Recovered … with an E-D
Frankly, I find it hard, most days, to remember how it felt when my life was little more than a string of miserable minutes. Up and down. All around. Sober, drunk, remorseful, determined, sober, drunk, remorseful, determined, sober … and … DRUNK again.
And drinking was just a fraction of my various problems! In fact, while it proved troublesome, it at least offered some temporary relief.
In some sort of seemingly miraculous way, I was captured in a book some 35 years before I was even born! To wit:
“We were having trouble with personal relationships, we couldn’t control our emotional natures, we were a prey to misery and depression, we couldn’t make a living, we had a feeling of uselessness, we were full of fear, we were unhappy, we couldn’t seem to be of real help to other people …” (p. 52)
Added on Nov 25, 2014:
My grandma recently died, and I’m not especially sorry.
Wait. Before you think me some heartless droid or something worse, read on.
Of course I feel pain that my darling grandma, may she rest peacefully, is no longer here. I miss her. That fact did hit me about a week before she died: I will not get to visit her anymore.
Missing her makes me blue.
But the word “sorry” means, in its purest form, “full of sorrow.” I am not “full of sorrow” over my grandma’s death.
Why not? Because death is part of life. Her dying — at nearly 81 years old after a life she found fulfilling — is as it should be. Why would I be full of sorrow about life as it should be?
Real sorrow comes over me when life is NOT as it should be, when people suffer needlessly or when they cannot or will not listen to reason and thus hurt themselves or hurt others.
For example, I am sorry — often barely containing my emotions — when a middle-aged man or woman, an obvious alcoholic, comes in to the Emergency Room shaking, vomiting and nearly ready to have a stroke.
“There is a solution,” I think, “but the chance of you getting it is slim.”
Please take a good look at our site.
… more to be added …