The tribe has left the hunting grounds

All through my involvement with AA, especially here in Long Beach, I have found the family, the tribe, the circle of friends that I’ve most longed for. Peter’s handing me off to Ricky Green who introduced me to Janice and her merry band of drunks led me to marvel at the unity and the community that the 12 step program offers. I’m not sure why Pat, my sponsor in Phoenix really wanted me to avoid gay AA. He said “it doesn’t have a depth of sobriety.” I think it was because he was a homophobe. Irregardless, things worked out. I’ve met a whole host of recovery men. The greatest sign of that was when I had my stroke and came back to the room after a test and 8 guys were standing there. If I hadn’t been so numb, I would have cried.

But, for some reason, in the last year or so, I’ve found myself pulling away. I sit on the periphery while everyone else talks amongst themselves. I can’t keep up with the chatter. My voice is raspy and weak and people find it hard to hear me. I suppose that’s a big reason for my increased sense of isolation. Even in a meeting, I find it harder to share: thoughts that are disjoined, words are found with effort. People appear to be patient, but I don’t want their patience — I want their interest and respect!

So, no one knows of my plan to go back to Arizona. I wonder if they’ll care? I haven’t told anyone of my plan to go see Mehdi in Turkey. Self-will run riot!

I look around this condo and wonder how much I’ll miss it, The furnishings, for the most part, are junk. The wall hangings are valuable. I hope it sells with minimum pain! Where’s that Phil?

I used to be able to fill a blog with a lengthy entry. Now, I am lucky if I can come up with 326 words. Damn stroke!

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