My Outer Circle

Just when I manage to get in a routine, the Army screws me.  It seems that in order to prevent my Jihadist Comrades from posting on Al Qaeda websites during the work day, the DOIM (Directorate of Information Management or as I like to call them Dark Overlords Impeding Meaningful Work) has blocked all Army computers from accessing anything it deems to be “personal pages”. 

I have a routine.  I do Physical Training from 630-730, take a shower, have a Diet Coke and Snickers bar (breakfast of champions) do a little meditation in the office, and dump the results onto the blog.  Well we’re going to have to change that up a bit.  I still do the PT, the breakfast of champions, the meditation, now I’ll dump the results onto a word document and put  them on the blog over the weekend for your reading enjoyment.

As an accountability tool I’ve chosen to check in with my Sobriety date every day. 

I have been Sober since July 10^th, 2008. 

I have been Sober for: 

493 Days

70 Weeks

16 Months

 1.33 Years

(Please be aware that this post is mostly about my beliefs and my relationship with God.  I don’t mean to suggest that belief in God is a requirement for successful recovery.  We must all accept a Higher Power…for many addicts that Higher Power doesn’t mean God.  I have friends with years of Sobriety who are atheist or agnostic.  These thoughts are my own, they do not represent SAA in any way.)

Yesterday was November 10^th.  Being a geek, I remember the strangest things.  On November 10, 1975 the ore carrier Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Lake Superior.  So naturally I flipped through my iPod and played the Gordon Lightfoot classic (yes, I’m a geek and I love Folk Music), The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. 

One of my favorite lines in that song is, “Does anyone know, where the love of God goes, when the waves turn the minutes to hours?”  I spent a long time angry at God.  Where was He back in 1992 when I was crawling into a burning crack house in a vain (and stupid) attempt to rescue an innocent 3 year old boy?  Where was He in 1988 when my grandmother was dying in agony at my parent’s house from terminal lung cancer?  Where was He in 2003 when I was standing over the lifeless body of a young Private First Class hit in the chest by an RPG in the middle of Baghdad?  Where was He in 2005 when I was standing on the front porch of a house in Kansas to tell a family that their father and husband wasn’t coming home from Iraq?

I spent most of my active addiction angry at God. I had faith He existed.  I just figured He had it in for me personally.  For many people in recovery the First Step (We admitted we were powerless over addictive sexual behavior- that our lives had become unmanageable) is pretty obvious.  Most of us regret it took us so long, and we caused so much destruction along the way, but when we hit rock bottom and seek out our first SAA meeting we’re taking that First Step.  For me the Second Step (Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity) came pretty easy.  It was a matter of survival.  I knew I was insane, my life was in shambles, I knew I couldn’t stop acting out by myself (I tried that for years).  If there was no Higher Power that could restore me to sanity I was doomed.  I had to believe.

The Third Step (Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God) was hard for me.  I had been a practicing addict from the time I was 16 years old.  I didn’t see God in my life at all.  Sure I prayed…but my prayers were along the lines of “God, don’t let me get caught and I’ll never do this again.  God, don’t let me get killed (I used that one mostly when jumping out of airplanes, entering burning buildings, or getting shot at).  God, don’t let me have caught anything.” God and I didn’t have a relationship. He was a metaphysical 911 operator that I called as a last resort.

I worked the Third Step for months.  I looked hard at my relationship with God.  I realized I had it backwards.  God didn’t abandon me when I was 16 and I became an addict.  I abandoned God.  The first time I acted out, I was ashamed, guilty, disgusted with myself.  God didn’t say he couldn’t love me.  I decided I was unworthy of God’s love.  I looked at the times when God saved me from myself.  The times when I was out looking for prostitutes and my fire department pager when off.  The times when a massage parlor was raided on a night I would have been there but I had to work early the next morning.  The prayers God answered, when my wife stayed with me, despite all the times I cheated on her.

I look at the way I pray now.  Every morning I thank God for my previous day’s sobriety, and ask Him to help me stay sober today.  When I am hit by intrusive thoughts or fantasy, I ask His help in resisting the temptation to return to my old way of life.  I noticed that as I let God back into my life, my urges to act out eased, I enjoyed the simple things in my life more, I felt as if I was living in sobriety and no longer just living to try not to act out.  The love of God has always been there for me, I just never realized it or took comfort from it until I began to recover.

Before Thursday’s events I was actually having a good week last week.  I started my week with a  golf tournament to support my unit’s family Christmas party.  When I was a kid I played a lot of golf.  I started at about 6 and played at least once a week until I deployed for Desert Storm.  I wasn’t great, but I wasn’t half bad.  I think I loved the game…or maybe I just loved that I got to spend so much time with my Dad playing Golf. 

I went to the driving range on Sunday, almost afraid to hit the first shot, since I realized I haven’t played golf since 1992.  After a half bucket of balls the game started coming back to me, I realized that I missed it.  Monday was a lot of fun. I played fairly well.  One of the guys in my foursome mentioned that I would be a pretty good golfer if I played.  He asked why I quit.  I told him that I just didn’t have time to golf since I joined the Army.

I reflected a lot on that statement during my drive to my meeting on Saturday.  “I didn’t have time.”  How many other things didn’t I have time for?  I gave up bass fishing for more than fifteen years.  I gave up stamp collecting (I believe I mentioned earlier, I’m a geek…deal with it).  I gave up competitive running.  I gave up competitive pistol and rifle shooting.  I just didn’t have time.

I did however have time for some things.  I had time to troll the internet looking for sex partners.  I had time to cruise for hours looking for prostitutes.  I had time to read hundreds of escort ads and reviews, before making an appointment.  I had time to sometimes drive a hundred miles each way to meet an escort.  I had time to have cybersex, sometimes from sundown to sunup.  I always had time for my addiction.  I gave up things I loved doing, so I could do things that made me hate myself.

I realized that’s why the Outer Circle is so important.  In my meetings we concentrate so much on the Inner and Middle Circles, focusing on how to stay sober.  We never focus on what we’re going to do with all the time that sobriety will afford us.  My own relapse with porn last July happened because I was bored.  Things were slow at work, I got bored, I was aimlessly web surfing, and without thinking I went from bikini’s, to underwear, to nudity.  By the time I realized that I was acting out, it didn’t matter to me anymore.

Even sober I don’t have time like I did twenty years ago.  My job takes more time, I’m married with two young daughters, I have service work in my fellowship, my step work, my reading.  But I have found that I have time to do some things for myself that I enjoy.  I fish again, I had forgotten how relaxing it is to be alone on the water trying to outsmart a creature with a brain the size of a sunflower seed.  I pistol shoot.  I read with my kids, take hikes with my family.  Slowly but surely healthy activities are taking up the time that my addiction occupied.

About two years ago I was fishing in a small pond.  I casted a plastic worm into the wind and got the mother of all backlashes in my reel.  I was trying to fix the mess, when I noticed the line was moving sideways.  I assumed it was a catfish and started to reel him in.  When I got him close to the bank the fish jumped two feet out of the water…the biggest bass I had ever seen.  I fought with her for five minutes, and when I lifted her out of the water my knees were weak and my hands were shaking.  My mouth was dry, my heart was pounding.  She was a ten pound largemouth bass…the biggest I had ever caught.  I unhooked her and moved her back and for the in the water until she was recovered and she swam away.

I recognize now that the weak knees, the shaking hands, the pounding heart, dry mouth…those were all of the feelings I had when I knocked on a motel room door when I was acting out.  The feelings aren’t healthy or unhealthy.  How we get them is.

I’m probably not as anonymous as I’d like to be on this blog, there are only about three places in Texas an active duty Army Officer can be.  As some of you have guessed I’m at Fort Hood, and yesterday’s events hit very close to home for me and my Soldiers. 

Cell phone and internet services were overwhelmed here last night.  I was grateful that I was able to contact my wife immediately after the shooting began to let her know that though my unit was affected, none of my Soldiers were killed or wounded.  She was able to get word out to our friends and family.

When cell phone service was restored I had several messages waiting from members of my SAA Fellowship voicing their concerns and support.  This morning I had emails from other members and readers of this blog.  I will be forever grateful for my addiction and recovery.  Were it not for my addiction and finding a Fellowship of my brother and sister addicts, I would never have known that there are people who despite my defects of character welcome me with open arms. 

Thank you all for your thoughts and concerns for my safety.  I would ask that if you find time in your day today, please keep the families of the Soldiers who lost their lives, and the men and women who were wounded , in your thoughts and prayers.

This weekend I was offered a service opportunity within SAA.  I jumped at the opportunity, I think it’s a service opportunity where I can do some good for my local fellowship.  One of the people involved knows I’m an active duty Army Officer, and he asked if I was going to deploy again. I told him I wasn’t.  I’ve deployed three times, most recently in 2007, and I was going to retire when my Battalion Command was over in 2011.

Never say never.  Yesterday I talked to my assignments officer.  The nice thing about having over 20 years of service is that he can’t just say, “Pack your bags you’re going to (insert name of hell hole here) in 90 days.”  I’m being a bit facetious, as the Army does take preferences and family situations into account, but when it comes to finding guys to go to Iraq, sometimes they just have to tell someone to pack their bags.

We talked about the house I was buying this summer, and my plans to retire in Texas.  My wife and I have talked about me deploying one last time, my desire to lead troops in combat again, the money we can put away while I’m gone (to re-create the nest egg I spent on prostitutes over the years).  We worked a deal.  The way it looks now I’m going to leave my current job next December, and deploy to Iraq in February of 2011 for a year. 

You probably read the papers, and are asking yourself, “What’s he talking about? There won’t be any combat troops in Iraq past August of 2010.” Well.  I’m going to lead troops in combat, they just won’t be Americans.  For the foreseeable future there will be about 50,000 American advisors to the Iraqi Army in Iraq.  I don’t know who the other 49,999 are going to be, but one spot is filled.

This deployment will be different my previous ones.  It’s the first time I’ll deploy since I entered recovery.  I need to work out a plan to stay in touch with my sponsor and my home meeting, figure out how to attend telephone meetings, and how to find a temporary sponsor for my sponsee.  My wife supports my decision, but unlike last time when my daughters were too young to really understand why Dad was going to be gone for a while, or how long a year really is, this time I have to sit down and explain it all to them.

I am grateful.  This will be a personal, professional, and recovery challenge.  But thanks to my recovery program, especially the 3d Step, I understand that God is giving me this challenge for a purpose, and it’s not too much for me to handle.  I’m grateful that my wife and daughters will have the support of both our families, and that her sister will be just a few minutes away.  I have 14 months to prepare for it and the major disruption it will cause in my life and in my family, and to put together a plan to maintain my sobriety under the most stressful conditions the average addict will have to endure.  I’m grateful for the serenity I have in my life today, I couldn’t have done this in the insanity of active addiction.

As an accountability tool I’ve chosen to check in with my Sobriety date every day. 

I have been Sober since July 10^th, 2008. 

I have been Sober for: 

482 Days

68 Weeks

15 Months

1.32 Years

At my home meeting this weekend a fellow addict celebrated his third year of sobriety by giving his First Step for the fourth time.  I always appreciate a formal First Step.  As those of you who have done it realize, it takes a lot of courage to talk about the insanity in our lives before we found recovery. 

Listening to a First Step also makes me realize that I am not terminally unique.  From the time I was 15 until I entered recovery at 40 I felt I was “The Only One”.  I felt I was the only one who spent money he didn’t have on prostitutes, who hid pornographic DVD’s and magazines around his house, who spent all night downloading porn or having cyber sex, who had sex with married women while their husbands sat in the room. 

I felt that I was the only one who rationalized cheating on his girlfriend, his fiancée, his wife.  I would vow to stop having sex with other women, then fail to keep my promise to myself.  I would promise that once we were engaged I would stop.  I would promise once we were married I would stop.  I would rationalize that as long as I’m paying for it there is no emotional bond, so it’s not really cheating.  I felt like I was the only person in the world who felt that love and sex were two unrelated concepts.  I felt like I was the only person who seriously contemplated taking my own life to end the pain that I was causing myself and my loved ones.

Hearing a First Step reminds me that I am not unique.  There are people who share my disease, many even have the same symptoms that I do.  I am reminded of how lucky I am to belong to a fellowship of people who suffer from my addiction and are willing to help each other to remain sober.  I am reminded that I am lucky to have access to the tools and people who can teach me to use them to remain sober.  I am reminded that I am lucky to have friends who understand what drove me to do the things I did, that understand when I say I was insane, and still accept me with open arms.  I am reminded that I owe a debt of gratitude to every addict who has sat in my meeting and told their story.

As an accountability tool I’ve chosen to check in with my Sobriety date every day. 

I have been Sober since July 10^th, 2008. 

I have been Sober for: 

481 Days

68 Weeks

15 Months

 1.32 Years

My battalion is wrapping up our semi-annual physical fitness testing this week. Today we tested a Soldier who just finished up a rehabilitation period after an injury, and three young Soldiers who failed on their previous two attempts to pass. I decided to take the test with them, even though I took it and passed last week, thinking that seeing me out there with them might prevent any relapses of IBHS (Itty Bitty Heart Syndrome) on the two mile run.

A lot of people have problems pacing themselves on a timed run or in a race. When I ran cross country in high school I was notorious for running slowly the first two miles, often losing sight of the pack, catching up over the next three quarters of a mile, and running a 55 second quarter mile to finish the race. Today I started out too slow. I hit the one mile mark in 9 minutes, meaning I’d have to run the second mile in about 8 minutes. Three of my youngsters were right behind me. The problem is I’m 42 years old. I have 18:42 to run two miles and pass the test, my usual 17 minute time gives me 75/100 points. A 21 year old Soldier only has 15:54 to complete the two miles to receive a passing score.

As we ran I began to tell the youngsters, “You can’t set your pace on me and pass! I’m 42 years old!” I knew it was going to hurt, but I picked up my pace, I figured I could pour it on, run the last male in about 7 minutes…if they stayed ahead of me they’d pass…barely. I picked up my pace, but I ended up running that second mile in about 7:30, finishing with a 16:35. 78 points for an old guy…but failing by about 45 seconds for the young guys who managed to keep pace with me.

What the hell does this have to do with recovery? As I was showering after the test I overheard one of the Soldiers who failed talk to a buddy about it. He said, “I was right on the commander’s heels, I thought I was good to go.”

It reminded me that as both a sponsor and sponsee I have to remember…recovery is a team sport, played by individuals. Without my team in recovery, my sponsor, the guys I make program calls to, I can’t maintain sobriety, or work the steps. I have to be accountable to someone, have someone I can call when I want to act out, have someone to turn to when I need help with a step. Ultimately though, it’s an individual program, and my responsibility. Like those young guys this morning, I can’t set my pace on my sponsor and count on my recovery being successful. I value his input, and take full advantage of his Experience, Strength and Hope, but I have to run at my pace to pass the test. I have to remind my sponsee of the same thing when he calls today.