I Don’t Want To Be a Survivor – Throwback

Today’s Throwback is from November 3, 2014

“I don’t want to be thought of as a survivor because you have to continue getting involved in difficult situations to show off that particular gift, and I’m not interested in doing that anymore.” – Carrie Fisher

Something I learned over ten years ago is that getting sober is hard. Harder than I imagined. Harder than non-alcoholics can imagine. Stopping drinking was hard. Looking back, with a clearer mind, and seeing all the damage I’d done was hard. Trying to stop blaming the world and other people for all my troubles was hard. Accepting that everything didn’t immediately get better when I put down a drink was hard. But, I’m a survivor. That’s what I was told.
Man on pier with hands raised. I don't want to be a survivor.

Funny enough, I lost most of my “friends” when I cleaned up my act. At least I thought I did. It took me awhile to learn that fellow barfly’s really can’t be classified as friends. I had no more of an interest in hanging out with a bunch of drunks than they had interest in hanging out with someone who was sober. I got to know people in Alcoholics Anonymous, but it took a while to develop new friendships. I was lonely. But, I’m a survivor. That’s what I was told.

Once I got sober I had to find a job, even though my brain wasn’t fully functional yet. I didn’t have my act together enough to return to corporate America, so rather than sending out resumes, I was going door to door filling out applications. When I found a job my suits went into the back of the closet so I could put my aprons in the front of the closet. I had been offered a job as a cashier and a bagger at a supermarket and finances forced me to accept it. It was humbling. But, I’m a survivor. That’s what I was told.

After a few years sober things started coming together again. I started a new job and was quickly promoted to manager. I began dating again and eventually got into a loving relationship with Maurice, the man who would become my husband. I stopped renting someone’s bedroom and moved into an apartment. I met knew people and developed loving, long-lasting friendships. Then suddenly I took a turn for the worst. My depression became more pronounced and I began to have more manic episodes, which were more frequent and more pronounced. But, I’m a survivor. That’s what I was told.

The rollercoaster of extreme highs and extreme lows forced me to quit my job. I became agoraphobic. I began having seizures and my highs and lows became more extreme. My life was spinning out of control. I was confused and scared. But, I’m a survivor. That’s what I was told.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. My mania and my depression both progressed. I began to get confused and lost easily. I’d get off the bus and have no idea where I was. At times Maurice would have to leave work to find me. I couldn’t enter a supermarket because all the lights, sounds, packaging and people bustling were too overwhelming. Once I even got lost in a movie theater. It was all terrifying. Sometimes all I could do was sit and cry. But, I’m a survivor. That’s what I was told.

For years I was told I was a survivor. I was told I was a fighter too. It made me proud at first, but that quickly faded. I became angry. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to be a fighter – I didn’t want anything to fight about. I didn’t want to be a survivor – I wanted nothing to survive from. Once, I was at an A.A. meeting with a man with over fifty years of sobriety. You’d think during that time he would have been wise enough to know what to say and not to say. Instead, he made the unfortunate mistake of telling me I was a survivor because I was such a fighter. By the time I was done with him, he clearly regretted opening his mouth. But I’m a survivor. That’s what I was told.

Why was I born with the predisposition of becoming an alcoholic? I don’t know. Why was I born with bipolar disorder? I don’t know. Why did it have to be me? I don’t know. All I want to do is be the best me – the best me I can possibly be. When I look back at my life, it was hell, yet I made it through it. Of course, I wish I didn’t have to be survivor. I wish it hadn’t been so hard. But what good does it do to be resentful? What good does it do to whine? I am a survivor and I accept it. I embrace it. It’s been a long road. But I’m a survivor. That’s what I was told – that is what I say. That is what I say with pride.

  15 comments for “I Don’t Want To Be a Survivor – Throwback

  1. Pacie
    October 20, 2016 at 21:31

    I am so glad I’m not the only person (although I hate to not be the only person, make sense?) that hates being told this. I cannot stand for people to tell me I’m a survivor, or that I’m strong, or a fighter, and I absolutely HATE, yes HATE, for people to apologize for my life. “I’m so sorry, but you’re so strong” yes, I know, but at what cost? Thank you for sharing and letting me feel like another person is sitting in the waiting room with me.

    • Bradley
      October 20, 2016 at 21:53

      Nope, you are definitely not alone. The stinger is that I know they mean well.

  2. October 20, 2016 at 13:51

    p.s. sorry for the typos!

    • Bradley
      October 20, 2016 at 14:11

      Yes, I was very upset by them, :-p

      • October 20, 2016 at 14:15

        I shall start repenting immediately! Hope that link worked – let me know if it didn’t….

        • Bradley
          October 20, 2016 at 14:23

          The link works

  3. October 20, 2016 at 13:50

    That’s an awesome Carrie Fisher quote. Profound.

    I like how you write about the times when the word “survivor” wasn’t, um, for you (!! understatement !!!) and how you ultimately decided to embrace it.

    I don’t call myself a “survivor” because it simply doesn’t resonate with me.
    If you wish to call me a “thriver,” well, okay, that’s fine because I like that, word and it’s true! (I’m not delusional, at least the last time I checked in with mysef.) 😉

    Plus, the word or phrase could be far worse, right? 😉 I could be called a “nasty woman”!

    • Bradley
      October 20, 2016 at 14:10

      LOL. I think Donald turned “nasty woman” into a compliment. Thriver is a good word.

      • October 20, 2016 at 14:15

        Jeez – Craig watched the whole thing but I had to leave the room halfway through it as I was so put off by Trump, but I still couldn’t help eavesdropping……I agree with you – he turned “Nasty Woman” into a good thing, LOL! and that makes me think of THIS:

        • Bradley
          October 20, 2016 at 14:23

          I’m at Starbucks and forgot my headset, but will watch when I get home. I promised Maurice I wouldn’t watch it. He walked out of the room during the last one because he couldn’t stand it anymore. Instead of watching I read live blogs that described the debate as it was going on.

          • October 20, 2016 at 14:33

            At first I thought you promised Maurice you wouldn’t watch “Nasty Girl” – ha ha ha! Now I get it! I don’t blame him, and good for you for figuring out another way to keep track of the debate.

    • Bradley
      October 20, 2016 at 14:18

      Actually it wasn’t really a magazine. It was Sanjay Gupta’s website. Here’s a link so you can see my terrible pic http://www.everydayhealth.com/hs/sanjay-gupta/bipolar-disorder/living-with-bipolar/
      I was recently interviewed for BP Magazine which goes out in January (I think) Thank God they didn’t ask for a pic

      • October 20, 2016 at 14:31

        That’s an awesome article and the picture is absoluetly FINE. My favorite of you is on your “about” page – I like how it was shot at an angle and outdoors.

        How exciting about BP Magazine – I have subscription so I’ll be looking forward to that issue!

        I couldn’t remember if you read Jess’ The Bipolar Compass blog and I just wrote her over there to check out your blog if she doesn’t follow it. She’s at https://bipolarcompass.com/2016/10/20/bphope-post-11/comment-page-1/#comment-2102

        • Bradley
          October 20, 2016 at 14:34

          Yep, I follow hers, but always appreciate a shout out.

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