12-Step Programs

I wrote this as an assignment for my “Addiction Studies” course. I thought I’d share it on here. 

07 May 2013

Addicts– an anecdote

 

Addicts– what to do?  I’m not referring to a specific type– agree or disagree, I’m an adamant believer that an addict is an addict is an addict, whether a lush in L.A. or a junkie in Seattle, to generalize for just one moment. Being the daughter of one beautiful, prodigal, outlandishly cunning woman, a woman whose torrented life owes something, if not everything, to the astounding powers of meth, I’m inclined to say that some, if not all, addicts are innately smart people. I say that, but I really don’t mean that, because the reality is, hanging around addicts is weird. Addicts are weird. They are negative people, terrible, even, and their behaviors, most of the time, just really cannot be justified. Because when you’re an addict, and you’re looking to get high, all you really care about is when and how you will get that next fix. That’s a stereotype. It’s a cliche, nowadays, and it’s smothered in the PSAs. But those facts don’t erase its truth. Addicts are bad people. This is true. It’s so true. I hate to admit that and it’s difficult not to hate myself for admitting that out loud, but objectively, that’s how it is. Primal ethnology of substance indulgences aside, addiction just isn’t rational.

Sometimes, an addict is even aware of this fact. Just earlier today, I had a conversation with an old friend where she recalled moments from a few years back in our history. Just a few years back, I might have been duly in the process of performing a favor for her– like picking her up from some house, and driving her home to mine. My house– I was driving her “home” to my house, where she was “temporarily” staying. I would usually offer her food along the way, food she would always refuse, or at best, pathetically pick at. Anyway, as she recalled today on the phone, she empathized with her past self in order to shed light on something I myself was suddenly experiencing, remembering what it felt like to  have her fix in her purse, along with the paraphernalia with which she might use it, all while being in my car on the way to my house and literally hating my guts simply because I existed. Literally, in these situations, the fact of my existence was the only barricade from her using. So, in the midst of performing for her a favor, I was somehow the devil incarnated. I’ll say it again– she knew that this was not rational, let alone fair to me, but therein lies the mindset of an addict. When you want to get high, that need trumps everything else. Every single thing– especially the ability to be loving to those who care for you, or at the very least, a decent, commendable human.

With this anecdote in mind, I ask you– what do we, as a society, do with these addicts? I’ve already hinted that I believe some of them to be the smartest people alive. Having been raised by an addict, and grown up around it, and even having for a breeze used  the things myself, I can’t deny the fact that I am concerned for these people. Try as I might to distance myself from them (I moved 1000 miles north to escape my dark and twisted past) I can no longer deny the fact that I care about these people, and even feel somehow that I am linked to them. The thing with drugs, and the people who use them, is that they are so profoundly lonely. The very act of ingesting a drug shockwaves you straight into a vacuum. It’s the most isolating thing that you can do to yourself. I mean that wholeheartedly.

 

Alcoholics Anonymous — a brief (and biased) history

 

Notable psychologist Carl Jung went so far as to deem substance dependence as “medically helpless”. That’s a pretty bold statement. So how did people respond?  Bill Wilson and his doctor friend provide a big example. Together, they one day decided, while chatting it up in Akron, OH, that the solution to this “medically helpless”, profoundly isolating epidemic was to start up grassroots support groups in empty churches and abandoned basements. The idea was that, over shitty coffee and too many cigarettes, people would come together and talk about the horrors their habits created for them and how difficult the sober life is. Bill Dub and Dr. Bob Smith designed a thoughtful, well-intentioned “twelve step program” and called it Alcoholics Anonymous. They published a book by the same title (but nicknamed The Big Book) in 1939 and before anyone knew it, this phenomenon went viral. People all over the country started gathering in basements, passing the book around while scrounging for shitty coffee and filling churches up with cigarette smoke. It became the alternative solution to prison sentences– don’t lock an addict up, simply force recovery upon them! Recovery through these meetings.

Look, I don’t mean to sound harsh, but this system is horribly flawed. While I will gladly admit that AA seems to work for some people, my dad being one of them, it is not for all people, and I think oftentimes, the program does more harm than it does good. My dad is a lonely guy– he divorced and never remarried. He’s a little bit antisocial, and his kids are all grown up. He’s in astronomical amounts of debt, etc. For him, AA is a place where he can go and be a part of a community. AA is where he has friends. So for my father, woo hoo, AA is a wonderful thing.

On the flip side of that coin, there is my marvelous mother. My mother is a lot of things, and a willful, independent spirit is definitely one of them. AA is detrimental to these types of people. A willful person needs to live under the impression that every single decision they make is their own and theirs only. Even if that decision is an objectively bad decision. AA is the opposite of that. AA means admitting that you are a “medically helpless” person, and that you need these meetings to recover. AA leads you to believe that recovery without these meetings just simply isn’t a thing. Add the layer of these meetings being forced upon a person, and you might as well just forget it. My mother recently admitted to me that AA always only increased her desire to get high, and only sometimes was that desire physical– it was often just her form of petty rebellion. Granted, my mother might be an anomaly here, but I’m really not so sure.

 

Alcoholics Anonymous– My (most recent) Experience

 

On Wednesday April 24, 2013, I attended a “Sober and Free” Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in a church on 10th ave. I attended with Amber, who I know from my film studies program, because I thought the “buddy system” might alleviate some of the awkwardness. As I mentioned, I grew up with addict parents, one who recovered and one who didn’t. These meetings were a part of my upbringing. I remember attending them as a child with my father– the parent who recovered. There was always lots of smoke, a ton of coffee (which I drank gleefully loaded with cream) and loads of Tootsie Pops. The bartender would always give us an extra Tootsie Pop if we received a wrapper that had a “star” imprinted on it. Wanda, one of the regulars, would always give us strawberry candies that appeared from the depths of her handbag. She smelled like cheap perfume. My sister and I mostly just played in the arcade area, sometimes pool but usually pinball. Occasionally, only occasionally, would we sit in on the meetings. I’ll admit that I never really paid attention to what was said and my favorite part was always the hand-holding circle in which the Lord’s Prayer was recited.

Anyway, this meeting with Amber was different. I wasn’t sure whether or not it would be a good idea to tell her that I had a history with these things. Being transparent and radically honest, I ended up telling her. I didn’t tell her everything, but I told her enough so that it was clear that I, unlike her, was not feeling voyeuristic about the project because I, unlike her, had grown up with the phenomenon. I really did not know what to say because since moving here, the whole ordeal has seemed so very distant to me– at least, up to this point. This class has triggered a surge of memories, and it’s been very challenging, confronting that fact. I alway told myself that, despite everything, I am not my parents. I have always been so sure to make it a noted point that I am creating a life that is separate, even radically different, from the lives they chose to live. I’m losing sight of that.

Anyway, again with Amber, I agreed that despite my past, we would both just tell the people that we were student observers. I was skeptical of this, but felt awkward, because I could tell that Amber felt awkward, about my having addict parents. Not that I blame her, I don’t at all because it’s sort of an awkward thing– unless, of course, you’ve lived it. But then, it’s sort of an even more awkward thing– because we’re supposed to be honest about our experiences, and accept each other’s diverse perspectives for what they are, right? But things like alcoholism, and meth addiction, are still just so unbelievably socially unacceptable. As they really should be, because if the definition of “socially unacceptable” is behavior that is a threat to humanity, well, those two diseases definitely fall under that umbrella.

Moving on– we knew we’d reached the right place when we saw people hugging through the windows. An older woman greeted us, and told us that we were more than welcome to sit in. Amber did most of the talking, I never really talk much when I’m in group settings. The woman (whose name I forget) told us that it was multiple people’s birthdays, and that they always celebrated such things at the end of the month. She offered us some homemade fruit cake, and while it looked delicious, I was stuffed from the ramen that Amber and I’d had for dinner. The meeting itself was less than profound. Maybe it was the fact that I’d had a long day, or that I’d insanely over eaten just a few hours before, or that I was nervous and anxious and riled about being there in the first place, but I just really was not impressed. I remember feeling sad for everyone in the room, I do remember that. I remember recalling how tragically alone people are in their addictions. And that maybe, just maybe, AA was a good thing.

We ended up, somehow, at a “gay” meeting– other than our greeter, we were the only ladies present. Which was comforting– not to sound uptight but it was comforting to know that no one in the room was interested in oogling (at us, anyway.) It also might be a strange coincidence that they were reading the “We Agnostics” chapter. Honestly, I’ve never really picked up the book in my life, I know I shouldn’t knock things that I haven’t tried, but like I said, I’m just really not a fan of this system. I thought that this chapter was alright. It seemed like it was trying to acknowledge the lonely, defensive place that so many addicts are coming from. Still, the meeting was kind of low energy, and no one’s story really blew me away. They were all just variations on a theme– “I didn’t want to give up everything, until I realized that I had to. I didn’t want to admit that I needed AA, until I realized that I had to.” I mean, in a lot of ways, it makes sense. When you’re addicted to something, you don’t care about people. This means that people cannot really truly care about you, either. That’s what I mean, by isolating. Or that’s part of what I mean. All that said, I just really don’t get AA. One of the guys even mentioned, after the meeting, that he hoped we didn’t stereotype them based on ‘the movies”– he seemed to think that the movies were inaccurate depictions of AA meetings. Maybe he’s right. He’s probably right. I still don’t get AA.

 

Narcotics Anonymous– an anecdote

 

If I think that AA is flawed, that is nothing in comparison to my thoughts regarding NA. NA is poison. Literally, poison. Founded in LA about eighteen years subsequent to the founding of AA (1953, to AA’s 1935) in California by Jimmy Kinnon and others, I am not sure what he was thinking when he thought it would be a good idea to invite the gamut of addicts into one cigarette-smoke-saturated basement. I know from first-hand experience, that for many, NA is where you go when you are not serious about recovery, but are actually looking to meet new “connects”. For those who are serious, AA is a surefire option, regardless of your addictive tendencies.  I acknowledge that this is probably not an “across the board” phenomenon, but I certainly think there is something to it, and as I’ve said, I’ve seen it up front. My mom admitted to me that she met some of her best “connects” in NA. Again, I don’t mean to sound harsh, but this is how I feel, and I don’t know that my mind will change.

 

Narcotics Anonymous– my experience

 

I didn’t go to another meeting. I could have, I would have, I should have.  I could even have pretended to and just made something up.  For the purposes of this class, and this paper, though, I just am not going to do that. The truth is, this class is triggering for me. While it shames me to admit this, I recently relapsed. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I certainly don’t mean to say that I relapsed because of this class. I didn’t. There are so many factors that went into this behavior– this choice– beginning, perhaps, with my own hereditary temperament, and following with my environmental upbringing, continuing with loads of factors in between, and maybe culminating in the fact that I ended two unhealthy relationships over the span of just one week. I could mull over the fact that I share a studio apartment with a man I am not dating and that I have no space, let alone time, to myself, or the fact that I am graduating with no plans in just one month (assuming I pass my classes). I could even self-pity over the admission that I feel uncomfortable with the way I’ve lived my life up to this point. The excuses are honestly endless.

The truth is, triggering as it all is, even “trite” and “voyeuristic” as it all seems to me sometimes, I was meant to be in this class. This is my final opportunity to look my demons in the eye, and tell them that they bore me. That I know longer need them. That I’m not that person anymore, that I’ve outgrown this layer of my flesh. Even though I relapsed, I know that I can move on. And I can accept that it’s a part of me. Will always be a part of me. It’s a process, it will always be a process, but as I mentioned earlier, I care about this world, and the people who inhabit it. I mostly care from a distance, but never a day goes by when I don’t wish that there was more that I could do. I know I’ve been critical of the system– and have probably failed to sufficiently back it up. I don’t even offer an alternative– because I’m not sure what that would be. I just know that, as it is now, the system does not know or even appear to want to know how to treat the addicts of our world. Of course, there are individuals within the system who seem to demonstrate a little bit more insight, and intuition regarding the matter (like you, I would say you come from a place of caring) but generally, it doesn’t seem as if most individuals that make up the “system” truly care about the individual persons beneath the addicted layers. Again, as I’ve also hinted at, this tendency is almost rightfully so, because the addicts tend to make it so hard for you to care. Even in cases where caring is present, it’s a feeling that is nearly impossible to sustain– my relationship with my mother provides a classic example of this tension.

My roommate recently told me that I ought to own up to my messiah complex. I never thought of it that way, but perhaps he has a point. I spent my entire childhood wasting my birthday candle wishes on one single wish– that my mother would recover. That she would learn to love herself. It never happened, and to this day, I can’t bring myself to wish on anything ever about anyone or anything under any circumstance. My friend wanted to blow away on dandelions  just last weekend, and that innocent impulse in him literally sent me down into a deep wormhole of sadness for a good five minutes. It wasn’t his fault, and it certainly wasn’t rational, but there you have it– sometimes, emotions just are not rational. Emotions actually are not considered to be “rational” at all– but they’re important. They are so important, and in some ways, they are the root source of my interest and engagement with the world around me.

The truth is, this paper is very hard for me to write. I feel like I have so much to say– so much pain and memory stored up. It’s all so cloudy, and I really don’t know where to begin. Let alone, how to do it all the justice that it deserves. I want to write something cathartic, I want to write something real. Maybe this isn’t the paper  that you wanted, but it’s the only paper I could write. I hope I go back to it, and make it the memoir it deserves to be. I didn’t realize until now how profound my need is to express these experiences in writing.

I guess I’ll close on a story about a girl I discovered on Tumblr. I found her last week, while I was perusing the “drug” tag in the moments preceding my relapse (don’t even get me started on online “support” groups, that are so the opposite of supportive!) Anyway, in this teenager’s “about me” page, she tells the world all about how she has the “perfect life”– the perfect family, the perfect house, a pretty face, and a place in the “popular” crowd at school. She goes on to say that she is bored, and wants something “different”. A line separates her story, and she tells us that, three months later, things have changed. She’s lost her virginity, tried pot, and become addicted to meth. She chronicles her stories in a very vivid, episodic manner. She writes quite well. It’s surreal, to me, reading these stories. I feel like I’m almost re-living tales from my own past– I remember it all so clearly, and I see exactly where things might be headed for this poor girl.

I started talking to this girl, gently extending a hand. She’s already at a point where she is trying to get clean– on the one hand, she has her “getting high” boyfriend, and on the other, there is a boy in her life who loves her, but can’t be with her unless she gets clean. I hope she ends up with the right one, I hope she gets clean, and I told her so. I told her that I know how hard it is to let go of people who you care about, but that sometimes, you just have to, because they are literally poison. Most importantly, I think, I told her how good her writing was– I told her all about her potential, and her strong sense of voice.  She told me that no one ever told her she was a good writer, so she “never knew if she was or not.” That made me happy– knowing that I saw someone’s potential, and helped them to become aware of it. It’s really important that in someone’s early life, someone else pays attention enough to notice that they are special. It’s important to be told so, in a manner that is honest, inspiring, and supportive. This brings me back to my original point that addicts are so smart. I really think that some people are just so smart, and so acutely aware of everything around them, that it becomes overwhelming. It becomes simultaneously overwhelming, and in some cases, so pathetically boring, that they seek out some things to either numb the pain, or spice things up, or some weird combination of the two. It really just all comes down to love, though. If you have people who love you, and care for you, and let you know that you are special, you have something that nobody can ever take away from you– the beginning of some self-worth. If you act on these encouragements, you are even better off– activities. Creativity and activities are the ultimate anti-drugs. I just hope it all works out. I hope this made some sense. I hope I can continue to write about this, and maybe arrive at some sort of higher truth. It’s really hard to say.

Minding Your Body-Image History

As I highlighted earlier, body-image has been on my mind lately. Not only because of group, though that is a reinforcing factor, but because my psyche seems to naturally be flocking in that direction (the healthy direction.) Every week, we discuss a particular topic, and our group facilitator emails us all supplementary readings to peruse (or not peruse) at our leisure. This week, she included a body-image history survey complete with affirmations. Perhaps it seems cheesy or unnecessary, but I’m going to fill it out for the world to hear (or not hear) because I think it will be a healthy thing for me to do and what else would I be doing while getting paid to sit in a room? (homework…cough) Going to throw out a trigger warning, just to be on the safe side, but here goes!

Examine your body-image history. Understanding your past can help you understand how your body image, or your mental picture of yourself, developed and why it is so difficult to accept. Fill in the blanks below.

As a child, I felt indifferent about my body. I described my body with words like: skinny, thin, lanky, scrawny, stick like, flat-chested, small, tiny, pot bellied, big stomach, little, slim, etc. 

As a teen, I felt self-concious about my body. I described my body with words like: chubby, thin, skinny, fat, huge, obese, pregnant, lanky, big stomach, skinny legs, flat-chested, side fat, back fat, overweight, fat stomach, pot bellied, small, ginormous, tall, flat butt, etc. 

As a young adult, I felt uncomfortable about my body. I described my body with words like: out of shape, fat, chubby, huge, obese, pregnant, short-waisted, jiggly, tall, leggy, small-breasted, curvy, stick-like, thin, ginormous, pig, hippo, overweight, weak, unfit, waifish, scrawny, etc. 

As an adult, I felt okay about my body. I described my body with words like:  leggy, medium-framed, fat, huge, thin, average, out of shape, flabby, curvy, short-waisted, tight butt, sexy, pregnant, small, unfit, lazy, etc. (perhaps I’m not quite an adult yet….)

At this moment, I feel okay about my body. I describe my body with words like: strong, energetic, nourished, smart, injured, average, bloated, short-waisted, curvy, sexy, strong legs, big bellied, fat stomach, tall, long-limbed, gazelle-like, etc. 

Growing up, my caregivers, friends, and family described my body with words like: too skinny, short-waisted, on the heavier side, long-legged, etc. 

My caregivers, friends, and family currently describe my body with words like: great, thin, small, curvy, perfect, tall, small-breasted, perfect, sexy

How does your view of yourself differ from how other people view you now and how they viewed you in the past? Clearly, my friends have a more positive image of me and my body than I do. Clearly, the friends I have now are more loving, positive, and supportive than past caregivers and/or family members have been.

Do you have difficulty “letting go” of your past identity or body image? 

Yes, I do. Mainly because I look back at my past “mes” and I remember the negative feelings, insecurities, and associations I had in regards to my body. And I think to myself, WHY didn’t you do more about it? You didn’t exercise enough, you didn’t read enough about nutrition, you didn’t educate yourself, etc. etc. This thought process even includes frightfully twisted “why didn’t yous”……. including (I hate to admit this) thoughts like, Why didn’t you starve yourself more? Why didn’t you start earlier?

Anyway, and basically,  I’ve been self-conscious about my stomach since I was about 8 years old — I always hated swimming simply because I didn’t want to have to wear a bathing suit. Things only got worse when my sister became a gymnast, and I started going to her gym meets, looking at all of the stick skinny girls, seeing her with her 8 pack, etc. I was never active as a child, I was always an “inside” kid and preferred reading to physical activity. I always felt like the “fat one” in the family, since my mom was always super thin. Sorry to talk numbers, but I remember buying a certain size of jeans when I was 11, and my mom telling me that she wore that size all throughout high school. I just remember thinking, “Wow, if Mom was this small as a teenager, and I’m this big just barely into my pre-teens, how huge of a person am I going to be????”

Middle school was just stupid. Regardless of that little voice in my head feeling a bit concerned about being “fat” when older, I knew deep down that I was actually thin. In fact, in middle school, my peers decided that I was so thin I must be anorexic. Cue in the bullying and the name calling, and the cheer leaders calling me anorexic despite my own thoughts that I was huge in comparison to them, I had a fat stomach where they had toned fitness, etc.  Middle school is also where I started eating more, because my grandmother started talking behind my back about how I wasted food and was too skinny. I started forcing myself to finish my plate, ate more junk food, etc…..

Things got a little bit ridiculous in high school where I experimented with various behaviors, some of them healthy but most of them not. No need to go into it…let’s just say, there’s about a 50 pound difference between my “high” weight and my “low” weight, and in high school, I was at any given point at my thinnest (and unhappiest) my heaviest (and also unhappiest), and my most fit (my happiest.) I became a vegetarian, I dabbled with drugs, I started messing with other dangerous behaviors…..I was sort of a hellish mess in high school, though nothing compared to my friends (one of them even got sent away to a girl’s recovery camp. my problems were nothing compared to that!)

Well, high school feels like ages ago, and I am now preparing to graduate college and am 21. I still struggle with food, body image, and keeping my behaviors under control. While I *know* that positive reinforcement and being kind to yourself is important, and I make an honest effort every day to be good to myself and love me, it’s way easier said than done. I didn’t intend for that question to ignite this mini rant/history but basically, body image history is hard to let go of because of my inability to accept the behaviors I did and did not partake in. Make sense? Yeah. It’s dumb. Moving on.

Similarly, people with body image issues make the mistake of thinking that bad eating behavior (mindless eating) equals bad person. Instead it would be helpful to think, “Accept myself, and tweak the mindless eating.” 

Wow, what wise words! Now, some pictures of my dinner/lunch from the past two days just as a breather from all the intense body-image discussion:

 

Dinner I cooked up with my friend Laura — Actually, she did all of the cooking while I sat there and chopped the kale but it’s cumin/cinnamon spiced and baked sweet potato/yam, carmelized onions, and sauteed kale over quinoa and French green lentils 🙂 Super clean. Super tasty. Cooking and communal eating should happen for everyone at least once daily.

Watching Laura cook so meticulously inspired me to do something similar for lunch the next day:

 

Baked sweet potato/yam spiced with curry powder and dill supplementing some sauteed curried tofu and broccoli 🙂 Now back to body image stuff…

Acceptance Exercise: accepting the gif

First, imagine that you are you are at your birthday party, and you have received a gift. It is exactly what you wanted. Picture what this would be (but be realistic.) Write down what this gift is. 

Can I make it known that I don’t really believe in birthday parties? I mean, if someone invites me to their birthday, I’ll go of course and I’ll be supportive of course. But personally, they feel like any other day to me….But that’s beside the point. The perfect birthday present. And I have to be realistic? Is that even in my vocabulary? My persona? Ahem……A 6 month stay in Europe is all that is on my mind lately. If someone could grant me that….That would make my life. BUT back to being realistic. Maybe a nicer food processor? A slow cooker? A nicer blender? Some good knives? A collection of nut butters? New brakes for my bike? A massage? A pedicure? The latter three, really. I’m not a girly girl at all, but my nails could definitely use some tender love and care….as for my bike, I currently ride a death trap.

Now, imagine that at your birthday party you are celebrating a friend’s birthday as well. You can’t keep this gift you love, because it was intended for your friend. An she has accidentally picked up the gift intended for you. You exchange it with her. Write down how it feels to let go of the gift you really wanted. 

Here’s the part where I start to wonder where this is going….and wow. I guess that depends on who the friend is, which gift it was (since I wrote down so many), etc. etc. Here’s the part where I stop qualifying these hypotheticals! Short answer: if the Europe trip was actually someone else’s, I would probably rage up with jealousy and envy..though I would be happy for my friend and wish them a mind-blowing experiencing. I would acknowledge that I probably just wasn’t meant to experience Europe at that point….If it was any of the kitchen items, I would simply tell them that we should make cooking dates a regular thing! If it was the bike or nail thing, I would shrug it off and realize that I’m okay as things are now, and I’ll be okay without it still.

The gift that was meant for you is something that you didn’t really want. Describe a gift you recently got that you didn’t really like. 

Okay, I know these questions are hypothetical, but seriously, does the writer of these questions know to whom they are speaking? It’s me. I don’t expect my friends to get me anything, ever. And when they do get me things, my friends are so amazing that they always get me something that is perfect for me as a person. I guess the last gift that I received that I did’t want was the non-functioning blender my mom gave me, and that’s because the damned thing doesn’t work…..That, or my dad gave me this Christian book that he wanted me to read…..

Consider what you could do with this gift. How would you make the gift fit into your life or be of use? For example, you might give the gift away. Maybe you hold on to the gift anyway in case it might come in handy someday. Write down what you could do with this imaginary gift. 

With the blender, I suppose I could excite my inner DIY and take it apart, trinketing with parts & wires like my mom’s crazy ex-boyfriend…I could keep playing with the cord as my mom tells me to do, to see if the thing could work….I could recycle it, or take it to a junk yard. As for the book — I guess I could read it, for a fresh perspective. I could sell it. I could donate it. I could leave it on someone’s porch, or I could burn it, or I could ……cut it up and make art out of the cut up pages.

Goal: Finding a use for a gift you don’t want can give you inspiration. You can use this example as a guide for how to think about accepting your body. Your body is a gift. You don’t always get the gift you want or ask for, but you can accept it graciously and make it work or fit into your life. 

Wow, now I feel like a giant asshole. Leave it to me to completely not get something, and miss the point entirely. Honestly, the parable is sort of weak. Not exactly very compelling. Not the strongest note with which to end this little exercise….though I’m glad I did complete it.

I guess the most profound thing (so profound) I can take from this is, just like my friends are all so amazing that any gift they might choose to grant me with would be perfect, not only for me generally but for me at that particular point in time specifically, so my body is perfect for me and my designated life path whatever that may be! 🙂 K going to go vomit over my own profundity 🙂 Have a good day.