  Is it him, or is it me?  Does his anger toward me prohibit him from talking with me?  Is he in such a dark place that he's incapable of any kind of relationship, with me, a friend, or anyone?  Does he want to make our separation permanent, and doesn't have the courage to tell me?  Does he fear that I'm going to give him advice?  The questions, the questions.  With no answers. 

I need to return to the basics:  I am powerless over alcohol, and its effects.  I can't control him, but I can control myself. 

It still hurts, though. 

Positive 2

Al is fundamentally a very, very kind man.  A few years ago, I had a very disabled relative, and Al & I, several times a year over the course of several years, would drive hundreds of miles to take him to a place where we could take care of him and give him a respite from an otherwise hugely depressing existence.  Al was so loving to my relative - he'd make up games to play, would change his adult diaper, and would make him laugh - oh, how Al could make him laugh!  

I was reminded of that laughter last week while walking to work.  I was listening to my Ipod Touch, set, as always, to shuffle play, and the selection is, well, eclectic to say the least.  One song that came up in my queue was the Fairfield Four's rendition of "You Gotta Walk that Lonesome Valley."  I know it sounds silly now, but my relative would laugh with utter delight when, late at night when all were in bed, Al would sing/yell out "You", the first word of the song.  We would hear the amazing giggle from the next room, coming from someone who didn't have much to giggle about.  I'll never hear that song without thinking of Al and his kindnesses. 

My relative died in 2007 - a blessing.  But looking back on my own life, an important part were those time we tried to help him.  And Al was key to that help. 

Detachment again

Jeez, I'm having a problem detaching.  Intellectually, I think I understand it, but practicing it is just not part of my learned constitution.  Oh, I've successfully physically detached.  But emotionally, mentally?  Uh uh. 

I don't think I'm alone.  I note that in both of my little Al-Anon books, One Day At a Time in Al-Anon and Courage to Change, "detachment" has more entries in the index than virtually any other subject.  One passage that I found today seemed like it was written directly to and for me:

I will not interfere with the activities of the alcoholic, or watch over him, counsel him, or assume his responsibilities.  He must have the same freedom to make his own decisions as I have, since he must suffer for them if they are wrong. 

One Day At a Time in Al-Anon, p. 250

So much easier said than done. I know we're told that all behaviors are learned - but I I still think at least a little bit of altruism is instinctive.  What human would stand back and take joy watching someone suffer because they made a wrong decision?  Perhaps those who are extraordinarily callous - a tiny minority.  For the rest of us, it's unnatural.  But I get it's necessary.

But if I keep conscious of my need to step back, not counsel, watch or assume responsibilities for Al, I know that it will help the both of us. 

God, grant me the courage to change the things I can (but otherwise help me keep my mouth shut). 

Positive 1

Popping into my mind on a fairly frequent basis are times, situations, that remind me of how much I love, and have loved, Al.  I'm going to recount them here from time to time, one at a time.  Some are simple, some more complex, some dumb, some brilliant, all make me smile. 

Here goes: 

Every morning I have my breakfast of yogurt, blueberries and high-bran cereal on top.  I put it into a container, take it to work, and graze on it mid-morning. 

The cereal is odd looking, little thin strips.  It was Al who named the cereal "worms".  With shopping lists, we'd list "worms", and both knew what we meant.  These days, as I'm making my breakfast and topping it off with cereal, I think to myself:  "It's ready for worms."  I smile and think of Al. 

Navigation challenges

One of the most difficult challenges I face is how to navigate the minefield of having (1) an active alcoholic husband who (2) remains in the home we own and (3) is letting it get quite run-down but (4) won't discuss how to approach the situation because (5) there's always an excuse (no sleep, fell down, etc.) because of (1).  As for my own excuses, I work a 50-60-70+ hour a week job, the marital home is about 20 miles from where I live and work, and I just don't have the energy to tackle the cleanup that's needed. 

But I want resolution of the housing issue.  I'm still hopeful that Al & I will resume our lives together (although that date is now pushed off until at least July 1, 2012, as he'd been drinking when I saw him on July 1, 2011), it's unlikely that it will be in the home in which he's now residing.  It's just too much of a house for me, too far from work, too much upkeep.  And too full of sad memories. 

Al says he doesn't know where to begin.  He has no answers, he tells me.  Consistent with my personality, I have a lot of answers:  Start weeding, start trimming the overgrown outside bushes.  Start cleaning up.  Start brushing the dogs.  Clean out the bird cage.  Look around from the standpoint of a buyer, and do what needs to be done to sell or rent the place. 

Al's paralyzed to do the simple (but admittedly tedious) tasks required.  I accompanied Al to an AA-Al-Anon picnic on Friday.  A softball game ensued, Al playing 3rd base.  During one play, a runner was running to 3rd, and someone else threw Al the ball.  It was a short throw; Al didn't catch it, but he also made little effort to retrieve it 5-10 feet away.  The runner was safe on 3rd, and another team member retrieved the ball.  It was the first inning, and Al played no more.  Yes, he'd been drinking. 

That game is sort of a metaphor for how he's acting now.  He misses easy balls lobbed in his direction; he has no enthusiasm or energy to chase them down, however close.  It's all well and good for me to accept the things I cannot change, but our current situation puts me in an awkward predicament, especially when I want to move on getting my own place, etc. 

And he thinks he's the one with no answers. 

The mystery of alcoholism

I don't get it.  Al is way smart (former Mensa member), a whiz at math, science, computers, the best writer I've ever met, but he's not able to quit alcohol.

A rational person (that would be me) says: Al, you're smart, funny, nice.  Why do you insist on destroying your health and life and hurting those around you by constant drinking?  Why is it so terribly difficult to stop?  Why do you go to meetings, admit you're an alcoholic, read the 12 steps, speak and listen, and still drink?  Why do you drink before you go to a meeting?  Why do you try to hide it?  Do you think you're fooling anyone - your AA colleagues, your neighbors, me?"  So many "whys" and no answers.  Why?

I think it's the disconnect between the rational, non-addictive personality and the addictive personality.   Rational people - and alcoholics when the thought process is unrelated to alcohol - typically act in a rational manner.  We stop (or at least slow way down) at stop signs.  We try to stay on top of our finances.  We act in a manner that protects us, at a minimum, and furthers us, as we progress.  But alcoholics don't act rationally when they've not yet truly committed to recovery.  It's a vicious cycle. 

Sometimes I wonder if the "one day at a time" motto may, for some, be self defeating.  How many active alcoholics make that little saying the crutch on which they rely to continue to drink?  Might the thought process go something like "tomorrow I'll quit"? 

I don't pretend to know the answers.  I'm not sure anyone does.  All I know is that - despite all my readings, despite my academic knowledge - it's so sad to watch someone you love and care for sink deeper and deeper into a disease.  It's a disease that, while there's no cure, there certainly is a work-around to avoid the disastrous effects. 

Al said to me yesterday it's not like a light switch, on-and-off.  But I sure wish it were.