I’m tired. It’s cold and wet and dark. I need spring to come and warmth and sunshine.
I am stunned and sick about the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman.
I know, I know. There are so many other tragic things that should, legitimately, stun and sicken me. But, because he is a familiar face and because he died such a pathetic death and because I have two children who live in this world and will face important decisions such as whether or not to binge drink or shoot up, I am stunned and sickened.
It is in me. Addiction. It is in me and I know it is in my children. I can already see it in my youngest and he’s only eight.
Right this very minute, I am engaged in not drinking and it requires a lot of effort. It is depressing to think that, my longterm success or failure aside, this struggle will be there for him, too. I don’t want him to carry this pitiful burden. I should be able to conquer it for both of us and his energies should then go toward something much more worthy of him.
In the recent interview about her struggle with alcoholism, Elizabeth Vargas touched on the spirituality of her recovery. I understand it is the Second Step in AA: “There is a Higher Power available to each of us that can help us live more freely and fully.”
I need a little bit of that right now. Something I can surrender to freely. A vessel to put all these worries into fully. A solution.