For What It’s Worth

“Something’s happening here, what it is ain’t exactly clear…”

With all due respect to Steven Stills, I know exactly what’s happening here. I am unemployed! Arghhh. I took the leap into the abyss. I am free fallin’.  Swinging without a net. What other clichés are there? Oh yeah - I am up shit creek without a paddle.

Who in their right mind, at 60, would quit their job? Just because someone was abusive and bossy?  Thus begins the committee in my head that speaks to me in my father’s voice. Work isn’t supposed to be fun. Who told you you were supposed to be happy? Life is shit and then you die.

But Daddy-o, I try to tell him, I am not in my right mind, never have been, never will be. Oh, yeah, I faked it for a good 40- 50 years but it exhausted me. Exhausted. When is it okay to be myself? When is it okay to say No to crapola? When is it time to say

I am worth MORE!

Taking my 22 year old sophisticatedly cynical son to work this morning I heard my dead father speaking. “Why aren’t you looking for a job?” Aside from the fact that he doesn’t know shit about what I do with my time, I have been looking. Not applying, but looking. No, not true, I did have an interview to be a vet assistant for $9.15 an hour. Uhhh, no. Surely, I am with more than $9.15? $10? $20? What exactly am I worth?

I told him I was waiting for the next right thing.

I know on the “open market” I have very few sought-after skills. I don’t type well. I don’t know how to do any math past Algebra. (Hey, before you judge remember the last time I took a math class was 1967!) I am not “eager, money-driven, competitive with an edge.” This is what they are looking for. I’m telling you it’s like The Hunger Games out here.  Who would you kill for a chance to make mega-commissions selling insurance, gadgets, clothing , cars, yourself?

There is an ad on Craigslist for a “Telephone Entertainer.” Hmmmm, I wonder what that entails? I’ve been told I’m very entertaining on the phone. That was my secret to car deal success, make ‘em laugh. Somehow I’m not sure they would be willing to pay me the big bucks just for making folks laugh. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think it’s a little more … creative than that. Know what I mean, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Still, it is a “stay-at-home” job and I could tell people I’m in show biz.. Maybe I should consider it.

Back to cynical Joe in the car. I told him I was waiting for my Higher Power to show me what’s next. Talk about making someone laugh! He told me religion and spirituality are STUPID! I nodded and didn’t argue. How you going to argue that? Religion is stupid and evil and well, not a good thing for people or the planet. But I know I have a Higher Power, otherwise I’d be dead by now. Or married to that dentist in Ft. Wayne. Someone’s been steering the ship. Well, sometimes. I do tend to take over the pilot seat a little too much. I like to be involved. That’s what I tell myself. But the truth is I am very uncomfortable being still. And it’s not just my ADD, it’s my POSS (piece of shit syndrome.)

When I’m still it’s not the loving embrace of serenity that caresses me, it’s the certainty that doom is imminent and it will all be my fault. I’m not sure what I did wrong (being born with a vagina?) but I know it’s something to do with my epic, intrinsic, undeniable crappiness. I’m just not worth any better. Bottom line. I’m not worth it.

I went to a meeting last week. The topic was solutions but it devolved into a discussion of fear. How to deal with fear. Seems like everyone has a heap and some to spare. We’re scare of other people, poverty, death, bad movies and most of all, the still small voice that tells us we are getting only what we’re worth. And that ain’t much, baby! 

. What struck me about all the fear talk is that we were all sitting in a 12 Step meeting. With the steps plastered everywhere. Don’t we profess –in Step 2 –that we Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.  And then we turn our will and our life over to the CARE of that power.

The CARE, not the derision. Not the sadistic tendencies of lesser gods. And certainly not our well-meaning but broken parents. They didn’t know any better but you know, I sometimes think they should have. Didn’t they see it in our faces? The shame, the fear, the disgust? 

It ultimately doesn’t matter except like Alien they are implanted deep in our bodies. Their words are said in OUR voices now. Their thoughts are my core belief’s; about the world, about other people and especially about my worth.

You may not know this but I was a pretty good actress in High School. I won awards. I did. Oh, I know it’s not the same as winning awards for sports or anything but it wasn’t nothing. A greater God would have spurred me to the next step. My father gave me two incredible pieces of wisdom; 1. Don’t declare a major in college, it will make it easier for you to slip into whatever your husband likes and 2. Become a “gal Friday.” 

I’m not even going to comment on that. I don’t need to, right? The Absolute absurdity is painfully obvious. 

My point –oh, there is one, just wait for it – is that I now have the choice of who I let into my mind. Will it be the old, sabotaging, belittling voice of smallness or the whispers of a Higher Power who CARES for me. Cares enough to say I’m worth more than the wage I am paid. More than the men who have left me. More than the wrinkles on my face. I am worth … well … I’m worth whatever I want. I am worth my heart’s desire.

 I am worth the wait.

This Is a Dark Ride

Years ago John  Larroquette had a short-lived dramedy aptly titled “The John Larroquette Show”. It was about a alcoholic college professor who had tanked his career  and now found the only job he could get was as a night manager of an urban bus depot. Larroquette is himself a recovering alcoholic and quite public about it so I’m not breaking his anonymity here – but it’s important because he knows his shit. He knows how close he came to being that night manager instead of a TV star. I loved the show so, of course, it only lasted a season or two. If I like something you can bet the rest of America doesn’t. “Pushing Daises” anyone? “Freaks and Geeks”? I could go on but I’m already a bit depressed so why push it.

I bring up John’s show because in the pilot he put up a sign in his office he had stolen from a carnival ride. It said “This is a dark ride.” True that.

I do what I can to keep the darkness at bay. I take medication (don’t judge me), I have a “happy light” that gives me fake sunshine in the winter and I’ve been known to swallow more than my share of cod liver oil.  This is still a dark ride. Some days darker than others.

I may be out of a job and a son soon. These last few days have been trying my commitment to recovery in big ways. I think I’m doing the right things in each case, so why does it feel so scary? Sometimes I think Mimi (my Higher Power) is a sadist. I tell her that, in those dark nights of the soul, and she crackles an evil little laugh. Oh, if you only knew the truth of it, little human, she says with a shrug. Yeah, but I don’t you all-knowing, powerful c-word. (see how I made you say cunt in your head because I didn’t want to seem crude?) Mimi and I have a love-hate relationship. Kind of like ALL my relationships, now that I think of it.

The job situation came to a head on Wednesday night when I received a sweet little note from my possibly dry-drunk boss accusing me of falsifying a phone call. Now, you have to understand I work in a call center – I do not, I repeat DO NOT – do brain surgery or decide which country to bomb next. If I make a mistake –which I do – the worst outcome is that someone got the wrong finance rate and becomes a bit cranky. Still, I am an honorable person and I do my job to the best of my abilities. I am not a liar.

Those of you 12 steppers reading this know that any 12 step program is one of rigorous honesty. On the first page of the AA big Book it states this. It also states that if you do not have the ability to be completely honest, with yourself and others, you may not recover. 

Rigorous honesty is a tough nut. Luckily the program is one of progress not perfection. We’re also not supposed to hurt others if we can help it. Thus being honest at all times can be very tricky.

Here’s the truth –the searching and fearless truth – about my boss; he is an ASSHOLE. He is a pompous little British man who is always right, humiliates his employees publicly and accuses people of lying. I have tried everything I know to get along with him; humor, withdrawal, over-achieving (I was the number 1 appointment setter in August and I am part-time. No one does over-achievement like an Al-Anon) and I have even resorted to telling the truth. We have had heart to hearts where he admits things and seems contrite, he’s better for a few days and then the lure of the asshole takes him away.

Hmmmmm. This pattern seems familiar somehow? Where have I done this before? Oh yes, in my childhood, in my marriages, with friends and family and now my own child. It is the dance of the damned. 

How To Do the Dance of the Damned in 8 easy steps!

Step One – you become a floor-mat for someone to wipe their shoes on.

Step Two- you finally get so pissed you’re “not going to take it anymore.”

Step Three – confront said jerk-wad and tell them you’re “not going to take it anymore.”

Step Four – they break down in tears, apologies and tell you truths no one else has ever heard. You are now the ONLY person who (pick one) knows them, loves them, can help them. You are a Goddess!

Step Five –your anger dissolves and all your love and caring surges through your body as you commit to never, ever leave them alone with their own nasty selves.

Step Six – things are better! Honesty and your eight hour session of listening really worked! They are now the person you want them to be! Hallelujah!

Step Seven – they do something in old school mode and you just can’t believe it. It must be a mistake!

Step Eight –you become a floor-mat for someone to wipe their shoes on. 

So that’s me right now. Trying to change the dance I do at work and at home. But it’s so scary, for financial reasons at work and for heart reasons at home.

I want to be strong –a Ninja Al-Anon – but it’s hard when I might lose so much. The job can be replaced, the son can’t. And yet, I know deeply, that if I continue the dance someone is going to die. Sooner rather than later. 

Hopefully Mimi forgives me for calling her a cunt and will help me with all this

.

 She knows I can’t do this dark ride alone.

..

And the Winner Is ....

.

I saw a new movie last night, “The Spectacular Now”, and I don’t want to turn people off to the movie, it was well-acted and nicely done but it fucking pissed me off! Seething drive home. Mumbling to myself in my sleep. Cranky morning coffee. That pissed off.

It’s from a best-selling book so it wasn’t the filmmakers fault that the story sucked big donkey balls. And the writer got a lot of things right; the codependent young woman played by Shailene Woodley will break your heart, but they perpetrated a cardinal sin in my book –they over-simplified the huge problem of teen-age alcoholism.

I don’t want to give too much away but I probably will so if you’re going to see this movie stop reading here and come back after you’ve seen it. I’d love everyone’s comments on this one for sure.

Their first mistake was that the word alcoholism or alcoholic never occurred. Although it was clear that the main character’s (a young man with an impossibly cute name) boss was aware that he was drunk most of the time he never mentioned treatment. Although the mother had been abandoned by an alcoholic and her son had already crashed their car once, the kid still had a car and seemingly no consequences for his behavior. The first girlfriend left him because he couldn’t make future plans but it was clear she knew he was a drunk and a bad influence on her. She uttered the best line in the movie when she told him she had decided to only do things that were “good for her”. Bravo! But she was a minor character.

The character of Amy – the real love interest- drank with him, drove drunk with him, and enabled him even after he almost got her killed. These are the girls I wish the movie had tried to reach. The fact that many people love alcoholics is not the problem. The problem is that loving one can kill you.

 Hey, I was one of those girls. I would do anything if someone popular and cute wanted to be with me. I forgave everything. I rationalized the most obvious and disturbing behavior. For instance, on one of our first dates my now ex-husband drank four Long Island Ice Teas. FOUR! Red flag, anyone? Anyone?

Did I leave him? Confront him? Not a bit. Instead I rationalized my way into a drunk man’s car. Why not? I had spent my entire childhood driving with a drunk man. My mother never threatened to take a cab or his keys. That wouldn’t have gone over too well. So she dutifully got in the front seat, put us girls in the back and even though Daddy had had several martinis’ at dinner explained to us that he could “hold his liqueur.” 

I don’t think my Mother felt she had a choice. She had no job, no means of support for herself or us. She had no credit cards and her family had all died. Where would she have gone? No one in our idyllic suburb talked about these things. Men drank. Period. It was Mad Men in the little city.

But I did have a choice, so what was my problem? My problem was that I was a raging, untreated, unrecovered co-dependant of the first degree. I had a black belt in denial and a P’hD in justification. I was so desperate to be wanted by someone, to be chosen, that I never walked away.  We children of alcoholic homes are never the center of attention. It is always, always the alcoholic. Toby Rice Drews in the marvelous “Getting Them Sober” series calls them our Tin Gods. Nobody knows how to hold the spotlight like an addict. Nobody. Cute kids didn’t stand a chance.

My mother and father modeled for me an enmeshed marriage; intense, passionate and destructive. They fought to the point of violence and my father left on a regular basis. But he always came back and this is what kept my mother hooked. He needed her. He wanted her. He chose her.

The joke on all of us who felt chosen is that an alcoholic never choses anyone or anything over the booze. It does not happen. By the time I did wake up to my ex’s drinking we were engaged. I had lost two of my best friends who refused to be around him and I had been warned by everyone. One friend told me “I think he’s going to hit you one day and I can’t be around to watch it. Again.” She’d already seen me be emotionally beat up and tossed to the curb too many times. I was self-destructive and it hurt her too much to be around it.

  

So I told him I wouldn’t marry him until he went into rehab. So he did. Wow! Such a feeling of power! This man wanted me so much, loved me so much, he would give up drinking just to be with me. Man, was I CHOSEN!

What I didn’t know was that I had entered into an unspoken contract; he gives up booze and I give up everything else. Our marriage and his sobriety lasted as long as the world revolved around my Tin God. His problems, his desires, his feelings. But when I dared to take my eye off the ball and go to graduate school, the drinking began and now it was all my fault. So he told me. So I believed. So my father told me. So my mother believed. I refused to subjugate my needs to his and that made me a very bad wife and unworthy to be chosen. So he chose someone new. And I chose to take the wake-up call.

My first sponsor in Al-Anon told me that he had loved me as much as he could which was, sadly, not much. She also told me he had only chosen me because I was as sick as he was and when I decided to get better he had to choose someone sicker than me. That made me feel better. A bit.

I went to a divorce seminar at the church I was attending and I’ll never forget a very important thing I learned there; that there are tangible things we lose in a divorce (money, homes, sex) and intangible (status, self-esteem, love) and that the intangibles are the hardest to recover from. You can get more money, a new house, another lover but it takes a long, long time to get over being “un-chosen.”

So back to the movie. They do hint at her need to be chosen in a mean but true thing the alcoholic boy tells her. It was something along the lines of –you would have gone with anyone who noticed you. 

Yup.

 Like a puppy in a pound, I’ll be loyal –and blind –if you will just choose me.