I’m trying to be nice and it’s getting me nowhere.
I’m sitting here listening to people talk about winners and losers.
If I’m called upon to share my opinion, I will have to remain silent…because I have nothing to add to the winners and losers commentary.
I feel like a loser a lot of times.
A lot of folks consider me a winner.
A lot of folks.
Doesn’t make them right.
I want to leave but I’ll stay. I’ve got no where else to go till after this meeting.
Some guy is trying to be funny about his use of hallucinogens. That means everyone will be trippin’ by the time the meeting’s over.
I have a bad attitude.
But I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving.
Some guy is texting me. His text reads, “I can’t pay you till tomorrow.”
Shit. That means I can’t pay Chester back till tomorrow.
Now, some guy is saying, “With that, I’ll pass.”
Where has my mind been?
Now, everyone but me is laughing. I have no idea what was so funny.
It’s me. They’re laughing at me. I didn’t hear the chairperson call my name. Now, everyone in the room is quiet and all eyes are on me.
I clear my throat and say, “What you losers lookin at?”
Today I am going to practice the philosophy of “It’s none of my business what others think of me.”
In other words, I am going to do my best to be completely “myself.”
“The delusion that we are like other people…has to be smashed.”-pg.30 “Big Book” of Alcoholics Anonymous.
“I’m Not Like Everybody Else”-The Kinks
I don’t know if I ever thought I was like other people. I do know I always paid attention to the folks who said I was different.
Weird was the word most used to describe me. Said it right to my face. No one has ever been reluctant telling me, “You don’t belong here.”
And I didn’t belong. I didn’t fit in. And I used to feel bad about it. I was ashamed. The first words out of my mouth when I woke up every morning were, “I’m sorry.”
Drinking changed all that. I took my first drink and I wasn’t sorry for a goddamned thing. You don’t want me around? Too fuckin’ bad. I’m here to make you rue the day you ever judged me.
My feelings of shame turned into rage. Rage toward those who mocked me. Toward those who pushed me. Toward those who tried to help me. I took that first drink and I did my best to kick everybody’s ass.
Of course, I failed miserably in my vengeance quest. Knee walkin’ drunk did not make me a crouching tiger but it allowed an easy time for the other, still able to stand, barscum when it came to draggin’ my limp and beaten body from the tavern to the alley.
I guess I didn’t fit in there either.
I’ve always been able to “empty” my mind.
It started when I was a kid. The Old Man would stumble in around 3am and Mom would be in the front room waiting for him. Waiting so she could tell him he was a “drunken son of a bitch.”
And he was.
And he knew he was…but he didn’t like hearing it.
And, why she always picked the pre-dawn hours to tell him the very thing he didn’t want to hear, I have yet to figure out.
And, why she’d always act surprised when The Old Man would shout, cuss, scream, and throw furniture across the room, was also beyond me.
When, I was eight or nine, I’d get out of bed and try to stop my parents from hurting, sometimes, perhaps, from killing each other. By the time I was ten, I had given up on them. Yeah, by then, I’d just stay in bed, close my eyes and turn “it” off.
And it worked.
Years later, some one told me I was a “natural at empty mind” technique.
He called it meditation.
I called it survival.
Nowadays, I’m considered an “Oldtimer” around this fellowship.
Hell, the other day, a guy called me “a walking, talking example of what the traditions are all about.”
I thanked him and said, “Tell me what you think in 2 months, when you have 90 days.”
“Man, you don’t have to be a smart ass. I was tryin’ to give you a compliment.”
“Sorry. I just meant, in a little while, I think you’re going to realize…”
“Realize what? That you’re full of shit?”
Then he bolted from his seat and left the room.
I know his sponsor so I called him and said, “Your boy is wakin’ up to a couple of things. It might be a good idea to call him just in case he lost your number.”
“Damn you,” he said. “Damn you and your feet of clay.”
I’m not sure where to begin.
He’s saying, “I’ve had a long standing argument with God.”
“Okay,” I say.
“What’s the big deal?”
He says, “What’s the big deal? What’s the big deal? My life’s supposed to be a sacred journey.”
“Heard it in a meeting. Don’t remember who said it. But I liked it. Thought it was good shit for me to hear.”
“So what’s God say about your journey?”
“Wha…? I’m not crazy, man. God doesn’t talk to me.”