What Shall Today Bring?

I've noticed I'm rapidly coming to the point that caused me to abandon ship all the times before.  I'm starting to feel again.  I'm starting to not immediately put my emotions in  lockbox the instant I notice them.  This is a scary place.  All the negative Don'ts are coming out again when I feel them.
"Ladies don't get mad."
"Angry?  Do you want a reason to be angry?"
You're not dying, so you shouldn't be sad."
"What the hell are you so damn happy over?"
"Wipe that shit eating grin off your face or I will."
And so on.
One of the Al- Anon books suggests overriding negative self talk with positive slogans. Another suggestion is taking all of those negative self talks, writing them down, and putting them away physically.
Actually allowing myself to feel things is scary.  I hafta not only feel them, but figure out what is socially acceptable to show.  I obviously can't punch a wall every time I'm angry or break into tears every time I'm sad. Sometimes, the emotion itself is a scary one that I generally try to avoid, because it's a Bad Feeling.  It's one a regular person shouldn't admit to having. I realize most humans experience most, if not all, of these negative emotions.  I'm just afraid of pushing people away with the Bad emotions.
This is not a place I want to be.  This is not a path I want to take.  I need to take it.  I've turned away from this path, at this point, several times before. Dealing with who I actually am and what I actually feel isn't pleasant.
What is this emotion?  I recognize the heart squeezy feeling.  I recognize the anxiety.  I think this is dread. I acknowledge the dread.  Dread is brought on by fear. I recognize the fear and acknowledge it by name: fear of abandonment. I hold the dread and the fear as the tiny little rat babies they are in my hands. I recognize the worry over what comes next.
I can do this. I can be honest with myself and feel the true emotion.  I might even be able to name them. This next step is a giant leap into unknown territory.  Then again, Neil Armstrong only put one foot at a time on the moon as he uttered "That's one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind."  If one movement at a time put humans on the moon, one movement at a time will edge me towards sanity.

Step 4, Part 3

I've hit that magical level of exhaustion where things click into place because I don't have the energy to overthink them.  Time to exploit that fact.
More inventory:
My red rage scares me.  I don't mean anger or frustration, I mean flat out, berserker RAGE. I don't have it as often as I once did, but it's still far more common than I wish it was. It's always over something I can't control.  It's always well beyond what the situation calls for. And much of the time I either lash out and hurt someone I love, or turn inwards and feed the storm into myself because I don't want to or believe I can't take it out on the offender (see: getting laid off.)  Neither of these is healthy.  I actually got complimented, once, for how professionally I took being removed from a position.  What he didn't know is that I was being very neutral and clipped in my speech so I didn't get arrested for assault, and it was taking every ounce of strength and determination I had.
I guess being able to hide, or at least mask, unwelcome expressions can be a good thing in the working world.  Being labelled sensitive or  explosive can haunt you.  I do need to remember to deal with those emotions, though, and nt keep them sealed off forever.
I'm still not sure how much of my anxiety (GAD) is situation based, past based, and asthma based.  I have a difficult time distinguishing between them, because so often it's one feeding another feeding the other, like an anxiety centipede.  I do know it has a firmer grip on my life than I'd like it to, and that I need to remember my emergency inhaler's existence more often.
I expect chaos.  I may not thrive in it, but I expect it.  When will the other shoe drop?  When will things go to hell, because things always go to hell?  What drama will unfold?  I ask my God to remove me from the hurricane I live in, and in the same breath wonder how I'd survive in calm normalcy.  Even something that should be minimal chaos, like talking to friends, or asking for another project at work, has me making contingency plans along the way for when it will all go to hell.
I make contingency plans.  Hell, some of my contingency plans have contingency plans. I realize that planning ahead and having certain contingency plans aren't necessarily a bad thing, that it's actually quite a good trait, in moderation. I don't do it in moderation.  I have contingency plans for the most inane things, like if I run out of gas on a stretch of road when I have a full tank, or if the dog dies suddenly.  There are times I haven't even realized I had a shit plan until shit happened.  There are other places I need a contingency plan and I refuse to even touch the topic (see: talking to my mother on a bad day and dealing with my middle sister.)
I have a strongly mathematical and scientific, but not necessarily rational mind.  I like to think I consider logic above all else, but my heart tends to rule my head.  These two sides of me seem to be constantly at war.  I get a gut instinct and then try to figure out if it could be rational.
I am frugal and often cheap.  Frugal is not spending more than you need, cheap is buying the same $5 item 20 times when I could have bought it once for $20.  My husband is slowly helping me go frugal as opposed to cheap.  I'd say that's largely due to not having enough money to be frugal when I was a kid; we had to settle for cheap. (Did you know there was knock off ramen?  I didn't know name brand ramen existed until college.)
I am tiny built, and fit into extremely small spaces well.  I learned how as a method to hide from pain.  I still find myself curling into a smaller shape or whatever crevice I can find when I'm in pain or uncomfortable.  It's a defense, but that defense doesn't work against emotional pain.
I can, and do, sacrifice myself for others, far more than I should.  It was an unspoken rule growing up: take care of the small people (those younger, smaller, or more delicate than you) first, be that giving them your dinner, comforting them when you're in your own hell, or protecting them  (Hey, look, a memory.)  I guess it can be a god thing, in moderation, to help those in need, but my needs should (often don't, but should) come first.
Aside from basic survival needs, I put myself last. If you look hungrier than me, I'll even push my hunger aside.  That hurts to admit.  I thought I did a pretty good job taking care of myself, but looking at it, I guess I should probably do more for me.  It's funny.  People tell me to relax, take time for myself, do things I want to do for myself.  I don't know how to do any of that, really.  I know how to do what needs to be done, but when it comes to my wants, those tend to get shoved aside.  The only relaxation I know is a bath with a book and one I hate to admit, even to myself (booze.) As I refuse to become my father, I refuse to comfort myself with alcohol.  I try meditation, and get caught up in trying to be "perfect" in it. I can't thoroughly relax while getting a pedicure because sudden movements tweak me out.  My journals are my outlet, and I tend to censor those, to an extent.
I have dysthymia.  It's a form of depression where my high points of elation don't really reach much higher than your blah days and my dark days are like falling away from the sun with an anchor strapped to your back.  People have actually said "Just TRY to be happy!"  I give them a Wednesday Addams smile and send them on their way. When I eat right, I get a glimpse and a taste of nondysthymic emotions.  They scare me.  To actually be able to be consistently happy feels like euphoria, which scares the hell out of me because it feels like a loss of self control.  I think that's why I self sabotage my efforts to eat right with "treats."  The euphoria of normal happy scares the pants off of me.
I occasionally get the urge to run (I ran so far awayay) like my mother used to do.  I've never acted on them.  I know that my problems can outrun me and will be waiting on me when I get home.  Even if running would help (I don't see how,) I refuse to do it for fear of turning into my mother.  I don't even run to exercise, for fear I might like it and then start running away, like Mom.  (Well, that and the real possibility of a severe asthma attack.)
When I was younger, the only reason I didn't cut was fear of discovery.  I had dreams of carving symbols and words into myself and making them scars.  I'm glad I didn't.
On my worst days, I am suicidal. It's not really something I can ignore.  My mind will see every day objects and views and invent ways I can off myself.  I don't see suicide as an option, but that doesn't stop my imagination from inventing new way to do it.
I need a safe coping mechanism, a candle against the red and the darkness. Biting it down only works for so long before it festers. I don't know of any way to handle negative emotion besides a whirlwind of emotion that dissipates quickly and leaves destruction in it's wake or biting it back until it festers into tears weeks, months, even years after it was created.
I can't name most of my emotions.  I can tell you the Big 3: Sad, Mad, Glad, and Sad and Mad weren't to be shown when I was little.  I can point out some others now (bemusement, bewilderment, confusion, frustration, fury, irritation, euphoria, calm, happy, elated) but the majority of my emotions fall into the lumpy category of Other.
I will push myself to my snapping point, and beyond, to the point where my head is doing nothing but screaming "I want out, I want out, I want out."  Being able to push myself can be good, within reason.

Mom in the Psych Ward

I'm not sure I remember much of this one.  It's in a really fuzzy part of my memories of high school.  It comes after my near suicide attempt and just after my mother's near suicide attempt on the bridge.
My mother was given the option to go into the psych ward at a hospital or be put there.  I believe she chose to go  on her own so we wouldn't hafta see her cuffed.  We did not go with her to the intake, only Dad did.  We, as a family unit, visited her a few times, not very often.  Whether that was because of hospital rules or because of schedule conflicts I don't know.  I remember she seemed at her happiest sad while she was there.  She didn't want to be there, and felt deprived, but I could tell it was helping her.  To my knowledge, that's the only therapy my mother ever has done, is that 6 week stint at Parkland.  One of my strongest memories of that time is her saying "they won't even let me have a scrunchy, how am I supposed to kill myself with a scrunchy?!" and my thought of "I'm sure you'd find a way."
I was embarrassed of my mother being in the psych ward.  I think, to this day, I've only told a handful of people about it, including my high school best friends.  I think I was/ am more embarrassed of her being in the psych ward that I was of her suicide near attempt.  I think part of it is because, with the suicide near attempt, I was able to cast myself as my mother's savior, I did it, I was the hero, even if I'm now no longer certain that's true.  If she had abandoned us in suicide, it seemed more "honorable" in my head for her to leave us in death than to just leave us.  I was also embarrassed of her being there because of the stigma attached to mental care facilities.  I know better, now, but back then, ti was flat out embarrassing, way more than the suicide near attempt.
I was also mad at her.  How dare she abandon us, yet again?  Intellectually, I knew better, that she had no real choice.  Then again, my mother CHOSE to go to the psych ward rather than come home.  What had we (I) done so wrong that she wanted to kill herself and spend all that time in the hospital?  Didn't she know we needed her?  Dad worked, picked me up from school (that was a quiet car ride, usually Mom and Dad carpooled), came home, and started drinking.  I think dinner during that time, more often than not, was fend for yourself.  I pretty much went to school, came home, tried to get everyone something to eat, and babysat until bedtime, even though Dad was right there, most of the time.  Or maybe he wasn't, I know he went out with his best friend to bars a lot around that time.
I blame Dad, too.  One of the times we needed someone the most, there was no one.  He was there, but we all knew better than to bug him about Mom when he drank.  I was furious at him.  We needed a father, not just a source of income.  I was doing everything around the house. Do you have any fucking idea how rough it is to step up as both parents at 16 when you don't even fully understand why?
Why do I have abandonment issues?  Because both parents continually abandoned me. Dad was always either at work or drinking, unless it was a holiday, in which case he was a happy drinker.  When Dad drank, he retreated into his head, became a statue in the chair, unless he needed to yell at someone to shut up. Mom just flat out ran away for a period of time when things got hard.  Usually only a couple hours, but a couple hours of not knowing where your Mom is when you're a kid is fucking scary, especially when Dad is freaking out and pressuring you to remember "anything she might have said about where she was going."  Hell, we usually didn't realize she was gone until we heard the sound of keys and the front door slam.  There were times I wished she would stay gone, then immediately chastise myself.  Every Saturday, she would either drop us off somewhere or I'd watch my sisters while she went and played bingo.  I realize she needed a break. It still hurt to watch Mom drive off, usually  because she would have a rare smile on her face as she left.  What caused that smile?  Not us.  Not me.  Matter of fact, it the idea of the absence of us.
I felt worthless, while she was in the psych ward, like somehow we kids should have been enough to keep her happy and home, but we never were.  Of course, because I was the eldest and should have somehow known, it was my fault we weren't good enough kids to keep her happy as our mom.  Your kids are supposed to be a reason to live, not a reason to run away or a reason to die.

Working the Steps, step 4, Part 1

I guess before I start the workbook questions, I should start the inventory list.  For those unaware this is step 4:

Made a searching and fearless inventory of ourselves.

An inventory is a  complete list of what is in stock.  I take this to mean I should examine what is good about myself and what defects/ flaws/ bad stock I have taken over the years.  Honestly, the hard part will be coming up with the good stuff.  I have a laundry list a mile long on what's wrong with me, but to think of the positives... it's something you Don't Do.  You don't self promote, you don't self aggrandize. Ego is not in humility or caring for others.  I think, in an effort to keep myself honest, and help my hurting self esteem, I'll force myself to alternate, good and bad.
1) I can be kind.
2)... when I'm not using someone as a sharpening stone for my tongue in an effort to keep or drive them away.
3) I can be generous.
4) That generosity can, and often does, have strings attached, even unspoken strings.  I tend to get peeved when someone does not read my mind and do what I mentally demand of them for them generosity.
5) I can be generous without strings, if I feel the person "worthy."
6) I have a nasty tendency of taking things personally, even when they aren't aimed at me.  I think this has to do with the imperfect attempt to be perfect and blame: something's not right, and I had to have somehow caused it, ergo, something is wrong with me.
7) I am accepting of every person as themselves, no fakery or flattery necessary.
8) ...so long as you don't want to get beyond my walls.  If you want to get beyond the moat, you hafta learn to swim in acid.  I think this ties to the fear of abandonment: if I don't let you close, it doesn't hurt when you leave me... wow, note the "when," not if.  That goes deeper than I thought.
9) I have many creative talents.
10) Using the talents for both happiness and pain still eludes me.  I cannot think of a single painting I have done that was done in happiness  I can do neutral subject matter  (I have evidence in my sewing and ceramics.)  I can use them for gifts to others.  A happy use of it for myself is foreign.  It's possible that my art is an outlet for emotions, and I don't recognize lasting happiness nearly as often.
11) I am very empathic, to the point of causing myself pain because I don't know when to shut off that faucet. I think my inability to shut off that faucet comes from fear: what if shutting off that faucet causes them more pain, so then their pain is my fault?
12) I can be friendly, in much the same way as a dog that was abused can be.  I'll laugh and play until the instant you hit a trigger, then I shut down, almost instantly, or react in an unhealthy manner.
13) I'm reactive, not always proactive. As a kid, it was hard to be proactive when there was never a set schedule and you didn't know when things would go to hell. 
[To be continued]

Working the Book, Step 3, Part 4

Even if I don't believe in a Higher Power the way other people do, how can I apply Step Three in my life?
By consistently reminding myself while I am a part of God, I am not God.  I cannot change others.  I do not have the omnipotent ability of changing people or people's thoughts.
By standing still and listening for that small voice in my subconscious, that part of God that is within me.  If I can hear that part of me that is still undamaged, then I can hear God.
By knowing that it isn't prayer or loud Hallelujahs that get the Great Divine's attention, but that small, private "help!"
God is a part of me, and I am part of the 'verse. By remembering that I am not the center of the Universe, nor am I something to be ignored.  "I am a leaf on the wind, watch how I soar."  God's will is the wind.
By reminding myself every day, every instant, that I am not the one at the helm.  God's the one steering this ship.  If I try to take the helm, I might miss out on something wonderful and gorgeous the Great Divine had planned.
The anxiety of turning it over to the Great Divine, I'll admit, is still there.  At the same time, in turning it over, the anxiety lessens to a manageable chunk.  I keep reminding myself that this God is not the one I held a grudge against.  I keep reminding myself that this Great Divine hasn't, and won't, abandoned me when I need that calm voice the most.  This God will not punish me.  He surrounds me with serenity and calm, even in the storm, and it is my choice on whether I breathe it in.
What role did the support of other Al- Anon members play in helping me find a God of my own understanding?
I mostly took this step before really getting involved in meetings.  My sponsor was the one that really helped me dig through the wreckage of my faith for my candle light that was still burning.  Her questions and shared wisdom/ experiences really helped me nail it down, and separate it from the grudge I held.  Knowing that it really was ok to have a Great Divine thoroughly different from the Christian God I hated so much was a lifeline.  While I'm well aware that my sci-fi/ Buddhist/ Wiccan God is not the one common for most,  I'm ok with that.  My sponsor, with what she shared, and the literature, with the people in there with a nonabramic God, helped me continue to climb my lifeline the way I need to.  My God is the God I need.
Oddly enough, hearing others at meeting speak of, and to, the God I refused was something that also cemented my own belief.  A sense of "well, it sure as hell ain't that! So what is it?" kept washing over me, forcing me to make decisions and choices that I thought I was happy to leave unanswered.  I wanted to be able to say the Serenity prayer and know where it was going.  I wanted all the God slogans to have somewhere to go.
How does practicing Step Three help to alleviate my fears?
I'm still working on "let go and let God."  It's a daily struggle to just hand over something to my Higher Power.  I've tried to handle and control everything on my own for so long that it's a hard habit to break.  I'm getting there, though, piecemeal.  Trust is also an issue, but I figure if I can trust the people in my life that haven't hurt me yet, I can trust a God who won't hurt me.
When I do succeed in handing over the issue to God, I realize that it isn't giving up on whatever or whoever it is.  It isn't saying "fuck it, you handle this."  It is saying "I need some help here."  It is saying "this is beyond what I can control or handle."   It is telling God and myself that this is something more in his court than mine.  Do I like Step 3?  Not particularly.  It still smacks of defeat. I'm still trying to change my thinking that it's not defeat or losing, it's realizing that I was losing until I let God handle it, so now I'm winning.  I think I'd like step 3 a lot more if it meant a guaranteed win or that things would work the way I want them to, but that's not how this works.  Step 3 also means admitting that sometimes I will lose that battle to win a greater war. Step 3 is a trust that something that is not me, something that smacks of authority figure, knows what's going on and knows more than I what needs to happen.  At the same time, it is me, because "I am a leaf on the wind."  No wind, the leaf doesn't go anywhere.

Working the Book, Step 3, Part 2

What was my understanding of a Higher Power when I first came to Al- Anon?
 Fuzzy at best.  I had some sort of spiritual belief, but I was good without God, especially the Judeochristian God.
I believed there was some sort of guardian or deity out there. "he/ she/ it/ they, I don't care."  I didn't believe in a personal god, but at the same time I did.  I think I envisioned God in much the same way my parents acted:  helpful in moments of extremes, but usually pretty hands off and inaccessible.  The insistence of God the Father or Goddess the Mother really didn't help.  Why would I want some ethereal parent to do the same damn thing my parents did:  punish me when I was bad, offer me some vague platitude of "yay" when I accomplish something, and ignore me most of the time.  "A loving God is always in your life."  Yeah fucking right.  Nobody is always there for me, and God seemed not to hear my pleas.  Even when he sent me what I most wanted and most feared (A CPS investigator), I chickened out (and coerced my youngest sister to corroborate what I said) and blamed God for not sending a good one.  God the Son, who died to abolish my sins before I did them? Pfeh.  A joke.  No one can remove everything I've done wrong.  That's too big a list and some of them are too big (and too deep) to just be forgiven.  I kept my sins in an ongoing mental list, everything I did wrong, everything I fucked up.  I absorbed other people's sins to be my own, as obviously they weren't doing anything about it.  I was fucked up, just pin another sin on the scapegoat and send it to it's happy death.  God the Spirit was a cop out, in my eyes.  It was just another name for the God I had vetoed, the one that wouldn't hear my pleas or couldn't do anything, hardly a worthy God.
I chucked that God out of my life.  I still vaguely believed in God, just not that one.  More some all encompassing spark of life and energy.  The Universe (or 'Verse, ala Firefly.)  The All, ala Wicca.   Nothing you really prayed to or beseeched for anything, more something that was always there and that worked you to your final destiny.  I believed in destiny, but not  fate or predetermination.  You had a clearing at the end of your path, some final lesson, but how you got there was your own business.  In my darkest or most painful moments, I would get horribly close to prayer, a "God, please, please, God," begging for release from whatever I had done to myself.
How has my understanding of God changed over time?
I still believe in the 'Verse, the All.  I've incorporated bits and pieces from what I read and experience.  "Thou art God," after all. The power in the 'Verse, God, if you will, is like a great furnace.  What I have is like the pilot light for that furnace.  If I blow it out, God appears to vanish.  The instant I relight it, God reappears.  God has never vanished.  He seems to go into nothingness, but there is still gas, waiting for a spark.  God is within you and outside of you.  You are God, I am God, everything with a life is God.  I don't grok God, but I have a fair understanding.  I don't know that it's within human capacity to grok God.  There are just too many facets to that diamond to see them all in one lifetime.  But by being loving, compassionate, and serene, you can feel God and be God.

Working the Book, Step 2, Part 2

In what ways has my thinking disturbed my peace?
I think a more accurate version of this is "in what ways hasn't your thinking disturbed your peace?" The list is far shorter, almost nonexistent.
I have a nasty tendency of taking innocuous things personally.  Even if it was meant as a joke or had nothing whatsoever to do with me, I take it personally.  I would better keep my peace with a healthy reaction.
I get sad and angry over things that I have no control over. Like when middle sister went to jail, I blamed myself for not raising her correctly  (yeah, because that 2.5 years means I can mother her well.)  Or when my mother needs a med change and won't ask the doc about it. Or idiots in traffic.
I am very hard on myself.  If it's not perfect, it's something to stew on and worry over or rage over.
I get anxious and worry over things that don't deserve my time or energy or that I can't fix.  (This has gotten better by cutting sulfites from my diet.)   I worry over my mother, when she's been doing well.  I worry over my car, and that cosmetic damage.  I worry over money, even when there's enough coming in (it's especially hard when I'm unemployed.)  I'm anxious in traffic, because I can't control the idiots around me.  On especially bad days, I worry about my husband, his entire family, all my friends, my sponsor, just up and abandoning me.

I know my fears of abandonment come from actually being temporarily abandoned, repeatedly, by my mother.  She'd decide life is too hard or her emotions were too complicated or something, and just drive off.  Yes, I'd be safe with someone (as a kid, as a teenager, I was the safe one for my sisters), but to see my mother just walk or drive off, without saying good bye or even saying she'd be back, scared (and scarred) me.  We never even knew where she was going or if she'd be back. One minute she was there, the next, she was crying and walking out the door.  After she attempted suicide on one of those outings, I worried all the more.  There were times I wished she wouldn't come back, then I'd heap blame and shame on myself for those thoughts.  "She is my mother!" I'd chide myself, "I hafta love her and want her."  There are times that I wonder if her taking us storm chasing was actually self destructive behavior that endangered us kids or if it was a form of running away.  I know the winter in Pennsylvania with her pen pal was running away.  I later found out that she didn't tell Dad until either we were gone or until we got back.  There are some memories there I need to uncover.

How does Step 2 help me find peace in stressful situations?
Just reminding myself that I don't hafta face this alone helps.  Knowing that there is someone out there who knows all of my past, all of my secrets, and all of everything, and still loves me and won't leave me (well, it hasn't yet) is a scary and empowering thought.  Just the idea of, even if everything goes to hell, I have something to fall back on, helps me stay sane.  There is an image of myself in an exoskeleton, where the exoskeleton is the Great Divine, that helps me realize that even if I don't have the strength, the Great Divine does.