Nov 25, 2015 | By Jeannette Quinton

Are You Spiritually Disabled?

Spirituality

I’m spiritually disabled at times.

I don’t know if this allows me a special parking spot at my local church; but I am. Slouched in worry I can be a misguided soul, feverishly trying to run away from my bookish need to know all the answers. One of my toughest lessons in recovery has been that learning to let go is not performed from your head. It’s ingrained from repetitive, vulnerable actions of the heart!

My emotional reaction too many things is fidgety and seems futile in the moment. It’s laced with fear, anxiety and mistrust. And at the opposite end of my outfield it can be covered with deep love, passion and leaps of joy!

How do you commiserate with the misery of addition and find a path that saves your life? Alcoholics Anonymous has certainly saved my life, yet most mornings I dread getting up an hour earlier to head to my home group. Certainly true – if I know the topic of faith will be tossed around. How do you face a deadly, deceitful disease head on and not lose hope? How do you identify the depths of your own illness when most of society shuns it or tucks it away in a hope chest?   I don’t know any parent who introduces their kid at a formal function like this: “this is our son Bill, he was high as hell lasmt year but he’s sober now. He wasted his degree from Rutgers, thousands of dollars and millions of brain cells were trashed but he’s alive and we couldn’t be more proud!” Parents should do this but they don’t. How do I get right with my addiction and the foreign idea of letting go? I guess with acceptance, courage and credence, and a cargo ship filled with patience. Oh and make sure to bring some honesty among your peer group to this party.   Stand awkwardly alongside others who applaud your child like emotions and nod in identification as they cling to a coffee cup.

One of the highest hurdles I’ve faced in recovery is my personal consent that there’s a higher power that has my back along this road. Even though I can glance back at my 30 yearlong drug career and view in amazement that I never even got a parking ticket or physically hurt myself; I still can question whether or not there’s a higher power in my life. My parents don’t have a prayer card in their wallet with my name on it – yet I’ve attended more funerals born of addition than anyone should ponder. I don’t think I made it out alive from my personal war on drugs because some genie in a bottle likes me more than others. It’s just dumb luck. And I certainly know there’s no hope for my recovery if I don’t face my past and those whom I emotionally flat lined.

There are entire meetings, Step Two readings, books and lengthy discussions around this topic of a higher power. Why do addicts as a whole struggle with jumping onto any spiritual platform?  Why do I suit up for a spiritually based program and feed off of the worry buffet? One early dawn last week this subject seemed to strangle me – the idea of a God or Group of Drunks holding my hand had me baffled more than normal. It was 2:05 am and a bright red light from my DVD player was staring at me. Like a single evil eye screaming in the silence; it whispered “you’ll never get to sleep now – not on my watch”. I’ve had restless nights before. Too many to count. My lack of slumber haunts me. Sound sleep is a constant struggle for me lately. I haven’t made introductions with a full 8 hours of rest in a while.  My mind is like a ferret on crack. I could light up a small city with the energy I’ve wasted trying to finish a thought. I worry over everything:  My daughter’s happiness, my career, my romantic involvement, my friendships, my financial state, world peace, the state of the environment, my daughter’s journey to college, my relative’s health, my pet’s health, my health.

I worry about how much I worry. It’s as certain as death – which in an odd sense gives me a small slice of comfort. It’s exhausting trying to play God. The puppet master never rests between acts. Don’t get me wrong I love being alive. I know my remaining days on this planet are a gift. I am a fool being blessed each minute. So why can’t my heart tell my head this?

Why can’t I just let go and let God?  Whomever or whatever this god may be why do I continue to take my will back and stand tall in the midst of a spiritually sinking ship? Yes I know my pride and ego destructively walk the plank backwards. Old habits die hard and old spiritual or religious beliefs fade slowly away like someone hit the pause button on my watch.

I never questioned the bar tender who slid a drink my way nor the doctor who wrote me a script, or called the pharmacist over the counter at CVS and asked “can you explain the exact chemical reaction that will occur in my body that allows me to get fucked up?” I just took it. “Yes sir I’d like another. Line em up!”! Even though I knew these behaviors were killing me and separating me from everything I cherished; I still followed suit. Like a whacked out blood thirsty zombie. I get jealous of people who snuggle up to their strong faiths, who seem to blindly walk thru their recovery – Christ I feel like I’m on a first date with myself and my higher power most days. My thoughts are clumsy, misdirected and often void of faith. In some ways I miss getting high. When I was using my only job function for the day was to do just that – get high. I guess I really miss the irresponsibility of it all, the way getting high didn’t require any solid spiritual resume. It just guaranteed that my mind would shut down.

Most days I have SPIRITUAL ADD!  I can have a hard time pinpointing exactly what or whom in my day is going to let me have enough faith to hold onto the next 24 hours. My spiritual solution has a 24 hour shelf life. One day at a time – right? One course of faith, served up with some grateful, selfless actions have kept me sober the last seven years. So what do you do when you’re at the end of your spiritual rope? Jump I guess?!  For the love of all that’s good and evil just jump! “Let go or be dragged” scream my friends. Or something even more horrid than being a dry drunk will drag you off your rope against your misdirected will! Reach deep down and find that same sick strength that kept you getting high and flip it on its ass. Forgive yourself long enough to find some faith. Have faith that being intellectually certain of any outcome is dumb! Moronic! I get my sticky fingers off the control switch and let something else take over. Make it Buddha, Jesus, The Dali Lama, Ben Kinglsey (when he played Gandhi), your Golden Retriever, Mother Nature or just the idea of falling in love with your new life. Make something besides YOU; your ticket to heaven and serenity. Stop asking the same fool (you) who got you in this mess for directions! Let something else guide you and reset your GPS this time! It’s worth every restful, non- resentful, sleep filled night! Please just believe that this non-believer can finally fork down some faith and move forward.