While listening to other addicts and alcoholics, something weird and cellular happens to me. Like my whole body vibrates, my brain hums and my heart feels like it’ll pop out of my chest and start tap dancing like Fred Astaire. These are my people. They speak into my soul like they’re talking into a microphone. Hearing them tell the truth makes me know I’m not some weirdo alien who needs to be kept alone in the dark. I love these people and want to put them all in my pocket.
The rest of humanity? Uh. Not so freaking much.
During “That Thing That Happened In Politics That Took Too Long And Turned Everybody Into A Freakshow” (also known as the election), I seriously started to think that maybe I actually hate everyone. I know this sounds like something a 15-year-old girl would scream right before she slams her bedroom door but here I was. The racism. The sexism. The paranoia. The typing in all caps. It was behavior coming from people I previously thought of as friends and now I kinda hated all of them. Moreover, I just wanted to delete my Facebook account, grab a stack of Jackie Collins novels and go live on a hill in Scotland. There was a simmering pot of hostility constantly bubbling over on the stove and it was wearing me the hell out. First of all, I just wanted social media to go back to its real purpose: a place where we could all endlessly blather on about ourselves and share pictures of our silly little lives with a fair amount of cat videos thrown in for good measure. Secondly, I wanted my friends to act like normal, non shouting d-bags, like the people who I was drawn to in the first place. Mainly, I hated everyone because they weren’t acting the way I wanted them to.
Naturally, my bratty lists of wants are insane but there’s a silver lining deep down somewhere in this hatred for humanity.
When I was drinking seven nights a week and waiting tables in Los Angeles, I legit hated everyone/everything and (of course) I hated myself. My inner misery was reflected on the world and therefore I was equal opportunity in my disdain. The real twisted part was that I acted like I was happy all of the time. Yes, I was of those weirdos who was psychotically happy and smiling but who you secretly worried would end up on the roof of a Best Buy cackling and holding an automatic weapon. To make this all a little spicier in the dysfunction department, I was also a people pleaser who desperately wanted people to like me, even the ones I hated. In other words, I was a delight. When I finally came dragging my sad butt to the halls of recovery, I soon figured out that—spoiler alert—the problem wasn’t other people being horrible but me. Sigh.
This discovery seriously put a whole wrench in my plan in blaming others for my misery. As a sober person, I am decidedly less hateful towards myself and others—grumpy, sarcastic mumblings aside. I try to be gracious as I stand in line. I look people in the eye. I say “Thank you” and mean it. I’m a good date to office parties or awkward functions. I try to be on time. In general, I suck less. This is undoubtedly progress. So what gives with the sudden disgust and exhaustion with the inhabitants of planet Earth?
Like those who drive me crazy, I too am human which means I sometimes hate a bunch of stuff. But the hate is different today than it was back then. It’s less of a “please wipe these beings off the face of the planet” kind of hate. Today, people just piss me off. Or let me down. Or make me say, “Oh man. You too?” Which I guess just means they are doing their jobs as people. They’re being the disappointing, infuriating, beautiful souls they’re supposed to be. We get all twisted and hot in recovery when we talk about acceptance. Like accepting awful things or people is some kind of endorsement but I don’t think that’s the case. Accepting people for me means accepting all of them—even the yucky parts. Which brings us to the major light bulb that I’ve had in the midst of hating everyone.
I can accept people and still not really like them! Who knew? In fact, sickness looks a lot like me thinking I can change people. That’s some delusional stuff right there. Picking fights in a comments section, forcing my beliefs down a stranger’s throat or engaging in a heated conversation just to make myself feel alive are all signs that I’m not exactly killing it in the emotional sobriety category. Instead, acceptance means being able to say, “That person is an a-hole and I can’t do anything about that. Moving on. Next!”
If you go to enough 12-step meetings, you’ll eventually hear, “Love and tolerance of others in our code.” I loved this back then and still do. As an uber gay and creative kid, I didn’t always feel loved or tolerated in big groups of people so this idea was appealing. That is until I figured out I had to do the same if I wanted the same. Also, it just says “others,” not others who look cool or others who agree with you. But “others” as in everyone. Ugh. Nevertheless, I was willing to give it a shot. After all, I was unconditionally given a ton of love and support by virtual strangers when I first walked into meetings and so I figured I might as well return the favor. This turned out to be a no-brainer as I found talking to other addicts blew my brain and heart open. Here were folks who weren’t afraid of all the horrific stuff I did and who were able to laugh with me and at me. We were connected by our pasts and the fact that we just wanted to get better. Over the last nearly eight years, these relationships have changed the way I treat people—even the buttheads without a program who I want to smack in the face.
A few days ago, I ran into a program friend who is going through a rough time. Within seconds, I had that feeling again. Laughter, compassion, love—all of it making my whole body tingle. I have no idea if my friend felt better but I did and I wasn’t even suffering. That’s just what we do for one another. It would be great if I could somehow manage to carry this love and tolerance over into all of my relationships with regular drinking folk. It would be fabulous if the state of the world and most people in it didn’t make me sigh or roll my eyes. But that’s just not realistic. The best I can hope for is that I honestly try to be a little more kind.
And if I can’t muster that up, I can at least work on loving and tolerating myself.
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