Everyone Except Me

I once heard an ARP facilitator state that addicts commonly suffer from "terminal uniqueness." I think it's an AA-coined term, and it's interesting to me, because I know I've certainly suffered from many overdoses of uniqueness. Some of the concepts that I actually believe in moments of excessive uniqueness are, "I deserve this because . . . " "My situation is different because . . ." "I'm excused because . . ." "My bad choice in this scenario was made out of circumstantial duress, and no one else could ever really get it. Anyone in this situation would have made this choice."

Just as damaging as the "I'm excused because I'm special" beliefs, are the "everyone except for me" beliefs.

When I was in Young Women, several Young Women leaders would say things like, "I love each and every one of you." Immediately, I would think and believe, "everyone except me." How could she love me? She doesn't even know me. I'm not as cool as the other girls. She's not talking about me when she says that, but for sure, everyone else. I would neatly and abruptly excuse myself from all positive group statements. "Everyone is welcome to my pool party," meant, clearly, "everyone except Stephanie." "You have all taught me something," meant, "Everyone here except Stephanie has taught me something." "You're all beautiful," except Stephanie. "You're all talented." except Stephanie. "You have something to offer this world," except, clearly, Stephanie. This didn't just happen in YW, of course, but everywhere a general statement was made. Seminary. Sacrament Meeting. Family Home Evening. The scriptures. General Conference. Everyone except me.

I even believed that Jesus atoned for everyone except me. My sins were too bad. He didn't mean me, ever. I even figured that when He was suffering in the Garden, He just didn't complete it for me because it wasn't worth it.

How arrogant!! If I'd only known how arrogant I was! How absurd and unkind!

But then one day, we had a substitute seminary teacher. Her name was Sister Woolstenhulme, and I really liked her. She was lively and hilarious, and seemed to really understand teenage angst. Well, on this day, she was reaching me on a personal level.

"Do you ever feel like no one gets it?" she asked.
Well, yeah.
"I mean, no one could really understand you."
yeah.
"No one has it as bad as you."
I KNOW!
"No one besides you has ever experienced the hardships you have."
Seriously. It's so sad.
"Nobody gets it, right? Everybody else has this great life and they have no idea you're even there."
Sing it, sister.
"Do you ever feel totally ignored?"
yep.
"Do you ever feel abandoned?"
Yes.
"Aren't you just . . . so . . . totally alone? Everyone else around you has these great gifts, everyone else around you is smothered in love, but not you? Or that Jesus couldn't have suffered for you because your sins were too terrible?"
OH MY GOSH, YES! (I was near tears, now.)
"Well, listen carefully."
I was.
"STOP IT."
Wait. What?
"Who do you think you are? You're not that special."

She talked on, but all I heard was, "You're not that special," over and over in my mind. I became fully aware in that moment that by excluding myself, I was actually making myself more special than everyone else. I was the special one, if no-one-but-me was true. I was, in essence, putting myself above all the other people under the pretense that I was putting myself beneath them. I was setting myself apart in a way that no one had given me permission to do. I was making myself the uniquest one of all. Who did I think I was? I wasn't that special!

From that day, I started trying to accept that Jesus' sacrifice was for me, too. Honestly, I still struggle with accepting blanket statements of love, but now that I'm older, it's easier. I love each of my primary kids, I truly do. Even if I don't know them well, I love them so much. So I try to accept group compliments as self compliments, now.

This is not to say I do not suffer from terminal uniqueness, because I do. Sometimes, I feel like my addiction makes me special. I feel like being an addict means I have certain entitlements (please). I sometimes feel like I was just the special kind of person to need a sexual addiction in order to learn to love and depend on the Savior (please, like I'm so dang pure and good and righteous without it that I needed something extra sinful in order to qualify me for the Atonement). I sometimes feel like I get a pass on normal obligations because, darn it, addiction recovery is hard. I sometimes feel like I'm the sickest of the sick (read: the uniquest of the sick), the most challenged recoverer yet. Every addict except for me has an easier time recovering. (gag.)

Even though I still take upon myself extra privileges and excuses just because I'm a addict, I have learned and am learning that I am covered by the grace of our Savior; that He suffered for all and for me; that He loves all and me with a perfect, infinite, powerful love, because I'm not so special that He would come for the entire world, except Stephanie. No, I'm just exactly special enough. I'm His. I have been redeemed. Me. You. Everyone including Stephanie. Oh, how He loves me.