About Me

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Los Angeles, California
I am 47 and thriving in Southern California. One day at a time.
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Saturday, October 29, 2011


this morning my breakfast of champions was chocolate from toronto...

i sipped irish breakfast tea from boston...

and puttered in canary gold knit booties from tennessee...

[my mother used to call my hair "copper" and she would whisper, "special. you are special."]

i showered and blew dry my hair (on loan from contraband). my now long again, strawberry blond mop  blown straight and parted down the middle, makeup free, naked as a newborn; i smeared free the mirror of steamy diversion and gazed cleanly into the eyes, if you didn't look TOO closely, of a woman who could have been the girl of yesteryear. 20 years ago. 23 years ago. when a discharge nurse after tx. #1, mentioned i could get tylenol #1 with codeine over the counter if i still had pain. when those cunning, crafty tentacles of addiction stirred awake and affixed themselves to a gaping, welcoming sanctuary...

["we've been waiting! where have you been?"]

i. cant. breathe.

this morning my door flew open at 09:34 am. i was missing a group, and my favorite tech, s, with a righteous fashion sense, had come to see why. i was a blubbery, puffy mess, palpably sick, and she immediately ordered matzo ball soup with chicken for me. i sobbed.

"i. can't. stop. thinking. about. all. the. people. i've. hurt."

and with these words she filleted me finer than a smoked norwegian salmon...

"honey, you HAVE to forgive yourself."

["they say it's your birthday..."]

i lay restless for most of the day, never quite carried away to the comfort of sleep. excused from the sober outing to the huntington library (a botanical garden and museum) that i was genuinely excited for. i stared at my dog's ears, her nose, her eyelashes, as depression rolled over me hard like dough as the  roller pin compresses. and debussy and mozart on repeat did nothing but thicken it solid.

[can "clair de lune" be my rehab theme song?]

so i grabbed the book.

and it felt like the greatest cliche.

but what was next was this, "help only begins for addicts when they are able to admit complete defeat. this can be frightening, but it is the foundation on which we build our lives."

[timing is everything.]

yesterday, i blogged about accordioned skyscrapers and crumbled homes. so today, i admit complete defeat. and i see the foundation. it is small, and i need my glasses, but i can see it...

of course, i cried. but this time, it was because i felt understood.

by society's standard, my 1994 assessment would've been off the charts; streamers flying, cowbells ringing, confetti flying fantastic...age 25. lead on a tv series. engaged to a "successful" man. fit and healthy. completely independent. cut to 2011. age 43. 2nd kidney transplant. on disability. in rehab.

[judge not, lest ye be judged???]

but society can suck the tentacles from my brain. {god willing}. but now i know all those tentacles will ever do is lie dormant. {anticipatory?} while i remain ever vigilant, hyper conscious of their presence.

yeah, society can suck it.

and those who throw stones can suck it.

because none of that growth chart, achievement scale nonsense matters. you can't take it with you, my friend...

and i was loved today.

i was not hugged or kissed.
there was no party.
there was no cake.
there were no presents.

but i felt loved by an enormous community, friends and family, cyber reaching out to me like tentacles of the selfless kind. the good kind. the healthy kind...

and i felt loved by a community which i still need to fully understand. fully embrace. fully immerse.

and i think, for a few minutes, i loved myself today.

14 days sober.

[and maybe, mum, i felt a little bit special]

rebirthday. maybe this has been my best birthday yet.

1 comment:

  1. Thanks for finally writing about > "rebirthday" < Liked it!

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