Category: friendship

My Journey to Sobriety: 7 AA Meetings in 7 Days

Interesting observation. Well, you decide that, not me. Or call it a joke. Instead of ordering a 7 and 7, I have been to 7 AA meetings in 7 days.

It was an enormous but necessary decision to seek sobriety. I have been wanting to do it for a very long time. I have been in a cycle of indulging, self-loathing, and indulging again.
Wash, rinse, and repeat.
I finally realized I wouldn’t be able to do it alone. My bullshit was just too powerful. Alcoholics are master manipulators. I didn’t know it applied to our own selves. What bullshit, you ask?
Thinking about every possible reason why I shouldn’t quit. I tried to convince myself that my lifestyle didn’t support sobriety. Because, after all, everything I’m involved in has alcohol consumption as a component.
Bullshit, there are a ton of people that don’t drink.
I can do it by myself, I don’t need to attend meetings.
No, I can’t. I have tried dozens of times and my car continues to “auto-steer” into bars and Liquor stores.
I’m not really an alcoholic. After all, I don’t Blackout, I hardly ever get drunk, and it hasn’t affected my life.
Yes, but I drank every day. I did mental inventories on my liquor supply on the way home every day. I thought about what I would drink with who every day. And I got drunk or significantly inebriated most every day. I just had control, tenuous at best, but still control over it.

Control. That is what lies at the center of all of this. It is also the thing I struggle with about AA. As a Recovery Case Manager I found that many clients struggled with turning it all over to the Higher Power. I do believe in a higher power. I believe that it is I that refuses to drink today. It is I that forces myself to go to meetings. It is I who develops the determination to stay focused and determined. Yet, I was told today that it is all about surrendering it all. I didn’t argue with him. Instead, I am going to leave it alone. I will let it be revealed to me as I read the Big Book. I will listen to the shares.

I believe in the program and I can honestly say that I am enjoying it. I actually look forward to attending meetings. I always feel good when I walk out the door and the people are nothing short of amazingly supportive.

That is good because the suggestion is to attend 90 in 90 days.

While I struggle with the surrender aspect of it, I know the program works. It has done amazing things for millions. Everyone I have met who has achieved prolonged sobriety was once at a Crossroads. By virtue of hearing their tales, they chose the right path. So I’m going to give it a real try.


Facing Family

I revealed a very poorly kept secret to my family this week. It was not received as anticipated.

My oldest boy was surprised. Despite it being a poorly kept secret, he didn’t see it coming.
My youngest daughter was straight-up glad to hear it but not surprised. She had an idea of the secret.
My oldest daughter was surprised. But she also had an idea of the secret.
My ex-wife didn’t react at all as I thought she would. She knew more about the poorly kept secret than anyone.
My youngest boy was not surprised. He was glad but didn’t say much. When I asked him why, he said he figured I would tell him more when I was ready. I was ready at that point but he missed the cue.

I can’t believe that most of my family didn’t understand the extent to which I am an alcoholic.

My oldest boy didn’t think that I drank as much as I did. This is the kid who used to bring me multiple beers throughout the night and jokingly call them “water bottles”.
My youngest daughter suspected but was very happy that I admitted it.
My oldest daughter, who I see the least, had seen me at my worst as a child. She didn’t know I was still struggling.
My ex-wife simply said “I figured. I just hope that you’ll get healthy one day.
My youngest son, we did talk later, thought I had it under control. Barely. He figured that one day I would just stop.
My youngest son, the no-nonsense “call it like it is” one said, “Good. Now what are you going to do about it?”

I told him this. I also told the others. I am now in AA and have been attending 1-2 meetings a day.

It’s time to stop procrastinating. I need to fix the one thing standing between me and the man I want to be.

Reminiscin’

I was recently asked what was my favorite memory of my Father. One immediately

I will just start by saying my Dad was a god to me when I was young. Unfortunately, I feel that I worshiped at arm’s length. Later in life, I would understand the small gap of air between us. What I thought was reserved was actually his “Dad Hat”. My Dad was determined to be a good father. Committed to give me a good childhood and to make sure I had enough of everything. 

Because he had a lousy childhood and was given nothing, he was ending the cycle. 

What I refer to as reserved was just him trying too hard. I wish he had learned to just be himself around me. He eventually would, and when he did all was good. We enjoyed a very nice relationship in his later years. Nevertheless, Parkinson’s reduced him to a shell of his former self. He died in 2013.

I connected with my Dad through common interests. I made myself interested in things to spend time with him. When he was working on the house, I would hang with him and help out whenever possible. When he was under the hood of the car, I poked mine in as well to see what he was doing. When he watched Sports, I sat with him. I ingratiated myself to get close to him. And I’m so very glad that I did because my love of cars and sports came from him.

But what I love most from my father’s influence is my passion for motorcycles.

My Dad rode motorcycles as far back as I can remember. Motorcycles have an obvious allure. Aesthetically, the sleek styling, shiny chrome, and loud pipes appeal to the senses. The idea of them and what they represent excited the hell out of me. Freedom, danger, independence and (let’s face it) a badass vibe came to mind. That excitement has yet to wear off, but it is rivaled by the sight of my Dad pulling up the driveway on his bike when I was young.

It was agonizing on so many levels as I waited to be deemed old enough to ride on the back. When that day finally came, I was jumping out of my skin with excitement. I can still remember putting the helmet on and watching as dad made sure it was fastened properly. I remember the pre-ride speech about staying still and not making any sudden movements that may throw his balance. I vividly remember as we rolled down the driveway for the first time.

I wasn’t scared. I trusted my father to the moon and back. We went to our favorite place in Salem, MA. We ate pizza and Ice Cream as we watched the people scuttle about. It was a magic day and the place became our place after that day.

The only memory greater than that, my absolute favorite of all, involves the day I met up with my Dad. I was on my own bike to embark on our first ride together. We went to our place in Salem, MA, our place, and ate pizza and Ice Cream. This time, it wasn’t just the destination that mattered but the journey there and back. 

That is how I like to remember my Father. When I bought my first Harley after he had passed on. As I fired her up for the first time, I looked to the Sky and wondered if Dad was proud of me.

The Evolving Role of a Dad at Christmas

It’s Christmas Eve and I am very excited about spending time with my family tonight. With my children now grown adults, the dynamic of the Holiday has transformed greatly. Permanently etched in my mind are the Christmases of old. It was always a huge ordeal at my house when I was a kid. My parents loved Christmas and were very generous. My Dad was so dedicated to my mother that he truly could not stop getting her gifts. Sadly, I think it was insecurity masked by generosity but it was certainly based on his love for her. The exchange of gifts was borderline excessive. But I was always provided for and I enjoyed the Christmas holiday.
I enjoyed it less and less as I got older. I began to see it for the rampant and crass commercialism that it was. When the kids were young, I enjoyed it through them. As they got older, I smiled and acted happy. Holidays would become a major stressor for my wife, and consequently on me and I soured on most all of them. But I suppose that is a story for another day.

I did enjoy Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve was always a great night at my house as a kid and remains a fond memory. The house was full of family and friends imbibing in drinks and snacking on holiday treats. It was a zero pressure evening, the gifts were already wrapped, the toys were assembled, there was nothing to do but enjoy the calm before the storm.

Christmas now consists of a party on Christmas Eve, and everyone goes their separate ways on Christmas Day. I love this transition. It reminds me of the old days. But it is much to my ex’s chagrin that hosting duties have been passed on to the kids. She wants to still do it. I think she misses the Holidays when the kids were young. I suppose it’s a natural reaction to aging.

My oldest daughter has hosted for the last few years. It is such a great time. I look ahead to it all year. The kids, their spouses, and significant others gather. A smattering of family friends and new in-laws join for drinks, a nice meal, and then games.
I missed it last year. I had COVID. I was miserably sick and depressed about missing it.
This year, my oldest boy and his Fiance welcomed us all to their nice new apartment. Just reading his texts and emails are warming to my heart, they are so excited to host us all.

This is a small chapter in the “How to be a parent to adult kids” manual. My role of the father has evolved. While my children would disagree with this, I would argue that my children don’t “need” me anymore. It’s not that I don’t have a role, it’s that I’m not depended on by them anymore. This is troublesome for me because that is something that I miss in both my personal and professional life. I was always an integral part of things. Now, I have a support role.
To put a positive spin on this, it is a victory of sorts to be in this situation. During the days of family turmoil, there was a lot of arguing and resentment. I often worried that my children would resent us. I feared they would not have need for us once they were on their own. I now believe that we made the repairs in time. By acknowledging that fear and being proactive about repairing those fractured relationships.
My role now is to be there when they need me, otherwise to sit back and beam with sheer pride at how magnificent they all really are. It’s not about taking credit, it’s just gratitude that it all worked out.

I am so excited about tonight. Still, I harbor a fair amount of sadness. My youngest daughter and my ex are still not speaking. As a result, my daughter will miss yet another family event. This I hate, so many magical moments have happened recently; a wedding, engagement, the birth of a beautiful little baby…she’s missed them all. I can’t say if she is bothered by it but I sure am.

It’s difficult to enjoy a holiday while missing someone. I miss having her around. I need harmony in my life. I guess you can’t always get what you want.

The gentle sobbing

The phone buzzed through my Blue Tooth hearing Aids and I looked at my mounted phone. Pickup scheduled for 12:50. I checked the clock on my dash. I realized that I had 20 minutes to finish a 10 minute ride to the pickup.
This is the opportunity to stop at CVS. I needed some gift cards and wrapping paper. I looked at the location name, Innovative Psychiatry. I quickly decided that I would rather be early on this one.

I pulled into the parking lot and a young woman was turned away from me looking for a at her phone. As a ride share driver, I know this scenario well. When arriving at a pickup, the person staring at the phone is your rider. I stopped the car near her and she recognized me as her driver and got in the car. I swiped the app and it revealed the destination as a local Emergency Room. I asked the young lady if she was all set. She was. I pulled out of the parking lot.

I drive in silence. My passengers don’t seem to mind. A quiet cabin does not bother me. I realized today that sniffling and gentle sobbing were a poor alternative to music. Also, it was breaking my heart.

I have seen it so many times. A person will be sent to the ER after a particularly trying appointment. My passenger was clearly in such a situation. It took everything of my being to not say something to her. I do believe that she may have welcomed a kind word or small talk. Still, odds were that whatever was consuming her did not need a chatty Uber Driver. I focused on getting her to the Hospital. It was a silent ride, only to be interrupted by gentle sobbing.

We arrived at the ER quickly. I unlocked the door for her and I was surprised when she spoke.
“Thank you for the ride. Have a good day, sir.” So hurt but still managed to find manners and civility. I chose to reply.
“I really wish you strength to get through whatever it is you are dealing with.” Her smile was genuine but so very sad. I watched her walk away and I felt helpless.

It’s not my problem to fix. All I can offer is kindness and the young lady needs so much more than that. This saddens me every day, regardless of the season. But during the Holidays it hits harder. So many manage to get through their lives, one day at a time. But the Holiday season, so chock full of fake bullshit and corporate created fake joy, hits hard for some. Grieving a lost family member and facing your first holiday without them is challenging. Being alone in life while everyone raves about family, friends, and parties is difficult. Struggling with addiction as the world binge drinks around you adds to the holiday hazards. I don’t even know, not could I begin to surmise, what is hurting my passenger today.
But I feel just awful for her, as well as those I didn’t personally interact with today.

I am not really sure what “the point” of this post is. I felt compelled to write about one of the dozens of people I interacted with today. I do not know what the source of her sadness is, nor do I think she needs me to feel bad for her. But I do. I am full of love for people. All people. I care and I can’t “dial it down” or pretend it’s not who I am. I suppose I’m inevitably headed in a predictable direction

That is to say, be nice to everyone. We truly don’t know what anyone is dealing with at any given moment. I attempted a kindness today, even though I only did so by shutting my mouth for a change. But I know that everything I say, and don’t say, matters to someone. Let’s at least not be the reason that some poor soul is sobbing in the back seat of my car.

A familiar face

Over the last year I have made a lot of meaningful changes in my life. It was a good year, but not without its challenges. While I have seized a tentative grip on my physical health, my mental health has suffered a bit. Last winter, I was quite prone to depression. This resulted in an increased alcohol intake. It also led to some long periods of self-isolation. The symptom of isolation is particularly damaging. It often involves days, if not weeks, of inactivity and bad dietary choices. The physical implications are as bad as the mental. It was if my mind and body atrophied at the same moment.

Fortunately, I am self-aware enough to take measures to make sure that doesn’t happen to me this winter. I am back at the workout club. It is remarkable how much better I feel when I get off of my ass and move my body. This simple act improves me both physically and mentally. In addition, the new “chill” and “reasonable” Bill is not worried about the long road I have ahead. He is also not concerned about reaching a level of acceptable fitness. Chill and Reasonable Bill doesn’t worry about how much weight I have to lose. I’ve been down many long roads before. If I keep my head down and keep walking, I will get there. Worrying and putting pressure on myself will not get me there any sooner.

Tuesday I was doing my best imitation of a workout. It wasn’t great but I was pleased with myself for just getting myself there. As I rested for a bit after a tiring set, I did some people-watching. I do this against my better judgment as I have a tendency to compare myself to others and that is a dangerous thing to do as a fat 60’ish guy. There are a lot of very fit people and it’s intimidating. Fortunately, I am comfortable with my expectations, and it doesn’t really bother me anymore. As I scanned the room I saw a familiar face.
Where did I know him from? That is a often-played game for me. I have met a lot of people from a lot of chapters of my life and I get confused easily. In addition, my memory is not like it once was. It’s frustrating.
He walked towards me and stuck his hand out. “Hey, Bill.”
Damn, it was Adam. One of my clients from my days as a Case Manager. Side note, coincidence that I blogged the day before about those days? He recognized me right away. Not surprisingly, after all the amount of time I spent with the guy was not insignificant. I felt bad, he knew that I didn’t recognize him right away.
“Sorry, man. I didn’t make the connection because of where we are.”
“You know I live in this area, right?”
“Yes, but I didn’t when we met. I recently moved back.” The facility was 100 miles away, near my Mom’s house where I formerly lived. I explained it to him.
“You look great. Can I assume that you’re still living the sober life?”, I asked. He explained that, with the exception of a couple of slips he was doing well.
I learned that he is now divorced. I remembered that his wife was not supportive of him during his recovery. So, I wasn’t surprised to hear this. I also learned that he was living with his parents, which he was not happy about. But he was still at his job, and he was in great shape. I didn’t push with any more questions.
We made some small talk and parted ways. I was sure that I would see him again as long as I kept going. I hope we can talk some more I hope.

As I’m recalling the run-in, I remember that a toxic trait emerged briefly. I wanted to ask him if I was a good Case Manager to him. Did I make any difference at all for him. I then chased that out of my head. If he hated me, he wouldn’t have greeted me. Recovery in general clearly was working for him. I knew I was good at the job, by several accounts. I know, for better or worse, that I did the absolute best I was able for him. I did the absolute best for all of my clients. I’ve come to place a lot of value on that notion, win or lose do the best you can. That’s all you can do. I’m pleased with myself for not being insecure and asking him that question. It’s not about me, it was always about him.

The challenges of surviving

I had a difficult time transitioning back into life on my own. I can’t help but wonder if I actually thought that I would recover from my illness. I had lost everything; my home, my career, my family, and most of what I owned. I spent years dealing with the immediacy of my condition and it took all I had to just get through each day. People describe me as optimistic, but I wasn’t. I merely summoned the strength to get through. In addition, I lied about how I was feeling and put a brave face on so that the people that love me wouldn’t worry about me. Inside, I was depressed at times, very weary of acting strong, and was ready to give up more than once. I actually considered suicide.

I had dreams of what the other side of illness would look like, but they were just that. It’s a tough revelation but I stand by it, I didn’t think it would happen for me and I had resigned myself that I was probably going to die. It really fucked up my plans when I lived.

Well shit, what was I going to do now? Suddenly, I had to come up with a plan for after my recovery. All the things that I wanted to do but thought I never would were now within the realm of possibility.
I could get my own place.
I could go back to work.
I could date again.
I could move back closer to my family, friends, and groups that I belonged to.
I could do anything I wanted without carrying the extension cord to the dialysis machine.

So far I have tackled all of these things. They are all a work in progress and they all proved to be challenging, even daunting. Much madness, joy and sadness ensued, as well as some really great stories. If nothing else, they are great inspirations for blog posts.

A voyeur of my own life

I’m not depressed. Really I’m not. Maybe if I say it enough times then I’ll believe it.
Who am I kidding? If it is or isn’t, this is just what I do.
I isolate. It’s better for me if I acknowledge that I don’t have the stamina that I used to. I’m disabled, maybe I should admit it. When you’re disabled you have to remind yourself that you only have so much in you each day and when you’re tired, then go with it. Lately I’ve been embracing that notion, to perhaps an unhealthy level.

But people are worrying about me. They don’t understand what I’m trying to do. I’m doing a reset. Truth is, I like being alone.
I do my best thinking. I save money. By avoiding people I avoid piquing my anxiety, which is running roughshod over my weak ass lately. I’m safe in my little space. Not safe like a little Gen Z snowflake afraid to get his feelings hurt, just safe from encountering extra stimuli that is going to serve as the proverbial straw that broke the Camel’s back. That’s why I isolate. There is nothing that says that I have to be out there doing stuff all the time. It’s ok to spend time alone.
Did I mention that I was never like that before this year?
It’s true. This is very new. I used to be the guy that needed to be around people all of the time. I suppose that’s before people in my life started letting me down, or just the day that I noticed a lack of equity in my relationships. Equity is a nice way of saying that I’m tired of giving more than I’m capable of and getting the minimum monthly payment back. Disclaimer, I do have some very good friends. But there are a couple that hurt me recently and I’m not going to lie, it stings. It’s causing me to reevaluate how much I give of myself to those that don’t deserve it. While I’ll never pull it off, I’m tempted to dump my trademark “be kind” and not be so fucking nice all of the time. You can be a good person without being a punching bag. Fuck the high road, and fuck anyone that did me dirty.

I have thought a lot about my isolation recently. I have been forcing myself to go out and do something each day, no matter how small. Last night I decided to take the bike out. It was a hot day but by 7 it cooled enough and it was perfect riding weather. I could have called several friends, any one of who would have joined me but I went alone. I drove to a lake and sat at the edge looking at nothing and everything like a first year Philosophy student. Other than some serenity, I didn’t feel much of anything.

Therein lies the problem. I don’t feel anything anymore. Until very recently I was basking in that post-transplant glow. Full of promise, a new lease, the ability to do things that once appeared to be unavailable. Now, I’m joyless. I don’t feel things like I should. I spend my TV time watching Documentaries on subjects that irritate me, made by people I don’t like or respect. I watch indie dramedies in search of that amazing love story that rips my fucking heart out, because I don’t have that but I want to FEEL IT! I’m challenging my entire paradigm to figure out why I am a voyeur in my own goddamn life.

How can I be a spectator of my own life?

Legacy?

I was recently asked how do I want to be remembered? What an incredibly timely and often thought-about topic.

See, I am all about Legacy. I live my life every day in such a way that should I not wake up the next day, I hope that I will be remembered fondly. I leave each person in my life in such a way that should it be the last time we see each other, that memory would be good and not a regret.

Having said that, I am not living to die. If you knew my medical history, and how truly close I have come (several times) to dying from a chronic illness and related episodes, then it would make more sense. But I, more than most people, really don’t have a lot of time left and I can justify such a mentality. I want to build a legacy, and perhaps most importantly, I want to do it by changing the world, my world, one charitable of kind transaction at a time.

Let’s get this out of the way right away. I don’t want to be remembered in a lofty way. I don’t care for people to be in awe of honors, accolades, and accumulated wealth. I have earned very few honors, I hate accolades, and I am poor and expect to be until that day comes. 

Here’s what I want. I hope that when I die, my son will honor my request to give me a casual service and an open bar. At that bar, I most desire that a glass would be raised to my character. I hope that my friends and acquaintances will remember me as a good guy, a charitable soul and that I made a difference to somebody. Then I want people to share stories of the weirdest/funniest/most awkward/stupid/embarrassing thing that I did or said in front of them.

See, I haven’t had much luck laughing at myself in my life. But I have no problem with others doing it for me. As long as their memories of me make them smile.

Everything must go

I’ve been struggling lately. I am reluctant to say that I have been sad, but I have been isolating more than usual and feel like I’m searching for something. Despite my lack of physical activity this past week, the mental energy expended was triathlon level. I have been evaluating everything, challenging my own viewpoints and beliefs, and wondering why someone with such a fulfilling life can feel such despair.
I sought the advice of a friend, which is hard for me because I don’t tend to share the very personal with people. I tend to laugh off, minimize and generally suppress that which gnaws at me. To my amazement, after hearing about my funk, he asked me if I ever properly processed the difficult events in my life.
I scoffed at him, it’s what I do.
He was ready for that. He knew that was what I do. So I thought about it, and I wasn’t happy with what I came up with. I may have handled the situation(s) but I never dealt with them.

Yes, those who know me may assume that the myriad of health problems that I have experienced would be the most traumatic experiences of my life. They would be wrong. Health is easy to deal with. With illness, it may take a while but you deal with it. You accept it, if you’re smart you will follow directions and maybe change some habits, and leave the rest up to fate. You either live or you don’t, the very “out of ones hands” nature of illness makes it that simple. The only obstacle is pain, but you get used to that as well.
What I never dealt with is the emotional trauma, which goes way back, of everything from the bullying in school to my failed marriage and everything in between. It was a nice revelation but I am clueless to how to act on it.

Enter one of the things that I do like about myself, my persistent tendency to always be on the lookout for a sign. I believe in signs. It is my belief that the universe communicates with those in tune through signs. I actively look for them everywhere and in everything; by studying my surroundings with an open mind and heart, in my choice of shows or movies, even in interactions with others. I have been inspired by the smallest of things and in the most unlikely of places. Today, I found great inspiration and even some answers in a Will Ferrell movie, of all things.

Everthing Must Go is a sleeper movie that slipped under the mainstream but caught the attention of a few respected movie critics. It is the rare Drama done by a comedian considered to be out of his depth that surprises you. Not unlike Reign Over Me with Adam Sandler and Moscow on the Hudson with Robin Williams. Of course, Robin Williams would go on to be a respected dramatic actor but you get the point.
In Everything Must Go, the main character loses his job and marriage on the same day. Both due to his chronic alcoholism. He returns to his house to find all of his belongings in the front yard, door locks changed and his bank accounts frozen. With no funds or other means to do anything, he chooses to live with all of his belongings in his front yard. In the ensuing days he endures a crash course in confronting the issues of his life. As expected, what unfolded was a painful emotional roller coaster. One that I related to almost to the point of tears.
He was forced to deal with his alcoholism, his choices, his accountability for his role in the failure of his marriage and career, and I was held in rapt attention. The familiarity was staggering. The impact of alcohol on his life was particularly poignant. The failure of his marriage was downright painful. All of it was just too close to home. And it proved to me that my friend was SPOT ON correct that I never dealt with my marriage, my choices, my place in life and my deeply repressed emotions on ALL of it.
Watching the movie unfold, I felt the despair, the frustration, the longing, the pain as if it was my own. And like my life, the story did not have a happy ending. Yes, I know my life is not over but I’m not expecting great things in the future.
The only positive takeaway I have is that it was a movie. I still have time, not to recover that which was lost, but to finally deal with the trauma of my past. It’s critical to mention here that my use of the word “trauma” is a rarity. I tend to downplay, even be derisive, of people who use the word. But it’s time that I face up to it, finally.
Being minimized at work and home, being forced to tolerate rampant abuse by employers who knew that I needed the job and could do nothing about it, being a mere roommate to my wife, and then finally having the chewed-up carcass of what was left of my life spit out by chronic illness nearly destroyed me.
That is trauma. The fact that I am still standing notwithstanding, it needs to be dealt with.

I may have to focus on that for a while.