Category: Sobriety

I’m an recovering alcoholic, at this writing five and a half years sober. I write about my own sobriety as well as the general topic of addiction.

linger :: slow and sober (a poem)

The main expression of my spirituality has been this little church that I go to, and my sobriety.  The path of recovery and—I’m a terrible Christian and meditating is very hard for me, and I do it.  I do it badly, like I do a lot of things.  I believe in doing things badly.  I believe in listening to the—what calls you from your heart and your spirit and if you do it badly, like learning to dance, you do it badly or you’re going to kick yourself when you grow old and you meant to do it.  — Anne Lamott.

Listening to my heart, even if done badly

is better than never having done it.  My heart is glad

to be sober.  When I consider how many mornings I woke

with a hangover present

and the headaches. Dread and regret were loudly

pounding on my soul.  God woke me up, as he has done so many times.

Asked me

what was most important.  My hunger.

The black hole of fear and isolation?

I knew I wanted something.  But not this.  Broken-hearts are so unimpressed

with being sober.  But finally

it was, in the end, better to let go.  To know

that I was awake.  Loved.

And I remain with him.  My need.  I give it all.

I look for beauty now and find it.  Some day I will stop

searching.  For now I am just with him.  And it is enough.

to linger.

A World of Possibilities (my poem edited from “When Life Was a Bad Dream”)

When I was a little girl I loved heart shaped ice cream bars, storybooks,

and running barefoot all summer long.

I remember back scratches and hugs after bad dreams.

When I was a little girl, swinging, playing happily I had no thought for the future.

I believed my parents loved me and each other; they would never hurt anyone.

I believed the world was good and safe; I couldn’t conceive of sorrow or regret.

I didn’t know that some day I would need to forgive.

I began to understand that some Daddy’s rage and are never satisfied;

that Mommy’s can be sad and afraid, and that children are a problem.

I learned that the world was scary.

I began to wonder if this would be the fight that ended everything,

their secrets exploding the world I knew.

If this time she would sink down so far she might not come back; like Alice in Wonderland

shrinking to a place I couldn’t find.

When I was older I discovered I could find that place myself.  Sometimes I would hide

in bed with a book all daylong.  And later, much later, when I got so used to hiding

from my pain, I would hide in alcohol, or work, or shopping.

I would disappear into a crowd of friends and a glass of wine.

Whatever I could find to make the sadness stop.

It was safe to be invisible, silent, and placid.  I began to hide, just like Mom.

After years and years of hiding, I was finally coaxed out into daylight by love.

I began to write, to create beauty, to grow things.

This was how I would learn to forgive.

I began to consider that I was the one Jesus loved;

the Jesus I never knew.  You see, when someone cruel tells you about Jesus,

you can’t believe that God would really love you.

And if Jesus did, why did he allow years of lost days and nights?

Sorrow.  Melancholy.  Lament.

That mystery, I have considered for years.  And years.

Why was my father so angry?  Why was my life so difficult?

Here’s the thing. It happened.

What I have learned is that who I have become is important.

And so I sit in the early morning darkness,

In the quiet of this beautiful new life, remembering.

It happened, the past.  It hurts to remember.

When life is most terrifying, when your grief overwhelms,

when your possibilities are gone, what you choose matters.

Somehow, I found love.  Or love found me.  Either way it’s good!

And bad things will happen.  I can’t stop them.

We make a world of possibilities for our children and ourselves.

In choosing hope,

choosing the life that Jesus offers,

choosing to forgive,

I will live.

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Choose joy. Do you really think so?

Henry Nouwen said:

Joy is what makes life worth living, but for many joy seems hard to find.

They complain that their lives are sorrowful and depressing. What then brings the joy we so much desire? Are some people just lucky, while others have run out of luck?

Strange as it may sound, we can choose joy. Two people can be part of the same event, but one may choose to live it quite differently than the other. One may choose to trust that what happened, painful as it may be, holds a promise. The other may choose despair and be destroyed by it.

What makes us human is precisely this freedom of choice.

I DISAGREE. I COULD NOT DISAGREE MORE. How dare he? I did not choose to have major depression, it seems to have chosen me. But I know I have to choose to fight it like it is an enemy that wants me dead. Yes, I have something inside me that surfaces from time to time. I feel powerless against it but I have learned that I am not without choices.

I did not choose to be an addict – though in recovery – I have to accept the fact that I can’t drink. Not ever again. The very fact that it still bothers me and I feel sad about the loss, well that reminds me that I’m an addict if I had any doubt. There was a time when I thought I couldn’t live without alcohol. Now I know that I can. I choose to be a recovering alcoholic.

But I have not found joy. I am not choosing joy. I am choosing life. I am happy. I feel a certain level of contentment. But I am restless. I do not feel joy. At least not yet. Perhaps I am failing to CHOOSE IT.

Choose joy – okay – I suppose on a certain level I have to agree just like … I choose LIFE. I choose not to smoke which is slow suicide. I choose not to drink which was a death sentence. I choose to get up, even when I want to sleep forever. I still have those mornings. And I choose to create, and love and … I choose to think that what I do matters even when the ‘voices in my head’ tell me it is all worthless. And it wouldn’t matter if I stopped. Stopped thinking. Stopped writing. Stopped shooting. Stopped.

Some days it is still just choosing to breathe.

That little girl above – a chubby toddler gazing out of that airplane door — innocent, curious, tentative, that’s me too. She had no idea how hard it would be to choose.

Some other things I have written on the topics above.
Eulogy to Life,
Winter Comes,
Splintered Truth,
This Epic Grief,
No Dignity,
I Need a Filling,
Addict.

Eulogy to Life

 


eulogy to life

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Eulogy to Life

There was a time, when to wake with a pounding head
meant total indiscretion the night before.
On this day, the one year anniversary of my choosing relief and power,
the day I rejected my empty Thirst, I celebrate my life.

There is shame in being a drunk; total confusion and self-contempt.
I do not remember to glorify it, for it was pure wretchedness, and I still
sometimes feel disbelief that this is my story.
But I cannot, dare not, blot out the memories.
It happened.
There is guilt, humiliation, self-disgust, but I dare not forget.

I choose sobriety.
I choose to be aware of my cravings and needs.
I am an alcoholic who chooses — every day — her Life.
What is suicide — picking up the glass knowing it is death, for me.
What is life?
Awareness.
Humility.
Service.
Love.

Life is facing down my demons. Knowing the dark times will come.
Life is wanting something more.
Power comes in the choosing.
Choosing love, choosing life.
Even as I remember, I choose this day to live.
I choose my life.

July 17, 2009
Melody Harrison Hanson

Winter Comes

WINTER COMES

Winter is uninvited, yet it always comes.

No matter how long  I postpone trying on last year’s coats, hats and gloves,

even still winter comes.  If I leave the hose out until it’s frozen stiff, snaking through the yard,

still winter comes.  The pots and the plants they crack and curl from the cold.  Winter, comes.

Winter comes in the cold,

dark mornings heralding sad thoughts and memories.

I lost my father to the winter.  I discovered, accepted and revealed a family’s ancient addiction.

I miscarried.  I fell down.  I fell apart.  Always winter comes.

Winter means waking early with darkness bringing in the day.

Though I try to overcome, the anxious thoughts settle in.

Remember the cold. Remember, remember.  I am always falling, in winter.

Good things are lost, so do not hold too tight

to what you desire most.  You will lose them to winter.

Love hurts more in winter, dries up and becomes need.

Love becomes memory. I am falling.  In winter.

And at the moment when the winter once again threatens to overcome, I end my slumber.

On that icy morning I wake early. Snuggle in.

Sipping coffee, by the fire.   And I think of Spring.

13, October, 2009

Anxiety is love’s greatest killer.


“


Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Anxiety is love’s greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

— Anais Nin

regrets

I have many regrets in my life, strongest of which is I am sorry that I became a mother. I may not wreck my children’s lives (or I may, the verdict is out) but they deserve a stronger person, a better example, different genes than mine, a greater chance for happiness & joy.

I’m sorry that I didn’t reach out to my sister’s kids when they were small.  Oh, I have excuses: working full-time, newly married, new step-mom, three little ones in four years. But I didn’t and I can never fix that.  I should have and to Michal and Josh, I owe an apology.

I’m sorry that I gave in to addiction. So it’s a disease and all, but don’t some people manage it better? I wanted to escape. I became a drunk.  To my children and my husband, most of all, I am so sorry.

I’m sorry that I never confronted my father while he was living about his abusive anger, control, retaliation, and cruelty. I was too afraid. I lived every moment in the thralls of that fear, but there were a few times when I almost had the courage. I didn’t.  He is dead and to my sisters, I am so sorry.  We all deserved better.  To mom, who took it on the cheek emotionally speaking, you’re still here and that’s saying something.

I’m sorry for all the sarcasm that I threw at people over the years. It’s wicked and wrong. I am glad to have mostly overcome this.  To my sisters, certain friends I will not name, Tom and even at times my children.  Especially Molly.

I have specific regrets,Molly, for not being the step-mom you deserved.  I was jealous, weak, and petty about your mom and for that I am ashamed.

I regret never trying anything when I was young. I was living in a straight-jacket of fear and need to please my parents. If I do anything now people smirk. I should know better. That’s just it. I don’t know better.

I really should never have tried to love, because I’m fairly incapable of it. Having never received unconditional love growing up, there’s a canyon of need and grief, and no matter how much I try to love others, I’m bereft of the skills I am certain one needs to truly love back. My best attempt is with Tom and 2nd with my children, and I’m sorely lacking. I know the actions but inside I am frozen-hearted.

I try to love others. But I am just hanging on. If I let go, to reach out to others, won’t I fall?

eulogy to life


There was a time, when to wake with a pounding head

meant total indiscretion the night before.

On this day, the one year anniversary

of my choosing relief and power,

the day I rejected my empty Thirst

I can celebrate my life.

There is shame in being a drunk;

total confusion and self-contempt.

I do not remember to glorify it,

for it was pure wretchedness, and I still

sometimes feel disbelief that this is my story.

But I cannot, dare not, blot out the memories.

It happened.

There is  guilt, humiliation, self-disgust,

but I dare not forget.

I choose sobriety.

I choose to be aware of my cravings and needs.

I am an alcoholic who chooses  — every day — her Life.

What is suicide — picking up the glass knowing it is death, for me.


What is Life?

Awareness.

Humility.

Service.

Love.

Life is facing down my demons,

knowing the dark times will come.

Life, is wanting something more.

Power comes in the choosing.

Choosing more Love, choosing Life.

Even as I remember,

I choose this day to Live.

I choose my Life.

July 17, 2009

I need a filling (a poem)


…Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

It’s difficult to face

some days.

Yesterday was like that

simply

because I was face-to-face

with my [faithless and revolting] need

for Substance.

And I vowed,

again, as I do many days

to offer my need to God, the ultimate Other,

asking for a filling.

I need a filling dear Lord, I need a filling.

written 4/13/2009

by Melody Harrison Hanson

Addict

Being an addict catches me by surprise.  Today,

seemingly innocent things — a drink, a smoke, a purchase, food, even exercise can become

urgent

need.

In the time that it takes to feel a flash of happiness, sadness or regret;

less than 60 seconds of my life

and I remember,

I am an addict.  How could I have forgotten?

Today I must ask what brought this on?

For tomorrow I must fill the need

with OTHER.

As for yesterday, I can only look back and remember

I am an addict, but I am stronger than my need.

And as for this moment — I know I am an addict;

I am. I was. I always will be, always will be

an addict.

ADDICT written april 9, 2009 by melody harrison hanson

Those that have no background in addiction look at the word ADDICT and the word alcoholic as kind of wicked and weak.  Face it, our culture doesn’t understand.  But if you’ve been there, if you live there, if you love someone who does or has you know exactly what I mean.  And I thank you for understanding.

Compulsivity and Change

Between stimulus and response, there is a space.

In that space lies our freedom and power to choose our response.

In our response lies our growth and our freedom.*

STIMULUS —————> Freedom to Choose –————> OUR RESPONSE

For years it has been a compulsive habit to chew my nails.  Frankly it’s a disgusting habit, and it is an instant signal to me (and to others unfortunately) that I’m feeling insecure.  When I was in high school I noticed that my very accomplished and well-educated teacher had disgusting, chewed to the quick, nails.  And I realized in that moment, which felt extremely profound to me as an 11th grader, that my teacher was  insecure.  And if you combined the fact that she over-weight, in my mind, she was extremely insecure.

My take away, I was not the only one! I know it seems strange, but at that point in my life, I was self-aware enough to see that I was insecure I didn’t realize that other people were too.  But in that amazing moment in my class I accepted that other people were insecure too.  I will never forget it.

What makes us so afraid of change? It takes three weeks to make a habit, supposedly.  So are we basically lazy, or don’t believe in ourselves enough to change, do we think we somehow deserve what we have, or are we afraid of change?  I’ve been thinking a lot about this as I work on internal and external issues.  Internally, I am working on liking myself and acknowledging good and positive things about myself.  Externally I am working on liking myself and fixing the things I don’t like.  Actually, I’m working on change in both places.

But it’s seriously more familiar to stick my head in the sand, as they say, and just ignore the scale, my energy level, my moods, my low esteem for myself, and the good people in my life that love me and accept me.  Even as I write I can see how screwy it is.  But, it is….what it is.

But I’m working toward looking for the indicators in my life that say other truths.  Although I have some friends who have said that I’m too difficult, manipulative, unpredictable, mean-spirited ….  I have others who have said my story, my experiences, my processing my pain, helps them.  Do I focus on the one that feels like rejection or on the positive?

Well, you know what I do choose, habitually and compulsively. The NEGATIVE!

Listening to those positive people, it doesn’t mean that the others were wrong.  Alcoholics are manipulative.  I am broken. Many times extremely dysfunctional.  I am needy.   I a’m impulsive.  I am unfaithful.  I’m … see how easy it is to make that list? (Deep breath.)  But not always.  Not completely.  And I’m working to change. I cannot change the past, and even some relationships I can’t fix.  As much as that hurts, I can’t stay there.  And I trust that some day, something redemptive will happen there.

But for now, it’s on to mastering my life!

So, about the life change:  I’ve been dieting and exercising for two weeks, Sunday, and had gotten pretty discouraged because I wasn’t losing weight more quickly.  I started at 168.5 and yesterday, at noon the scale still said 165, which makes me fucking furious. (Please excuse my cursing.  It’s a inelegant habit.  Perhaps one of these days I’ll work on it too, but until then …)

Today I was finally at 163!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I’ve changed two things.

1) I weighed myself first thing in the morning, before I got ready for the day, before eating, drinking my coffee, and exercising, and it was lower. Wahoo!

2)  I actually think I may have been eating too few calories, so as Tom has told me a million times, my body thinks I’m starving it and goes into hoarding calories.  It is impossible to lose weight in those circumstances. And although the fact is weird, I just lose my appetite when I’m not eating.  And I’m just compulsive enough to not slam a bunch of carbohydrates if I happen to feel hungry, like I normally would.  A chocolate croissant or even a Big Mac for lunch, yes that is me.   (Did you know a Big Mac is 600 calories or something?  That’s like half the day’s calories if you’re watching it.) So instead I’d have a couple pieces of string cheese or a hand full of almonds or a protein bar, none of which is more than 200 calories and not enough for a meal.

Anyway, lessons for life.  Making positive change in your life is firstly about believing in yourself.  Deciding, just for today, I’m going to do something different.  Not glancing back at yesterday, for it is likely to have some failures.  And NOT looking at it like it is for the rest of your life.  It’s today.   What am I eating that is in the positive column, if you will: fruit, veggies, protein, even carbs if they are grains that are good for you.  Did I exercise in any manner.  Why not a 15 minute walk?  or, something else.

If I’ve learned anything about this alcohol addiction it is live for today.  Today is the one I can do something about, not yesterday, and not tomorrow.   Just this minute.   Make it count.

* The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Familes, Stephen R. Covey

It’s Lonely Here on the Wagon

So I quit drinking a while ago.
It was the right decision, for me.
I am addicted. I am
an alcoholic.
I never expected it to be easy; or for life to remain static.
As I see it, I am more present; I am more awake
than I have been in years.
Don’t get me wrong
I — have — hard — days;
Days when stress makes my brain, heart, and thirst buds scream.
I have days when I want to make it all go away!
This is sometimes why
I drank in the first place.
But the more difficult thing, surprisingly,
has been — from — time –  to –  time
I am lonely. And I face,
my old friends are gone
because I drank too much.
And my new friends are gone
because I don’t.
I wasn’t a happy drunk
nor was I particularly sad.
I was sometimes quiet.
I know people who got really loud,
and others overtly friendly, even one
who used to cry.
But now I see drinking, apparently,
didn’t make me ‘fun’ (enough.)
Those people that I gathered with, who seemed
to accept me as one of them;
It must have been that I just didn’t get
in the way.
I was accepted,
because I was a hard drinker, amongst
h a r d  d r i n k e r s.  And now,
I am s o b e r and I feel alone.

Nothing rings louder than a s i l e n t phone;
an empty email box or when one remembers an annual party, uninvited.
We could throw the party, I could make the call, but I’ve tried over time,
and now I’m thinking, they wouldn’t come.

Today it’s an aching heart I deal with;
A feeling which once, ironically,
I would have drowned out with a friendly glass

(or two, or five) of Merlot; anything to forget
this
f e e l i n g.
I have to face it, I am alone in my choices. Alone,
with my memories,
of people I thought were friends.
I am a lot more interesting sober; but I guess not
more fun.

My drinking friendships seemed to have disappeared.
Though I would never have said they were
d r i n k i n g friends.
I thought they were …
Well,
to be honest I thought they were
just f r i e n d s.
You know that phrase that is said when an alcoholic starts drinking again?
She’s “fallen off the wagon.”
Well, all I can say is it’s awfully lonely,
here

on the wagon.

Melody Harrison Hanson
October 31, 2008

This is incomplete as a poem, but full of real issues and emotions.

I’m 42 Today and Considering My Life

At 42, I am ...

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

I am 42 today and considering my life.   I was born in the highlands of Papua New Guinea on this day in 1966. I am the 2nd daughter of missionary parents. I spent the first eight years of my life there in PNG. It was a wonderful beginning. The middle was kind of rough, but it is improving every day!  Perhaps it is kind of silly to ask “Who am I?” at my age, but today this is what I did.

— Melody

I AM

  • I am a step-mother and a mother, hopelessly lost some days because I wasn’t parented that well. I have no Compass.
  • I soak up ideas and solutions from others, mostly my friends, my sisters, because I am afraid I will “mess up” my children. (Yes, the way I was messed up.)
  • I am fearful and insecure; in my core believing that I am a screw-up, a loser, a horrible friend, and an even worse mother. The voices in my head say I am the worst in-law, daughter, sister or friend anyone could want (except I don’t nag or bother, rather the other end of the spectrum. I simply act like others aren’t there.)
  • I am an alcoholic and a child of an alcoholic and this affects every single thought and decision that I make.
  • I am a writer, a thinker, a philosopher.
  • I make things like photographs, and gardens, and poems, and that makes me happy.  I love to share these things with others.
  • I am spiritual, preferring old thoughts and music to anything contemporary or new.  I am not religious, or even very faithful. But I do believe in Jesus. And I try very hard! Perhaps that is my problem …. I try. I don’t understand Grace, not really.  So on those days when my unbelief overwhelms, I entertain thoughts that can be desperate and decidedly unfaithful.
  • I do not let go …. I want and I need to be in control at all times, about everything, in every way. When I am not, I feel I have failed.  Losing control personally, emotionally, mentally is one of my worst crimes.  Don’t get me wrong, I know I am not all bad.
  • I am thoughtful. I am usually open and honest with others, when asked.
  • I take risks and try new things.
  • I love competition! Sports (watching), playing certain games, setting personal goals. But I’m afraid I get too into it, and at times it’s not so pretty.
  • A long time ago, when I worked full-time, I was a visionary, a pioneer, a competent person, a leader. I was loyal and capable. I accomplished a lot.  Surely, I am still those things.
  • I embrace and actually love cultures other than my own, soaking up the ideas, art, food, and music through books, travel and most of all friendship with those who are unlike me.
  • I usually help others as I see their needs.
  • I cook well, even better than well. I am a great cook.  My family & friends are well fed.
  • I organize & prioritize my children’s lives well, putting their needs first,  advocating and challenging others about my children’s needs.
  • I encourage others.  (At least when I am not selfishly thinking about myself.)
  • I want some day to know myself well enough that I can speak out, act, embrace, find and give all that live has to offer!  I want some day to be able to laugh, and cry, and feel the spectrum of emotions found on that damn feeling wheel!

What might you not know about me?

I’m addicted to coffee. Seriously it’s a physical and psychological thing and if I don’t have it, I might just come unhinged.  Of course being an alcoholic, I don’t drink.  But I do smoke and I know it’s a slow form of suicide. I don’t do it lightly (almost every cigarette comes with lucid acknowledgment of the consequence.) but I definitely cannot quit at this time.  I love to exercise and eat well, but I don’t (usually.)  I play music every day; all kinds and it is life-giving.  I am diagnosed with major depressive disorder, which means in layman’s terms:  I have a propensity for melancholia and if I don’t manage it, it will come back. At its worst this type of depression is like drowning in your worst nightmare, a stinking, dark hellish place to reside. Where truth becomes lies, and lies truth. You are incapable of doing, feeling, thinking, reading, sometimes even breathing.  Thankfully I’ve been depression-free for almost two years.  [I may regret saying this, but you have an open invitation to ask me if I am exercising & eating,because these are the first disciplines to go. Also, if you haven’t seen me in a while, it can be a bad sign because I begin to isolate.]

Depression, alcoholism, insecurity, damage, they are not my complete story, my story is just starting.

I believe God brought into my life the perfect person for me; he loves me by asking hard questions, telling me the truth about myself which usually means “good stuff” but sometimes even hard truths. He encourages my passions and interests, supports them as well, which is no small thing in this financial climate.  He is a warrior on my behalf and I love him more than I have shown him or will ever be capable of showing.

People have described me as aloof and private, which I am but mostly because I am shy and those demons of insecurity are playing out in my head more often than I would like to admit.

I am creative, intuitive, capable, kind, thoughtful, deep, at times extremely selfish & critical of others, but mostly about my ideas and my time.

My critical spirit, my insecurities, can and do hurt those I love and it is one of my deepest regrets; an Achilles heal.

I am passionate and always reading & thinking about things that are important to me, but I often fail at finishing and carrying them out. Books lay around unread, photographs unprinted, my book of poetry sits unfinished, and commitments become a burden, as I selfishly move on to something new.

I need community, long for it, work to develop it, but most times I fall short through my own weaknesses and broken heart.  You can be confident that I want to know you, be in your life, especially if I have told you, but my stupid S**T keeps me entangled at times.

All in all, I would say I am a good person.

As I learn what it means to be a child of an alcoholic I can acknowledge that I am still growing up, even at 42; still learning and discovering who I am and how I want to live.  I am slowing waking up – from a life-draining, sad, lonely, scared and cold childhood.  All in all, I am blessed beyond belief – with great love, friendship, abundance, talents and so much more.  I acknowledge that, even while I ache with the painful knowledge that I cannot fully embrace my life – yet – due to all of the above.  The most important thing people may not know about me is that HOPE is the central thing of importance in my life.  If I have even a tiny inkling of hope – a belief, a dream or something to hope for, I can put all of this aside. (Okay, not totally of course.)

Although this list isn’t complete, (how could a perfectionist “complete” a list) it is all true, as I know myself, today on my forty-second birthday, 2008.  Thanks for being a friend, getting involved in my messy life. Keep hanging in there, because I believe it’s on an upward curve and I am hopeful about the future.  It is simply a record of my thoughts, and perhaps will give you a glimpse at the ME I let very few in to see. You do not, should not, feel an obligation to reply.

September 24, 2008

Melody Hanson