Valentine's Day Wish

Yesterday was a big day for me. It marked one month that I’ve been off my prescription opioids; one month that I’ve endured unpleasant withdrawal symptoms and survived the four month withdrawal process I went through between September 11^th, 2018 and January 13, 2019. Having been told years ago that I would likely need to be on prescription narcotics of some strength my entire life by a pain specialist, it’s truly remarkable that I’m now living day to day without the relief of what turned out to be toxic substances to my overall health.  Life is much sweeter now that I feel alive to live it.  I give thanks every day that I was able to escape the roller coaster of my experience with prescription opioids, and I’m highly reflective about what it was that truly got me through this difficult period of detox.

It dawned on me today, after a “Happy Valentine’s Day” call from my mom, that the root of my survival through all this was love.  Today is a day where we customarily tell those important to us just how much we love them, how much they mean to us, and we show them with gifts and gestures that life is made sweeter by their presences in it.  When I look back at my decision to go off my prescription opioids, I realize that it was the love for myself that drove the effort. And in our society today, telling oneself that she isn’t only loved but worth fighting for is something that is absent. So for Valentine’s Day, I wish for all of you to take a moment to look in the mirror and tell yourself that you love YOU!

When I look back, the one aspect of my situation in September that gave me the strength and the courage to begin my separation from prescription opioids for my pain is that, for the first time in my life, I put myself first and decided I was worth saving from what was a numb and hopeless existence. I want to emphasize that not everyone on prescription opioids experiences the anesthetized mentality and spiritual bankruptcy that I did, and I support those who are able to healthily remain on their pain medications and sustain an active lifestyle. That was not the case for me.

I believe, especially as women, we identify ourselves by how much we love others, and we don’t often turn that love inward, as it seems almost selfish or conceited. There is nothing self-centered about loving the one person who gets us through each and every day, and there should be no limit to how much we can love ourselves, especially when we so freely give our love to those in our lives.  I truly believe that one of God’s great joys comes from seeing individuals who can appreciate who they are, who can recognize their inner strengths and who can make the tough decisions to stop hurting ourselves, no matter if it’s intentional or as a result of external factors.

I was taught that it’s impossible to love anyone else until I learn to unconditionally love myself. Looking back on these difficult few months, I realize how true that statement is. I’ve always been one of those people who are really good at giving 110% to relationships with others, but not so good at directing that attitude inward. Unfortunately, I allowed that love for others to be a blinder to what was going on inside me, and I came close to losing my life to a lack of love for the person who wakes up every day and looks in the mirror. I was never going to be capable of loving those in my life as completely as I wanted until I learned to put myself first and love myself.  There was no way, in my suicidal and emotionally disabled state, that I could live my life the way it was intended to be lived until I stopped and decided that it was worth pulling myself from the depths of opioid dependence and finding another way to cope with my pain.

In the grand scheme of things, a month seems like nothing to most.  It’s a few pay periods, a third of a semester, a mortgage payment.  To me, it’s been 31 days of experiencing life with the mental acuity and passion with which I believe God intended, and I can only imagine it will get better with every passing day.  I could never have gotten through withdrawal without the unconditional love of my support system, and I don’t downplay that love for even a moment. I recognize, for the first time, it’s OK to say, “I love you, Jessica!” on this Valentine’s Day. 

Perhaps it’s just maturing on my part, but loving myself has reaped nothing short of miracles in my life. Wherever you are on your journey, may you all realize the love that surrounds you in the very center of your being, and may you be blessed with the fruits of such love! 

Satisfying Semantics

Ever since taking my last prescription opioid dose on January 13, 2019, I have been searching for a word that accurately describes the phase in which I now find myself.  I’ve tried on many words to see how they fit, but none of them feel accurate or befitting of the situation. Yes, I’m in a period of recovery, not just from being off the opioids, but also from being severely chronically ill. God willing, the latter will follow me into the future, but regardless, “in recovery” isn’t specific enough for my liking.

There is the obvious word “sober”, which means “not under the influence of drugs or alcohol” according to the Encarta Dictionary. Perhaps in error, but in all honesty, I find the opposite of this word to mean “drunk” or “high”, and I never felt either of those things. I certainly felt numb and out of it, but it was not a pleasant escape from reality. If anything, I associate my time on opioids as a complete emotional void. From the outside, I may have seemed high, but I never felt the enjoyment I think many find in the highs they seek, despite the danger in which it puts them.  I think true sobriety for an addict is much harder to maintain than the absence of drugs I find myself enduring after being drug dependent. I’m enjoying the lack of toxic chemicals in my body, and “sober” just doesn’t fit my situation.

Then there is the word “clean”, which means “with no illegal drugs; not containing or possessing illegal drugs”. Over the 19 years I was on prescription opioids, I never pursued them from the streets. That’s where the word “prescription” comes in; I always got my medicine from a doctor and used it accordingly. Yes, there were times when I would take an extra pill here or there, but that was the exception, not the rule. In addition, to say I’m now “clean” infers that I was somehow, at some point, “dirty”, and I was never what I would consider dirty. I was chronically ill and dealing with chronic pain, neither of which made me unclean. I was suffering, not sucia (dirty in Spanish.)  Plenty of people made me ashamed by my situation, and in that way I felt subpar, but never dirty.  So again, the word “clean” doesn’t befit my situation.

Finally comes my least favorite phrase, “on the wagon”, in contrast to being “off the wagon”, which implies that one has failed to remain off their substance of choice. The last time I was on or off a wagon was when I was about seven-years old and being pulled by my dad to the Bexley fireworks on the 4^th of July in the Radio Flyer red wagon I shared with my baby brother.  There is nothing about this period of being off narcotics that reminds me of that young time, with the exception of perhaps a hope that good things can work out. However, I’m not on a wagon, red or otherwise, and this phrase just doesn’t work for me.

After exhausting these commonplace words and phrases, I began thinking about my true feelings at this time. I feel satisfied, full and complete, as I freed myself from the tentacles of drug dependence after so many years of chronic pain. I feel filled to the brim with pride for my accomplishment, and humility for realizing that I could never have done it without the support from my family, friends and most of all, God. After nineteen years of drug dependence, my appetite for them is sated. I am filled to the brim and ready to take on a new diet. Most of all, I feel overwhelmed with a satisfaction that my life is better today than it has been at any other time in the past two decades.

Thinking of these emotions, I recalled a phrase my Nana used to say when she was feeling full and replenished with a satisfying meal:

No thank you,

I’ve had my sufficiency!

Fully serrencified,

Clear up to my velosophinial.

Any more would be an indulgency.

Remembering her sweet phrasing, of which serrencified appears in no dictionaries, I relate this feeling to my past years of chronic pain and illness. I HAVE had my sufficiency of the two, more than enough. And if I even HAVE a “velosophinial” at this point, and it hasn’t been removed in one of my many surgeries, I am full of the pain and chronic illness all the way up to it.  At this point, any more would be indulgency. I’ve spent enough time in bed, in hospitals, on surgical tables, in doctors’ offices to last me into the next millennium. I don’t want to jinx myself, but this feeling of being “serrencified” has given me the hope that the future will see my health continue to improve, as suddenly I’m able to see the light rather than having to penetrate through the pea soup fog of opioid dependence with vision that didn’t exist.

Nana wasn’t just my grandmother, she was my spiritual guide.  She taught me to have empathy for others, to learn from my mistakes and to journey forward with a positive attitude, no matter the realities of the past. Looking back at these years of illness and pain, I feel so fortunate to not just have survived, but to now be thriving, at least emotionally. Physically, my body is healing a little each day, and it’s a miracle to behold. More than anything, I feel her spirit speaking to me as I go forward, feeling “serrencified” and optimistic that my future will not be a continuation of my past, but rather a new beginning.

This past weekend, my mom and I were going through old photos, and I found a letter from Nana written the Christmas of 1997, two years before I got ill. As I read it, I could feel her spirit surrounding me, and a particular paragraph stuck out. At the time, I wouldn’t have understood what she was truly saying, but after the experiences I’ve had these past nineteen years, it now reads as if she had some power to see what was to come.  Now sixteen years since losing her, I read it almost as prayer, and perhaps, a prediction.

She wrote:

As we continue to clean our lens of consciousness with love, we will one day look back on the evolution of our growing and see how much cleansing has been going on. We are already seeing how beautiful flowers of peace, love and compassion grow from the compost of pain.

Amen, Nana… I am “serrencified” and at peace knowing you are watching over me.

Ella Fitzgerald sure knows how to sing about it in, "Someone to Watch Over Me".

https://youtu.be/gDhF-PsDuCw

Satisfying Semantics

Ever since taking my last prescription opioid dose on January 13, 2019, I have been searching for a word that accurately describes the phase in which I now find myself.  I’ve tried on many words to see how they fit, but none of them feel accurate or befitting of the situation. Yes, I’m in a period of recovery, not just from being off the opioids, but also from being severely chronically ill. God willing, the latter will follow me into the future, but regardless, “in recovery” isn’t specific enough for my liking.

There is the obvious word “sober”, which means “not under the influence of drugs or alcohol” according to the Encarta Dictionary. Perhaps in error, but in all honesty, I find the opposite of this word to mean “drunk” or “high”, and I never felt either of those things. I certainly felt numb and out of it, but it was not a pleasant escape from reality. If anything, I associate my time on opioids as a complete emotional void. From the outside, I may have seemed high, but I never felt the enjoyment I think many find in the highs they seek, despite the danger in which it puts them.  I think true sobriety for an addict is much harder to maintain than the absence of drugs I find myself enduring after being drug dependent. I’m enjoying the lack of toxic chemicals in my body, and “sober” just doesn’t fit my situation.

Then there is the word “clean”, which means “with no illegal drugs; not containing or possessing illegal drugs”. Over the 19 years I was on prescription opioids, I never pursued them from the streets. That’s where the word “prescription” comes in; I always got my medicine from a doctor and used it accordingly. Yes, there were times when I would take an extra pill here or there, but that was the exception, not the rule. In addition, to say I’m now “clean” infers that I was somehow, at some point, “dirty”, and I was never what I would consider dirty. I was chronically ill and dealing with chronic pain, neither of which made me unclean. I was suffering, not sucia (dirty in Spanish.)  Plenty of people made me ashamed by my situation, and in that way I felt subpar, but never dirty.  So again, the word “clean” doesn’t befit my situation.

Finally comes my least favorite phrase, “on the wagon”, in contrast to being “off the wagon”, which implies that one has failed to remain off their substance of choice. The last time I was on or off a wagon was when I was about seven-years old and being pulled by my dad to the Bexley fireworks on the 4^th of July in the Radio Flyer red wagon I shared with my baby brother.  There is nothing about this period of being off narcotics that reminds me of that young time, with the exception of perhaps a hope that good things can work out. However, I’m not on a wagon, red or otherwise, and this phrase just doesn’t work for me.

After exhausting these commonplace words and phrases, I began thinking about my true feelings at this time. I feel satisfied, full and complete, as I freed myself from the tentacles of drug dependence after so many years of chronic pain. I feel filled to the brim with pride for my accomplishment, and humility for realizing that I could never have done it without the support from my family, friends and most of all, God. After nineteen years of drug dependence, my appetite for them is sated. I am filled to the brim and ready to take on a new diet. Most of all, I feel overwhelmed with a satisfaction that my life is better today than it has been at any other time in the past two decades.

Thinking of these emotions, I recalled a phrase my Nana used to say when she was feeling full and replenished with a satisfying meal:

No thank you,

I’ve had my sufficiency!

Fully serrencified,

Clear up to my velosophinial.

Any more would be an indulgency.

Remembering her sweet phrasing, of which serrencified appears in no dictionaries, I relate this feeling to my past years of chronic pain and illness. I HAVE had my sufficiency of the two, more than enough. And if I even HAVE a “velosophinial” at this point, and it hasn’t been removed in one of my many surgeries, I am full of the pain and chronic illness all the way up to it.  At this point, any more would be indulgency. I’ve spent enough time in bed, in hospitals, on surgical tables, in doctors’ offices to last me into the next millennium. I don’t want to jinx myself, but this feeling of being “serrencified” has given me the hope that the future will see my health continue to improve, as suddenly I’m able to see the light rather than having to penetrate through the pea soup fog of opioid dependence with vision that didn’t exist.

Nana wasn’t just my grandmother, she was my spiritual guide.  She taught me to have empathy for others, to learn from my mistakes and to journey forward with a positive attitude, no matter the realities of the past. Looking back at these years of illness and pain, I feel so fortunate to not just have survived, but to now be thriving, at least emotionally. Physically, my body is healing a little each day, and it’s a miracle to behold. More than anything, I feel her spirit speaking to me as I go forward, feeling “serrencified” and optimistic that my future will not be a continuation of my past, but rather a new beginning.

This past weekend, my mom and I were going through old photos, and I found a letter from Nana written the Christmas of 1997, two years before I got ill. As I read it, I could feel her spirit surrounding me, and a particular paragraph stuck out. At the time, I wouldn’t have understood what she was truly saying, but after the experiences I’ve had these past nineteen years, it now reads as if she had some power to see what was to come.  Now sixteen years since losing her, I read it almost as prayer, and perhaps, a prediction.

She wrote:

As we continue to clean our lens of consciousness with love, we will one day look back on the evolution of our growing and see how much cleansing has been going on. We are already seeing how beautiful flowers of peace, love and compassion grow from the compost of pain.

Amen, Nana… I am “serrencified” and at peace knowing you are watching over me.