Step One: Pulling the Arrow Back.

The thing they neglect to tell you when you join and continue to attend a support group is that you're in it for life. It's like herpes: once you got it, there's no going back. Don't get me wrong, I love the people I'm with. They're like this family I never knew I had. Always there, sharing a commonality that you rarely find so easy to approach in strangers in any other context. There's a simple saying at CoDa (Codependency Anonymous, yeah I know it isn't anonymous if I fucking say I'm in it), the saying is “Keep Coming Back.” I capitalize those letters because it's more of a credo than a saying. “Keep Coming Back,” they say and if you by the sixth meeting you still don't feel right then maybe it's not for you. You get these chips. Not edible chips but like little medallions and each one signifies a certain amount of time. I keep my “First Day” chip in my wallet, and roll it around in my palm til I think I could break the damn thing. Those are the days when it's great to be in a support group. When you do Keep Coming Back and keep finding your family there to hold you or pat you on the back. Those are the days where, even if for an hour and a half, I feel like I belong somewhere.

I used to be the guy who thought AA and all those things were sad and that I'd never need it. I thought I was better than all those unlucky bastards who had to go to weekly meetings just to hold their shit together. Turns out I was the bastard and my family was eager to welcome me home. I can't say that support groups are for everyone. I've seen a few folks pop up and then never show their face at another meeting. You can't judge them, you can't assume or postulate as to why...you just hope they find some kind of peace somewhere.

I don't know peace. I've been going through a very difficult breakup, triggering a lot of repressed emotions. Things I had no idea I was doing or that they even existed. People at group always say, “we always do the best that we can at the time.” I really believe that. That I did what I thought was for the best, that it was right and that self-sacrifice was a virtue. I don't know peace because all of those things I thought I had, people I thought were going to be there forever are gone now. What an awful feeling. I remember my first meeting. I had just shaved my head, I was feverishly rubbing this stone bear that my mother had given me for x-mas symbolizing strength. I was shaking because I was so nervous and scared. I had to share for the first time, in front of complete strangers....”Hi my name is Ian and...I'm codependent.” The resounding chorus was like a clarion call. The combined welcoming and acceptance I received upon my admittance nearly made me weep. But they knew. They could recognize the pain of another stranger with a need to be somewhere with a honest desire to be healthy and free.

So I shared. I shared how this wonderful relationship I had been a part of had ended recently, that I had lost almost 10 pounds (I weighed 145 previous previous to the event so 10 pounds is a big fucking deal). I shared that I'd spent the better part of an hour staring at a bottle of sleeping pills. A good friend of mine ordered that I throw them in the garbage and I still can't thank her enough for it. There's this safety, I suppose, in sharing with all these strangers. You aren't being judged by any previous information. You're this clean emotional slate. I shared my thoughts on suicide and how, if this is what the universe had intended for me, then I no longer wanted to be a part of it.

Those feelings began to change, so did I as a reflection of my desire to live, to have a healthy relationship someday, to get through the pain and not around it. So January 1^st, 2012 was one of the worst days of my life. It's when all the pain truly started, my denial phase wore off. It's when I had to see my reality and accept loss. I stopped drinking, haven't had a drink in months and that's good. I found out later on that chemical codependency was as much a part of my life (since 14) as was my addiction to being loved and/or needed. January 1^st, 2012 was the first day I surrendered anything. I stopped fighting. All of this may seem out of sync or confusing, I don't know, but it all occurs to me as I write it. I don't know if you've ever been through a devastating loss but the worst part are the triggers.

The subtle, and not so subtle reminder, that the past is past. My heart starts to race when I see an Asian woman, honestly, it fucking does. I can't eat or see Vietnamese food. Can't make cat sounds when I play with my buddy's cat cause that's what she used to do when she wanted something. The triggers. My therapist suggested I get a rubber band and whenever I start to think or get stuck in a bad place mentally, just snap that rubber band a little to bring myself back. My wrist has been pretty fucking red lately. And I wear 12 of them in different colors. I chose 12 'cause I'm in a 12 step program. Me, the guy who thought he was above it all, humbled by his own mistakes. But those mistakes are opportunity for growth. And growing up fucking hurts.

I had a break down just a little while ago, a friend has helped me as best she can but, really, it's on me. I make the decisions to look at old photos, to subjugate myself to things that can only hurt me. I'm The Decider. My sponsor has held me accountable, responsible for these...setbacks. He's a salty son of a bitch and I love him all the more for it. Who better to cut through my bullshit than a Vietnam Vet with PTSD and Survivors Guilt. Fuck, if he can make it, then so can I. What's the saying from the move The Edge...? “What one man can do, so can another!” I may have misquoted but the idea is there. If he can survive a war in the same place I vacationed and spent 3 weeks in what seemed like paradise and both come out of the experience ragged and fucking ruined...then there's hope, right?

Words will never really embody what I'm trying to say because they are just that; words. It's the actions that have true impact. I can still feel her hair on my face, her small hand, insistent on always being held by my right side, in my own. I can remember being happy to hear another person come home, knowing full-well that they felt the same way. Those things hurt right now. But maybe someday I'll be able to look back on those times and smile a little.

Right now, all I want is to recover, to mend, to heal. But I suppose the shit part of it is that I'm accepting a year long sabbatical from love, sex, and romance. I'm accepting that I'll be practicing my steps for the rest of my life. I'm surrendering little pieces of myself everyday that cling onto the past I used to refer to as “ours” and instead start to call “mine.”

I never read the whole book, the title was enough. It was by Ayn Rand, The Virtue of Selfishness. I think there's a lot in that title we can all benefit from.

-Ian