Category: relationships

Overcoming Negative Thoughts: A Personal Journey

The voices have stepped up their game. It’s not unlike the episode of The Flintstones in which Fred has the Angel and Devil in each ear. I’ve always joked that voices in the head are harmless if they’re agreeable. Lately, they are not.

I have been plagued by negative thinking, over-thinking, and rumination for a very long time. I stop short of using the word “suffering.” Regardless of my choice of words, it is a major problem. I struggle with self-worth. I replay conversations in my head searching for mistakes I have made. I constantly wonder if people like me, or dislike me, and then debate the actual validity of it. I often tell myself I can’t do things and shouldn’t bother. I have been getting better at catching these patterns before they spiral out of control. But more often than not I let them run their course.
The only thing that quieted them was weed and many drinks. With enough of both, I managed to sleep at night.

The recent removal of alcohol from my arsenal has changed that. I still smoke weed at night. It doesn’t have a hallucinogenic effect on me, it just quiets my brain. Apparently, sleep was a product of the combination of both weed and several whiskeys. Sans the whiskey, now when my head hits the pillow it becomes an open forum for the negative voices.
The overall theme of each night’s performance is a delightful and predictable performance.
You can’t go without it.
You’ll give in, this is just a phase.
You’re not really a drunk. Just slow down a bit.
AA is not the answer. You’ll get bored with it.

I hope that this is just a phase.

I feel very good about my decision and, for the most part I am doing very well with not drinking. I firmly believe that my addiction was of a mental compulsion and sheer habit, not of a physical dependence. I still want a drink, again mostly out of habit. The habit is learned behavior and conditioning. I used alcohol as a reward for everything.
Accomplishment=a drink.
Happiness=a drink.
An occasion=a drink.
Well, you get it. Long story short (too late?), almost every day, I find a reason to pull into a liquor store or local tavern for several celebratory drinks. All thanks to the Autosteer feature all alcoholics have installed in their cars. It finds liquor stores and watering holes and automatically pulls into the parking lot for you.

At least for now, I have taken control of the Autosteer. I grab the wheel tight and instead, I pull into a friend’s driveway, churches, Masonic activities, and AA meetings. I believe that eventually, these driving habits will quiet the voices.

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.

Only in the movies

“C’mon, let’s go get the shit kicked out of us by Love.”
Sam from Love Actually

This kid, this character. He’s my hero.

I had never seen Love Actually until recently. I had tired of the standard fare; Scrooged, Christmas Vacation, It’s a Wonderful Life. So, I searched a streaming collection of holiday selections and gave this one a shot. No regrets. It features a great ensemble cast. There are some “awww isn’t that sweet” moments and a great ending. It also includes my favorite type of character, the precocious young lad who believes in laying it all on the table for love. Bonus, he knows the rules of the Rom Com. This is evidenced by his comment, “I have to wait to the end, that’s when you get the girl”.

Now, the benchmark role for such a character is the son in Crazy Stupid Love. A hopeless romantic who never gives up. A believer in grand gestures and a yearning for romance that far exceeds the sensibilities of a young boy. A boy with the patience to actually wait for his one true love and the balls to go after it. Sam captures all that while dealing with the loss of his mother. Despite the sadness and utter turmoil he was enduring, he fell in love. And when he learned that the object of his desire was moving away, he channeled everything into getting the girl.

This post isn’t so much about this kid or his role. It’s about how I’m reminded by him of how I used to be. I never have been capable of the grand gestures portrayed in movies. But I was a devout believer in true love and I would really put myself out there in pursuit of it. I would have, given the chance, tried to get past TSA to stop a girl from getting on a plane. I would drive all night to spend an hour with a woman I loved.
Now, I don’t think I would cross the street for it.

I’ve given up. I choose not to date. I can’t do it to myself anymore. Love and Romance has been reduced to something that is found only in the movies. I can’t reconcile it with real life anymore. On the screen, I see happy endings and bold gestures. But in my mind, and in my gut, I only recall pain, bitterness and disappointment. Relationships now induce feelings of loss and rejection, which inevitably lead to my blaming myself. It’s a vicious cycle I don’t have the stomach for anymore. If for no other reason, I removed myself to protect what little is left of my heart.

Sam’s impulsivity and bravery in Love Actually is something I can relate to it and always enjoy it onscreen. But it’s a foreign concept to me now, putting myself out there. I am capable. I can flirt with the best of them and I am virtually fearless in talking to women. If only I was able to do that when younger. The difference between then and now is that I have no expectation of getting the girl at the end.

It’s a self-preservation thing. Young Sam is ready to let love challenge him. I really admire him for that. It’s a valuable lesson in life and a necessary rite of passage. No matter how bad it is, he’ll get over it.

Me, I’m still reeling from the last beating. Love is now a spectator sport to me.

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.

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?

My room the sanctuary

I don’t know if I’m on a quest for substance or just profoundly depressed. While on paper there would appear to be no possible similarities between the two, with me they can easily be mistaken for each other.

I get depressed. But I don’t get sad. Yes, I know it’s a false equivalency; Depression isn’t always characterized by sadness. It’s detachment, apathy, lack of interest, isolating. There are times that I experience all of that. It’s a problem that I need to deal with at some point.
When I am on a quest for substance, it means that I am unsatisfied with something in my life. One would think it would be an easy fix, identify the issue and work on it, right?
Not always. Things are never that easy with me. If that is what is happening; I don’t know what it is that is bothering me, what I feel I am lacking, or even in what direction to look.
Having taken a deep dive on all of it, the best I can come up with is that it is a combination of both.

I am definitely depressed. And again, not sad. I just don’t give a fuck about things that I usually care greatly about. I love my family and friends but I don’t answer the phone when they call me. I may text some of them back. They want to know where I’ve been, why I missed meetings that I am always at (with joy I might add). They want to know if I’m ok. I tell them I’m fine, they know I’m lying and I’m making them feel bad for me. And I hate that. It would probably help me to talk about it, what little I understand of my behavior, but I refuse to pull them in.
I’ve been lying to everyone about how I am for years, why stop now?

There’s something to be said for the quest for substance also. Yes, I have been in my loft, with the exception of the rare times that I have to go out, and I have been watching a LOT of television. But here’s the caveat, I’m not watching reruns or just anything, but instead I am combing the streaming channels with a purpose. I am looking for that great movie that I’ve always wanted to watch, selecting titles and topics that I know will challenge my paradigm , even documentaries on controversial subjects created by controversial people. I watched Moscow on the Hudson because I knew that it was a beautiful take on Immigration and the American dream. I streamed Bowling for Columbine because I needed to see the other side (not my 2A stance) on the Gun Violence debate.
All in the interest of challenging myself. I actually like what I’m doing, just now how I’m doing it. But underneath it all, I know that I’m trying to improve myself and that cannot be a bad thing in my book.

Still, it needs to stop. I have a great life and there is no reason to be down. I have a great family, tons of friends, groups and activities that I enjoy, there are people that actually are counting on me. I like that as well as need it. It gives my life value. So what’s my problem?

I’m going out tomorrow. No matter what. I’m going somewhere and doing something with someone. If I can’t do that then I need to Google some therapists. Don’t think I haven’t thought about that as well.

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.