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“Anonymity is the Spiritual foundation of our program, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities.”

62822 “Anonymity is the Spiritual foundation of our program, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities.” There is a wee bit of a “self-sacrifice” ;) when you share your story in a meeting, with somebody personally, and especially with the world, I am here to tell ya. lol There are a few reasons why “we” stay anonymous... the 1 st ., is about “spirituality,” 2 nd ., “humility,” 3 rd ., the “heavy stigma” “we” still suffer from the “public.” Ignorance is not bliss. Folks can lose their jobs, repute, etc., etc., ad nauseum, with community, peers and even family members when we become “visible.” Many “rubber necks” are shocked by the lives “we” lived before “proper” treatment, and how easy it is for “us” to talk about, be cathartic, “air it out.” I have been very open about my recovery since I got into the program, “1990.” I am a staunch advocate for recovery, I mold my life around my recovery, and that which does not fit into that mold does not stay in my...
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Bloodlines and Bipolar Disorder

  6202022 Bipolar... “the truth will set you free, but not before breaking your heart, your bank account, a few bones, a few boundaries, a few good relationship, here and there, and your sense of “reality.” Courage is not being “fearless.” Courage is being scared “shitless,” savvy? “Pause....” taking that deep breath, holding it for just a second, then slowly letting it out, moving outward of the fear, with the breath... then move forward, one step at a time, ten-minutes longer, ten-times stronger... … “that” is “courage.” I've been wrestling with the “angels” every since I had this “manic” episode 4-5 years back, when I was so sick with chronic pancreatitis, in so much unbelievable pain, on so many different levels, dying daily. It pushed me over the edge, it was more than my brain could compute, my emotions could handle, and it landed me a diagnosis of “Bipolar-1” at the time, because it presented itself that way, and I concur, the “appropriate diagnosis” for if o...
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Reclamation

In other words:    I f You can Openly talk about Your trauma and recovery—your life story; among your own tribe,  petition to them your pain, commiserate the likeness of what hurts the most, then-now, embrace it together, come out laughing ten minutes later 'bout it... you just may be recovering from a hopeless state of mind and body. You are free for the moment. And this is true love and healing power.   For all that have ears to listen with, can listen with, will listen with... want to listen with—    —and are hungry, lonely and tired;  Hand them your heart, keep it rare, throw some oysters on the plate with it, a pearl awaits in all.  Portioned your heart for the hungriest of hearts, freely give, perhaps somebody may need it. Keep it in your sacred circle, void of abject unreality, self-demoralization, self-condemnation. Were all made of dirt.   — without taking the lead-role in the ongoing saga of "Drama and Trauma" sin...
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GOD AND BITERNESS

God take this bitterness— —take the resentments too I've been poisoned I pray for you— —that you receive all you deserve I know not what that is I am just mortal man— —grateful that I am and you too A child of God— —like me grace and mercy How easy it is to love— —the lovable the perfect one How easy it is to hate— —the unlovable the flawed one Who's eyes are these— —that I look through that I pierce I am tired and weak— —my soul is jaded from what I say Out of my mouth— —my heart speaks vile Out of my mind— —my soul speaks denial Vocal fast— —vision fast clear imagination Locked up— —against the wall I stand to fall Who are you— —whence you come are we are not the same A thousand times over— —I forgave just this once No power— —have I liberty with no power Where is your light— —darkest light precarious flame Have you no truth— —to lie to steal You want— —you take the need Blame— —charge your agenda in the shadow There is still time— —to turn around aim now ...
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LAST CALL FOR ALCOHOL

Lest I forget. Somewhere... in between the "black-outs, the white-outs," we "inebriates" make our way out the exit-doors, usually head first, or by the seat of our pants... on a "good night." The 'last call for alcohol' at Kodiak Ron's sent shock-waves throughout my body... sirens wailed in my mind every time I heard it, that magical pump and dump, “I gotta get another half-rack of "sixteen-pounders" before the clock hits 2-am.,” I slam down what's left in the bottle, gear-up for another "after-hours party."    Slip'n my way through all the beautiful bouquet' of booze... wilting so pretty with the night, wilted, faded light, jaded... as I find my way out the door. It had gotten foggy and cold since I started drinking that early after-noon day. All bet's off after 12... that's the rule. The parking-lot was huge, I couldn't see beyond fifty feet of my face. I negotiated my way to...
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Soapbox

I've blazed through my life so fast— God, I hadn't a moment to take a sober breath, even recognize who I was really, what I was… and what I was becoming, inebriated. Everybody I knew, we're just like me, at least I thought so, fuck' alcoholic nut cases. When your in a world of shit—sometimes all you can see is a world of shit, sometimes all you know is a world of shit, and that your part of its stench. I was privileged to experience the ugliest of the ugliest in life early on, and I made up my mind about life then. Perhaps this is my station…being beneath the station.  I have positive genius for mixing with the most fucked up weirdos… in the most sorted places, a man could lower himself too, under the influence of John Barley Corn. For this drunk—the idea of  'sobriety ten minutes before it happened' was unthinkable. I couldn't imagine life without booze. Who the fuck would want to walk through this rotten ass world sober?  Who really does I thought? Its imp...
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SAVE A SEAT FOR THE KIDS

I was in a funk… think'n it was in '93; I was sitting in the furthest recesses of the hall, in my rickety chair, balancing on two legs, tripping-out on the smoke signals coming off my cig in the ashtray next to the candle, drifting up, like my thoughts... integrating into the collective alcoholic abyss of Twelve-Step folklore— —Stark raving sober, sit'n on my hands, knee bouncing-beating like a hummingbirds heart… think' 'oh God please don't let them call on me tonight… I'm too bent to talk, and I just can't cry tonight.' Candlelight meeting' at Wanda' were notoriously entertaining and unpredictable, I hold a high-degree in combat sobriety from that Hall alone. It was a hot summer night, I was mulling over the stupid shit I invented in my head at the time, to make life as complicated as possible... where I'm comfortable and yet, still reaching for solace. I like the candlelight meetings, things get very real in the middle of the night…can...
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