Thursday, September 17, 2009

Push Button Perfection

"There is no future."

Sigh. It's after the meeting and we are cleaning up the tables. I had shared in the meeting some feelings of fear about my health. In addition to the heart stuff some new issues have cropped up. Could be serious and could be simply a blip on the radar screen. Time will tell. Yesterday I wanted to get the swirl of worried thoughts out of my head and onto the table. When people come up to me after a meeting and say things like the above statement I know they mean well. They want me to have peace and not worry. I know that. Sometimes in reply though, I want to tell them to fuck off and mind their own business.

It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have my own decades of experience in telling people just exactly how they should think and feel so that life would be perfecto. Trying to fix their lives when they haven't even asked me to. When I do that it's really been about my uncomfortableness with being human and how that means having a multitude of feelings. I've put a lot of energy into dismissing people's very real and understandable feelings when life isn't turning out how they had hoped and the circumstances are out of their control. I didn't want their pain to touch me.

It's hard to know how to navigate it when someone tells me the answer to my problems as if there was some magic switch to turn on and all would be roses and glory. For me to be honest and say, "I'm scared" is such progress. To have someone basically tell me there is only today so don't worry, be happy feels like I'm not allowed to be human. Most of the time I can take comments like that in stride, knowing their reaction to my share is their issue. And that my reaction to their reaction is my own. Yesterday it was a little harder to do.

I suppose really it's about my ego. I sometimes get caught up into wanting to be the poster girl for AA. Look at me and my perfect program where nary a thing bothers me because I just give it all to God and presto, I'm good to go. The program isn't about perfection. But, because sometimes I still chase after imaginary perfection I don't share that I'm scared, I'm worried, I'm, I'm, well, human, just like everyone else. And so is the person who tried to make my world all better yesterday. Imagine that. Sigh.

10 comments:

Tall Kay said...

It's practice my dear one. Our humaness is so hard to accept sometimes, but it's what makes us real. God is right there with you. And I say bullsh*t to no future. My prayers are with you.

Thicket Dweller said...

Hey, I'm praying with you about these new issues.

Marsha said...

I relate in some ways as I have an illness to deal with as well. And I am. And I need to talk about it at times, the experience, but I don't want people to tell me they're praying for me, that there's rainbows and pots of gold, or that it's all in God's will, yada and so on. I don't want help or sympathy either one. I think a serious illness is one of those things in life that is very, very difficult to navigate personally, and until one does, having others nosing about isn't terribly helpful.

enchantedoak said...

Some people like to say stuff to try to fix your problem, and they put their foot in their mouth. It is a far better thing to do as you did, to confess your feelings openly, to talk about your struggles in sobriety. We never may know how our honest shares will affect another struggling alcoholic, who may find peace in knowing that others struggle too.
Is it possible for you to accept the desire within yourself to say "F*** off" then to smile and say thanks for your imput? And then to forgive the dorks for their stupidity, and release it like water off a duck's back?
We are not all as empathetic as our Higher Power wishes us to be. But God isn't finished with any of us yet.

Cat said...

Sending good thoughts and prayers your way for the new things that have arrived. (hugs)

Jennifer said...

I've said it before, but I admire you so much in this journey. It takes a special gift to be so honest with oneself. It thrills me that you possess it, more often than you give yourself credit for.

ron cole said...

Hope, I remember a few years ago when my brother died tragically. The person that spoke the most to me said nothing. He'd come over almost everyday, we'd walk, we'd sit, he'd put his arm around me, give me a hug. He'd leave, and come back the next day.It was just his being with me that said it all. Sure there were words later, when they were alowed to flow naturally from the heart, a place beyond us. They were timely, they weren't rushed. I guess to be fully human is scarey. I think we don't allow ourselves to go there often enough.I really have nothing wise to say to you...other than you are in my thoughts, and prayer.

annie said...

Reminds me of something Anne Lamott wrote--"Being human can be so dispiriting. It's a real stretch for me a lot of the time."

Blessings on you Hope.

Daisy said...

Thinking of you. ((((Hope))))

Mich

Ellie said...

Oh, I so relate to this. Thank you for sharing -- I have been thinking a lot of similar things lately. It helps so much to know I'm not alone. Thank you.