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Los Angeles, California
I am 47 and thriving in Southern California. One day at a time.
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Sunday, October 23, 2011

just grateful

sundays are very different in rehab.

there are no daily reflections at 7:30 am.

there is a target run at 11 am. you are allowed one hour to pick up various items you may need, crave or desire. i mistakenly thought there was a $50 limit with my credit card; i mean honestly, what can you buy for $50 these days? so i erroneously put back the truvia, and sharpies i wanted. and afterwards i was just sad. i sat with a, from new orleans, and j, the "tech", as we waited for b, and i mused, what kind of insane game show have i stumbled into?

the woman i asked the time for, she didn't know i was in rehab. the employee i asked where the notebooks were kept, he didn't know i was in rehab and the elderly cashier, with a slightly crooked wig, who nodded her head knowingly when i mumbled i had to keep it under $50, well, she didn't know i was in rehab either.

honestly, i barely know i am in rehab.

i have been to 4 aa meetings now. i have stood up 3 times and said, "i am henriette. an alcoholic, addict" and i still don't understand it.

i cannot connect the energetic, intelligent, independent actress/writer/makeup artist/decorator with the person who cannot stop gobbling pills once a bottle is in her hands; who now sits in folding chairs at aa meetings and finds comfort and understanding in people's stories.

a "tech" here suggested i write a goodbye letter to my drug of choice, which would probably be fiorinol. it was after a particularly soggy waterworks confessional on my part, and he said it would most likely come out as a love letter. i have already blogged about how she was my dysfunctional best friend, a frenemy, if you will. the kind of gal who would sleep with your boyfriend and wreck your jimmy choo's, but with whom you desperately wanted to hang. she was often there when kidney stresses overwhelmed or k and i disagreed, and i would conspiratorially think to myself, as i threw back 5 or 6 pills, "ha, ha, you don't know what i'm doing"...but she, in the end, was a traitor to the core, so of course k. always knew.

there was a man on saturday who spoke and for me it was deeply profound. he has been sober 16 years, and he said, "now when i have fun, everybody has fun"...and i thought of all the times i was having fun, and it was nothing close to fun for k. at all. closer to hell.

tonight at the aa meeting, a man was struggling with 8 months being sober, and he had been praying all week not to lock himself in a room and drink a bottle of tequila. my heart just broke for him. and then he said he prayed and he saw a window and then a door and then his truck and he drove over to a meeting.

recovery is clearly not for the faint of heart. but i'm not of the faint of heart,  just of faint kidneys. (sorry. it's late. and i have to turn in my computer.).

i have an enormous amount of work to do. i can't buy a shovel big enough. but i am taking it one day at a time, and tonight i am just grateful.

grateful for those of you who have written to me.
grateful to m. who visited me today with kind eyes and a loving heart.
always grateful to j.
grateful to my inconceivably generous and loving inlaws.
and grateful to my husband. who is still willing to listen. even though he has every right not to.
i love you, kevin.

the mailing address here is: 8543 Santa Monica Blvd. #11, West Hollywood., Ca., 90069

the 24 "tech"phone number is 310-740-4843

the other phone number is 310-657-4420

but let me know first, if you want to be added to the phone list. i have to add your name to a sheet.

[welcome to camp cuckoo.]

1 comment:

  1. That makes complete sense!It sounds like a great book. Thanks for sharing.