The last few weeks have been some of the lowest that I have seen in my life, whether in or outside of recovery. Thoughts of suicide have cropped up, and I have consigned myself, for a time, to the silence of sleep. To sleep is to not drink or act out, I reasoned. Sleeping also shields me from my thoughts, thoughts that are at best self-deprecating and self-loathing. However much recovery I thought I had, or how adequate my coping tools, sometimes life is indeed just too damn painful.
From my beginnings at my previous employer I chose to be an advocate for my patients and doing the right thing, and time and again I was told to shut up, to walk the line, and to not rock the boat. This was coupled with my never fitting into the established cliques, being a well-educated male in an extraordinarily female-dominated work setting. From the beginning I was assailed with rumors and gossip, everything from questions about my sexual orientation to gossip about my fiance. I certainly made some beautiful friendships with a number of my coworkers, but the small but vocal minority became ever vigilant in their attempts to get me to quit. I did not acquiesce, therefore they took action to see that I would quit. Things reached such a tempo that on April 10 I penned my resignation to my boss. After almost a year in the most toxic "snake pit" in the United States, I chose to exit this imposed exile of an employment situation and was able to do so with eligibility for rehire should I ever wish. I would rather gag myself with a spoon.
Due to some rather providential decisions on my part, I began orientation for my new job yesterday. Now that's a trick -- quit a job on Thursday, start new one on Monday! :) Not only a new job, but one in a supervisory position. Imagine that. What strikes me about this opportunity is that this place offers greater opportunity for advancement, a far less grueling commute (a 3 minute drive to work as opposed to a 30 minute drive), and slightly better pay. Not to mention far healthier work conditions. Also, in all liklihood, a less stressful job, though I have no assurances of this fact as of yet. Further, I am continually aghast at the professionalism and compassion of my new colleagues. This is what patient care is supposed to look like.
The moral of the story? Despite the most painful experience of my life, I didn't drink, and I didn't return to my bottom line behaviors in my sex addiction. That doesn't mean that I havn't been medicating, I'm sad to say. Pretty badly, in fact. But I have not returned to those things that brought me into this program, that have propelled me into the pit of shame that nearly led me to take my life before I came into this program. And I have learned that, if I do the right things, my Higher Power can and will do things for me that I cannot (or indeed, will not) do for myself. Not have I only been given the gift of recovery, the gift of my beautiful fiance (soon to be wife), the gift of a profession that I love -- I have been given a new lease on life. Every day, as many times a day, if I so desire. God is indeed merciful. And I am grateful indeed.
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2 comments:
An interesting discussion is worth comment. I think that you should write more on this topic, it might not be a taboo subject but generally people are not enough to speak on such topics. To the next. Cheers
Each year, hundreds of thousands of people in the United States over the age of twelve have been victims of sexual assault. Many people don’t have the tools to cope with the trauma, leading many of them to turn to drugs or alcohol to handle these experiences.
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