Day 9 - The Threshold

My mum drops me at the train station on her way to work each morning.

This morning, she was driving the automatic rather than the manual for complicated uninteresting logistic reasons. Mum doesn't like driving the automatic. I think she still sees it as "Dad's Car" and is frightened that she might damage the car and upset dad (again). Mum is one of the best drivers I know; she drives with care, foresight and skill.

With her nervousness she spent an age reversing out of the drive, having to back up a number of times and try again (even though there was ample room). I snapped, using the excuse that I didn't want to miss my train (even though that doesn't actually matter much). I chose to be angry rather than sympathetic and supportive to mum. I chose to tell her that she didn't have to "play this game", rather than say encouraging words about how she could do this. I saw later she had a tear in her eye. I missed my train.

So right now I am sitting with a strong feeling running from the tears at the back of my eyes, down to my aching heart and the top of my guts. I am filled with anger, and sadness, and I am ashamed of how I reacted to mum.

And these are all feelings I can confuse with the need to smoke. I can actually feel this kind of switch in me: I can flip it to feelings or flip it to craving nicotine. At some point I chose to flip the switch to craving. Now it's rusty as hell and almost jammed solid.

Through all my men's healing work, I've heard time and time again that the addict seeking true healing must be willing to go to that dark place of despair and hopelessness. The very thing he ran away from.

Now I know what that really means.