And the fire rages on

“It is plain that a life which includes deep resentment leads only to futility and unhappiness. To the precise extent that we permit these, do we squander the hours that might have been worth while. But with the alcoholic [and addict], whose hope is the maintenance and growth of a spiritual experience, this business of resentment is infinitely grave. We found that it is fatal. For when harboring such feelings we shut ourselves off from the sunlight of the Spirit. The insanity of alcohol [and/or other mind-altering chemicals] returns and we drink [and or use] again. And with us, to drink [and use] is to die.

If we were to live, we had to be free of anger. The grouch and the brainstorm were not for us. They may be the luxury of normal men, but for alcoholics [and addicts] these things are poison.”

I read these words a few minutes ago, except the words in brackets which I added myself since I have experienced dual addiction, because I desperately needed that reminder. I believe the words in those two paragraphs. I know they have been true in my own personal experience. I know that my only hope is in my relationship with my God. I know that when I am consumed by anger and resentment that I lose touch with Him. I lose my ability to rest in the shadow of those wings. I forget to trust. I know this. I know the solution. I know I have to let go of my right to be mad and give it all over to the One who is greater than I.

Yes, I know what I need to do. The execution of that is a little more difficult at the moment however. I am hurt, frustrated and angry. Angry really seems like too calm a term to use. I am enraged. I want to let it go, but I also want to let it burn like a wildfire in the dry season. I want to curl up in a little ball and cry. I want to fight, to strike out at something, anything. I want to say screw it and quit trying. I want the fairness I don’t deserve. I want it all made right at this very moment. I want a break. I want to scream at God and ask, “What the fuck?!” Not a polite, respectable, or morally just response I admit, but it is as honest as I can be right now. My God is big enough to take it. Besides, He already knows how I feel in my heart, whether I speak it out loud, write it, or bury it inside and try to pretend it doesn’t exist. That last one doesn’t work for me too well anymore, because another part of those previous paragraphs that is quite true is that anger pushed down, kept inside, and denied is pure poison.

I only know two antidotes for such deadly toxins in my life. The first is God. The other is better living through modern (and ancient) chemistry. The first works without adverse side effects. The second kills me as surely as the poison does. So I must choose the first if I am to survive. I have to get my help from Him. But that help can not come if I can not be honest with myself and with my God about how I feel and what I am thinking. I can’t go to the doctor with a broken arm, tell him I have a little twinge of pain in my arm but my sinuses are killing me and expect to have my arm treated properly. Yes, God knows what’s wrong. He knows better than I do. But I need to be able to express it honestly, to cry out for help and not hide any of the symptoms, including attitudes and thoughts I wouldn’t like to admit in front of my mother. Why? Because it is only when I am truly able to be honest about what and how I feel that I can become willing to let God do what needs to be done to change it. If I am trying to hide my anger and pain from Him, and really, how foolish is that idea, I can’t let him anoint my wounds with the soothing and healing balm that comes from Him. I can’t let a wound be treated that I am pretending doesn’t exist.

So I admit I am angry. I admit that a part of me wants to hold on to that anger and let it burn and destroy things, even my life if that is what it takes to burn up all the fuel of resentment that I have in my tank. I admit that I feel abandoned. And I admit that I know that I have never been abandoned of God, that letting the fires burn is insanity, and that I know that what I want to do and what I need to do right now are two entirely different things. Now that I have looked at that and admitted that I can say, “Please save me from myself. Please take this hurt, confusion, and anger from me, even the parts of those that I don’t really want to let go of. I am willing, please help me with my unwillingness. I know the path I am inclined to take, my natural instinct and reaction, is a perilous path of danger and death. Show me the detour that You would have me take and guide me safely through the shadows. Help me to understand that I don’t need to understand but to trust. Thank you.”

And maybe, just maybe, if I cling to that prayer and the One who has the power to answer it, I will find myself safely passing through the storm. If not, if the waves wash over me and crush me, then I can go down knowing I did my best to do it God’s way and not mine, and there is peace and freedom in that as well. As long as I keep trying, as long as I don’t drink or drug, rescue is possible. It may be from an uncharted island after my ship crashes on the rocks instead of being safely guided to harbor, but rescue is rescue.