A Recurring Mourning Period for Failed Transformations
August is the perfect month for the internet's most thoughtful readers write in about the current state of their recovery.
Good morning, just like last month, comments will not be paywalled on this post.
If you read something here that makes you feel Not Very Alone, would love to hear from you—that’s an excellent and useful comment to make. If you’d like to check in from the comments section, you will also get a free month of the Sunday newsletter. Courage is contagious.
Usual formatting rules apply: All the writers shall and will remain Anonymous but are credited collectively as "The Small Bow Family Orchestra."
The ***** separates individual entries, as do pull quotes.
And, of course, TSB looks magnificent because Edith Zimmerman drew everything.
Thanks for your continued support of The Small Bow. If you love what we do and believe that we have provided some value to you or people you love, please try out a paid subscription and get access to our complete archive and the Sunday newsletter. We need ya. — AJD
Demon Laughing Alone With Salad
by The Small Bow Family Orchestra
I want to scream at him for moving on so quickly, for being able to find someone to confide in while I'm camped out in the guest room.
Getting divorced is a gigantic mind-fuck. I recently discovered that my soon-to-be ex has been talking to someone on the phone three to four hours a day. This started about three weeks after I said I wanted to split up. Of course, I tracked the number down. I know who it is. I've met her before. She and her husband came to our house for dinner a few years ago. Now I'm tempted to call her husband and tell him to check his cellphone bill so he can see what I see. That our spouses are finding comfort in each other, and it's maddening. I check the cellphone bill now every day, multiple times a day. I have figured out their rhythm, their pattern. They talk in the early morning on his commute to work. They talk mid-afternoon for 20 minutes or so. They speak on his ride home from work, and sometimes their calls go so long that he parks his car in a nearby cemetery to finish their chats. Every night, he goes for a long walk, one I'm not invited to go on because I walk too slowly, he claims, and he wraps up his evening by talking to her.
I want to scream at him for moving on so quickly, for being able to find someone to confide in while I'm camped out in the guest room, hoping that I won't spend the rest of my life lonely, watching TikTok and pining for the days when we were together. Rationally, I am making the right decision; this will eventually get easier. I know I'll be happier and that daily life will be infinitely more peaceful. It all seems really far away at the moment, too much of a fantasy to feel like it will come true.
*****
I still wake up with a sense of "Fuck, what am I late for?"
The best thing that's happened to me is my meds finally started working. After a long search, early last year, my psychiatrist found a combo that got my depression and anxiety under control. I hated the side effects and went off of them when I was feeling better ... and sank right back into the abyss and was stuck there for about 8 months. It was not a good time to be non-functional: I've been going through a separation, a personal financial crisis, and couldn't find work. It took about six weeks for this new combo to start working. So I'm grateful to be able to see the bright side of being able to see a bright side: After years of feeling my marriage falling apart, I am now firmly in the "what comes next" part (even if I still don't know what that is); I found temp work, and even if it isn't my dream job, it's paying the bills (and hopefully the credit card debt down). I still wake up with a sense of "Fuck, what am I late for?" But it's getting better every morning.
*****
Something about the liver-damage warning on the Acetaminophen bottle has always made me heed the instructions.
Covid is saving my life. Last week, I took off 3 whole days from drinking. It's the longest stint of sobriety over the past 6... 10... 12? months during one of the lowest depression spells of my life. (I can't find a full-time job, I have zero motivation, I've been sleeping easily 10+ hours daily).
By day 4, I buckled and had about 8 drinks, a light-to-regular night for me, then spent the next couple of nights out drinking as usual. Sunday morning, I woke up with a headache that I first attributed to a hangover, but coupled with unique aches & shakes and a scratchy throat, I thought it might be something else. Sure enough, I got a call to inform me that the folks I worked with for 3 hours on Friday at a crowded book-signing/cocktail event all have Covid. Great, the whole 40 dollars I made at the dumb event was blown on my first couple of rounds afterward, and now I have Covid to boot.
On the upside, I'm on another 3-day sober stint for the second week in a row due to isolation and medication. Something about the liver-damage warning on the Acetaminophen bottle has always made me heed the instructions (but 7 shots of tequila? Sure thing!) I've been laying low and healing, opened up about my struggles to a couple of buddies on the phone, and might have a new job prospect once I get better. I'm now shooting for 5 days of sobriety. Then I'll go for 7 days. Then 14 days... It's good to have a silver-lining outlook for once. I hope I can keep up the positivity and the sobriety; I know they'll both contribute to getting me out of this massive funk.
*****
I’ve been off pot for almost three weeks now.
I’m doing ok! I was in the running for a cool job and didn’t get it, and I needed to tell this very nice lady that I didn’t want to be her girlfriend. But my mood is good. I’ve been off pot for almost three weeks now, and it feels great. I’m on vacation in a Jersey shore town with some travel companions who didn’t realize how crowded it would be. But I did, so no crowd-induced panic attacks over here! It’s tempting to be annoyed at them (hi, it’s July!), but instead, I just feel sorry that they won’t be able to enjoy themselves because they built an idea in their head that doesn’t match reality…something I am well familiar with.
*****
I haven't had a drink, but I know I'm playing it a bit fast and loose with prescriptions I can take "as needed.”
Work has been draining the life out of me. My boss is both a micromanager and unwilling to make any decisions so that if something goes south, she can point the blame elsewhere. I am in line for a promotion, and my partner recently became a stay-at-home parent in part so I could work more to get that promotion, so there's a lot of fear about financial insecurity and letting my family down if I'm not promoted.
I keep looking at other moms who have part-time jobs or work from home and have time to work out, get manicures, and generally engage in normal levels of self-care and feeling raging resentment. I've barely been sleeping, keep getting sick, and haven't been making meetings like I should. I haven't had a drink, but I know I'm playing it a bit fast and loose with prescriptions I can take "as needed," which I've probably been defining more liberally than I should be, but then again, I've been drowning in a sea of anxiety for months. After canceling no less than two planned vacations this summer, I've decided to take some vacation days and actually step away from work instead of saying I'll be taking them and working anyway. Hopefully, it will be the reset I need.
*****
I have felt shut out by the popular people.
In the program, the one I attribute to saving my life, I often hear how important it is to follow the acronym HOW (honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness). I’ve been sober for 17 years. I still encounter depression, anxiety, and a tendency toward hyper-vigilance and sensitivity (all the things). I am afraid to drink because drinking, for me, especially coupled with shame, has the power to kill (myself) and I have a child so that would be selfish. Sometimes, it seems like a good idea and sometimes a frighteningly inevitable one, but each time I refrain from drinking and/or intentionally dying, I always look back and feel tremendous relief and gratitude for having abstained—“What was I thinking??”
Lately, though, I’ve been struggling with my lifeline (the program), feeling it to be both necessary for survival but cliquey, phony, parroting (themselves and others), hypocritical and cult-like. When I take risks and am honest, really honest, I have felt shut out by the “popular people.” It’s a low bar to feel like a loser in the fellowship. Adding to that, I hear and read the problem is with me (of course, sometimes it is, but not always; besides, if the other person is saying the same thing to themselves, then whose problem is it?). Lately, I’ve been far more comfortable sharing in Small Bow meetings and with a paid professional—but I am afraid to leave the program because I have yet to hear of any successful deserters—just being honest.
*****
Progress, not perfection, but as a people-pleasing conflict-avoidant sad person, it’s so hard.
What does my body know? I’ve been sleeping 10 hours a night and can’t get enough rest. My shoulders call to the ground like they want me to be held there, against something steady. Jellyfish don’t need oxygen like other creatures. They come through the algae, muck, and wreckage done by others better than so many sea beasts, but do they thrive? They can tolerate more and go farther on less, but what for? Survival doesn’t mean what it once did. Not for me. What do the jellies know? Do they get what they need in these tubes and such? I’m two-and-a-half years sober at the aquarium, and my child wants to know whether the jellies have eyes and whether one of them is looking at her, but I just saw some information, so I only know about photosensitivity. “They have these cells to sense where there’s light,” I tell her. “Am I light?” she wants to know. Yes, sweet child! Yes!
*****
My biggest fear is that I will come across as a braggart, and I need to find the best words to show my disgust with my former self.
It's been a difficult July. Like you, I am celebrating my sleep in excess of 7 hours today! It's only the second time in the past several months.
I am working on a speech for Overdose Awareness Day later this month. It's difficult to know exactly what to say to inspire others to join in recovery and to help family members understand what is driving their loved ones to an early grave.
Last year, I focused on the death of my son, Patrick, and some unwitting victims of the Fentanyl Crisis.
This year, I want to focus on my own recovery and the depth of my depravity before giving up that life. What I want the audience to understand is that if I can overcome substance abuse, anyone can!
My biggest fear is that I will come across as a braggart, and I need to find the best words to show my disgust with my former self. I'm pretty sure that my clean and sober wife, along with my other unofficial proofreaders, will eventually get me there, but it is stressful.
*****
I started casually dating at the end of June after 7 months of telling myself I would be single forever.
July 23 marked 8 months of sobriety for me, and I felt an incredible sense of ease about my life and where I am compared to this time last year. Physical sobriety feels easy, but this is the first time in my life that I have worked so hard for my emotional sobriety. I started casually dating at the end of June after 7 months of telling myself I would be single forever. At first, I felt like I had reneged on this utterly unrealistic expectation of myself. But what I have learned in the past month is that I can communicate my needs in a relationship for the first time. My awareness of codependent feelings and situations and my ability to acknowledge and work through them have shown me just how successful my sobriety really is. Grateful for the love of my family and friends and for the gentle humans who are letting me explore my sobriety in romantic (emotional and physical) spaces.
*****
I’m about to go on a wonderful trip with an old friend, I should be excited but instead I’m worried about how I will function as an entertaining travel companion
August is a recurring mourning period for my failed transformation. I’ve doubled down on the feeling this year since I’m getting married in mid-September. At the start of my (unexpectedly multi-year) engagement, I was convinced that I would use the engagement as the chance to change. What could be a better motivation to become a shiny, healthy, sane person? Alas, I am weeks out, and still myself - afraid, stubborn, my emotional sobriety in constant peril. My fiancé is a truly good person and deserves better. Grateful he still loves me anyway.
*****
The relationships that I held closest are gone and I have no idea if they’ll ever return.
In this season that began just as I turned 21 years sober, I have for perhaps the first time truly wrestled with the biggest of my demons.
Diagnosed ‘trauma’, really it’s just been month upon month of near fatal grief, depression, fear and loss of faith. The relationships and aspects of my identity that I held closest are gone and I have no idea if they’ll ever return.
I can’t honestly tell you why I’ve stayed sober. Maybe it’s hope? Maybe it’s hope.
*****
I am in love with the world and the weird humans in it.
I'm sitting in an airport, about to fly to Denver to see my mother. War On Drug's transcendent "Up All Night" is playing through my AirPods, and I am taking in the swirling gorgeousness of humanity. The mom allowed her five-year-old daughter to wander bravely around the departure lounge, nervously keeping track of her. The handsome old man getting pissed that none of the outlets work to charge his phone. The tween siblings sunk in their phones. And I am in love with everyone.
AA did this to me. In the rooms, I am continually schooled at how my ignorant assumptions about people based on how they look get shattered when they share and reveal themselves to be fucking miracles.
I just celebrated 32 years of continuous sobriety, and I get the question, how did you do it now and then. First of all, I haven't done anything except show up. Two, the absence of drugs and alcohol won't keep me sober. I'm used to it. Something proactive and affirming has to happen. And it has. I am in love with the world and the weird humans in it. Do not put any barrier between me and them: no veils, altered states, delusions, and deceptions. I'm in my final third now. I'm mainlining this mojo until my heart stops.
fin
OTHER RECENT CHECK-INS:
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, the TSB Spotify playlist, and more exclusive essays.
Yesterday, we had a special announcement about our imminent expansion.
If you would like to support our podcast, you can donate right here.
Here’s the latest one with that guy from “How I Met Your Mother” about fame and gurus.
And, hey, if you think someone else will enjoy The Small Bow, you can give them a subscription.
Thanks for keeping us alive.
HELP WANTED: A FRIEND OF TSB IS ON THE HUNT FOR MEETINGS IN SANTA BARBARA
We’re talking AA, Al-Anon, SLAA—any suggestion is welcome. This person wants it all. HMU here: ajd@thesmallbow.com SUBJECT: SANTA B MEETINGS.
Thanks — xx ajd
ZOOM MEETING SCHEDULE
Monday: 5:30 p.m. PT/ 8:30 p.m ET
Wednesday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET
Thursday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET (Women and non-binary meeting.)
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:
No Return
by William Matthews
************************
I like divorce. I love to compose
letters of resignation; now and then
I send one in and leave in a lemon-
hued Huff or a Snit with four on the floor.
Do you like the scent of a hollyhock?
To each his own. I love a burning bridge.
I like to watch the small boat go over
the falls — it swirls in a circle
like a dog coiling for sleep, and its frail bow
pokes blindly out over the falls' lip
a little and a little more and then
too much, and then the boat's nose dives and butt
flips up so that the boat points doomily
down and the screams of the soon-to-be-dead
last longer by echo than the screamers do.
Let's go to the videotape, the news-
caster intones, and the control room does,
and the boat explodes again and again.
ALL ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDITH ZIMMERMAN
I look forward to this every month, and this month it's found me in an especially vulnerable moment. I'm had a miscarriage after 2 (so so long) years of infertility/rounds of IVF and in the couple weeks since it's happened, I spend a good chunk of every day feeling like I can barely breathe with the rock sitting on my chest. I practice my practices, I signed up for a support group, I stay sober, and I'm trying not to isolate but I anything I say that isn't *this* feels dishonest. *this* is all I am right now. Thank you to this community for speaking the weight aloud and then moving into the light anyway.
“Do not put any barrier between me and them: no veils, altered states, delusions, and deceptions.” - sobriety talk gets real zen real quick and I love it. Appreciate every share so much.