Out Of The Mouths Of Babes

The pain has returned, as have the painkillers. And so has despondency. Perhaps the worst thing about a period when the pain is moderate and endurable is that I tend to get overly optimistic, hoping that my jaw/face pain is on its way out for good. When it inevitably returns, my heart gets crushed like a bug under the shoe of a crazed ant-killing five-year-old, and when it goes on for days, I feel like tearing my hair out. Luckily, my head is shaved, lest I have huge patches of scalp circling my dome, nicely shaped head or not.

What to do...what to do. I become plagued by the question, and I start making a new checklist of things I've yet to try...that cutting-edge pain center, a chiropractor, meditation, etc.

As these things feel about as exciting to me as paying bills, I decided last night to take a stab at the psychological angle, as I know there are still some profound cracks in the cup of my consciousness I've yet to address, not because I haven't tried, but because confusion still reigns when I attempt to make sense of nagging obsessions and core beliefs about myself.

Dr. John Sarno at NYU has done groundbreaking research about the connection between back pain and rage (Howard Stern and ABC's John Stossel are two of his famous success stories), so I began to ask myself what I'm so damn angry at that I become literally crippled, both physically and emotionally, when this pain strikes.

I've certainly asked myself this before and have spent years in therapy trying to unravel the secrets of my soul, but I know I need to come at this from a different angle now, and in a way, I'm thankful that I'm working a 12-step program, as it's a different personal growth approach than what I've used before.

But the answers were still vague until I hit upon the idea of post traumatic stress disorder--a state where someone is in constant hypervigilence in order to avoid the recurrence of a harrowing event. While I know I've overcome a lot of this in most areas of my life, in the realm of romance I still keep my distance, still not understanding what love is all about, instead seeing the opposite sex in some kind of inhuman way.

In my mind's eye, I see any potential partner as a channel through which all my flaws and faults will be ridiculed instead of as a loving person who will accept and appreciate me as a whole package, warts and all.

Years ago, when I was 23, I had a very wise friend my age, Karen (who was also quite the babe), who once said, "We don't love someone in spite of his flaws. We love him because of them." We were at the Jersey shore at a rented apartment for the summer, and I remember the very place she stood in the kitchen when she uttered these unforgettable words.

I didn't understand what she meant at the time as I was enveloped in such personal turmoil and psychic pain, but I'm beginning to now. Perhaps if I can start to truly love myself, I can begin to let down my guard, but in the future with one who deserves and is worthy of such trust. I must take responsibility for my past bad choices, which only reinforced the fears I have as a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy.

Will a life filled with more love ease my pain? Will the excitement of possibility be a tonic for both body and soul? Obviously I can't answer that now, but I love the idea that someone would love me--and me, him--because of our flaws, instead of in spite of them.

Karen's husband is one lucky guy.

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Scary Pretty Things

In my last post, I referred to my friend Troy's wife, Angie, as "scary-pretty." It just popped out, and now I find it a curious adjective. I could easily describe my sponsor, Mary, that way, as she has one of the most beautiful faces I've ever seen.

When we first met (at one of my first AA meetings), we immediately connected, and within five minutes or so, she offered to be my sponsor. I said an unequivocal "yes," but I couldn't help but notice her extraordinary beauty. With her long, blonde, straight hair, she looks like a California model cloaked in urbane Manhattanite high-fashion threads. As I walked home from the meeting that day, I wondered if I could actually spill my guts to a face that was so perfect without feeling some kind of intimidation or, worse, jealousy. I actually considered backing out of the deal with some kind of lame excuse.

But it took just a few minutes to have the insight I needed. How many times in my own life have I felt rejected or rebuffed because of my own gifts? While I've lost a friend or two due to my health ordeals (some just can't handle this kind of thing), what's actually hurt far worse have been the rejections when I was shining at my brightest. Whether it was a successful art exhibit, or my writing a memorable pop song, or looking particularly fine while wearing a clip-on ponytail, or--perhaps most important--just feeling a day of boundless joy, the no-comment commentary or the sly digs were deeply painful, at times even excruciating.

These are the things we do to one another when we feel insecure about our self-worth or our own gifts. That insidious character-erosion of those we supposedly care about is a deadly game, for sure, and it hurts both perpetrator and victim alike. Sadly, when I've shined a bit too bright, instead of it serving as an inspiration, some friends fell by the wayside. While their departure was ultimately welcome in the end, as I couldn't stand the stress of it anymore, it was also profoundly sad, as are most situations where communication crumbles.

As soon as I had this insight, any intimdation I may have had about Mary's looks vanished, and since then, I've discovered that the beauty of her soul far exceeds her external appearance, if that's even possible. She couldn't be more compassionate, intelligent, loving, non-judgmental and serious about her role as my sponsor.

And, perhaps not surprisingly, she has the face of an angel.

Lucky me.