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THE DIARY OF A CHICK WHO WALKED AWAY FROM ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS (THE CULT)

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Go-Go Rach  once was a girl whose world was controlled by the idea that she was POWERLESS. After a chain of events, she realized she'd been lied to. Now she does whatever she wants, whenever she wants, with whomever she chooses to do it with.

Her blog chronicles the horrors she experienced in the halls of Alcoholics Anonymous (THE CULT) and the wonderful things she does now that she's escaped. *IF SHE BIT HER TONGUE ANY LONGER, IT WOULD BLEED!*

Her life is pretty GREAT.
#gogorach
#livelikeumeanit
#thatswhatsup


Sunday, January 18, 2015

LIVING THE DREAM

One Hundred Percent FREE.


Hi. My name is Rachel G. I am happy, self-actualized, free-thinking, outspoken and I love every single second of my life because I refuse to allow anyone or anything to define the brilliant, amazing and extraordinary being that is ME.


Nearly five years ago, I said good bye to the A.A. way. My journey from powerless to powerful has not been easy. I had to learn how to crawl before I could walk, which seemed nearly impossible, until I truly surrendered to the fact that I had no clue how to navigate life on life's terms, especially after my circumstances changed dramatically.

Although I've never been married, I imagine extricating oneself from THE CULT is a lot like divorce in the sense that one has to start completely over from scratch, without the comfort or security life with a spouse brings. Adjustments must be made in order to regain balance after loss that comes with grief.

By the time I walked away from the halls, I had come to a place where I refused to be abused, contained or demoralized by anyone, including my dysfunctional family who lost their license to hurt me when I stopped working the 12 Steps to HELL.

In contrast to what I learned in THE CULT, I had every reason to resent my family for the shitty way I was raised. 

When you bring a child into this world, you are one hundred percent responsible for the well-being of that person, until they are old enough to take care of themselves. I had no reason to apologize to anyone for my feelings about their epic failures, nor do I owe them a God-Damned thing, aside from a big, fat FUCK OFF that should have happened as soon as I was old enough to fend for myself.

Unfortunately, I was too caught up in twelve step dogma to recognize the foolish position I had put myself in when I allowed my mother to fuck me over for the last time. Looking back, I can clearly see the error of my ways. Thank God, my foresight has finally caught up with hindsight. Part of me still wishes I could go back, but who needs wishes, anyway?

Certainly not me. 

In fact, what I needed was a swift kick in the ass for allowing myself to be swept away by the idea that my mother might ever be anything other than the person she has always been: a miserable, greedy, ruthless CUNT.  

Now that I've come to grips with what happened, I honestly feel sad for my mom for whatever makes her do the things she does, especially what she did to me. I wouldn't trade places with her for all the money in the world. God Bless her.

And, God Bless ME.

Always.

Even when I think He isn't.

As I wrote about in this post, life in Daytona Beach is limited to things that bore me to tears. For the sake of my sanity, I am gonna bounce to Go-Go friendly pastures.

At this stage of the game, I've come to realize the world is truly my oyster, especially now that I travel light; however, I had to tie up loose ends in San Diego before I could make a decision to go anywhere.

First of all, I needed to retrieve my beloved Tolstoy's remains. Second, was the fact that some asshole along the way stole my California license and I've been running around without identification for months - I left my birth certificate, social security card, N.C. i.d. and passport in storage. Third, there was the fucking scooter I never wanted to begin with. Fourth, was the storage bill that had been raised for the third time in less than two years. And, fifth, I left my IMACPRO behind in a meth induced hallucinations.

After a night of drinking with my neighbor became a classic case of police brutality through a phony call made by the white trash couple I talked about in UNDER COVER DOUCHE BAGS, I bought a bus ticket to San Diego without any idea where I would stay when I got there or how things would work out.

I said a prayer, got on a bus where I reached a whole new level of disgust for Greyhound, but realized the benefits of FAITH in a way that people, including me, only dream about.

I was blessed beyond belief during that trip. I spent the first five days at the gorgeous Sheraton Hotel in Mission Valley, followed by three weeks house-sitting my friend's condo in UTC La Jolla with a Christmas gift of three hundred dollars in my pocket from another close friend.

Within twenty fours hours of my arrival, Tolstoy's remains where with me. I sold my scooter on the way out of the storage unit for a fair price. I was able to pay a local mover to bring my things to my friend's condo where I consolidated eighteen bins and ten garbage bags down to eight, manageable ones that my friend allowed me to leave in his external storage, for free, until I have a place to ship them to.

In between sorting, I spent time with good friends at various parties and events around San Diego. I sold what I could at the Swap meet, then left the rest with a friend who will sell what she can and donate anything left-over. 

All the while, I thanked God for all he was doing to make my trip a success, with requests for help deciding where I would go next. Then, something positively magical happened:

My landlords in Daytona Beach tried to bully me into believing they could rent my apartment right out from underneath me, while I was on vacation.

NOT SO.

I hired a lawyer, who filed a case against them in civil court. I came back to my apartment to find that it had been packed, then unpacked after they listed, then removed my place from craigslist.org in an ad stating "available NOW."

After weak attempts to fight, my landlords have agreed to settle with me for $1,850.00, which is plenty of money to relocate to San Diego, where my heart and HOME IS.

God IS GOOD.

I'm grateful.

And, as I type this from my Mac Pro, without any regrets or things left undone, I can truly proclaim that I AM:

LIVING THE DREAM!

Until Next Time,
  





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DeConstrucor's Comment In Response to LETTER TO MY "FRIENDS" IN AA (page above)

"Brav fucking O.....Standing O fucking Vation. Or perhaps the Charlie Daniels quote from the Geico commercial of "thats how you do it son"

That was incredible.

Reminded me a little of "the letter" at the end of the Breakfast Club (perhaps the greatest movie ever)

Keep it up, dont be afraid to kick them in the teeth once in a while.

Always remember that its the misfits, the rebels, and the troublemakers that are the ones that change the world."

He post the following video at the end of his comment.

Thank you, my friend.
I am both Flattered and HONORED.
*STINKIN THINKAS UNITE!*


*This Video is here to support Decon's Words, not OBAMA (or any politician for that matter, since I've never been allowed to vote) Sincerely, Go-Go Rach.