Then there is Calvin.
Calvin and I first crossed paths a year ago in the halls of AA while I was still with Charles Manson.
They say God puts people in our lives when we least expect it.
Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting to meet Calvin again where or when I did.
Nothing happens by chance.
“Nothing happens by chance, my friend… No such thing as luck. A meaning behind every little thing, and such a meaning behind this. Part for you, part for me, may not see it all real clear right now, but we will, before long.”-
Richard Bach-Nothing by Chance: A Gypsy Pilot’s Adventures in Modern America,
Calvin is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.
God couldn’t have cooked him up in a pot with me in mind type of deal.
He has it all: A gifted intellect, articulate, creative, artistic, wicked sarcasm, deeply compassionate.
And yeah the icing on the proverbial cake, he looks like a Calvin Klein model, but is humble enough to not even know this.
We have so much in common, if there ever was such a thing…. he is the male version of me.
Calvin is in detox right now.
You know what’s fucked? There’s this strange dichotomous thinking in my brain. Half of me is ecstatic he is getting the help he so desperately needs.
But yet some stunted adolescent part of me is fucking jealous. He keeps mentioning the gourmet chef that cooks his meals, and the tai chi classes, and
all the round the clock supportive services he’s getting. And I feel so left behind. See, we share the same addiction.
In fact we have the same exact sobriety date.
So while Calvin is in this country club atmosphere safely locked behind external protective contraints. I continue to go to meetings and then return to my apt. and stare at the walls, make phone calls, and struggle not to run to the corner store and just guzzle mass liquids til cognition ceases. I wish there were external constraints.
I feel like I am walking on a tightrope a thousand feet up with no fucking safety net.
Half my brain tells me to just drink. The other half tells me to stop isolating and call other friends of Bill W. But I am exhausted of the whole process. Just beat down.
I feel like I need a fucking priest to perform an exorcism on me….. not AA.
And so I, wake up tomorrow just like every other day and go back to the salt mines of my life.
and Calvin? I guess Calvin does whatever Calvin is doing in there.
I’m supposed to keep the focus on me. Hard to do when I miss Calvin.
I feel lost. But that is how I have consistently felt, it precedes Calvin. haunts me back to childhood.
I never felt comfortable in my own skin. Ever anxious, ever feeling unsafe, untrusting of the world at large.
ever feeling alone, and un-lovable.
When you spend most of your life perfecting your near seamless veneer so that no one can see your authentic self which is dying on the inside, but you “pass” on the outside as if everything looks okay…..eventually you end up where I am. Truly hopeless, transiently suicidal.
Blogging about how fucked up you really are, having basically no friends because you have isolated far far too long in your adult years. And ya missed that key developmental sensitive window to learn any real social skills because you were too busy in your younger years trying to people please and be accepted by the “in” crowd, and your life was so riddled with trauma then you wouldn’t have been able to learn it anyway.
Fucking pathetic is what it is. Pathetic but true.
Two days ago I had Joan Crawford bearing down on me telling me what a fuck up I am, what an incompetent failure I am that I haven’t accomplished enough. That I am wasting the college education that I, I” put myself through. As if there’s not enough self deprecation already on a continuous loop for Pete’s sake. So I brace myself for the “pull yourself by the bootstraps” speech, that I’ve heard so many times before. That and the “surely you are exaggerating, that “stuff” happened so long ago, aren’t you over it by now?” Referring to the years of abuse and trauma both in my childhood and as and adult.
Pardon me, I hadn’t realised there was a time frame I supposed to heal.
Yep, back to the salt mines.