I have struggled with coming back to the blog and write because I think its just that I have so many discoveries of late I don't know how to put them into words. So perhaps I should begin at the beginning..or not really the beginning but the beginning of adult choices. I went to college to be a social worker. I think instinctually I had a desire to be of service to others...idealistically, I wanted to save the world. But because of my alcoholism and its underlying causes and conditions, namely, what I like to call defenses of charachter, a/k/a self...I ran. My beginning of the end of my social work career came during a retreat weekend with a class. The professor had us watch the movie "Ordinary People" to spark discussion. I don't remember too much of that weekend to be honest. I remember falling apart during my share because I couldn't articulate my feelings with respect to the mother, my mother, my family. I drank alot with people I barely knew. I didn't feel safe. I remember going to the professor afterwards but I couldn't ask for help. I needed help but I could only tell him that my Dad was upset resulting in the professor telling me I was immature. I quit my waitressing job. A triangular relationship exploded and I lost my best friend who took off with the boy I liked. And ultimately, though I'm not real clear on the timeline, I dropped out of school. I didn't want to be a social worker anymore. I used to say that I had social worker burnout before even becoming a social worker. Ha Ha. Looking back, I suppose, the program did an excellent job of weeding a very sick person out. And I did know that I wasn't capable of making decisions that could affect people's lives. I had no idea that all these things happen for a reason. I had no idea that I would come full circle to this place again.
I attended a conference this weekend for the non profit organization "To Write Love on Her Arms" I became aware of this suicide prevention group after my friend died. Supporting them seemed a very small way to feel as though I was doing something. I didn't do much. I joined their facebook group. Voted for them to be awarded funds and read their materials. And then they came to town and spontaneously I decided to attend. I've been toying with the idea of going back to school and reentering the human services field, most likely in the field of substance abuse but I have a lot of self doubt. I felt this from the very beginning and my sponser and therapist laughed and said I was right on target. Everyone in recovery wants to become a counsellor. But I think I knew it was a bit more than that. But I waited. They say when you are not sure to do nothing. I have a good job, make decent money and pretty much have job security. But I hate it. So anyway, I've been talking about this for 2 1/2 years. Scoping it out. But staying put. Taking no steps. But I finally did and went to this conference. I went with no expectations but I hoped to learn something that would help explain my friend's death. It didn't really. There is no real explanation. But there is understanding. And that first day, sitting in a room, it was a bar actually, believe it or not, with all these kids..who were going to school or just out of school...I felt exactly at home. The hair on my arms were raised and my emotions were overwhelming because I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. And everything in my life had led me to here, my broken family, my broken education, my broken relationships, my broken body, mind and spirit and my friend's suicide. And there is beauty in that brokenness., The beauty of the Truth. Pieces to put togehter. Without the brokenness there would be no pieces. I don't know what I will end up doing. I do know that I'm checking out a certificate program at our local community college. I know that I have choices today that I didn't have when I was all clogged up with alcohol. I know that there are still defenses that are yet to be broken. But I know that when they break...I am not meant to fix them. Because they are beautiful.
1 day ago