Be Gentle

My Sweet Miss Birdie has seen me at my darkest points.

Remember - she is the one who used these exact words back in 2010:

"I have friends in the Sandy Police Department and I have no problem calling them to come and get you."

Those words quite literally saved my life at during an incredibly dark time.

I remember that same night, the ER doctor saying to me:

"We've never been in the business of letting people kill themselves and we are not starting tonight. Just remember that there is one logical person in this two person conversation and it's not you."

Well, damn!

Miss Birdie has been sending me text messages every day for the last week.

They remind me that she gets me.

She loves me because I am broken.

She loves me because I am hurting.

She loves me because I am weak.

She also reminds me, in no uncertain terms, that I am a daughter of God.

That I have purpose.

That I can have bad days, but that I am then required to get back up and try again.

Miss Birdie has been broken.

And hurt.

And shattered.

And alone.

And lost.

And just at the very lowest of low points.

If you've never read, "Not Another Sarah," please do.

She wrote it.

It is an autobiography of her life.

It is hard to read.

It is harder not to love this woman who has been my rock for many, many years.

She reminds me that BECAUSE we have been broken and torn down and brought to our knees in despair and sadness and anger and fear, we have the ability (far more than those who have not been broken to pieces) to be gentle with other living things.

To show compassion and empathy.

To remind others who are going through their own refiners' fires that there is an other side to it.

To remind ourselves constantly that these times allow us and really invite us to go to God and to depend on Him to make it through these times that we can in NO way survive on our own.

This is one reason (out of many) that I love the 12-step program and associated groups.

It is a circle full of broken people.

Those who have seen Rock Bottom... and let me tell you about Rock Bottom.

I capitalize it because it is an actual place.

Probably has an address that is something like 666 Hell.

Rock Bottom has no color - no blue sky, no yellow sun, no green grass, no flickering leaves on the street-lined trees... there ain't no trees, People.

There is no water. There is no air.

There is no soft surface to lay your head or place your scraped up knees.

And your senses - your senses are both gone and heightened all at the same time.

You can't hear those who are reaching out to help you, yet the screaming of those who are only going to drag you down further are blaring in your ears. 

You can't see a way out. You can't see anything, really. It's dark and almost tunnel-like.

But, you can see the devil's dangling goods in front of your face and you grab hold because it looks so rich and so good.

You can't taste anything of substance.

In fact, for people like me, Rock Bottom takes away any appetite at all.

Unless, of course, it is something that will take away any feeling of any kind.

Then, you can't get enough of it.

You want more and more and more, as not to feel.

But you still feel.

So, you run.

Fast.

To that part of Rock Bottom where your addiction sits in waiting.

It knows you'll come back, at least to visit.

It just waits patiently.

And most of us do go back, at least to visit because it is so familiar.

In group, we look around at each other and we see that in one another.

We see that part of us that was at Rock Bottom, 666 Hell.

When we look at each other, we see and feel the reflection of ourselves.

For, it hasn't been so long since we've been there - to Rock Bottom.

And some of us still have longings to go back.

Can you imagine longing for Rock Bottom?

Of course not.

It's called addiction.

And together, we stay away.

Far away.

Where there is color.

And water.

And grass.

And Aspen trees flickering.

And moons.

And stars.

And air.

To breathe.

And a new gentleness about us.