I’ve just returned from six weeks in Palma de Mallorca, where I spent most of my time on the beach tanning, bobbling in the water when there were waves, and floating like a jellyfish when the water was flat. When I visit, often the first two or three days I’m at the beach, my mind is busy thinking about all sorts of things and I find it hard to shut the thoughts out, then the effect of the sun and the beach takes hold and my mind reaches a relaxed and meditative state--I can be here now.
I had intended to blog at least once a week while there, but found it impossible to write. I was just too relaxed to concentrate on anything. Well, that’s not entirely true. I did get to lots of my alcohol support group meetings, and spent a lot of time writing out my Step work. I was able to concentrate well on that, but unable to bring myself to think about the issues I want to address in this blog. I don’t even know if I’m ready yet now.
The first week or so after I get back from Peter’s, it’s like I have jet lag. My sleep schedule gets turned on it’s head. I surf the net compulsively, and watch movies and TV series compulsively until dawn, then I spend the day sleeping. That's typical addictive behavior. I avoid my daily reality. I quite sure why that is, although there is a radical difference between being at Peter’s and being here. Here, I feel the imperative to rebuild my life, to get things done, and as often as not, I slip out of being here now. I've been living here and now more and more though, since I stopped working. Rebuilding my life is daunting--usually I'm courageous, but I can slip into fear and hide from it.
Peter spoils me rotten. He pays my airfare, does the shopping and cooking (he’s a fabulous cook), and cleaning. When I get up in the morning, he’s set out freshly washed beach towels, and prepared my lunch. And he prepares fabulous dinners. It’s like staying at a 5 star hotel, and then some. Whenever I arrive, there are new clothes for me in the wardrobe, and he can’t help but buy me even more, even when he asks me to remind him to stop, which I do.
It’s a real vacation for me, not only because I don’t have to worry about a single thing, but because I get a break from my head. Peter doesn’t fully get how much of a vacation it is for me, since as he says I don’t work here. Whereas he works quite hard. When I’m here though, I can find my life rather exhausting. Dealing with daily activities can be a bit of a struggle since I have no external structure. I get run down trying to do things, and feel like I’m not getting anything done. Yes, I’m sober now, yes, I’m not depressed, and yet I haven’t figured out how to lead a productive and satisfying life. The real problem is that my expectations of what I can do get too high, and then I have trouble not beating myself up for not living up to them. Or I tell myself: "My life is in stasis," even though I've been growing since I've been in recovery. I really want to be doing my photography, but it still isn’t happening. Instead of focusing on what I'm not doing, and what isn't happening, I need to focus on the opposite.
Peter used to think that two weeks was as much of a visit as he could take, then he extended it to six weeks in winter and six weeks in summer, which worked out quite well. So this visit he proposed that I spend three months in winter and three months in summer, as a transition towards living there full time. I was very happy with the idea of being able to enjoy both the advantages of being there and here. But I just found out from my social assistant that in order to stay on disability, I can’t spend more than three months abroad per year. Although I can retire abroad, so I have to go back to the idea of rebuilding my life here.
I can understand why I fought so long to work, why I didn’t want to accept being this disabled. It’s so hard to let go of your dreams. It’s an invisible disability. People look at you and say you’re fine, you don’t have a problem, you should be working, and so on. I try not to buy into that because it makes me feel guilty when I can’t live up to others’ expectations. When I’m feeling well, I can look at myself the way other people do, and wonder why I can’t lead the types of lives they lead. I can get impatient for my life to improve, saying: I want it to change now, I want it to be different. I don’t even know if that’s possible, or if it’s at least partially possible, how long it will take to make the changes I want to make. I just have to be patient and believe that it can change, one step at a time. I keep reminding myself: One step at a time.
I had intended to blog at least once a week while there, but found it impossible to write. I was just too relaxed to concentrate on anything. Well, that’s not entirely true. I did get to lots of my alcohol support group meetings, and spent a lot of time writing out my Step work. I was able to concentrate well on that, but unable to bring myself to think about the issues I want to address in this blog. I don’t even know if I’m ready yet now.
The first week or so after I get back from Peter’s, it’s like I have jet lag. My sleep schedule gets turned on it’s head. I surf the net compulsively, and watch movies and TV series compulsively until dawn, then I spend the day sleeping. That's typical addictive behavior. I avoid my daily reality. I quite sure why that is, although there is a radical difference between being at Peter’s and being here. Here, I feel the imperative to rebuild my life, to get things done, and as often as not, I slip out of being here now. I've been living here and now more and more though, since I stopped working. Rebuilding my life is daunting--usually I'm courageous, but I can slip into fear and hide from it.
Peter spoils me rotten. He pays my airfare, does the shopping and cooking (he’s a fabulous cook), and cleaning. When I get up in the morning, he’s set out freshly washed beach towels, and prepared my lunch. And he prepares fabulous dinners. It’s like staying at a 5 star hotel, and then some. Whenever I arrive, there are new clothes for me in the wardrobe, and he can’t help but buy me even more, even when he asks me to remind him to stop, which I do.
It’s a real vacation for me, not only because I don’t have to worry about a single thing, but because I get a break from my head. Peter doesn’t fully get how much of a vacation it is for me, since as he says I don’t work here. Whereas he works quite hard. When I’m here though, I can find my life rather exhausting. Dealing with daily activities can be a bit of a struggle since I have no external structure. I get run down trying to do things, and feel like I’m not getting anything done. Yes, I’m sober now, yes, I’m not depressed, and yet I haven’t figured out how to lead a productive and satisfying life. The real problem is that my expectations of what I can do get too high, and then I have trouble not beating myself up for not living up to them. Or I tell myself: "My life is in stasis," even though I've been growing since I've been in recovery. I really want to be doing my photography, but it still isn’t happening. Instead of focusing on what I'm not doing, and what isn't happening, I need to focus on the opposite.
Peter used to think that two weeks was as much of a visit as he could take, then he extended it to six weeks in winter and six weeks in summer, which worked out quite well. So this visit he proposed that I spend three months in winter and three months in summer, as a transition towards living there full time. I was very happy with the idea of being able to enjoy both the advantages of being there and here. But I just found out from my social assistant that in order to stay on disability, I can’t spend more than three months abroad per year. Although I can retire abroad, so I have to go back to the idea of rebuilding my life here.
I can understand why I fought so long to work, why I didn’t want to accept being this disabled. It’s so hard to let go of your dreams. It’s an invisible disability. People look at you and say you’re fine, you don’t have a problem, you should be working, and so on. I try not to buy into that because it makes me feel guilty when I can’t live up to others’ expectations. When I’m feeling well, I can look at myself the way other people do, and wonder why I can’t lead the types of lives they lead. I can get impatient for my life to improve, saying: I want it to change now, I want it to be different. I don’t even know if that’s possible, or if it’s at least partially possible, how long it will take to make the changes I want to make. I just have to be patient and believe that it can change, one step at a time. I keep reminding myself: One step at a time.
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