Sing it with me..."I went skydiving; I went Rocky Mountain climbing; I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Manchu..."
Hell to the yeah! It was an awe-inspiring, balls-to-the-wall, scream-worthy, boundary-pushing event! A not-to-be-denied booster shot to my ego. It was so far out of my formerly staid domestic life. Nobody saw it coming...not even me!
Following the implosion of my marriage with the requisite accusations, grenade-lobbing of insults, splitting of the money, bills, furnishings and paraphernalia of a married life, I was an empty shell walking. Alternately filled to bursting with anger, bitterness, rage, self-loathing, and terror, without a support system, I turned to alcohol, men, and anything that took me out of me.
Oddly, it was a man, my paramedic, who appeared following a suicide attempt, that introduced the idea of skydiving. He described his experiences and the idea took root and quickly came to fruition. One beautiful, sunny desert day, I awoke to the thought that today was the day. I was alone, lonely, with 24 hours stretched in front of me and I was sick to death of doing what I was doing.
"You don't know how to risk!" was one of the invectives backhandedly lobbed at me, that echoed in my head. (That's okay, I told him that he had a small penis. I figure one of us got to prove the other wrong.) I jumped for my life that day. I jumped for my self esteem; for my freedom; for my future. I had many more obstacles to overcome; I would not discover Alcoholics Anonymous for another two years. And, I would amass a trainload more wreckage.
But that act, performed without the knowledge of my friends or family, was as close to God as I would get, before sobriety. That day I risked. That day I stepped out in faith. That day I overcame.
Amen. .
Hell to the yeah! It was an awe-inspiring, balls-to-the-wall, scream-worthy, boundary-pushing event! A not-to-be-denied booster shot to my ego. It was so far out of my formerly staid domestic life. Nobody saw it coming...not even me!
Following the implosion of my marriage with the requisite accusations, grenade-lobbing of insults, splitting of the money, bills, furnishings and paraphernalia of a married life, I was an empty shell walking. Alternately filled to bursting with anger, bitterness, rage, self-loathing, and terror, without a support system, I turned to alcohol, men, and anything that took me out of me.
Oddly, it was a man, my paramedic, who appeared following a suicide attempt, that introduced the idea of skydiving. He described his experiences and the idea took root and quickly came to fruition. One beautiful, sunny desert day, I awoke to the thought that today was the day. I was alone, lonely, with 24 hours stretched in front of me and I was sick to death of doing what I was doing.
"You don't know how to risk!" was one of the invectives backhandedly lobbed at me, that echoed in my head. (That's okay, I told him that he had a small penis. I figure one of us got to prove the other wrong.) I jumped for my life that day. I jumped for my self esteem; for my freedom; for my future. I had many more obstacles to overcome; I would not discover Alcoholics Anonymous for another two years. And, I would amass a trainload more wreckage.
But that act, performed without the knowledge of my friends or family, was as close to God as I would get, before sobriety. That day I risked. That day I stepped out in faith. That day I overcame.
Amen. .
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