Friday – Money – Before and After
There is so much WRONG going on right now. The wisdom goes thus … It is better to keep ones mouth shut on certain issues, because there are no sides to pick, save for one, and if you speak, counter to that ONE, the hoards of massive crazies will come out with their pitchforks and batons of fire to smite you.
Some of my friends have taken this advice, but a choice few said, “fuck that” I am going to speak my truth, and be damned the naysayers. Which ended them in a pit of fire with comments that are truly inhuman.
When a WOMAN SPEAKS, HER WORDS MATTER.
Nuff said …
In our drinking time, we acted as if the money supply was inexhaustible, though between binges we’d sometimes go to the other extreme and become miserly. Without realizing it, we were just accumulating funds for the next spree. Money was the symbol of pleasure and self-importance. As our drinking became worse, money was only an urgent requirement which could supply us with the next drink and the temporary comfort of oblivion it brought.
Although financial recovery is on the way for many of us, we find that we cannot place money first. For us, material well-being always follows spiritual progress; it never precedes.
The talk tonight was all about money. It began with a friend reminding us that money is a necessary evil. Without it, we have nothing, and can get nothing. We are reminded daily that to get on a bus, you need money, or else you get tossed off the bus.
We need money. For some of us, or maybe, all of us, we have to cultivate the right attitude and respect for money.
I had a respect for money growing up. I’ve spoken at length about some of the best jobs I ever had, and why. When one gets mortally sick, and death is the next stop, trying to figure out HOW you are going to survive becomes paramount.
Been there, Done that. Got the T-Shirt.
In my world, growing up in my family, I said tonight, “All the men in my family drank, heavily, BUT they all had nice homes. If I had a million dollars I would seriously find a parcel of land, and an architect, and rebuild my grandparents house brick for brick.
They provided the cash to sustain families, they all had good jobs, and it seemed to me that they were getting away with highway robbery, being able to make the scenes look good, all the while, drinking behind the scenes, abusing their wives and children, who suffered that abuse silently, because we dare NOT say one word.
Silence gave consent. Nobody complained openly, and the men got away with the drinking, the abuse, and the violence, unpunished and / or reprimanded, ever.
I was an alcoholic from the word Go. When I left home, I had the good sense to know that I HAD worked in good paying jobs that I really enjoyed doing. Been there, done that.
For some strange reason, when I moved out, I had a brand new car, that I could not pay for, I had to have that big ticket apartment, in the apartment complex that my new Gay Friends lived in, because I wanted what they had, and had NO IDEA how I was going to pay for it. I had never balanced a check book in my life, and also, why, I was terribly irresponsible, and I should have known better, but I did not.
When faced with the reality that one might not have enough money to buy alcohol, because, before you moved out, your shrink told you that the only way into the Gay Community, back then, was through several drinks at the bar, where all that money was going to come from was the challenge.
And what was my answer ?
Daddy will pay for it.
Almost a sick perversion, to make that man pay for his indignities perpetrated on me. I don’t think I thought that deeply about indignities, but I do today, and would love to ascribe certain PAY BACK for his abuses.
I just used the excuse that daddy would pay, and that got me only so far. They took the car away, and in the end, daddy did pay.
But in the end, I would pay.
Dueling alcoholics you could call us. My assault began, the first time I got sober, but there was a preemptive strike when I was a teenager, I gave up my musical talent as a punishment for his abuse of my mother, and the double decker organ had to be returned because I told him that I would never play another note on that organ again.
And I never did, to this day.
That was serious wasted talent down the drain. What I did not know then hurt me.
I was clean and sober on the first pass, but still untreated properly. I would not understand what that meant, until recently, (read:Today). My father, being the active untreated alcoholic, is just as bad as a sober person who has untreated alcoholism.
The brain is just as fogged as the active drinker, sometimes worse.
Somewhere in my young brain, I realized that all the men in the family were getting away with bloody murder and not paying for it, in any case. Nobody complained, we bore our pain in our own ways, (that was my perception) (read: Not the same as my family, as I was the cause of all of their problems).
How it became ALL MY FAULT, is still beyond my comprehension.
I figured that if the men got away with it unscathed, then I would get away with it too.
I am clean and sober almost fifteen years, and I carry a terminal disease that will probably not kill me, my doctor likes to tell me, because of my alcoholism and my own short shortsightedness and stupidity.
So there’s that. I did not physically survive my alcoholism, I paid a hefty price in the end.
The tenth promise of the ninth step reads:
Fear of People and of Economic Insecurity will leave us.
I can attest to you right here and now, that that certain promise took thirteen years to come to pass. We’ve learned a healthy respect for money. We know how to use what we have properly and to respect the almighty dollar.
I hear Cyndi Lauper sing … “MONEY, money changes everything …”
This entry was posted on October 14, 2016 by Jeremiah Andrews. It was filed under New Beginnings and was tagged with Alcoholism, All About Me, Money, Montreal, Politics, Silence Gives Consent, Sober, Women, Words Matter.