Writing Prompt: Vision Quest

 Prompt: Write a vision statement for where you are one year from now, as if you’re telling an old friend about what a wonderful year you’ve just had. (What does the promises coming true look like for you?)

Vision Quest

There is a really cheesy movie from the 1980s about a high school wrestler called “Vision Quest.” The kid works out really, really hard and wins the big wrestling tournament at the end of the movie. I thought of that movie title when I was first considering this week’s writing prompt, to write a vision statement providing a peek into the future, or maybe just do some pontificating on what having the AA promises come true in my life might look like to me. Me seeking out the promises has been a quest, a long journey I’ve been on during the course of the past 25 years I’ve been in and out of AA. And when I think about where I might be a year from now, I definitely hope I’ve moved closer to having the promises come true.

As for the promises, right now I have definitely come to know a new freedom from alcohol and a new happiness from being sober. A year from now, I certainly want to have comprehended the word serenity and want to be actively knowing peace. That’s very important. I’ve lived in chaos for a long time and I hope I have calm and quiet dominating my time. Hopefully by next year my unnecessary fear of economic insecurity has left me, and I have learned how to intuitively handle situations which used to baffle me. 

The promises precisely describe a wonderful envisioned future that lies ahead for anyone who commits to working the 12 Steps. I do so hope I will have my Step work completed next year, so a new manner of living is gained, and I have a happier relationship to life. I always remember the familiar mantra, “Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, they (the promises) will always materialize if we work for them.” For me it’s definitely been slowly, as I’m one who struggles with relinquishing self will and turning things over to my higher power.

Yes my vision quest finds me a year from now living in the AA promises of freedom, happiness, peace, and serenity, and working to be a benefit to others. I will have gained a whole new outlook on life, where the dread and negativity of alcoholism has been completely eradicated. This would be a complete departure from the fear, regret, feelings of uselessness, self pity, selfishness and self seeking I sometimes experience now. I do so want this future living in the promises. One day at a time, I’ll get there.

End of Summer Update

 Well hello there, dear readers, I am very close to making it through another dry, oppressive hot summer and I couldn’t be happier for the coming of Fall. Just need to survive this current hot streak at the end of August, and I’ll do so by staying inside in the AC. My husband loves this hot weather but I can’t stand it. As always, I blame my meds for my discomfort but maybe menopause is playing a part too.

Speaking of meds, I’m miserable again over my current med cocktail. Just sick and tired of feeling lethargic and fatigued, and being overweight, and now not wanting to cook anything. Everything is a hassle to do. To try and improve matters, I cut my Gabapentin dose by 800 mg., now I’m down to 3,200 mg/day and I’d like to go lower at some point. My anxiety isn’t so acute, and actually my husband and I quit the nicotine gum two weeks ago; you would think maybe my anxiety would increase from this, but no, the opposite is true. 

I’m happy with the Depakote being at 625 mg., but it’s the Risperdal that is the bane of my existence. I do not want to be at this dosage of 4 mg/day, I want to be lower. But Dr. Levy won’t budge, he’s keeping me at this dose. It’s just not fair, this wretched drug robs me of energy and motivation and makes talking hard, laughing near impossible, and I’m fat. I hate it so much. You could tell me to just stop taking it but no, I’ve been there before and all that happens is the mania comes roaring back along with the psychosis and all the trouble and trauma that brings.

So I’m stuck here in this medicated hell, sober because I’m an alcoholic and addict, trapped in an ugly brown recliner. I don’t like it when my posts dissolve into bitching about my life and the meds, it’s so depressing to read. I need to dig deep again and think about things I’m grateful for, switch gears from the negative to the positive. I must never forget that summertime is notoriously difficult for me, I get frustrated and down, but things improve dramatically in the cooler temps of Fall and Winter. So don’t fret, Melissa. Better times are coming.

This be the verse for today, gonna try to lean into Easy Does It I think. I’ll soon make my morning phone call to mom for support and reassurance. Then I have my writing group this afternoon, I’ve been struggling with my writing lately, words aren’t flowing like they usually do. Oh well. Just another day in the life. Until next time. See ya.

Up In Smoke

Up In Smoke

For months, I’ve been spending my mornings in my brown recliner, anxiously fretting and worrying about catastrophic future scenarios that never come to pass. Or I’ve been gripped in fear over a future scenario of being alone, broke and insane on some bench downtown, with no one helping me. All of this started when I outlined my fears in my 4th Step with sponsor Shawn awhile ago. Ever since, I’ve been gripping tight to these fears, unwilling to let them go and just be open to the possibility that my Higher Power has a better outcome in store for me.

Remaining “trapped” in this recliner, battling fears and inertia and sedation caused by my bipolar medication, has been something I desperately want to change. It feels like a rock bottom very similar to the one I experienced with alcohol and marijuana years ago. I voiced this to my talk therapist Matt and he in turn posed a very interesting suggestion to me.

“What if you were to burn the recliner?” he asked. I laughed. “My husband is extremely frugal,” I replied. “He wouldn’t like it.” He went on to ask me to take a picture of the recliner and send it to him so he could print it out. Then he handed me the picture at our next session and told me to take it home and write on the back of it all of the things I wanted to let go of. 

“And then bring the picture back and we will burn it,” Matt said. “Is this burn therapy?” I asked. “You could say that,” he replied.

So I did everything Matt asked of me, and this past week we met to send all my inertia and fear and shame and self-flagellation up in smoke. After making our way outside to the parking lot in front of his building, I got teary-eyed as Matt handed me the lighter to set my recliner picture aflame. I wanted to cry over the countless hours I’ve spent worrying in the recliner, time that could have been spent in a much more productive way. But not wanting to beat myself up, I instead whispered, “Goodbye to you” and set the lighter’s flame to the piece of paper.

As the flame consumed the paper, I tossed it into a small, silver trash can Matt had brought out. Soon there was nothing left but ash, and we slowly made our way back to Matt’s office. He put the ashes into a baggie for me, telling me to mix it with some soil in a container and perhaps plant something in it. My husband is the gardener, not me, but I might try my hand at planting something. 

Was the burn therapy successful? Well, I’m sitting in the recliner this morning and I don’t feel as glued to it as before. I’m honestly considering getting dressed and going for a walk, a new twist to my morning routine. I don’t feel anxious right now, making me wonder if maybe I might be able to dial back a little the dosage of my anxiety medication. I’ll ask my psychiatrist what he thinks about that. All in all, I feel optimistic about things. I’ll take that as a sign of progress. 

Writing Prompt: An Ode To Nicotine

 Prompt: Write about a “remember when” scenario.

An Ode To Nicotine 

I’m giving up nicotine gum today. Setting aside an over 12 year habit, meant to be a temporary 6-week step towards giving up cigarettes, but rather I’ve been chewing this gum for years. My husband Michael is joining me in this endeavor, so there will be someone else here going through nicotine withdrawal and all the irritability and bitchiness that brings out.

My main reason for giving up the gum is pretty straightforward: I’ve been having fainting spells, and the only reasons my doctors can identify as a cause for them is I was feeling anxious and I was chewing the gum. So that’s it, I’m quitting the gum. But we will also be saving a lot of money by not buying it anymore, and that pleases my frugal husband immensely. 

Nicotine and I have had a long love affair. I had my first cigarette at around 10 or 11 years old when a friend of mine and I stole one out of a pack of my mom’s and hid in the family station wagon in the garage and used the car lighter to light the smoke. We took turns dragging on it, feeling dangerous and heady and giggling. At age 16, I was buying clove cigarettes at the gas station. By age 18, I was buying packs of Marlboro Lights and I would build up to a two-pack a day habit. I’m old enough that I remember smoking on airplanes, smoking in bars, in restaurants, and even in the offices where I worked. And I definitely remember smoking in AA meetings.

I remember sneaking around trying to hide my cigarette smoking from my husband when he insisted I stop smoking and switch to the nicotine gum. The behavior was very similar to the sneaking around I did with booze towards the end of my drinking career, hiding wine bottles and after chugging down contents, tossing the empty bottles in the neighbor’s trash can.

They say that quitting nicotine is harder than settling aside alcohol. To prepare to say goodbye to this four decade old habit, my husband and I have purchased regular gum, hard candy, and sugary soft drinks. As I sit here, chewing my last piece of nicotine gum, I’m honestly feeling relief  and feeling optimistic about a more healthy future. Check in with me tonight though when I’m in the throes of withdrawal and things might not be as rosy. 

But it’s goodbye to you, nicotine, thanks for the memories, some not so good. You’re a hard habit to break, but it’s time for you to go. Thank goodness I have my husband here beside me joining me in this effort. And I’m grateful to have the experience of quitting alcohol to lean into right now. As always, it’s gonna be a one day at a time endeavor. I look forward to the promises coming true, especially knowing a new freedom and a new happiness. Getting ready to chew the sugar free peppermint gum now. Wish me luck! Adios nicotine. Our time is done.

Writing Prompt: A Magical Discovery

 Prompt: Write a scene based on a story we know happened, but didn’t actually witness.

A Magical Discovery

Students of Art History 101 are often taught in the beginning of class about the fantastic Lascaux, France prehistoric cave paintings. Lauscaux is a network of caves in southwestern France, and the paintings stretching along the caves are estimated to be at least 17,000 years old.

A lesser known fact about Lascaux is the story of the discovery of the cave on September 12, 1940 by four teenage boys. It’s a truly intriguing tale. According to the boys, there was a local story about a secret tunnel that led to a buried treasure and the boys thought they had found it when one of the boy’s dog named Robot investigated a hole left by an uprooted tree. Lacking the appropriate tools to investigate, the boys had to come back the next day. 

When they reconvened, they enlarged the hole, then carefully slid down a 50 foot shaft which they described as terrifying into the cave. Using a hastily constructed lamp, the boys made their way down a long, narrow passageway which opened up and then they came upon the first cave paintings. Historians describe this as one of archaeology’s most exciting discoveries. Little did the boys know they were opening  up a new era in our knowledge of prehistoric art and human origins.

Holding up their crude lamp, the boys beheld a fabulous collection of stenciled animal drawings done with iron oxide, charcoal and ochre. There are three major animal themes: horses, cows and bulls, and deer. Also a bear is depicted, along with arrows and traps. Called the “Sistine Chapel of Prehistory” in Art History texts, the boys described the paintings as a “cavalcade of animals larger than life that seemed to be moving.” 

The boys would go on to explore the entire cave, which contains approximately 600 wall paintings covering the interior walls and ceiling of the cave. Historians say the paintings represent the combined effort of many generations of painters.

Tremendously excited, the boys promised each other to keep the discovery a secret, then explored the cave together again the next day. After that, they decided to show it to friends for a tiny admission fee. The news quickly spread in the village and so many came to see the cave that the boys decided to notify their teacher.

When their teacher saw the paintings, he instantly recognized them as prehistoric and insisted that no one be allowed to touch the paintings, and that they must be guarded against vandalism. The appropriate historical authorities were notified, and for a time, guided tours of the cave were permitted. But eventually the original Lauscaux cave was closed to the public in 1963, due to the paintings’ deteriorating condition. 

I guess we can say the boys’ search for buried treasure was successful. I am remembering back to the days when I was young and fascinated by the prospect of finding a treasure myself. I can only imagine the excitement the boys felt when first seeing the Lauscaux paintings, and I laugh when I think of the boys charging an admission fee for their friends to get a tour. To be young and filled with adventure! I miss those days. Here’s to all the wonderment and excitement with a fantastic discovery. And this tale is magical.

Writing Prompt: Who Are You When You Write?

Prompt: Who are you when you're writing? How is that person different from who you are in other settings? What do you want to do with your writing?

Who Are You?

Who I am when I’m writing as of late is a person who wants to express herself. And also someone who wants to find out how and why I tick. Writing has always seemed to be an excellent vehicle to achieve these two things, and it’s a medium I turn to time and time again. I feel a strong compulsion to write, and it has been this way for as long as I can remember. Maybe it’s as simple as using the written word to help me help myself. Therapy 101. Whatever the case, I love to write, most often about my bipolar disorder.

 My writing can vary greatly depending on the time of day. In the morning hours, lately I can lean towards being anxious, catastrophic and complaining; not the best company to be around. I grasp for words I think might save me from despair, and I can veer towards the melodramatic in my written pieces. In my morning pages, I’ve been hurting emotionally, I’ve been angry, most of all I’ve been frustrated. There’s also fear there too, never far away.

But then come afternoon and evening, it’s like a metamorphosis has occurred. My writing takes on a much more optimistic tone, I see possibilities, sometimes I might even reflect on a happy ending. The swing in my written work can appear very profound, and I think this offers a particularly good example of my bipolar mind at work. Tormented in the morning, liberated in the afternoon. Such is the writing “me” right now, as a woman in her late fifties chronicling her recovery from alcoholism and management of bipolar disorder.

In different settings, like when I’m at an AA meeting or out to dinner with friends, there’s still a touch of that familiar anxiety gnawing away at my gut, but I’m getting more confident with myself and it’s highly unlikely you’d notice any swing or shift in my demeanor. I’m very caring, compassionate and kind. I’m normally not candidly probing the depth of my feelings in public, like I do in my writing, so I’m removed from the sometimes rougher honesty that comes across in my written words. Though in places like sponsor Shawn’s AA Zoom on Monday nights, I’m opening up and telling my story more and more so my honest feelings are shining through.

Finally, as to what I want to accomplish with my writing, it’s pretty straightforward. I want to move from deep soul searching into something a little more removed from the self and more pointed towards exploration outward, more reflection on external events and the world around me. Being bipolar I’m kinda hot wired to be constantly assessing my mood and myself for any irregularities; I want to break free of that just a little bit and perhaps pen some fiction. Don’t get me wrong, I think my strength right now is personal reflection but I want to also focus my energy on new endeavors too.

I really enjoy the writing prompt of describing a person, place or thing, and I think a goal for myself is to take that prompt and tease out the beginnings of a fiction piece. Perhaps work on a short story, that’s something I’d like to attempt. I’d like to free myself up from constant musings about bipolar disorder and instead focus on a scene I create from my own imagination. Jesse’s prompt for next week on the “power of imagination” might be a launch pad for me to work on my goal.

Sunday Check-In

 So I fell asleep in my chair at 8:30 last night, and after going up at 11:00, I slept until 6:30 this morning. I’m feeling good, the morning dose of Gabapentin has kicked in, so I don’t feel troubled or stressed which is great. Still struggling with motivation and moving, but maybe that’s just how it’s going to be. Michael is busy doing tasks this morning, perhaps I just let him do the heavy lifting and I sit back and relax.

Tonight is the AA memorial meeting for Dan, who committed suicide in Mexico last month after his wife Jess died. I am not going to the in person meeting, I’m going to attend via Zoom. Just want to be a little removed from the service, after participating directly with Jess’s service last month. These deaths really rattled me and I need a little space to just keep my wits about me.

This summer has been tough for me, just like years past, with the oppressive heat and now humidity. I read that it’s the Risperdal that makes me heat intolerant, oh well, no going to Florida anytime soon. I’m biding my time indoors in the AC, back to my brown recliner which gets so much use these days. Could be worse, I keep telling myself that.

No real plans for today, I’ll probably read though I should be bagging up old clothes for donation to Salvation Army. I’ll get to that someday. Gratefully, the house is clean, we had cleaners come two days ago and they did a marvelous job with the kitchen and bathrooms, and dusting everywhere and mopping the entire downstairs. Michael was pleased so we will be having them back, which makes me so very happy.

So in a nutshell what I am able to do with great precision and every day is prepare excellent meals, and keep the kitchen clean, do the dishes every night, and do the necessary grocery shopping. I can hang my hat on that, I’m dependable in that regard. I guess it gives me purpose, which is what I want. Oh, and I’m able to do my laundry and get the sheets cleaned, so I’m not a one-trick pony after all.

I’ll always wish I could do more, but the medication is just too disabling. No more fighting it though. Enough is enough. I’m 58, post-menopausal, I’m tired, it is what it is. Pass me a book and a cool drink. Crank up the AC. Another summer spent hermiting in place. That’s me. Just biding my time until Fall. Can’t come soon enough!