Surviving Soberly

Christmas Eve 2013 Dear McKenna: Time for your annual Christmas letter again and sorry it is so late. I actually started this letter December 22, the day I got to see you again. It had been since July when I'd seen you last. The time always drags in between visits for me because I miss you so much and I cherish the time I have with you. This recent visit marked the first time I'd been able to see you at the holidays. I've always dreamed and wished I'd get to see you around Christmas but never thought the day would come since I always see you at other times of the year. Every year at this time it's the only thing I want for Christmas – to see you. You have gotten taller each time I see you and this year you had two growth spurts, one of which made me cry with joy, sitting in the living room, thanking God over and over. I never thought that would happen either. God is good! You remind me a lot of my sister Cindy in that you don't g

So I go to a Halloween party last night and only three people are dressed up besides me. This was a place I felt safe - till last night. This guy I know, crazy ass - crazier than me, who lives with his parents and refuses to work, wants to judge me and tear me apart for being who I am. That's why, a few weeks ago I decided to definitely drop out of the recovery program. I feel like I'm leaving a cult, like I need a deprogrammer. I'm so tired of being criticized, judged, torn apart; etc. I have never been around such jerks as I have in AA. My drinking buddies treated me better. When I think about how many times my heart has been broken, stomped on; how many times I have been treated as if I killed a family of five because of my mental illness and depression, because of the choices I've made in the past, I just die inside. If I just keep working like I am, I don't need those people. I have never met so many pedophiles, rapists, sickos, stalkers, con

Good morning. I’m delighted to let you know about the Institute’s newest research-based publication, “A Need to Know: Enhancing Adoption Competence among Mental Health Professionals,” which is being released today. We hope and believe that broad dissemination of this report will lead more and more professionals to receive the education they need, so it’s critically important that it gets into as many hands as possible. Toward that end, please feel free to circulate/forward/publicize it far and wide, post the link on Facebook and other social media, write about it, tweet it, blog about it, use or reference it in print and online newsletters, blast it to your lists and suggest that others (especially affected and targeted individuals and organizations) do all these things, too. FYI, the Institute is embarking on an intensive, sustained effort to distribute it to many people as possible who can benefit from it. Thanks for your help and commitment. Adam. Adam Pertman, Executive Dir

Aug. 14, 2013 Dear McKenna: So now you're going to be a teenager tomorrow. Lots of things have happened this year for you: You made symphonic band, finished babysitting class, progressed with your piano playing, and have accomplished so much academically and personally. I brag about you all the time. I've been thinking about what I want to say in this letter since you're going to be a teenager now while also thinking about what it was like when I was 13. Things have changed a lot since 1979 when I was your age. You've probably never heard of a Walkman. That's how we listened to music on the radio or tapes then if we weren't near a stereo at home. People would jog or walk with The Walkman. I was so excited when I got one for Christmas. All the kids wanted one like you and your friends wanted Ipads. We had all kinds of weird toys from pet rocks, to fake TV dinners, spirographs, fake airports, fire stations, puppets you co

Why is it when you think you're doing good, you're not at all? You're juggling this or that, then someone new comes along with a friendly face and pulls the rug out from under you, only to have you in that place again - that suicidal place where you have to be facing another smiling, clueless face who wouldn't know depression if it bit them in the ass. And all you want to do is run home and pull your face under the covers but you can't because you have an obligation even though that after ten years they've told you you can't come back. Ten years of services. Like a real job even though the longest you held a job was three years. They don't know what a big deal this is for you. And they don't care. So you're suicidal and you go through the paces while choking back tears, despondent, only the student doesn't know it because they don't have that - whatever you're supposed to have to pick up on that. Like the rest of the world

She gained eight lbs. and finished her babysitting class!

http://www.scribd.com/doc/153485968/Fostered-Adult-Children-Together-On-The-Bridge-To-Healing%E2%80%A6Will-we-ever-get-over-it (Once you click on the link, just scroll down to headline that reads: "How Being a Former Foster Child Can Affect an Adult" and that's my story. You have to scroll a ways. Sorry!

You know the saying, "In a New York minute, everything can change?" Well, I had one of those moments yesterday, thank God! After getting such bad news the day before, which I wrote about here, I get a phone call from my psychiatrist's office while in the middle of working telling me that he's going to keep a handful of patients - and I'm one of them. I was stunned, shocked, thrilled - all of the above. I couldn't believe it! These things never happen to me. I called my sister later and asked her if she called him or something. Nope, she said. Just talked to God. I still don't know if my therapist put in a word for me. All I know was the rest of the day seemed to effortlessly go by, which is NEVER the case, even with my heel spur, which I've been contending with for years. Nothing seemed to bother me, like when I got on my first anti-depressant. Turned my whole day around. I wasn't alone any more. I was back in the safe zone. T

Shock June 10, 2013 Today I found out my psychiatrist is going to just be working in nursing homes now and that my last appt. has been moved up to the 26 th . I'm alone. No one understands. I'm fighting back tears as I write this because no one understands and never has. Even my therapist said, “It affects me, too” and I want to reach through the phone, grab her and say, “Yeah, but you weren't fantasizing about jumping out of a window just yesterday.” And that's on five meds. I wish I could go to a meeting and be surrounded by people who understood, be embraced, hugged, and loved. But instead all I get is judgment, screwed up faces who look at me as if what I have is catching, who back away and mutter stupid platitudes like “Everything happens for a reason.” I was fantasizing earlier that if a certain former friend said that to me about this situation I would go grab a knife and tell her that if she ever said that to me again, “I'd kill her.” I don&

The Child Mind Institute, which I heard about through Glamour Magazine in December, researches mental illness in kids. At Christmas some celebrities designed holiday bulbs for $40 that you could buy at bloomingdales.com. You can find the Institute on Facebook and Twitter. I think it's fantastic this organization exists! http://www.childmind.org/

I have two teeth that need to be pulled and can't afford to go to the dentist. I have gone through dental hell before - for two years - and almost drank over it. But I didn't. Then it went away, of course, after I got dental care. Now it's back. But this weekend I actually went so far as to PRICE the wine and not just look at it. It didn't help that there were two people in front of me in line on two different occasions Saturday actually buying wine. I've been taking Naproxen as prescribed (on the bottle) and 500 mgs. of Ibuprofen every four hours, even got on my knees and prayed. Getting on my knees and praying always worked before. Not last night. Bitterly I said aloud to my Higher Power in the car, "Okay, fine, I deserve that. I've got bad karma. I've got it coming." Then, "So, you're just gonna hang me out to dry on this one, eh?" Fine. Then the pain went away. Then it came back. Gotcha. My mom emailed me some reso

I found out today that my psychiatrist has me not only diagnosed as bipolar but also as psychotic. Quite upsetting, to say the least. It had a great deal of effect on me the whole day. Even scarier? My first response inwardly was happiness. I thought to myself, "Hey! I'm psychotic!" Which is psycho in itself. Then the rest of the day I was sad. Later, after work, as I lay in bed trying to sleep, I thought, "Who's going to want to be with me now?" Not that I was some great prize anyway. My eyes are wide open now, having called so many people psycho up till now. Not that they weren't, mind you. How many episodes of "Dateline" and "48 Hours" have I watched about people who were psychotic and thought for sure I was different. Well, I'm not a serial killer. But, there it was in black and white - psychotic. And yet, on my meds I feel so normal. Of course, I do. Three years ago I found out, much to my shock that my fourth

It seems my fifth medication I'm on in addition to my other four isn't working any more after a month. Well, that was a fun ride. My sponsor says I'm just a garden variety drunk but to me a garden variety drunk is one who quits drinking and that's their only problem. They don't have to be on meds. Their only problem is not drinking. I'd kill to just be one of those. But that was never the case with me. I've give anything to not have nightmares every night, some about my deceased dad who still haunts me from the grave, who got away with abusing me and my sisters all his life. Who never paid in this life. Instead we paid. And paid dearly. One of my nieces paid, too. And is still paying. I wish I could exhume my dad, then bring him back to life so I could kill him. Instead five strokes killed him. But he didn't suffer. I know because I asked some doctors if a stroke is painful. And it's not. He never suffered. Oh, he had some depression in

Tonight the meeting I went to was on honesty. I arrived a little late and didn't share although later I wanted to and didn't get to which happens often. Instead Miss AA spewed her usual trendy words she likes to toss around that everyone oohs and aahs over. She loves looking and sounding good. It's awfully important to her. Meanwhile, across the room, a mutual friend of ours who relapsed the other day and is struggling to stay sober, shared, and what does she do? Starts texting. I couldn't believe it. But then again, why should I be surprised? I feel so bad for this guy. My heart breaks for him. Meanwhile, she has no compassion. She's truly heartless. But, of course, she's never relapsed so she has no heart for it. She doesn't know the depths of hell relapse takes you to. I'm really worried about this guy. I can't stopped thinking about what will happen to him if he doesn't get a bed at this treatment facility where he's on this wai

The older I get, the more I mourn my youth, which I know is normal but being dually diagnosed I grieve for the carefree person I once was. I happen to be listening to a song right now that came out when I was 15. I wasn't exactly carefree then but I was naive and I thought that love was everything, that it was enough; etc. I had no idea that I had been diagnosed bipolar the year before because my mom hadn't told me. I wasn't diagnosed bipolar on my own till I was 27 and didn't find out that I was originally diagnosed at 14 till I was in my 40s. My mom told me that back then there was no treatment for teenagers. I pray my daughter doesn't wind up bipolar. I've always said I'd rather her wind up alcoholic than bipolar. Last night I was watching the season finale of one of my favorite shows and was watching someone dance so  effortlessly and carefree - prescription-drug-free and I almost started crying because I was wishing that I could be that way. I was r

http://writingcontest.thenovelette.com/terri-rimmer/

I actually met this guy in the program. I've met quite a few cons in AA. http://www.ehow.co.uk/how_8720166_identify-con-artist.html

This past New Year's Eve was the first time in seven years I didn't spend the holiday crying in a chapel. Well, that only took several years! New Year's Eve 2005 my boyfriend, Ruben passed away from liver cancer only two months after being diagnosed at the age of 53. He worked for his company 18 years and they didn't even put up a plaque. Nothing on their website, no acknowledgement that he even existed. He had been promoted to supervisor also while he was employed there and even continued working after he got sick until he couldn't. New Year's Eve 2008 my dad died, too. But that's another blog. Needless to say, I haven't celebrated the holiday since 2004 though many have tried to get me to. I tried once but couldn't do it. Not only did I not feel like it but I felt guilty. Of course, everyone said the usual,"They would want you to celebrate/be happy" sentence which only made me feel worse. I remember as Ruben lay dying in the hospi

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/adoption-stories/201004/one-womans-truth-placing-her-baby-adoption

"We are undisciplined people" - so it says in the Big Book (also known as Alcoholics Anonymous), our Bible/the Big Big Book. Guess that would explain why, since 1988 when I first started coming around the program I've never been able to go to 90 meetings in 90 days as suggested by sponsors, strongly suggested by rehab program directors, and often, with a sharp-edged tongue by other members in the fellowship: "If you jump out of a plane, it is strongly suggested that you have a parachute." Despite my years of sobriety, I have never been able or willing to attend 90 meetings in 90 days. I've been sober for quite awhile now and yet cannot do that in a row. I envy the newcomers through the years that I've seen that do it without blinking an eye. I've always said I need to be one of those people who need to get a piece of paper signed like so many on probation or parole have to, to prove they were at a meeting. Then I would be forced to attend 90 in

http://redpubmagazine.com/article.php?id=165&section=14

When I think about how much things have changed since I first was shown the door to recovery, I can't help but marvel at miracles in my life. I never thought I would have a teenage daughter, have won a Florida Press Award, worked for several newspapers and some magazines, been a mentor to a young girl and earn a volunteer award for it, volunteered for Child Advocates, served as a volunteer at a children's home after living in such a place as a child, been interviewed by Psychology Today Magazine, and the list goes on and on. And all in sobriety!

http://terri-rimmer.blogspot.com/

http://terri-rimmer.blogspot.com/

1988 Justine’s therapist once told her, “You sure know some interesting people.” It wasn’t a compliment. It was Oct. 20, 1988; Justine’s last planned drunk, the night before she was going into treatment for the first time for alcoholism at 22. Twenty-two. That was way too young, she thought. But she was doing it for her sister who was also “in the program” as it was called. So Justine’s last drink was appropriately enough later at a George Michael concert in Atlanta, GA and she didn’t even get to get drunk because she ran out of money. So unfair. Justine’s friends dropped her off after breakfast following the concert where she almost got stampeded back at her garage apartment where she lived alone. The next day she would drive several hours to her sister’s house in Florida where she would spend the night then be taken to Charter-By-The-Sea in St. Simon’s Island, Georgia. Justine loved the beach but dreaded the trip. After trying to get arou