Sundays / Alcohol / Church / Recovery

Sundays are always emotional days for me.  They've been that way since being a kid.  Sundays were the most stressful and gut-wrenching times of the week.  We were a religious family.  My parents were dogmatic that we needed to be to church whenever the doors were open.

Sundays were especially stressful, though, as my dad, who was a deacon, would be fanatical about us getting their on time.  Of course, we never were on time, but endured his anger and beratement on the long ride there.  At church, everyone would also comment on what a perfect family we appeared, or what a nice guy he was.

The church itself was a dysfunctional quagmire.  It took me many years before realizing that half the people in charge were probably mentally unstable.  But when your a kid, you follow the way they say you're supposed to go.  And you try hard to be what grownups want you to be.  I was always humble, respectful, and courtesy.  I did my best to believe. 

They taught me a lot of things that were great, about love and forgiveness.  There were a lot of confusing messages to, about the lost, presumably anyone who was not in service, but most especially people whose life situations drastically differed from their traditional values.  I was taught that homosexuals and drug addicts were the reason problems existed in the world.  I grew up, left home, and made great friends with people I was conditioned to fear.

There were also warm moments though.  The organ playing, the hymns, even the rituals were quite reassuring to me as a boy.  We would finish the service and head home, back into that tense situation.

As an adult, I followed those same terrible patterns.  I fought hard to live up to these values I was taught.  Inwardly, though, I was roiling inside.  Aside from trying my best to hide my PTSD and alcoholism, provide for a family, its been years of great change, yet excruciating silence. 

I reached the wall when I could not kick the can anymore.  And I couldn't keep saying yes to things when my heart was saying no, and vice versa.  I grew into my father, with his rigid dogma and inflexible rules, along with the outward portrayal of complete normality.  I made a point to stop being that way, and began to educate myself on what a kind and nurturing father should be.  I also made the two biggest decisions of my adult life: to quit drinking and to seek professional theraputic care.

Today is Sunday.  I am alone.  I went to an AA meeting and though happy to be there, felt entirely tense throughout.  My soon to be ex-wife and the kids are away at a new church, not surprisingly at the invitation of another man who is more religious and effusive than I am.  He has significant life challenges, yet my wife decided that tending to his issue was more important than our home.  Getting sober made me finally wake up to the fact that she was endless drawn to the drama, and that would never change.  In the summer, I finally asked her for a divorce.

The narrative, though, when you come from an ultra-religious family is that the problem is with me.  It is because I didn't do something right, or follow through that this situation is happening.  I certainly did not help, but the failure of our relationship is both of our doing.

It hurts to be alone on a Sunday.  I went for a long walk in the woods.  It was so peaceful and calming for me. 

I am looking forward to take the steps I need to heal.  It won't always be this way.  I won't always feel this way.  There are still a lot of positive things happening for me in my life.  Even though the life I thought I wanted is disintegrating, I have faith that something better lies in the future.  I am learning to manage my life and to take care of my body, mind, and spirit.

If you knew where I was not long ago, you would know what a miracle this is.

J.P.