Choosing Sanity

Things got a little hairy at AA yesterday.
I was glad I wasn't chairing the meeting.
When things go off the rail anywhere, I instantly tense up
and feel like I'm 9 years old, looking for the nearest exit.
But the moment passed without much broo ha ha and the meeting continued. It didn't even come close to getting physical but I felt all tense as if it could.

It's actually quite a testimony to AA that
people don't come to blows every time a meeting convenes.
I mean, if you asked for a show of hands of how many present
used to try and solve issues by using their fists, I think
the majority might very well raise their hands.
I've thrown a few punches myself.

I'm trying to type this post by looking around the energizer bunny.
She's sitting on my lap trying to lick my face.
She moves within 3 inches of my nose and licks the air as if she were slobbering me with kisses. I swear, sometimes she reminds me of a kid who sees just how close to the line they can get without crossing it.
Hmmmm.

I'm off to see Fr. Charlie today.
Fessing up for lines crossed that I'd convinced myself
were only being skirted around.
It means resetting my abstinence date, too.
Pride says not to go to that extreme.
Rigorous honesty says it's the only sane choice to make.
It's hard not to rationalize, justify and minimize.
And I could continue to if I wanted.
But the consequences just aren't worth it.

When Fr. Charlie kept telling me during our last session
that he was hearing shame and guilt seeping through my words
it startled me.
I sat there and thought about the last time I felt like that.
Where were my actions contributing to those feelings?
I came up with only one answer.

I briefly mentioned a slip.
His eyes registered what I'd said,
but I ignored him, glossed right over it and kept on talking.
He didn't interrupt me.
He didn't confront me.
He left my words hanging for me to hear their echo.

And they echoed as I walked to my van, echoed all the way home.
I sat and remembered going to confession about my sexual addiction a few years ago and having Fr. Charlie ask me how deep the shame and guilt was that I was I covered in. I replied by putting my hand above my head and telling him I was buried in it.

God, that was a such a low, low point.
Within myself I could find no hope.

So I sat the other day knowing the shame and guilt were only puddles on the ground which I was walking in with every other step.
I knew I had a choice to make if I didn't want the puddles to join together to make one giant puddle that I couldn't walk away from. One giant puddle that would eventually creep up my shoes and start to bury me.
I knew I could either continue to minimize, justify and rationalize it all away.
Or speak it out loud, and get honest.
I've since had three conversations
with three different people about it.
Speaking to dearest one was the most difficult.
But, by the grace of God, I did it.
Lord, oh Lord, have mercy.