The reason why we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with everyone else’s highlight reel.
Thank God for Alcoholics Anonymous.
I am convinced the grace of God entered my life at my very first meeting.
For some unfathomable reason, I was more interested in what was going to happen, rather than being angry and resentful about losing my best friend…alcohol.
It was obvious that after only three years of legal drinking (something I’d waited my whole life for) I was done.
Everyone at that meeting was at least 20 to 30 years older. I ignored that difference, and focused on what they were saying. I paid attention to how they drank and how they felt. Obviously, they understood me. There were more similarities than differences. In time, that became my first home group.
It’s incredibly easy to lapse into rationalization and righteous anger, to take the path of least resistance, make excuses, and buy into predetermined failure.
In a perfect world, I’d never compare my life to someone else …but then again, we don’t exactly live in a perfect world, do we?
I find myself constantly fighting an uphill battle and buying into all kinds of diseased, destructive, self-defeating ideas.
Credit where credit is due: I deserve big points for consistency.
I’ve always done the brutal comparison thing and wound up on the bottom rung.The only way I could cope was to live in denial, not think about it, and stay wasted. Right underneath this thin veneer of calm assurance lies a black, bubbling, smoking, noxious tar pit of disease doing push ups and patiently waiting to get out.
If I compared myself to the hunchback of Notre-Dame, it’s no contest. In my mind, Quasimodo’s got it going on:
He’s got good, steady bell ringing work, and a lovely girlfriend in Esmeralda.I’d wager she doesn’t try to drag him to Filene’s
Remember Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous?
Brutal.
When I’d really want to punish myself, I’d watch an episode.
They’d feature an exposé on some punk with a 20 room mansion, new Maserati, and supermodel girlfriend.
He’s flying around the country in his privet jet, and riding to work in a limo. For fun he’s golfing with high profile pros, going to parties at the Playboy Mansion, & playing blackjack in Vegas.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting on a futon in my one-bedroom basement apartment with my rusted 12 year-old alchy sled parked outside.
I’m in my underwear, eating generic macaroni and cheese out of a saucepan with a spoon.
The only thing keeping me from jumping out the widow is the fact that I’m in the frikkin’ basement. My pathology will never go away and the best I can hope for is to manage it, one day at a time.
My only defense is Alcoholics Anonymous, and all the lessons that have been waterboarded into me over the years.
HERE’S THE TAKEAWAY:
It is so easy to buy into self-defeating, diseased thinking.
If I start HALT-ing out, or if I’m having a bad day, I can easily complete the picture by starting in with the old Comparison Game.
Before I know it, I’m off to the races. And quite frankly, it’s a luxury I can’t afford.
Even though I feel, understand, and know this stuff down to my bones, I’ve worn a mighty deep rut in the carpeting of my life. Old thoughts and behaviors are virtually impossible to change.
I’ll never set any world records. All I can do is offer up my best effort.
Thank God for Alcoholics Anonymous.