Fractured

Am I really doing the best I can when it comes to this pain mess? My pain meds have been changed, from Vicodin to OxyContin, and if I screw up with Oxy (if i take too much as I did with Vicodin), I'll be in serious trouble.

Last night, I took an extra pill, not because I needed it, but because the addiction was screeching in my head. It took hold and completely obsessed me, which is the bitch of being hooked. You're battling your own brain chemistry, your own desires. I didn't want to take it, but like the person who can't resist having one too many, I crumbled and didn't feel very good about it afterward.

I've been researching a lot of alternative theories about addiction other than the 12-step approach, which is very deity-centered and touts the disease model of the condition. While recovery folks will say that you can be an atheist and still work the program, I'm not sure that's true. When notions of a loving creator are profoundly challenged, all the talk of God working in everyone's lives can sound like chatter, even delusional. I don't go to meetings as much as I once did (I used to go every day, now just two or three times a week), not because I don't want to get sober, but because the spiritual words ring hollow.

I must say, I do love the friends I've made there, I like the social aspect of getting together, and I love the experience of such genuine love and compassion.

But in my case, I'm going to have to find either an alternate or supplemental treatment that will resonate. I have to get to the root of my problem, which I suspect runs deeper than I imagine.

On the surface, I'm suffering from an organic, latent infection in my jawbone that has only partially responded to surgery. But on a different level, this disease is a continuation of something very familiar to me, which I've written about in other posts. I'm used to battling as far back as I can remember. There's always been some evil force keeping me down, oppressing my fundamental nature, my desires and my outlook.

It's easy to just escape into pills and television. The harder road would be to explore the metaphors, which I've been doing most of my adult life. It's been a tough, meaningful journey, but when the pain crippled me in '04, all bets were off. When I became suicidal, the pills were necessary in order to buy me time; they also provided a type of comfort that chemically was impossible for my own brain to generate.

But what about now? This past week or so, I've been asking myself, "Am I doing my very best today to get out of pain and get sober?" The answer has painfully been "no" each and every time. I could do better. I could write in my journal daily. I could go down to my art studio, where there is silence (unless I play music) and creative materials all around me. (I tend to create in silence, for some reason.) But in my studio, I'm alone with me, myself and I. I don't want to be alone, perhaps to avoid loneliness, but also to avoid the issues I don't want to think about.

I know what I should be doing to help matters, but if I went off the pills, there are feelings there I don't want to deal with...or perhaps I should say, no feelings at all. When it comes to certain problematic areas of my life, I've hit a brick wall, even with the years of therapy.

Yesterday, I stumbled upon a web site that used language I've never heard before, about what happens to someone with post traumatic stress disorder. It talked about dissociation, feelings of unreality, hypervigilence and loss of identity. While I've overcome a lot of this and have gone on to live a relatively full life, there are gaping holes that I still don't know how to fix.

I was encouraged by this site, as it so precisely described what I experienced as a teenager...what happens when a psyche splits into a type of duality as a means of coping. While I've improved tremendously in this area, I still avoid the pain of the fractures that remain.

How in the world will I ever get better if I think that "going back to life" will be fraught with this low-level psychic ache that never goes away, despite all efforts to resolve it?

This site gave me hope, as apparently there are therapists trained in this precise area. I've been in touch with the site's owner who will try to help me find someone in Manhattan.

Fingers firmly crossed.


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The Return Of Pollyanna

I continue to explore this strange, new world. I wasn't sure if this new state of acceptance was going to stick, as this journey of chronic pain has been fraught with so many hills and valleys. But it seems it has, as each morning I'm waking up in a calmer state.

What's troubling, though, is that I haven't given up the painkillers, and I wish I could. I went most of the day without them today, but by the time I got home from afternoon errands (including a 12-step meeting), my face hurt just so bad, and it was all I could think of. I ordered a refill from the pharmacy, took two Vicodin, then fell promptly asleep for the rest of the afternoon.

This is what bugs me about painkillers. They rob me of precious hours of my life. I suppose I was hoping that a new state of acceptance would somehow make me so emotionally strong that I could withstand physical pain, but that hasn't been the case, and I'm wondering now how this is all going to play out.

What I love about pain medication is that, even if it does nothing for the pain, it helps me to escape it for a short while, at the end of which I usually take more to keep the escape going. But what I hate about it is that I no longer experience the natural highs of making art or music. I no longer experience those magical moments of truth where "art happens," and I'm left dumbfounded by what I've been able to channel.

I miss these experiences...a lot.

And as I sit here, I sip on a glass of wine and smoke a cigarette, which, combined with pain medication, makes me feel like a total degenerate. I must be the picture of the classic tortured artist. I can think of friends from the past who found these images of themselves romantic, but trust me, they're not. They're sad, and I feel weak and stupid until I catch myself and just accept that this is tough road I'm walking and will therefore be fraught with mistakes.

Some of my recovery pals like to think that this pain is just a manifestation of my secret desire "to use," and I do try to keep an open mind to their opinions. But as I sit here, my face fucking hurts. It's as real as this tasty Pinot Noir and Camel Light.

Decisions, decisions.

What's been interesting is that in this new state of acceptance, I can see just how angry, bitter, guilt-ridden and jealous I've been towards those who have such healthy and pain-free bodies. I wasn't even aware that I was feeling such things until I decided to stop fighting the pain so hard.

I was even jealous of my two- and four-year-old nieces, who are so innocent and pure, so healthy, so joyous, and live in such a love-filled life. I couldn't look at them at not feel some twinge of sadness and regret, as if all of the good things of life had passed me by, and one of my only real uses now as a human being was to help them grow into strong healthy adults. In such a state of pain and addiction, my life was beginning to feel over.

It was a horrible state to be in, and only now do I see just how destructive it was to my psyche. But acceptance has changed all that. I accept now that these awful things have happened to me in my life, and it's all okay. I can deal with it. I can make something with it; I can give it all meaning, and who knows? Maybe these very writings will be the biggest thing I will ever offer my fellow human beings, which means that every twist and turn won't be wasted, provided I can stay honest and true about every detail (which tonight is the issue of alcohol and nicotine).

I read an article recently by Scott Kiloby about something called "non-duality," which is the name of what I've been experiencing, apparently. We've exchanged a couple of emails about the topic, and he closed one by saying this: "What is, is what is. And a full surrender into that brings a peace of mind totally unknown to most people. I also experience it as unconditional love."

It occurs to me that had I not gone through this terrible ordeal, I might not have stumbled upon this insight, which indeed fills me with unconditional love.

When I played with my nieces this Christmas, I was filled with such light and such joy at watching them tear open their gifts. And instead of feeling any kind of jealousy or resentment, I felt deep compassion for them, as they go through their own trials and tribulations in their growth experience. And I was happy for them that they have a family who loves them so dearly.

Everything seems poignant to me right now, although I think I'm starting with the flu. Although I hate feeling these symptoms, I can even see the bright spot in having a nasty cold in that I don't smoke when I'm sick, and this will be a good break from it for a few days...an opportunity to break the habit for good, hopefully.

I'm feeling a little like Pollyanna again, which has always been an aspect of my character and has been missing for years now. I've always felt it's been a slightly corny part of me, but how I welcome her return. I don't know if she'll be here tomorrow, but she's here right now, and I'm grateful.