Good Rules, Good Stuff

My daughter shared this image on FB. I found it to be very very close to the tenets I hope to follow in my recovery journey. Well, except for the "Type YES if you agree" shit, which I cut out of the image because I find that kinda crapola idiotic.
Hmmmm, not very spiritual, eh?

Keep The Faith*


This Is My Recovery

Doesn't look pretty, but after I looked at this and realized what it represented...,

This was the lock box we bought to contain the key to my Home Group's facility. Unfortunately snow, freezing temps and ICE sealed the thing better than epoxy glue mixed with cement.

I had brought along a pair of pliers last week to try to get the thing open, put it refused. Another member tried and failed. Then he did what I had felt like doing and pounded the fuck out of it until the box gave up its prize.

And the title of this entry? Well, as I sat looking at this mangled piece of plastic & metal, I started to think about how I needed to really buckle down and work my recovery. This lock box, in its busted state, told me how I need to go about getting my recovery path back on track.

I can't be subtle. I can't be cerebral, or philosophical, or even spiritual, kinda... If need be, I gotta pound the fuck out of my recovery to get to that prize inside. Some serenity, some peace, and with luck, just a wee bit o' sanity back into my life.

So, there you have it. A banged up key lock box representing what I might need to do for my recovery. Heck, it could even be a visual example of how I feel about my life today! Kinda beat up and knocked around, but inside there is that bit of Hope......

Keep The Faith*


No More ARGH

I just got back from my dad's place. The argh is done. My dad died sometime on Wednesday.

My sister couldn't get an answer on the phone all day Wednesday. She called me around 11:00 p.m. and I got on a bus out to his place. She also got hold of her son who lives in town and he got there before me.

The coroner said it could have been this or it coulda been that. He was 82 and it could just be that his heart went out.

I dunno. I have been staying at his house 4 days out of the week for the past 2 years. I'd been having a very hard time dealing with his dementia was becoming short with him. I need to now deal with that pang of guilt I have that... well, the "what if..." and "should have", could have", etc.

I know it wasn't my fault (yeah right, Robb) and this... well...
I just gotta deal with it all. All the crap I dealt with when my aunt died (dad's sister) 2+ years back. All the yadda yadda and blahblahblah.

Off to my home group tonight, thank the gods, because I am opening the facility. If it wasn't for that simple fact, I probably wouldn't go. Me and my isolationist ways. Sigh... Oh well, my life goes on. Deal with it. Work my way thru it. Carry on and start living my recovery again.

right, and...
Keep The Faith*



Yeah, like, argh.

It is 0330 hrs. I cannot go to sleep because my dimwit, idiotic brain wants to dwell on the bullshit I just went thru about 6 hours ago.

The same sorta crap I wrote about a little over 1 week ago. No, not the same, but my reaction drives me to insomnia because I can't do anything about anything. I can't say anything about anything because if I do I am told that I am twisting words.

I try to do this, I attempt to do that and it's BS. Then, I'm told that what I do is good, then it's people coming by and wtf is he doing on that tablet all the time... but he seems to not care that I am on that tablet all the time.

What Fucking People? Rarely does anyone visit, and if someone does drop by, I make sure to not tap away on ... well, yeah.

I have told him time and time and time again that no matter what I do or say and, it feels like, think, I am wrong and he is right. And time after time after time, I am told to "make allowances". All for him...

Lemme tell ya, HIM means my dad. He is caught in dementia. I have been staying with him for 4 days outa the week at his house for the past, what? 18 months? 2 years? I try my best to do what is right, what may help, what...

And I have forgotten about me. And I think that if I think about ME, then I am being self-fucking-centered because I am ignoring him. My dad. But... BUT, I am now, Right Fucking Now, just that much closer to saying fuck it and buying that whatever to just forget life in its entirety. Permanently. Find that damned bus or truck or (never tried) fucking crack pipe and say "Goodbye, you ignorant life." 

Ain't that amazing? After doing all that I did in the week following my meltdown, I am now feeling more angry, confused, helpless, unworthy, self-centered and just plain old useless than I have ever felt in my days (decades) of recovery. Worse than my daze with both my wives.

My sanity is shot. And do not give me that bullshit about calling someone because the first one I did call asked, "Don't you have, like 20 some years of clean time?" So, fuck you NA. Get enough time under your belt and they think you got it made, all figgered out.

I went to a meeting every day after my crazy storm out last Monday from my dad's house. Bought my smokes instead of that whatever. Went to a fucking meeting everyday until I went back to his place on Saturday. And here I be, because I couldn't say what was true, because MY words were twisting HIS words, because, again, I feel like no matter what... I am wrong and he is right.

I tried to think that maybe it'd be easier to think I am mistaken. Be nice, Robb. STFU, Robb. But, but, but... oh yeah, and But.

Right. Argh. And now, I am going to smoke another cigarette and wish I had some dimenhydrinate, Gravol to you uninformed, and just shut down. Tomorrow... no, today... is gonna be a fuck to get thru because of a lack of sleep. I have a mess of cleaning to do, I've got a 42" TV to set up because my dad didn't want the fucking thing, a 42" monitor to dispose of........... and now I'll shut up. Because NOW I REALLY want to get high, drunk, wasted... c'mon, gimme a fucking adjective to use instead of using. bye...

Keep The fucking Faith*