Friday, September 6, 2013

Home Is Not a Field of Poppies

One man sleeps on pizza boxes. One man swears someone planted the needle on him. One woman promised her dad she would quit even before she started.  One woman sits in her car idling in the garage.  Her coke sniffing boyfriend rescues her.  He drunkenly pleads to his erstwhile lover, "Mommy, I want to come home."  It takes all of her strength to keep from saying, "Of course you can. I'll come and get you."


You can come home, but it involves dropping a house on a witch, putting on her ruby slippers and scampering along a yellow brick road where, at any moment, flying monkeys might swoop down and snatch you away.

Traveling companions may present themselves to you, but they may not be as benevolent and protective as Dorothy's were. They are just as likely to lead you astray as point you in the right direction. If you're lucky, they won't steal your  wallet while you sleep it off in a vacant lot that you fancy to be a field of poppies.  

In real life, scarecrows can appear to be downright menacing, but that is just your overactive imagination magnifying shadows strictly for dramatic effect.  Once you catch on to what a scarecrow does best, which is try and frighten the bejesus out of you, you discover that it is all bluster.  

Just like the tin man, you might feel hollow inside.  You might feel a need for others to nurture you.  Some will.  Many others will not.   This doesn't make them bad people.  They have their own problems, and, they, too, need more than they have capacity to give.  So you need to find a way to give yourself what you need. Discover what is within you.  Remember, "Oz never did give nothing to the tin man that he didn't didn't already have."  




For the journey you are on, you will need the heart of a lion. A road to recovery is neither for the faint of heart nor for the feint of heart. Your heart does not give you courage.  However, you need to look into your heart to find it.   

Draw back the curtain.  For the sake of your integrity, you need to know who or what lurks behind.  Once you know,  you can decide if you really do want to go home, and, if so, how to get there.  Forget about using roadmaps or GPS. You need to navigate using your own interior constellations.

You may choose inebriation over sobriety. Emerald City has its charms, but after a while the glitzy veneer wears thin.  You may choose the wizard's sentimentality because it's easier than examining authentic feelings.  

If you choose recovery, then you very likely will experience discomfort.  You may come to realize that you have harmed others as well as yourself.  Forgive yourself as often as necessary.

If you miss the hot air balloon, remember that you will always have the ruby slippers to fall back on.  You will have many second chances.  Hopefully you will arrive home where you can rest your weary head and heal your heavy heart.  

Hi.  My name is Debbie.  I am an emotional eater. When I started being bullied at five, I turned to food for comfort.   My mother enabled me.  "You had a bad day.  Have some ice cream." 

I, too, have been an enabler.  It is  only now that I have realized that I have either known addicts or I have known people who have known addicts.  Doesn't matter what the substance or compulsion has been.  We all have had our more vulnerable or fragile moments, and we all search for our way home.  Wishing  us all serenity.  








Saturday, March 16, 2013

She Has No Discernible Voice. Yet.


She has no discernible voice. Yet.
Her sparkly eyes speak for her.
Ordinary minds avert their gaze.
Unimaginative voices refuse to hear hers.
Her voice offends their senses.
They insist she quell her primal yawp.
She is our humanity laid bare.

I speak about her, but not for her.
We have barely scratched the surface of her mind.
If she speaks, we gain entry into
a richly veined interior world.
She cackles at the futility of
their deny ability.
They are ill equipped to comprehend her intellect.
They deny expression of mind but not of spirit.


Her education is our education.
She is both teacher and trickster.
Her tale is one seemingly told by an idiot.
Her smile and eyes refute that.
Considered mental, she refuses to step aside.
She will not disappear into the woodwork.