We admitted we were powerless over our addiction - that our lives had become unmanageable

I’ve done all sorts of things to avoid feeling my feelings. all sorts of elaborate behaviors and rituals over the years to avoid anxiety, to stave off badness, to fix things, to not be a bother. to not take up space or cause a problem. to leave things better than I found them.
to give and give. that’s where I found worth.

when I was a kid I remember hating myself when someone gave me a gift.
my birthdays and christmas were laden with guilt (they still kind of are... just to be honest). I didn’t feel like I deserved presents. I felt like if I had something, someone else would go without. I felt guilty that someone had to go to the store and waste their money on me. I felt guilty for having new clothes and so I’d push my mom to only buy the things on sale, or better yet, used from the thrift store. i’d cry sometimes, but I didn’t ever say why. I didn’t know the words for it. I just knew that I felt bad about myself I felt guilty for taking up space and I didn’t know how to explain it.
sometimes I’d take the cards that family members gave me and I’d scratch off the word love and I’d replace it with hate.

that’s just a glimpse.

people who are attracted to care giving often enter the field already compassion fatigued. A strong identification with helpless, suffering, or traumatized people or animals is possibly the motive. It is common for such people to hail from a tradition of what Gentry labels: other-directed care giving. Simply put, these are people who were taught at an early age to care for the needs of others before caring for their own needs. Authentic, ongoing self-care practices are absent from their lives.

I have to work to change these thoughts, these beliefs and feelings. they don’t just evaporate, they don’t just disappear.

be honest. let go. admit to being out of control. clean up your life, your messes. try not to hurt people, and say sorry when you have. make up for your wrongs. turn your defaults of character over to the god of your understanding. let go. we’re all connected on a spiritual level, so just let go.

last night a friend asked me how to avoid getting burnt out, doing what I do, being who I am. I had to say that I’m not exactly sure, because I did burn out. I cracked.
somewhere between march and april I ended up on my living room floor, wedged between the couch and the coffee table for a few weeks.
I ended up bottomed out with nothing left inside save for some words and phrases that rolled around: shopping lists, bills to pay, string, paperclips, lint and bits of conversations...

I’m better now. I’ve been working on it.

I had to say that honestly I don’t know if i’ll end up there again. I could say that I hope not. but let’s be honest: hope doesn’t get the job done.
I’ve had to do some work. I’ve had to make some fundamental changes. I’ve had to take inventory.
and I’ve had to acknowledge that regardless of the circumstances, I drove myself to that ledge and it’s up to me to see that I don’t end up there again.

I can see it now, how I got there.
it was a combination of training and experience and unrealistic expectations of myself.
it was years of carrying my work into my personal life by repressing emotions and reactions and not working through them appropriately.

it’s not that I’m dishonest about my emotions, it’s just that I usually have a delayed reaction time.
and by the time the emotion surfaces it’s later and I’m alone and it comes out in all the wrong ways...

I am working on being more present.

I’m working on it.

sometimes it’s hard to be contained in myself. I ride waves of annoying levels of self awareness- but this self awareness is sometimes a narrowed focus on my flaws. on what can be improved.
this morning I’m sitting here ruminating. why is when I’m sad or overwhelmed that I say crazy, hurtful things? why can’t I just ride the wave and button myself down better. contain myself.
all it does is create a mess that I have to clean up. apologies, and feeling bad...

but, if you knew me, you’d know that really, I’m full of love. it oozes out of me. I have a great capacity for love, for affection. I’m sticky in that way, like honey, running down the sides of the jar.

and really, if I ever say anything hurtful, it’s only because I want it out of me. I don’t want to sit with it or keep it, be infected by it. so I spit it out. like a piece of sand in a lick of ice cream.
that’s all it is. nothing more.

Persons with weight of character carry, like planets, their atmospheres along with them in their orbits.
~Thomas Hardy

character is important to me. to have a good character is important. I hope for that within myself, that my character grows. I hope that I can be better. I try to be. I try to live with character and integrity.

I’ve been thinking about people I admire, about their character and what it is that makes them admirable... for me, it’s when people are really honest, when they say the truth and do so without defense, blame or justification. I find character in individuals who are able to make their vulnerability a strength, people who open up, when most people would shut down.

I think that character means having a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others, it’s about doing the right thing when no one is looking. it’s about valuing what is real over what is material and not choosing what is convenient over what is right. it’s about owning up to being wrong.
its about making a fool of yourself by being emotionally honest, rather than saving face and keeping a stiff upper lip.

I don’t see character in being cold or impatient or impulsive or mysterious.
I want to have more patience. I want to be less impulsive. I want to be better. I want to be open.
and I want to do so without agenda or any other purpose other than just being myself.

a girl came in last night. she was intoxicated. she was crying and stumbling and holding her head in her hands. there were visible finger marks across her throat and bruises on her young face.

....there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

we gave her something to eat, we took her vitals, we wrapped her in a warm blanket and sent her up to the hospital with a note telling them that she’d received blows to the head and the face.
the cab came and as she was going out the door she looked back towards us and said:
“assholes”

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

it’s not personal. I mean, I don’t take it personally. what do I know about her life?
if she has to call someone an asshole, might as well be me.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners

it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

our clients are homeless, mentally ill and addicted.
sometimes I hear people talk about those people with disgust. they don’t want to see it. they don’t want to see the crackheads tweaking in the streets or camping on the sidewalks.
they might take a moment to wonder- how did they get like this?
I can assure you that they are not out there doing what they are doing because it’s fun.

that girl tweaking on the street, her father pimps her out- can you blame her for smoking crack?
I can’t. I won’t blame her. I can’t imagine what her life is like.

people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.

I suppose they never will be.
I don't ask them to be.

but sometimes I think about
it.

sometimes people ask me how I do what I do. they ask me if it’s hard.
it’s not hard.
it’s the easiest thing I can do.
I don’t think I could stand this world for long if I didn’t work with the kind souls I work with, and if I didn’t feel like I was doing something.
I don’t know if I make a difference or not, but at least I’m trying.

~excerpts from “The Crunch” by Charles Bukowski