So, yeah. I've taken an ass-kicking like no other I've experienced. One thing is certain, I've changed. As I sit here, typing, I am a ball of mush, ready and willing to do just about whatever I have to do, in order to be the person I've always wanted to be.
NO. I will never go back to Alcoholics Anonymous. No. I will never get sober. I am not POWERLESS. I've proved it to myself and others over and over. My book, "VIPERIZE ME," will prove it to you.
Powerlessness became a mask for my REAL PROBLEM: I've been FUCKING PISSED ALL MY LIFE.
I gotta tell yous, it's totally whipped my ass.
I'm tired.
For the first time ever, I am crystal clear on who and what is to blame for my situation.
ME.
As far back as I can remember, I've been mad.
It started when I was a little girl.
I was born with a cleft palette, resulting from my father's exposure to Agent Orange in Vietnam.
My voice was stifled by my birth defect, while I endured repeated, failed surgeries to correct it. Finally, when I turned four, the doctor's were able to fix me, but I was already PISSED.
After my fifth operation, I remember laying in the hospital bed, crying with fury because the doctors left a plastic string attached to my tongue that was meant to stop me from swallowing it, while I was under anesthesia. It was hard, uncomfortable and about seven inches long. It ought to have been removed before I left the surgery unit.
Someone forgot.
The oversight made me VERY ANGRY.
Even though it hurt like hell, I tried and tried to pull that string off my tongue, with no success. My tiny hands gripped the annoying attachment with all my might, while I thought, poor me, oh poor me! I repeated the words, while I wallowed in self pity because I had that thing hanging out of my mouth, yet had no ability to say anything about it.
At a very young age, I embraced my role of "victim." I decided life sucks.
Anger fueled my desire to get that plastic string out of my mouth. The pain was intense. Tears flooded my cheeks with every tug. I refused to give up. I was determined to remove it.
Days of self-torture and frustration finally ended when a doctor, who was walking by my bed, noticed what I was doing. He quickly cut the source of my agony from my tongue, with many apologies. Unfortunately, he was too late.
The damage was done.
From that moment on, things got progressively worse, while I used any avenue to stuff these feelings down. As a teen, I found drugs and alcohol, which worked, until they didn't.
When my mother sent me to rehab at seventeen, I learned a new level of victimization: POWERLESSNESS. For the next two decades, I lived that lie, while I remained confused, angry and unable to communicate how I felt to anyone.
The CULT buried me under a program designed to do just that. I was taught to submit to people who were just as sick as I was, while I stuffed my feelings with food. I had no idea how to stand up to anyone, or anything.
How could I?
All my life, I've let everyone else decide who and what I am, while I gave away my opportunity for self development! At 38 years old, I became fed up with the weak suck puke way of life (ahem, some things won't change) enough to leave it behind me for good.
I took my life back, along with my power of choice.
Leaving the rooms gave me the ability to see ME, for the first time in my life, without any labels or dictators. What an EYE OPENER! This was the best gift I've ever given myself.
In fact, kicking Twelve Step Dogma to the curb was the first truly genuine self care I'd ever experienced. I'll always be thrilled with my decision.
While I was homeless, lots of folks encouraged me to go into rehab to use THE CULT as an easy way to get back on my feet. I'd rather die on the streets, than go that route. "Sobriety" in the halls is a living death I'll never miss or go back to.
I am determined TO BE TRULY WELL. That program will never cut it, not even for the people who THINK it does.
Little by slow, I cut THE CULT out of my life. Through my extrication, I realized exactly WHO I AM and WHAT I WANT. When I discovered I am pretty freaking special, it PISSED ME OFF.
I decided to write about it, which is why I started this blog to begin with. This project introduced me to other people who felt the same way I do.
IT PISSED ME OFF EVEN MORE.
I decided to do something about it.
For the first time in my life, I had a purpose, a voice and I spoke up for myself.
In time, I decided I want to speak up for other people, with the hope that I may be able to make some much needed change in an industry that is KILLING PEOPLE.
I wrote stories about the ones who hurt me the most. It felt DAMNED GOOD to get it all out of me, until I noticed that I was showering people with negativity that no one wants in their lives, including me!
Yet, I continued to vomit my hate and anger all over everyone, even the people I want to help.
My fury grew to a feverish pitch when tragedy struck. I wrote it all out, while we all questioned my sanity.
After nearly thirty five years spent stuffing my anger, it felt REALLY GOOD to let it all out, until it didn't.
Yet, I continued to rant, while people ran away from me.
That hurt.
I began to wonder if I am CRAZY?
I started to ACT CRAZY.
With my chin held high, I tried to pretend not to care about who or what left me to self destruct in my merciless pit of loathing.
Now I find myself alone in the world, with absolutely nothing to show for my life.
When all I want to do is help people.
It sucks ass.
For REALS.
How did this happen?
RAGE IS SCARY.
It freaks people out.
I'm freaked out.
I never intended to end up here.
I am truly sorry.
It's time for Go-Go Rach to TONE IT DOWN.
I hope and pray it is not too late for me to learn how to use my experience to help people.
Buddha said, "Holding on to your anger is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die."
Several wise people in my life have shared these words with me.
I listened, but was unable to HEAR, until now.
I'm ready to heal.
I'VE FOUND MY VOICE
Now it's time to use it in a way that helps, not harms.
Go-Go Rach is learning how to forgive.
Do ya feel me?
'Till Friday,
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