Category: hiatus

something has got to give

Right now I should be at an event at the Shriners. I had every intention of going but I didn’t.
Last night I had every intention of going to another event. In fact, I was dressed and ready to go. Then I couldn’t find my keys. I had a complete meltdown as I frantically searched high and low for them. I exaggerate not one bit when I tell you that I tore my loft and most of the kitchen, the place I had last seen them (and where they were eventually recovered) apart in a complete panic.
My roommate’s girl found them for me, but by then it was too late for me to go to my thing.
I realized today that I am actually glad that I didn’t go, I would even go so far as to venture a guess that I may have mentally sabotaged myself. I didn’t want to go. In fact, I don’t want to do fucking anything lately.

I thought I was just being lazy. I have those moments. To listen to my doctors, friends and family tell it, I am busy enough most of the time that I should allow myself those days, as they remind me that I am after all disabled and can cut myself some slack. But I haven’t left my room, except for the food shopping I did yesterday that led to my lost keys. Other than that I have been isolating.

Isolation is not entirely new to me. I do it once in a while. I have been doing it more lately, I must admit. But it’s getting more intense; one new development this week has been my ignoring almost all phone calls, family excluded. In addition to not wanting to do anything, I don’t want to talk to anyone either. And some of those people are starting to notice and are concerned about me. But I won’t discuss it with them because I don’t want them to worry about me. I want to talk to someone about it but that, for sure, would make people worry about me.

I don’t like this. If for no other reason, it doesn’t make sense. I have a good life. I am in good health. I have been to fucking HELL and BACK and I came out on top. I thumbed my nose at my mortality and I am doing everything that I once thought was lost to me. I even have a female companion. That is an area of my life that caused me great anxiety, worry and heartbreak.

I also have to ask, why did I have the overwhelming urge to end my life last week? Out of nowhere, while with family of all things, I suddenly didn’t care if I lived or died. I didn’t make any plans, or pick a means or a place, and I didn’t write a note, but I couldn’t have given less of a fuck if an asteroid hit the house I was in at that moment.

And then, just like that it went away. I am not in a good mood, but I scoff at the thoughts that racked my head last week. That depressive episode has morphed, deescalated perhaps, into a shameful state of apathy. I am a lot of things but apathetic is not one of them. Yet, here I sit, marveling at the effort it required just to write this blog.

Something has got to give. And soon.

Half a man

I made a very difficult, but in hindsight good decision recently. I removed myself from the dating scene.

I am only recently back in the game of life. For the last 8 years, I have been alive but I was not living. Illness had taken almost everything from me. I bounced back and set my sights on getting back to a “normal” life. I wanted to be closer to home to see my family and friends, live on my own, be able to work again, get back into Freemasonry and work on my “causes”, and perhaps most of all, meet someone to share my life with. I was so hopeful to recapture “relationship me”.

Very few people know that I am a true romantic. I am a believer in relationships. I have no problem with monogamy. I love the idea of having someone to come home to. Someone to share affectionate and silly moments with. I’ll just say it, I want to love somebody. But as the song goes, I’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places.

Ten days after deleting my dating profile I feel a weight has been lifted. The whole process of Internet dating only served to throw gasoline-soaked logs onto a bonfire concerning my anxiety and self-esteem. Unanswered chats with someone I was interested in, dates that didn’t go anywhere with people who were nothing like they presented on their profiles, all of it weighed on me and ultimately felt like rejection. I don’t do well with rejection. So for the sake of my mental health, I ripped off the BandAid.

Now that my head is clear I have to address a possibility that I had not considered; I may be broken. I have managed to nearly seamlessly rebuild my life and put behind me the events of the last ten years and have made peace with most of it. But I can’t make peace with the many heartbreaks. Every relationship I have been in has left a mark. One in particular left a cannonball-sized hole in me. And despite how badly I want to be with someone, the hurt and reluctance to repeat it are still there. The only positive about heartbreaks is the “rebuilding” phase that always follows a breakup. I have done so much rebuilding in every aspect of my life and I found it to be challenging but manageable. Relationship me is not having as much success. Which leads me to conclude that I am half a man. The good half is strong, resilient and doing well in life. The other one, well…he needs to give himself some time.

I find great comfort in a beautiful song that I was just turned onto. It’s called Half a Man by Dean Lewis

I was wrong to say I loved her, I was wrong to think I’m right
When I told her it was over, oh my darling I had lied
I’ve been running from my demons, afraid to look behind
I’ve been running from myself, afraid of what I’d find

But how am I supposed to love you when I don’t love who I am?
And how could I give you all of me when I’m only half a man?
‘Cause I’m a sinking ship that’s burning, so let go of my hand
Oh how can I give you all of me when I’m only half a man?

I am not clinging to a lost love like in the song. But I think I’m clinging to an unsustainable notion, that I’m complete enough to be in a relationship. Clearly I’m not and that is just going to have to be OK.

I’m ready

At one point in life, there is that moment in which one must reconcile what they are versus what they think they are. I have had more than one such moment, but yesterday I arrived at one of my more painful but necessary epiphanies; I have limitations that I must own up to and embrace.

After a series of brief bouts of employment that all ended with my leaving due to illness or fatigue, I recognized that I have been trying to do things that my physical condition simply will not allow. To be precise, I am on Disability for a reason and it’s time that I own that.

Disability, as does Social Security, allows recipients to work on a limited income basis. If earnings do not exceed a designated level, you can keep your benefits without penalty. It is not a lot of money but it does make a difference. To me, the ability to work part-time provided more than additional income, it allowed me to feel useful and accomplished, even if to a lesser degree. Before I became sick the second time, I had a meaningful job with great responsibility, the ability to help people, and very lucrative compensation. I went from that to being unemployed, living in a small town with my mother, and nobody needing me for much of anything. I hated it, I lacked relevance. Work has always defined me to a degree, and it left me with a void.
Once I was able to return to part-time work post-transplant, I was excited. Unfortunately, what followed was my enthusiastically accepting positions that, had I thought deeply before accepting, ended in disappointment as I was forced time and time again to quit due to health reasons. Primarily, my compromised immune system caused me to get sick frequently and profoundly. But instead of realizing the problem at hand, that I need to have realistic expectations about what I am capable of doing in my current condition, I instead beat myself up about being a quitter.
It took too long, but I finally realized I needed to accept that I have limitations. And that’s ok.

If I can find work that is appropriate for me, unfortunately I think that means not being around a lot of people, then I will pursue that. Otherwise, I am going to graciously accept the help from Disability and focus on what makes me happy. And to not feel bad about it.

This is my chance to do what makes me happy. I will find my relevance in doing some good, I want to get more involved in Masonry, The Shriners and my motorcycle club. Charity and volunteerism is good for my soul and I can never do too much of it. I want to enjoy the Granddaughter that will arrive in April. I want to exercise more and be outside as often as possible. I have never given myself permission to do one thing in my life and it is time; I need to let go and just see where things take me and stop trying to control everything.

I need to do this. I need to take the limited time I have left and find my true calling in life. I’m fortunate and blessed enough to know that I may have several callings, now it is time to immerse myself in one or all of them.

Of all of the elements of this epiphany, one stands taller than the rest. It is definitely time that I gave myself a break. For once. It will be a record change of pace.

Calling the Universe, I’m ready so please show me the way. I’m ready.

Negative? Not me

Every once in a while someone will say something about you that you will ponder, and once adequately pondered, say out loud “That is so NOT me!”

I’ve been collaborating on a podcast with my good friend and roommate Steve. It is in the early stages of development; in order to have a successful podcast you need to be known, and the only way to get known is to create buzz for yourself by advertising, promoting, and telling anyone and everyone that you are doing a podcast and would you listen? This works to a degree, but in order to get the more sophisticated podcast listener you must have a body of work. For the sake of this conversation, let’s say that 50 episodes is a good body of work. Still, there are many success stories out there that made thousands before they made it.

The idea for our podcast came from the many spirited conversations that Steve and I used to have in which we either agreed or were on opposite sides of an issue or an idea. We embraced our differences and it wasn’t long before the idea of a podcast was offered up. So we started it. And, due modesty aside, I think we have an interesting, stimulating, accessible and intelligent podcast. Upon reaching 50 episodes, we agreed that we were onto something good and were ready to promote it. We had a good format, good ideas, and limited but positive feedback. We interviewed Steve’s childhood friend and published author Mark Michalisin with the agreement that we would promote that particular episode as our coming out and we would all share it to all of our social media. As hoped, it generated interest, and while it wasn’t enough to get us established, our friends and family gave us solid reviews and favorable input. Not everyone loved it, but respected it. We are frequently very candid on controversial subjects, we lean politically to the right but are very fair and balanced and always open to an opposing voice and we had a few. Of the 2 of us, I got the only negative review. One of Steve’s friends said that I was very negative and didn’t seem like a nice person. In particular, I indulged in some name-calling. I thought they were clever mockeries of truly despicable people, but her assessment of the name-calling was fair and I rolled with it.

To speak in a public forum one must be prepared to receive criticism, differing viewpoints, and in some cases harsh rebukes. We will never please everybody, nor do we want to. So I didn’t mind the feedback. I knew that she didn’t watch the entire episode, only a clip that we generated. Had she watched the whole thing, she probably would not have felt that way. But again, I took it in stride.

The experience was good for me. I believe deep down that we all have a perception of ourselves with respect to how we present to other people. I am hyper-aware that many, (most?) people think they project differently than they actually do. Me? I know exactly how I present. And to my critic’s point, I can come off very contrary to my true self. I get carried away and I am passionate. My emotions are strong and I feel things intensely. I can be harsh. I can be relentless. I often take a stand. I can even be a bit self-righteous if I truly believe in something. My fatal flaw is that I will go to great lengths to make a joke. But I am not negative. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I am known among a very large circle of family, friends, and acquaintances to be an eternal optimist.

I was sick for a very long time. I struggled with Kidney disease for most of my adult life. Although the disease didn’t significantly affect my ability to function normally until my late 40’s, at which time I became unable to hide, and this is important to understand, the severity of my illness from friends and family anymore. I didn’t want to bother anyone or make them worry. I just rolled along. I have never understood why people found that so inspirational but they did. I am of the belief that we really only have 2 choices, as Andy Dufresne famously stated in Shawshank, “you either get busy living or get busy dying”. Before I saw that movie, I felt that way. What am I supposed to do? Curl up in a ball and die? By the sheer virtue of not dying I survived. Not to inspire anyone, not to look like a hero, but to do what we all do…get through each day and the new challenges they bring. I suppose I did it in such a way that people deemed me an optimist, but what else is there to do? We all have a lot in life and we need to make the most of it.

Beyond my optimism, I would point to my sense of Gratitude that serves me the best. I recognize that I have been given blessings, more than I deserve that I need to be grateful for. I can honestly say that a Higher Power may be the reason I am here to tell this story because I have been too close to death too many times to be a coincidence. It causes me to look at life in a different light than most people, an attitude of gratitude creates a domino effect of kindness, generosity and genuine appreciation. THAT is inspirational because people need that nowadays.

And it is in no way NEGATIVE.

It’s all in the details

I’m all moved in at the new place. But I’m writing this blog in my old one. I’ve been up here for a week now. I had so many cars to detail that I dedicated the week to it.

I have nothing to complain about. I have really grown the detailing side hustle over the last 5 years. What started out as 5 or 6 my first year became close to 100 this year (I should have kept better track). It’s not immodest to say that I do good work. I know I do. My OCD demands it. In addition, I give great service Word of mouth has done the rest for me. Very much so this season.

When I posted on the town bulletin that I would be winding down at the end of the month (or earlier in the event of weather) I received more requests than I could accommodate. Even after announcing that I was fully booked, multiple customers pushed me to do their vehicles. Hence, despite taking in a very nice boost to my savings account I am washed out. It’s not as if I’m providing an essential service.
Still, I completed 10 details in 6 days. As I sit in a crumpled heap of exhaustion on the sofa I have 2 takeaways.
1)Despite being in fairly decent shape (considering my history), I really overdid it.
2) I need to learn to say no to people.

The second one may work itself out. As it turns out, there is a guy I met at my new place that is looking for a detail guy. He has a body shop and is thinking of opening a shop and he might hire me. If that is the case I may have to give up my entire book of business up here. I was planning on dedicating a few days a week next summer to do my jobs up here. That may not be feasible.

It’s too early to worry about that right now, I don’t even have a job offer yet. Yet here I am, thinking about it.

Anniversary

I received a notification today that this is my 11th anniversary of WP. Wow. That’s the longest I’ve ever stuck with anything.

To be fair, it wasn’t until 2017 that I became a frequent participant. I had always struggled to find a theme, something that I could build on. Well, my entire life collapsing in a span of 6 months in 2017 certainly filled that need. I told my story.

I told a story of failed health, of being at the bottom, lying on my back looking the only place I was able. Up. Because, short of a six foot burial plot, I had sunk that far. When I began blogging, I had little to occupy my time so telling my story became my new pastime. The blog served a purpose. I achieved badly needed catharsis. I dedicated myself to transparency and brutal honesty and then forced myself to read it and face whatever revealed itself to me.

Then I got well. My story was told. I took a break from blogging. I figured that I had nothing to tell. What I failed to recognize was that I was starting a new life. I’m not the sick guy anymore. I have more to my identity, and more importantly, I have an obligation to deal with the myriad character flaws that my journey of discovery and reconciliation revealed to me. My story is not until I write the last chapter.

I think I’ll continue the streak and get a few more years out of this. Basically the same approach I take with my life.

The straw

I have to hand it to you. You’ve done something that few have been able to do. You’ve brought me to a place that few have made me go.

I once called you my best friend. That is a lot for me to say because I don’t let many people into that inner sanctum, that place close enough to me where I become vulnerable. You earned my trust, my loyalty, and the status of being beyond question. “True Blue” if I recall correctly. So I didn’t worry about you. When we were in a room together I knew that there was one that had my back.

Boy, do I feel foolish now? You were holding the biggest knife.

Looking back, I don’t know when it started. But I sensed the vibe. But there was no incident of note, no regrettable conversation or words wished unsaid. Yet we drifted apart. Still, we always had the fraternity. We were Brothers after all, and that is an unbreakable bond.

When it was your turn to assume the Big Chair, it was left to you in flawless condition due to my efforts. Because it meant that much to me that you succeed. I delivered a charge to you in which I praised you as a friend and wished you the very best.

You in turn took the moment for yourself and left me with an extended and unshook hand.

I wish that was where the indignities had ended. I hoped beyond hope that it was an oversight. That perhaps, the moment had overwhelmed you and it was and you were unaware of how you offended me. But as you progressed upon your path, the animosity towards me and ambivalence to your flock continued.

The vibe became a distinct and profound “fuck you.”

Well, your last request, should I call it a decree, told me that I was at a crossroads; do I continue to absorb the disrespect or do I finally say enough?

I say enough. You cannot count on me for support. You may not ask me for assistance. You may not expect my loyalty to the fraternity to supersede my own self-worth.

I have a hell of a line. But you, my former friend, have crossed it.

Takeaways

I’ve been back from Florida for 8 days and this is the first time I’ve made an attempt to journal.
I wish I could neatly sum up what and how I have been doing since my return from my hiatus/break/retreat/mental health break/run-from-my-problems trip to Florida. The only thing(s) I can accurately report is that I like the weather there much more, and that my problems were still here waiting for me.
And that’s ok.
It was silly of me to think that, despite all of the soul-searching and Zen moments I created/experienced while away, I would return as a significantly different person.

One thing I am sure of is that I learned enough about myself to lay the groundwork, a foundation if you will, of how to accomplish a life well-lived. I narrowed it down to 3 very simple principles that I know I am capable of adhering steadfastly to.
1) Stop caring what others think of me.
Sounds easy enough doesn’t it? Don’t we all know those people that pound their chest in a Bluto-esque display of Bravado and say “I don’t care what others think of me!” Problem is, I don’t believe 90% of them. Sure, there are people who really don’t but it’s a small number. But I’m now in that percentage. At this point in my life I have to be me and people are going to have to deal with that. I have learned that it’s not so bad to be me.
2) Forgive myself.
I have wasted so much time dwelling on the past. It’s truly wasted time to dwell on it because I can’t change it. I vow to treat everything in my life pre-today as a lesson in either how or how not to do something. That’s all it can be. I’m done beating the shit out of myself.
3) Don’t chase.
That may sound like an odd one but it’s huge for me. I take it real hard when I am rejected. I should be used to it but it has always been a problem. Friends, family, and women alike have abandoned me over the years and I spend an inordinate amount of effort fixating on it. Not to say that I have no fault in any of it, instead I am saying that I am not chasing after the fact. If you choose to leave my life, and I have made all appropriate efforts to make things right, then you are free to leave and I will just have to make peace with it.

That’s what I came up with in Florida. Now, as I return to life I am going to do what I told my clients as a Case Manager; instead of returning to an old life, I will begin a new one. As often as I need to in order to get it right. Any and all decisions that I make as I work on the many areas of my life that need improvement will be guided by the three principles stated above.

Starting today.

Jeremey

A story of addiction, recovery and a friendship for the ages

I got a text today from Jeremey.
Hey buddy, just wanted to let you know that I’m doing great. Love you and appreciate you.
It warmed my heart to hear from him. It also served to remind me of how much I miss my job. Two things you need to know here:
I took a hiatus (possibly for good, I just don’t know right now) from a job that I love.
Jeremey is letting me know that he is doing great not only out of friendship but over an incredible bond that we formed when I was his Case Manager at a Drug/Alcohol Recovery Center. Affectionately known as a Rehab.

When I met Jeremey he was not great. Anything but. I met him at the lowest point of his life.

It was a cold December morning when I made the 1500-yard trek to the Detox building to meet the new client assigned to me. I walked in, shook the cold off of me and went to the common area to find my Client. I called out the name and a man about my age weakly forced himself out of the deep cushion of the sofa and slowly trudged his way towards the chair I motioned for him to sit. I was amazed at the effort it took for him to get to it. Then he spoke. Over the course of the interview, as I explained our program, my role as case manager and his expectations for treatment, I must have asked him to repeat almost everything. He was too weak to speak clearly and with any volume.
What he was able to say was nothing but pure denial and resistance. The broken man before me was utilizing all the strength he had to fight me on whether he needed treatment or not. He wanted to leave after Detox, I politely suggested that a full program would do him better. I didn’t fight him. At the Detox level, that is not atypical. As they say, De-Nile (denial) ain’t just a river in Egypt.

This went on for days. Despite my requirement of seeing a client twice a week, I met with him every day. As his strength grew, so did his insistence that he didn’t have a problem. Recognizing that I had a challenge, and a chance to do some good I pushed back. Day after day. Finally, he agreed to stay for 2 weeks. This was a victory. This one became, against all judgment, personal for me.

Jeremey would fight me on everything for those 2 weeks. I dug in and challenged him. I couldn’t work harder on his recovery than he was willing to, but I really wanted to see him get better. 3 weeks became 4weeks. He began to buy in and just when I thought that the therapy sessions and meetings were working, after 4 weeks he made a huge push to leave. I worked with him more, throwing everything I knew about the model of addiction I had to have discussions. I paired him with other clients that were where I was hoping he would get to and he still wanted to leave. Finally, everything combined wore him down. He finished the program.
And in the process, we became wonderful friends. It evolved to the point that when we saw each other we would hug and often he asked how I was doing before I could ask him.
On the last day of his 9th week Jeremey left our care. The man who was too weak to speak, a disbarred lawyer and 25 year career-alcoholic whose most recent memory was waking up in his brother’s recliner (he was homeless), vomiting on himself in front of his 2 nephews, swigging a beer and passing out again, was leaving with a reservation at a Sober House, a job (we coordinated interviews while he was in rehab) and an entirely new outlook on life.
I was so proud to have been a small part of such an amazing story.
So back to the text.
We parted as amazing friends. He made a commitment to check in with me periodically, knowing that my failure to hear from him may indicate that he may have relapsed. I hadn’t heard from him in a while. To get that text means that he is still doing great.

That’s why I became a Case Manager. To become part of something like that.

Not my dog Sam

I have a 4-legged enigma sleeping on my feet right now. He is an adorable 4-year-old English Cocker, brown with big, thoughtful eyes.
He’s not mt dog, he’s my mother’s. I say this tongue in cheek because, while mom and I share a house he is solely and defiantly her dog. It doesn’t matter that I am as responsible for loving and caring for Sammy (Samuel L. Spaniel, guess who came up with that name), despite his current spot on my feet he usually wants very little to do with me.
It bugs me. A little.
I could dedicate a whole post to how stupid it is that I should let a dog affect my self-image at all, but I won’t. It’s not that he doesn’t like me, he is just unhealthily attached and fixated on my mom. He has been since the day she met him at a breeder’s house on a cold Connecticut morning, 4 hours from home. As she described it, “Of the 6 puppies to choose from this one chose me.” And he still, to this day chooses her. And if she’s not around he then chooses nobody. Even if I’m sitting in the same room.

It’s comical in a way. He snubs me like a mean girl in any High School. And I don’t take it personally, I was joking about that. He will play with me, let me throw his ball and make me chase him to get it back. He is happy to take chicken from my outstretched hand and when it’s dinner time he will come to me. But if mom is out he pouts until she comes home. That is both difficult to deal with and hard to watch. It’s difficult, because, in her absence I have to actually pick him up and put him outside, no exaggeration, to pee. Walks can be more like drags.
It’s hard to watch because when Mom is not around he’s actually sad. It is the worst case of separation anxiety I have ever seen, canine or human.
When I think about what bothers me the most, I think it is that I want a dog of my own. I don’t have a place of my own so I can’t. So the next best thing would be to feel that the dog we have is mine as well. The sad reality is, no matter how much attention I give, how many ear scratches and tummy rubs I give, and how many walks I take him on…he is not my dog.

Except when we are in Florida. Mom is here 6 months a year now and this is the first year I have come to visit. I was pleased to see what a nice place it is, how beautiful the weather is, and how friendly the people are. I was not prepared for the dog that sure looks like Sam, but isn’t. I don’t get it. He is friendly to me, relaxed and affectionate, and when mom goes out he is happy to be in my company. He is so different, it’s quite strange.
I guess he is a Florida dog. I’m different when I’m here as well. I’m not going to try to figure it out. I’m just going to run with it. I’m sure once he comes home in May he will return to ignoring me again.

I’ll just file this under the “go figure” category.