Author: ctfuqua

I see life as full of possibilities and the world full of beautiful people possessing unique and often untapped talents. I’m a learner and connector, seeking ways to leverage the abundance in this world through strong community.

A Forgetful Pretender


Every once in a while, I come across someone who shares something that encapsulates what I’m experiencing in a way I could probably never articulate. Tonight, someone shared his experience as one of being a “forgetful pretender.” He talked about how he doesn’t have a lot of good memories or bad memories from his past — he simply doesn’t remember much period. He shared how part of that probably comes from the fact that for so long, he wore masks, keeping others at a distance and avoiding experiencing much in life period. In a sense, he was going through the motions. And, since he really wasn’t “present” — since he was more pretending to be someone else to fit in, or to please others, or to live up to some other set of expectations — he was a shell of who he really is…and as such, has little to remember about being there, about feeling, about experiencing life.

Wow.

For much of my life experiences, this resonates.  I have these great experiences and situations, but don’t remember much about how I felt at the time. I often have friends or family tell stories about events in our lives together, and I’m reminded of the facts — remember physically being there – but that’s about it.

I used to wonder if there was some mental block – some “shield of protection” because of some deep emotional scars.

I used to wonder if my brain cells were so fried from my using that I had little left of my long-term memory.

I used to wonder if the lack of storytelling in my life slowly eroded my memories.  Without family get-togethers where we tell stories; without friends in my life from decades of time who help keep stories alive – did the memories just whither away?

may

And now, I can see that while some or all of that may be true — unresolved losses, physical damage to cells and lack of oral traditions — another explanation is my lack of connection to life, to my feelings, etc. could also explain my lack of memory.

Like B., I too am a bit of a forgetful pretender.

Or, was.

Because now, I have the desire to experience life – to be present – to connect with others – to feel feelings.  I have tools to help me cope with feelings and live through them.

It takes time and effort to retrain my patterns of thinking and living to not drift back into old routines. But, I know it’s possible.

And I know it’s worthwhile.

So I’m transforming slowly from a forgetful pretender to an authentic feeler for whom memories will build and last.

What another amazing gift of recovery.

Thanks B. for your sharing and insight.  You’re an expressive poet…

It’s all relative…and it’s all very REAL!


So I started home detention today.  That’s what they actually call it.  Though, some friends chided me and said “You know, it’s called house arrest.  Stop trying to sugar coat it!” For once, I’m not minimizing or rationalizing.  They call it home detention.  Honest!

As I talk to people who aren’t “on paper” or haven’t been through the system and explain the process to them — pre-arranging time outside of the house, keeping written receipts/logs of all such activity for proof, stripping my phone service of all the bells and whistles like voicemail, call forwarding, etc. — I invariably get the reaction, “Well that’s a pain in the butt” or “that’s a lot of work.” My reaction – given the alternative of being in a cold jail cell…I’ll take it!

It’s all relative.

Plus, after all, this is my own doing – nobody else to blame. The system isn’t out to get me, to screw me, etc.  I let myself get too confident about my ability to cope with things on my own — and lapsed in my recovery.  Full stop.  My doing.  My consequences.  67 days, I’m grateful I’ve learned some valuable lessons this time.

The meeting I went to tonight and several over the past week have reminded me as well that this is not a game. This is a fatal disease.  It’s progressive, chronic…and fatal.

Most of us don’t make it.

As my first sponsor told me one time – not many of us, most of us.

This is all VERY real.

Tonight, a woman shared that her “sobriety buddy” who came into recovery about the same time as she did almost seven years ago recently relapsed and is still out using.

Last week, a trusted servant from one of our meetings went back out again using.  He took the group’s money with him.  $97.13 missing.  A year’s worth of rent to the hosting organization — unpaid.

Last week was the memorial service for a 29-year-old addict who thought she had one more in her. She didn’t make it back.

The topic tonight was “Who is an addict?”

An addict is someone who puts drugs ahead of 37 people who depend on him to open the church basement, make the coffee, take attendance, and count the donations.

An addict is someone who puts drugs first, before their family. Ten days later, her mom, dad and brother are staring at her remains in an urn on a table in a funeral home.

An addict is someone who uses drugs two days before they have a meeting with his probation officer, knowing full well that the stuff won’t clear his system…but tries to convince himself it might. In the end, he doesn’t care enough to worry and uses anyway.  67 days later, he gets help from the courts – reminding him that he is an addict.

I am not responsible for being an addict. But I am responsible for my recovery.

I make choices.

There are consequences.

Just for today, my Higher Power graced with me the gift of sobriety.  I don’t take that for granted.

Just for today.

When I grow lemons, then I can make lemonade!


Life didn’t throw me a lemon.  I grew it!  But the adage can still hold true!  What am I going to do about it?  See it as a problem, or seize it as an opportunity?

I went to my settlement hearing today. The lemon I grew – I was given six month’s home detention for my probation violation in November.  (See earlier posts).  Nobody to blame but myself.  I accept the consequences of my actions.  But what does that really mean?

At tonight’s meeting, we talked about self-acceptance and acceptance of others. Someone shared their insight and learning that acceptance isn’t tolerance. I’ve also heard before that love isn’t tolerance. Which means…do I really want to hear, “I tolerate you” ?  No, I want to know I’m accepted for who I am – just as I am.  I want to hear that I’m loved just as I am – unconditionally.

Likewise, I don’t want to just tolerate my consequences. I want to lean into them. I want to accept them. I want to embrace them unconditionally, choosing to see this as an opportunity – not a setback.

That’s making lemonade out of the lemons. That I grew.

So, during my home detention, I can use the time to deepen my spirituality.  I can spend more time meditating – listening.  I can grow in my understanding of solitude.

As I prepare to launch my new business, instead of seeing home detention as a barrier to success, I can use the time to learn new skills — study and teach myself Adobe CS5, which will serve me well.

I’ve wanted to deepen my grasp of Non-Violent Communication (NVC) — of living from a place of compassion, of connection, of authenticity. There are weekly teleconferences I’ve avoided because I’ve been too busy.  I can use my alone time to pursue this goal.

Or, I can feel sorry for myself.  Nap the time away.  Grow a resentment against someone.  Beat myself up for not being perfect and making a mistake. Allow this to be a setback.

But, just for today, with grace and humility, I choose a difference path.  I choose life.