2008-07-27

Not HAVE to....GET to.

This morning I was brushing my teeth, getting ready to go to my meeting, and was feeling...not quite HOSTILE about it necessarily...just sort of weary. Like, why can't I just sleep in on Sunday instead of having to get up and go to this frigging meeting? Why do I have to do this? Why did I get dealt this particular hand -- why did I have to be the alcoholic?

I generally don't dwell on this much. I've heard all about the possible genetic component, about dopamine receptors and gene polymorphism and the fact that whatever it is, it runs in my family, and - yeah - I'm the one that "got it." Frankly, it doesn't much matter, or at least it doesn't matter most of the time. But sometimes, like this morning, it creeps up on me.

But I've done enough work on myself that I can pretty much rewire that thinking fairly quickly. And as insane as it sounds, what works for me is to turn the thought around: I GET to, rather than I HAVE to. I get to go to a meeting. I get to figure my shit out. After years of drunkenly roaming the self-help sections of bookstores, trying to find out what my fucking problem was, I now know EXACTLY what the fucking problem is, and it's fairly easily addressed, all things considered.

So I went out the door, gritting my teeth and muttering, "I GET to do this," hoping that I'd eventually internalize it enough to maybe believe it a little bit and stop being such an intolerably whiny crankypants.

And the topic this morning was "acceptance," and I remembered the line about how we used to think the worst thing that could happen to us would be to become alcoholics (or, rather, have to ADMIT to being alcoholics), when it really kind of is the best thing that could happen.

Because I'll tell you what happened today. My friend Daniel got his 4-year medallion. Daniel, who four years ago came in after 30 years on heroin, weighing maybe a buck-twenty sopping wet and having not too many of his teeth left. Daniel, who now paints and writes and works 40 hours a week and bought himself a washer and dryer not too long ago.

And then I went out to breakfast with Natalie. Natalie, who a year ago was not only dealing with alcohol issues, but was also in the grip of an eating disorder. A group of us stuck with Natalie one afternoon last summer, getting her through the day before she could check into the hospital before transferring to a treatment center, making sure she didn't take off and do something stupid. I remember that day vividly, because I was so grateful to be able to get out of my own head (because this was at a not-great time for me, personally and otherwise) and just deal with the situation at hand: get Natalie to the hospital. She was so miserable, and so, so thin.

She's radiant now. Gorgeous. Funny as fuck, too. And better still -- we have discovered a shared passion for perfume, and spent hours in Sephora and C.O. Bigelow, sniffing little paper strips and being quite obnoxious. My God, how did I get so lucky? She'll happily talk basenotes and drydown with me, and won't go sit on a bench outside and wait because she's gotten bored. And I've NEVER asked for a sample of something at Sephora, even though I know I can, because I'm just too shy and don't want to be perceived as a bother. Natalie has no such issues, and because of this, I can take Bvlgari au The Rouge for a test drive. I was given just enough to get me through the week, although I can pretty much say with 100% certainty that this is what I've been looking for all these many months, since I stopped using the-fragrance-which-shall-not-be-named, because it's just too embarrassing, and also because it evoked some not-nice memories. With the Bvlgari, though, I honestly cannot stop smelling my wrists. It is THAT good.

And these are the things that fall into my hands, when I stop walking around with clenched fists. This is what I GET to have.

lisamcc at 3:57 p.m.

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