In My Head

Hi. I hope everyone had a peaceful, gratitude-worthy Thanksgiving. If you are reading this then no doubt you have something for which to be thankful. I know I do.

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Two weeks ago my visit with Dr. M was filled with self-hatred. Last week my visit was filled with hope. During that visit I announced two short-term goals for myself.

Goal one is to communicate better with my wife. I am envious of Brad, Brett, Bear, Cymber, Nate, Mr. BB, Ben, Mark and so many others for the communication they have with their significant others – past, present, male, female. My wife and I don’t have that kind of openness (yes, I’m aware of the trap I’m in…comparing my inside to your outside, but bear with me). Dr. M is a master at guiding me to find answers on my own – one way he stays blameless hence steadily employed, perhaps. No doubt there’s a lesson there, but that is fodder for a different post.

Anyway, as Dr. M and I talked it dawned on me that perhaps I am the only one in my relationship with my wife who does not feel we communicate adequately. And perhaps she is communicating that to me on a daily basis…but I’m not paying attention because I don’t necessarily agree. Of course since I don’t communicate with her but instead “think it” and expect her to read my mind, then it’s really hard for me to know.

How insightful. Once again I get a hint that the world does not revolve around me. I guess I just can’t find that out often enough. When I articulated “communicate better with my wife” to Dr. M, what I really meant was “get her to communicate with me the way I want”…and more specifically, “get her more interested in and more understanding of ME.” ME. God I hate that word and the fact that I love it so.

Today, my approach regarding communication with my wife is to work a little harder at living the spirit of the prayer of St. Francis. Specifically,”…seek [rather] to understand than to be understood…”

My wife and I had a dinner date last night. After we finished eating, the topic of our discussion veered into AA territory – under her guidance. This is a very rare event indeed, and something I have wished for in the past (in the guise of wanting to be “understood” by her). How wonderful it seemed…at first. But, the specific thing she wanted to discuss was my sponsor…and her heavily disguised opinion that he sucks. Wow, not exactly the direction I had envisioned for a discussion of AA – wherein I would get to communicate all of my newfound insights AND IMPROVEMENTS blah blah blah to her (discussions that apparently we have already had...IN MY HEAD). This was scary. This was my territory, and it was uncomfortable. And to make it worse, she was right. He does suck.

I tried to explain to her all the reasons why it’s my fault. Although acknowledging my views, she didn’t seem too keen on agreeing. She simply pointed out that he makes time for things that are important to him. For whatever reason, he doesn’t seem to be able to make time to help me progress through the steps. Lord knows I have communicated my frustration to her about this in the past, but since I was talking about (perhaps rather than communicating about) AA, I just assumed she was not listening. I guess she was. (Another reminder of my bad habit of assuming that if I think it, it must be true. A characteristic I share with at least some of my fellow members of AA).

Here we were, on a date, communicating. About me. About the subject nearest and dearest to my heart (except maybe…well, whatever). And I was squirming. Because she was right. I kept looking at that glass of red wine she was drinking, hoping it would allow me to discount what she was saying. It didn’t. She was sober. She was right. My sponsor sucks.

After much circular babble, I told her I had actually been seriously considering changing sponsors, but I just didn’t want to start all over again. No sympathy there. OK, I confessed, I’M AFRAID. Afraid of having the discussion with my sponsor that I know I need to have. (And, although I didn’t tell her, afraid of having to confess all to another person who might not accept me with all my faults.) No sympathy forthcoming…just an observation that perhaps both my sponsor and I would be happier if we got the discussion over with and moved on.

How mature. How logical. How true.

So how did I handle this newfound better communication with my wife? Well, I got depressed and semi-pouted. Yep friends, I’ve still got a long way to go. But I sure as hell am grateful for the progress I’ve made. And I’m grateful for the fact that my wife was brave enough to talk to me about this - because I'm not easy to talk to. I am going to thank her today for taking the risk.

Oh yeah, my second short term goal is to try to make some male friends. Non-sexual male friends. A recurring theme in my therapy (life) is the fact that the only real male friends I have are either electronic (don’t get me wrong, I love you guys) or….well, that’s about it. I have three reasons for wanting to achieve this goal. One, I think it will strengthen my AA program since I still tend to scurry out of the meetings and shy away from the fellowship. Two, I think it will give me more insight into my need (OK, want) for anonymous sexual encounters with men. **Please note, I don’t think this will cure the want, but I do think it might lead to a better understanding.** And last but certainly not least, I think it will help me find some new friends!

Perhaps my search for a new sponsor will lead to short-term goal number two. I’m going to start today.

Thanks for being there.

I love you.

Flip

Gone Fishin'

Time for a break.

I love you.

Flip

Sledgehammer

Whatever power, internal or external, that allows me to be reminded of what I need to hear at the right time has apparently finally figured out subtlety does not work with me. It takes a sledgehammer. And persistence.

Today's entry in Touchstones:

*November 10*

Humility is just as much the opposite of self-abasement as it is of self-exaltation.
- Dag Hammarskjold

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In our struggles with self-hate and guilt, we may have thought we were humble -- or perhaps even too humble. But self-abasement, which often alternates with feelings of
superiority, is not the spiritual quality of humility that we strive for in our program.

With humility, we respect ourselves and our place in the universe. Humility is having ourselves in perspective, knowing we are connected to the whole world, accepting how small and powerless we are, and accepting the power and responsibility we have. With this spiritual feeling comes a sense of awe for the world we live in and a feeling of gratitude for the life we've been given.

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The humility I feel today goes hand in hand with my self-respect and gratefulness for being part of life.

Cymber honey, I know that this is what you and the guys have been trying, OK continue to try, to get me to understand.

Thanks to all for not putting down the sledgehammer yet.

Flip

Just42day

I think I've mentioned a free, online service to which I subscribe provided by just42day.org which automatically sends a recovery-related email to me each weekday. Most days it is waiting in my inbox when I first log in.

As is often the case, today's message was just what I needed to hear:

From "Happiness Is Not the Point":

"In A.A., I'm learning to grow up. Instead of demanding that people, places and things make me happy, I can ask God for self-acceptance. When a problem overwhelms me, A.A.'s Twelve Steps will help me grow through the pain. The knowledge I gain can be a gift to others who suffer with the same problem."

© 1990 AAWS, Inc.; Daily Reflections, pg. 125

F

...And Chewing...

1. I'm not necessarily offended by Troll's comment. I'm actually not sure how I feel about it and honestly am not sure I even know what it means. I just decided to represent some of my thoughts as I remember having them...unedited...rather than painstakingly analyzing what I thought he meant and what I thought about what I thought he meant.
2. Spider, I absolutely agree with your point regarding continuous, abusive self-examination.
3. Please understand I'm not offended by your comment, Spider, but I'm not really asking anyone to read this blog. The only person I expect to listen to the same story over and over and over and over ad nauseum is Dr. M, my shrink. And I pay him $4.44 per minute to act like he likes it. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that people read it. But, for instance, I now consider you an online friend even if you never read my blog again. My point is that I often blog so that I don't have to ask my friends to listen to the same repackaged garbage over and over and over again. I could simply keep a journal...but my ego and the fact that some folks continue to read and respond, tempered by my knowledge that no one is forced to read the blog, keep me from just journaling offline.
4. I do not feel attacked by Troll. I am not trying to flame Troll or start an online drama with him. I appreciate his comment.
5. My reaction to Troll's comment indicates to me there is a lesson in there for me.

Thanks.

F

Chewing

Troll's comment on my last post:

Flip:

I have noticed something recently that bothers me. I am finding your blog harder to read. When this happened somewhere else, I leapt to the probable conclusion that there was some inner conflict that was coming out in conflicted prose, but this is definitely my problem.

Maybe it's just that I've stopped chasing my tail and cut it off, so I no longer have any compassion for the circling obsessions of others, but I don't THINK that's it.

I am going to have to chew on this one.

In the meantime, hang in there.
And keep on plugging along

yr
T

Comments on my blog are emailed to me. Being a self-obsessed blogger (that's redundant, right?) I often check my email from my web phone when away from my laptop for more than a few seconds. That is how I first read Troll's comment, and my reason for stating this is that I had to read it in little chunks as I scrolled then selected "more" and waited for the screen to refresh.

First two sentences...read, scroll, read, scroll. Pause to refresh.

**Hmmm, I've often wondered if some people have problems with the black background. But it just seems so right - little bits of white and various color painted against the blackness. But it seems that many of my readers - wow, my readers - sounds like a veritable army - all six of them - are getting to that "challenging eyesight age" just like me. I'd hate for Troll to have to quit reading because of eye strain. My readership would plummet by 15% at least. But maybe I should go ahead and take the beta plunge. Hmmm, will have to look into that - maybe there is a dark, dreary background available with more readable print. But then there's the "beta comment" issue. I never really understood what that was about but if it's still a problem it would be one more thing to try to figure out.**

Refresh.

**Inner conflict. Inner conflict? Me? conflicted prose? Wait, is this a criticism of the writing? This isn't about blogger and fonts and backgrounds and colors at all. This is about me. But he says it's his problem. Yeah, it's not about my problem, it's about his problem. But then why is he saying this here? Oh yeah, because this is an open forum. The posts are about me. The comments are about them but they're kind of about me which makes them worth emailing to myself. But wait, this is Troll. He's pretty deep. Does he really mean this is about me, or is he just being Troll...like sort of obtuse. Is that the right word? Is that one of those words I'm sure I keep using incorrectly because it sounds right? Like "pilfer." Where my mother always uses it to mean shuffling through stuff like a stack of paper but it really means steal? Man, that was embarassing to find out. I always thought she was the perfect English user. Shit, I'm turning into her. When I'm not turning into my dad. Could it really be partly his fault that I'm queer? I mean talk about the definition of the weak father. Ooh, I'm not really having sex with guys and thinking it has something to do with him am I? But what about that dream that time. Oh God! Well, better incestuous than a pedophile. See, there's always someone who's worse than you are. But that's not right. God loves everyone. But how can God love someone who abuses helpless children and wrecks their whole lives? Could that be my problem? What did happen that one night I had to spend in the hotel room with my grandparents on my father's side? I remember being terrified of my grandfather. He had that "arthritis" thing that delivered an electric shock. I do vividly remember being terrified of that. And I remember seeing his penis, or at least some part of his genitals through that gap in his pajama bottom. Oh for God's sake, next I'll be having some sort of sexual abuse memory. Like it makes any difference whatsoever. I'm queer. It doesn't matter why. Abuse. Weak father. dominating mother. Not enough / too many testosterone hormone baths in the womb. What matters is what I do about it. Which is basically nothing except spin, spin, spin. Oh, the email.**

Refresh.

**Stopped chasing my tail? Cut it off? Compassion? Circling obsessions? He doesn't THINK so? What the fuck? Now I'm pissed. Well, not really. I mean it sounds a little...well a lot...condescending. Like he finally took the plunge. Walked across the coals. While I'm still huddled over here quaking in my boots. But what about Nate and Jas? They're over here. I dunno, Nate is standing by the coals....he's looking at them. Wow, maybe the only answer is to off myself. I mean, Jas always keeps that option open. But wait a minute, I thought you decided that would be the most selfish thing you could do. That's what you say to others. And c'mon, you couldn't even bring yourself to do it when you had decided it was a real option. Yes the water looked really cold. It was. That's the point, assclown. What a pathetic loser. Wait, what about the truce. Hmmm, that's not working so well anyway. I think it may just be another excuse for hooking up. Oh yeah, Troll. What is he saying? Why did he say this? Is it something I should care about? No. This is my blog. I blog for myself. Oh for God's sake, is that why you check your stat counter? C'mon, get real. Well, I really blog in case there is another suffering alcoholic out there. How could he say I'm chasing my tail? Oh yeah, I am. Obsessive writing about the same topic, over and over and over and over. As if an answer will materialize from the writing. Doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result. Insanity. Only a power greater than myself could restore us to sanity. Hmmm, power greater than myself. Skipped that meeting today. Busy trying to hook up with that guy. Working with others...like working on helping them explore their gay side behind their wives's backs. I don't think that's what it means.

So maybe I should quit blogging until I have something new to say? No, I can't do that because my friends will just comment that they don't want me to leave and it will seem like yet another desperate invitation to make me feel worthwhile as a blogger. I have to try to be a little more subtle than that. And maybe Troll should just quit reading if he is finding it difficult to read. Maybe once you walk over the coals you just check back every once in a while to see how the little group of fraidy cats is doing on the other side. To remind yourself how miserable you were while you tried to convince yourself things could be different.

Is it really futile? Or do I just feel that way because I haven't eaten enough today and because I thought we were going to land that account but the guy explained very patiently why we came so close, but lost anyway. I don't really give a shit about that. I hate my job. Or do I? Why does it matter so much to me then? Why is that feeling back in the pit of my stomach. Who kicked me? Oh yeah, nobody. Nobody.**

Flip

Answers Shrouded Are Answers Still

Day four of the uneasy but welcome truce in the war zone between my ears.

As the acrid, suffocating smoke of self-pity begins to clear, a form becomes barely discernible.

Is it an answer or just another trick of the mind? Yes. Is there a difference? I don't know. Does it matter which as long as progress is made. Probably not.

One night. Four people. Fred, Chris, Flip. And Johnny. Johnny...a 21st century leper. A man. Loved by God as surely as all lepers. How does a leper feel the love of God? Is it easy or difficult. Does it matter? Probably not.

Perhaps the answer is not "substitute this for that" but rather "concentrate on this with passion and faith and the overwhelming obsession with that will diminish."

An answer heard over and over. Heard and dismissed. Repeated. Repeated. Repeated. Listened to. Pondered. Dismissed in the haze of denial. With the crippling self-impression of terminal uniqueness. Listened to. Pondered.Forgotten.

Repeated. Demonstrated. Repeated. Demonstrated. Demonstrated. Repeated. DEMONSTRATED. Feelings side by side. A comparison simple enough for a child to understand. Do this. Feel. Do this again. Feel. Do that. Feel? Feel the difference? Does it matter?

Yes, it's all that matters.

Is that not how a loving parent teaches a child? Knowledge appears not as a lightning bolt but the barely discernible form of something unrecognized yet familiar, coming slowly into focus?

Peace.

Flip