It’s the end of April, and this is the perfect time to remind you that The Small Bow is funded entirely by paying subscribers, one of which could be you. We don’t take advertisements here. We use your money to help pay for all our freelancers and TSB's illustrator, Edith Zimmerman. If any of our newsletters over this past month have made you feel seen, less lonely, joyful, or less afraid, please consider signing up. Subscribers get access to the entire archive, the Sunday roundup of book and recovery recommendations, and the complete rundown of my weekly recovery program. You’re also gifted the sense of accomplishment and satisfaction of helping me put something good into the world. Seriously—thanks for reading and supporting us!
Today, we showcase some of the beautiful work that appeared on The Small Bow in April. Among that group is our Check-In feature, which was particularly potent this month, especially this one:
"Last month, I had a week-long relationship with a guy I met in the rooms. He immediately relapsed after the first time we had sex, and I smoked crack and fentanyl with him, something I've never done before and will never do again. He OD'ed twice in my apartment, and I Narcan'd (proper verbiage?) twice and called the paramedics once. We're both too young and too old to do this stuff (29/30). I had been sober for 4 months before that, from alcohol, my DOC. Now he's dating another girl from the rooms, one I'm friendly with. I feel like he stole my sober time, although I'm obviously the one who made the choice to enable him and paid the price. So now I'm a month clean, for the millionth time, and he and this girl are happily dating cleanly and soberly together. I still have to see him at meetings, and we both pretend we don't know each other and act like strangers even though I held him while he cried and called me an angel over and over again and he held me while I cried when he said he couldn't see me anymore because we had relapsed together. This feels like some high school shit, except this time people die. Either way, I'm still sulking about it."
The line that stuck with me the most was — "we're both too young and too old to do this stuff." I interpreted that as "too young to die, but too old to keep fucking up," and, for me, that age range was roughly between 37 and 42. It takes however long you need—recovery time takes time.
And our May Check-Ins run next Tuesday—so write in if you'd like to participate. The perfect length is 250-300 words. Feel free to share your triumphs or setbacks—or whatever else is bringing you down. We're here for all of it.
Here's a GREAT example of what we're looking for. This was one of my all-time favorite submissions:
"My life these days feels like the opening montage to a movie in which they beat the shit out of the main character just to drive the point home that she is down on her luck. Got demoted at work, family member got seriously ill, kid ran away from home. And all the little things that could go wrong are going wrong. Yesterday I went to the hospital with a big bag of stuff and tripped getting out of my car, and everything went flying across the parking deck and now I have a skinned knee. Like, really universe? Was that necessary? But I am still sober."
EMAIL ME HERE: ajd@thesmallbow.com subject MAY CHECK-IN
It will be published NEXT TUESDAY. You’re the best.
Anyone who contributes gets a FREE month of TSB’s Sunday edition. If you didn’t get hooked up last month, please email me and let me know and I’ll get you situated.
(We also donate $25 to the Katal Center each month on behalf of TSB.)
Alright, let’s see the good stuff. — AJD
MOST POPULAR POST IN APRIL:
“The End of All Wanting”
by Ben Gaffaney
“Here’s a story: I was listening to “That’s Just the Way that I Feel” by Purple Mountains on the day I wrecked my wife’s truck. Here’s the truth: I was drunk on a Wednesday, the way I always was. I was in tennis clothes because I’d told my wife I had a lesson on Wednesday nights, allowing me to drink in the office till 8, then use the drive home to verbally practice stories about the lesson. I planned to give her an update on a fellow player, “Phillip Feetshoes,” who played in Vibram FiveFingers instead of tennis shoes. I’d mentioned him before; he was modeled after a regulatory lawyer I knew. It was summer in Austin, but I had the heat on high so I’d have a post-workout sheen of sweat when I got home. I thought about pretending the next lessons were a half-hour later, for 30 more minutes of vodka. Then I ran a stop sign, a subcompact smashed into the passenger side, I blew three times the legal limit and went to jail for the night. I vaguely remember trying to laugh off my field test performance and telling the police that the plastic zip lines they used instead of cuffs were environmentally unfriendly.”
Other Popular TSB Stories From April:
“Interview With a 70-Year-Old Sober Person: Jerry Stahl”
by Oldster Magazine/TSB
“One of the best things about being in recovery is when you realize, at some party, on a plane, or in the middle of some heinous professional confab, that the person next to you is in the same club you are. Sometimes it’s as simple as noticing that you two are the only ones not drinking. Sometimes it’s more mysterious: a look in the eye, or the unspoken sense that this stranger has been down the same kind of road you’ve been down. A connection probably not unlike that between Masons – minus the secret handshake. (Unless there is a secret handshake, and no one’s ever told me.)
I don’t trust anybody who hasn’t been to hell. The difference is, without the dope or the drink, I’m not the degenerate who makes other people feel like they’re already living there. Which is also a terrific thing.”
And here’s Jerry Stahl in the wilds of LA courtesy of my friend Albin:
Albin says of the book: “Outrageous and very relateable in some ways.”
*****
“Longing for Something Ridiculous and Impossible”
by Anonymous
“My experience is a bit different from weight-based body dysphoria. I haven't heard a similar story from anyone in recovery, but I've always wanted to.
I'm a cis male in my late thirties. I've wanted to be a different species for as long as I can remember. If I could have the body I want, I'd be canine-like. Imagine a friendly, not-hideous, slightly-transformed werewolf. This feels right in a way that nothing else does. I laugh about this, which helps a little. Genuine laughter is okay. Self-deprecating laughter isn't. I can be very cruel to myself if I'm not careful.”
This extremely personal post came as an add-on from our “What It’s Like to Feel Ugly” series about body dysmorphia and was one I found surprising (obviously) but also oddly touching in how they used recovery to help process many of the complicated, sorrow-filled feelings.
Also: I heard from one other individual who also identifies as an animal and we had a conversation which I’m trying to develop into a new series on Flaming Hydra:
“I am a donkey, and I cannot change that. This is a kink, but it is also more than a kink if you're someone who changes. The best way I heard it described, came from a message board I frequent where someone was discussing how at 19-years-old they were grappling with never being a werewolf. “It wasn't possible, but it felt like it should be.””
But let’s start with the wolf.
*****
“Baby Reindeer”
by Me (AJD)1
"The day after I watched Episode Four, I was still messed up. I was distracted and barely ate. I spent most of the day trying to figure out my next move–it felt less like trauma and more like grief. I got annoyed with myself by how easily I let those words become part of my everyday vocabulary. Why does every bad feeling have to be related to grief and trauma? Can't I just have normal bad feelings like I used to and not make everything so goddamn shameful?"
It’s rare that a paywalled post does big numbers, but I think it goes to show that even though the Netflix series “Baby Reindeer” is full of graphic sexual assault, it does it in such a way that it somehow manages to be artful and not exploitative. At least, that’s what I thought—as did many others who’ve watched it.
From the comments: “Baby Reindeer knocked me out for days after I binged it in two sittings. I can't find anyone willing to watch it because it sounds too creepy (the stalking part) and I really can't recommend my therapy clients go through the trauma of watching it unless they really want to. I'm getting a lump in my throat thinking about it.”
Also, this is what Marc Maron had to say about the series:
“I watched a limited series on Netflix called Baby Reindeer. It kind of broke my brain. It was one of the most honest, raw, disturbing, personal stories I’ve ever watched unfold. A truly courageous piece of work that explores trauma, emotional damage, needs, comedy, mental illness, resolving identity issues, moving through abuse, and dealing with the crippling effect of self-hatred. It’s a harrowing, profoundly personal piece of work by the creator and star Richard Gadd. Highly recommended.”
LEAST POPULAR STORY:
“Like the Sea Into a Pier”
by Me
“I was motivated to listen to more of David Berman’s music and familiarize myself with the explosive beauty behind songs that may, on the surface, seem somber, but some of them are sneakily, self-consciously hopeful. Maybe I’m too sentimental and new to his world to see it all yet, but I’ve heard a couple of songs already that tell me he was somewhat open to the possibility that there could be a different outcome for depressives like him. But again, I know nothing. Got around to “American Water” yesterday.
Along with his music, I dove into Berman’s many eulogizers who found the perfect words because many of his songs and poems found the perfect words.”
I was told that there was a glitch in the Substack delivery system and this didn’t get to as many readers as it normally would have. Or maybe people had enough of me and David Berman in one week. Edith's illustration of him is cool, though. So check it out if you haven’t yet.
This is The Small Bow newsletter. It is mainly written and edited by A.J. Daulerio. And Edith Zimmerman always illustrates it. We send it out every Tuesday and Friday.
You can also get a Sunday issue for $8 a month or $60 per year. The Sunday issue is a recovery bonanza full of gratitude lists, a study guide to my daily recovery routines, a poem I like, and more exclusive essays. You also get commenting privileges!
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ZOOM MEETING SCHEDULE
Monday: 5:30 p.m. PT/ 8:30 p.m ET
Wednesday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET
Thursday: (Women and non-binary meeting) 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET
Friday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET
Saturday: Mental Health Focus (Peer support for bipolar/anxiety/depression) 9:30 a.m. PT/12:30 p.m. ET
Sunday: (Mental Health and Sobriety Support Group) 1:00 p.m PT/4 p.m. ET
*****
If you don't feel comfortable calling yourself an "alcoholic," that's fine. If you have issues with sex, food, drugs, DEBT, codependency, love, loneliness, depression, come on in. Newcomers are especially welcome.
FORMAT: CROSSTALK, TOPIC MEETING
We're there for an hour, sometimes more. We'd love to have you.
Meeting ID: 874 2568 6609
PASSWORD TO ZOOM: nickfoles
A POEM ON THE WAY OUT:
Never Again the Same
by James Tate
***********************
Speaking of sunsets,
last night’s was shocking.
I mean, sunsets aren’t supposed to frighten you, are they?
Well, this one was terrifying.
Sure, it was beautiful, but far too beautiful.
It wasn’t natural.
One climax followed another and then another
until your knees went weak
and you couldn’t breathe.
The colors were definitely not of this world,
peaches dripping opium,
pandemonium of tangerines,
inferno of irises,
Plutonian emeralds,
all swirling and churning, swabbing,
like it was playing with us,
like we were nothing,
as if our whole lives were a preparation for this,
this for which nothing could have prepared us
and for which we could not have been less prepared.
The mockery of it all stung us bitterly.
And when it was finally over
we whimpered and cried and howled.
And then the streetlights came on as always
and we looked into one another’s eyes–
ancient caves with still pools
and those little transparent fish
who have never seen even one ray of light.
And the calm that returned to us
was not even our own.
ALL ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDITH ZIMMERMAN
But if you really hate subscriptions but love what we do, you can throw us $20 without all the extra emails to read. You’re the best. Thanks for your kindness and support!
AJD = A.J. Daulerio, Editor of The Small Bow