He took the easy way… What was the easy way?

If she weren’t writing in blood, she’d bring him her jokes, a new liver, and a shovel for the mud. If he were not knee-deep in mud he’d bring her his drugs, he’d get her a typewriter.
Metric, Grow Up & Blow Away

Happy Quarantine, hope everyone is well! While hundreds of thousands of people are dying and millions more are battling for their lives and a country tears itself apart over money and money and money, I felt like focusing on something selfish and infinitesimal.

During this strange shift in the world, I have experienced a multitude of personal shifts as well.
As most people have.
As is to be expected when everything ordinary is turned upside-down and inside-out and roughed up a little bit.

I am grateful for my alcoholism at this time. When my life was constantly run on fear and bad unreasonable decisions based on those fears, I begin to realize how dumb that is. How short-sighted. How human. Or someone else will remind me.

But I don’t wanna be human, I wanna be holy, I wanna be different, I wanna be divine… like I was meant to be.

So then I go through the process of really analyzing those fears. What feels threatened? Is it a real threat? What happens if the thing comes true? Who am I? What does it mean to me? To you? Does it mean anything at all?

Then I could see how everyone’s vision is clouded by fear. Are threats real? Do dangers exist? Of course. But what can I do about it? Only what I can do and that is not a lot besides stay home and praise God and yell at my parents to sit their asses at home. (Ice cream is NOT essential, you guys! ugh, so annoying…)

I started this post to talk about lying and ended up talking about fear. But the two aren’t extremely unrelated. Just bear with me while I make the journey.

Since getting sober, I’ve become straight up magical at detecting lies. I have been given an intuitive gift (haha) that probably everyone has but that I’ve only now begun to listen to. (Yes, everyone has this gift.) I used to get mad when I would be lied to. Now I get sad.

I don’t get sad for myself, but for the person who is unable to recognize truth or the value of it. I know what that place feels like, to be so disillusioned with the world you begin to create your own. It can be the only thing making life bearable. Which was what I did. And in my made-up reality, everyone else owed me, everyone else was out to get me, and I never did anything wrong. And if I oh-so-humbly admitted with grace and price to some wrong doing, it was undoubtedly the tip of the iceberg for the garganuant lie beneath the surface I was too blinded by shame to name.

In this quarantine, as I’ve been having to talk to more people for my own sanity, these red flags pop up. I shoo it away, because it ruins the conversation to ask too many questions. And also, isn’t it just enough to know someone is lying? Do I really need to make a conscious effort to name their lie when they probably won’t even be able to recognize it?

So I listen patiently, “Oh yes, really – mhmm, no I didn’t know that… so interesting…” and I hear their voice tell a story they believe, or want to, and at some level believe that I want to believe, too. The fear that they aren’t enough, that they need more, that they need to entertain… I wish I could tell them it’s not worth the trouble. For me or anyone else.

Embrace yourself. Be alone. Trust God.

Love someone that isn’t you… for once. And do it selflessly.

“Maybe a mouse gets to thinking pretty early on how the whole world is run by these enormous feet. Well, from where I sit, I figure the world is run by one thing and this one thing only. Panic with a dog-face, devil-face, hag-face, whore-face, panic in capital letters with no face at all—it’s the same Johnny Panic, awake or asleep.
His love is the twenty-story leap, the rope at the throat, the knife at the heart.
He forgets not his own.”

Sylvia Plath, Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams