Tag: friendship

Moving forward

I’ve been in a good place recently. I feel well, my upcoming biopsy is on my mind, but not consuming me. I’ve maintained the weight loss and am getting frequent comments of support. Also, I am rapidly approaching the 12-month milestone of sobriety. It pleases me that I’m not tempted to imbibe despite the high prevalence of alcohol everywhere during the Holiday Season. Additionally, my mental health has been better. In particular, I am struggling less with the self-worth issues that have plagued me.

I really don’t understand why I struggle so with self-worth. Particularly at this stage in my life. I am definitely on the back nine of life. I have nothing to prove to anyone. My children are grown, and by all measures, successful. The worrying never ceases as a parent. However, now that they are grown, my children are a source of comfort, not worry.
My career is over. Any work I undertake going forward will be done at my discretion and on my own terms. The days of worrying about my job are over. Gone with it are the endless attempts at pleasing thankless employers through giving entirely too much of myself. Now, money is about survival.
I have a thriving social life. I actually have more events to attend than time to do them. While most men my age, according to studies, have few friends, I have an abundance.
Things are good because I’m trying to look at things through a different lense.

I have been feeling overwhelmed of late. I continue to ignore my limitations and carry a full calendar. I do too much and then lament how tired I am. It’s because I can’t say no.
As an active Mason, I have the ability to be out as much as I want. There is always something going on. Being known as an active Mason, I get invited to a lot of events. Masonic events are a true joy for me. I truly enjoy the company of my Brothers, some of the best men I have ever met. And Masonry itself, what can I say, I love everything about it. The civility, historical significance, the fraternal atmosphere appeal to my very being. It is hard saying no because everything is a “can’t miss.”
But it takes a toll on me. I get so tired that I need time to recover.

Since my recovery I have been Jim Carrey in Yes Man. I hit the ground running and started to live my life as if living itself were dependent upon saying YES! After spending so much time dealing with being sick and potentially without a future, I began to spend my time enjoying being healthy with the prospect of living a full life. I love saying Yes.
But then I got tired. I began to have difficulty bouncing back from too many nights out and required more rest. Every instinct told me to take a break, that not everything requires me to be there. So I took a small break. That wasn’t the answer. Slowing down is the exact opposite of what I need. If I have to pick one, because I am totally incapable of walking a line down the middle, I have to pick being busy.
I can rest when I’m dead.

What I have come to realize is that being active has been very good for my mental health.

Another repressed memory

What started out as a Charitable fundraiser quickly turned into a blast from the past.
Last Saturday I was going to my Masonic Lodge’s annual Open House. It is a day selected by the Grand Lodge of Masons in MA for us to open our building to the public for any man interested in Masonry. For three years, our lodge has taken the additional step of having a “Pumpkin Fest” for the community to enjoy. Local vendors donate pumpkins that we offer for donations as well as gift cards that we raffle off. The highlight of the event is always the kids painting their pumpkins. I always make sure there are plenty of paints, yarn, glue, googly eyes, and Sharpies for the kids to have at it. As I drove, the anticipation warmed me.
My phone rang as I was 10 minutes out. A brother had called to tell me that someone, a woman in possession of attractive qualities, had stopped by to see me. Her name was Sandy. I asked to speak to her and was told that she left.
When I got there I asked what she wanted. He relayed an odd message to me, she had come to tell me something that she and I had already discussed recently. Sandy and I went to High School together. And for context, she and I dated after High School. I shot her a text asking her to come back if she had time.

Fast forward an hour and a half. The event was in full swing when I saw her walking up the driveway. While we were in occasional contact by text, the last time I had seen her was 5 years ago at the last HS reunion.
She looked great.
I invited her in and we got to talking. I asked her why she had left a redundant message for me. She said that it wasn’t why she came by. We moved past it. We caught up as much as the situation allowed. It was crowded and busy and we were interrupted often. Somehow the conversation got serious and we began to talk about when we dated. As we spoke it became obvious that there was a time in which we really enjoyed each other’s company. Sadly,I had forgotten (repressed?)a lot of it. I asked her why we broke up, or in our case just stopped seeing each other. She couldn’t tell me why and I had nothing to offer. I was troubled by that.
We talked for another 15-20 minutes and she then had to leave. We hugged and said goodbye. I joked with her that if she became unhappy with her husband I would gladly take her off his hands. She laughed and said, “Will do”.
I wonder if she knew that I was serious.

I should have been satisfied with the exchange. My brothers were all picking on me (my romantic exploits were common fodder for conversation) and I played along. But I was anything but jubilant. I was confused and full of regrets. As if regrets weren’t bad enough, I didn’t even remember what it was that I regretted; other than the nagging feeling that I may have, 30 years ago, messed up things with a woman I could have been happy with.

Sandy and I go way back. We were pals in High School. In Marching Band, she had reminded me of the time I had wrapped her in a blanket on a cold night far from home at a competition. She had thought I was kind. Enough so that she remembered it for all of these years. I had my own word for it.
Stupid.
I was stupid then. Stupid to not have asked her out then. Stupid to let her go when I finally had her. Stupid now as I get hit yet again with the consequences of being such a misguided, lost idiot for so many years.

I have so many regrets in life that I am grappling with. It just makes it worse that new ones continue to show up.

Growing pains

It’s been a busy few weeks as I have been winding down my detail business up North and making my move to my new digs in Southern NH. It has been difficult on both fronts. My customers continue to offer me business despite my stated completion date for the season of 10/31. I’m torn between shutting it down and taking the opportunity to make money. I kike money and I think anyone in my position would do the same. As for how my living situation fits into this, I have yet to spend more than a couple of weekends at my new place because I need to drive back up for jobs during the week. It’s not a big deal other than not being able to settle into my new residence. I’m just anxious to start a new chapter.

I suppose that my work commitments aren’t the only obstacle to my moving. I am becoming bittersweet about moving away from Mom. She has been making comments lately, despite initially being supportive of my move, that suggest that she is unhappy about my leaving. This is problematic, I based my decision heavily on her opinion. I will miss her as well, I have told her this repeatedly. I love her with all my heart and she is my best friend. But I have been living with her for 6 years. Ever since I fell ill in 2017. Now that I am well again, I want to rejoin the ranks of the adult, which includes having your own place. Or in my case, sharing an apartment with a roommate. Anything but living with your mother. I was hoping for a smoother, happier transition.

As for the rest of the transition, I like my new space. It is sparsely but tastefully decorated to my taste. My roommate, who is one of my dearest friends, gives me plenty of space. We hang out quite a bit but also have plenty of our own space. Another very important aspect of the move is that I am so much closer to family and friends. I have already taken advantage of the close proximity to both and I feel really good about it. This morning I went to a function with friends at the lodge and then had lunch with my daughter and I only did an hour of driving, not 4!

Growing pains are necessary and tend to wear off sooner than later.

The get together

from previous post:

One friend from that group has been a consistent friend and very supportive of me as I have dealt with the many challenges I have faced. I am thankful for him. I regret a lot of the opportunities I missed out on regarding him but still feel connected. As for the others, I just feel like a bad friend.

I’d been thinking about initiating a get-together for a while but I decided to follow through on it after I reached out to another of the 3 pillars of my group of friends. It was harmless enough. My friend is a very successful automotive mechanic who enjoys restoring and flipping cars online in his retirement. When I found myself with 2 cars, one of which I felt had some value, I reached out to him and asked him if he had any interest in listing it for me with his internet reach. The conversation was amiable enough, but when I thought about it later I realized that I hadn’t seen him in 3 years. Sure, we interacted on FB a bit, but that was simply too long. And when I did reach out to him, it was to ask him a favor. I don’t think he cared. But I did. It was at that moment that I initiated a reunion.

It would be 4 of us. Normally, it would have been 6 but 2 of our founding members were no longer with us. One is in prison because he turned out to be a fucking Pedo (that took a bit to process), and the other passed away a few years ago. That one was tough. He died of Liver Cancer, succumbing to it the second time around. This bad friend never even knew that he had been diagnosed the first time. That is how far out of the loop I was. He was such an awesome man. Kind, humorous, humble as can be with a quick, sardonic wit that never failed to deliver wry and side-splitting observations. I miss him terribly and hate myself for not seeing him all those years.

His memory, and my tremendous guilt over it, are likely the root cause of my desire to get together. To turn a sad memory into a positive and to do my little part to avoid being blindsided by another loss (God forbid of course)and be forced to deal with the sadness, second-guessing and the guilt again.

But I suppose there are others. For starters, the days of hanging with the boys were the happiest times of my life. Hands down. Of course I wanted to experience it again.
Also, I wanted to see where I fit into things, being the one who has probably experienced the most change (only everything in my life).
Lastly, I would be lying if I didn’t make note that I have had yet another glimpse into the abyss and I needed to create another memory.

To be continued…

The 2AM friend

I have this amazing friend. She is a fellow blogger. Many years ago, 4 of us decided that we wanted to put a face to the words and we sacrificed our WordPress anonymity for a get-together. We all hit it off and became real-life friends. I became particularly close with one and we have served as each other’s confidantes and support system as each of us navigated the challenges of family, chronic illness, and life in general. And despite our distance, we maintain contact. We both believe in the mantra that friendship doesn’t require constant communication, but instead to pick right up where you left off when you reconnect.
We earned the right to bestow upon each other the role of 2 AM friend. The 2AM friend is a coveted distinction. It implies that no matter what time of day, especially early morning, if you need to talk then you can call and the other will pick up.

Well, shame on me. The other night I got a 1:35 AM call from her and in my sleeping stupor I ended the call. I didn’t even look who was calling, I just assumed it was a butt-dial.

When I saw the next morning who had called I reached out. “Was that a butt-dial?”, I asked.
It wasn’t. She was in a bad place and needed to talk to someone and she chose me. And I wasn’t there for her.

What fucking good does being a 2AM friend if you don’t answer the call? Shame on me. If you’re reading this my dear friend please know that I feel terrible and if you choose to give me another chance I won’t let you down.

Yes, I apologized to her already but I felt the need to put it to paper.

purpose

I need to find something gratifying to do with my life.

Despite some recent emotional ups and downs I must concede that my life is going fairly well right now. My health is excellent, which is paramount to all else. My numbers are perfect, my Doctors are nothing less than thrilled with the performance of the new kidney.
I have been working hard all summer. This is satisfying on more than one level; I am pleased that my body had risen to the task of long days and physical exertion. 3 years ago I was nowhere near able to do what I have been doing this year. I really feel great.
Additionally, I have really built up my savings. While I am nowhere near financially secure, I was destitute not terribly long ago.
Because of my financial improvement, I am about to get a very large monkey off of my back. I am moving out of mom’s house. This is bittersweet because I really like it here. It is a nice place. I’m surrounded by beautiful country, the people are nice, and my mother and I really get along well. Still, I have yet to embrace the notion of a man my age living with his mother. It’s something I can’t get past.

I am moving in with a friend next month. He’s a good friend. He welcomed me into his home when it all fell apart in 2016. I had to move when I got real sick but he has welcomed me to return. He is being very fair with the rent as a favor to me. He is looking forward to the company as well. We are doing a podcast together as well as tossing around some other ventures and getting in the same room should yield some positive results. The biggest bonus, the driving force behind my wanting to move is that I will be closer to my children, friends and my Masonic community.

Yes, all is going well. I have put the desire for a companion on the back burner for now and it feels like the right decision. I have only one thing left to feel semi-complete. I need to find something that is gratifying to the soul. When I promised the Universe that I would give back as often and as generously as I could in exchange for the gift of another chance I meant it. When I was working with addiction clients I was living up to it. Unfortunately, I had to stop that. Now I need to find something else. Either as a part-time position or as a volunteer.

I am only happy when I feel I am living a life of purpose.

On associations

Even when I’m doing a good job of not dwelling on the past, it still rears its ugly head. If I had to guess, it is almost always in the form of association.

I came across the movie Johnny Dangerously on HBO MAX today. There really aren’t words to describe how much I love the movie. It’s just the slapstick, parody silly shit the doctor has always prescribed. I know every line. Of course I watched it.

So where does my mind go? Ernie.

Ernie is not his real name. I wouldn’t give up his real name. It’s a nickname and a funny one at that. His premature receding hairline and oddly shaped head gave him a striking resemblance to Ernie of Ernie and Bert fame. He was a good guy and, like everything else in his life, he rolled with the nickname. He never had it easy. Girls eluded him, he never got his shot at Stand-up Comedy, he lost his brother to a tragic suicide soon after High School, his relationship with his family was very complicated.

I was there for all of it. We were, after all, best of friends. After High School, we both attended the same College. I was a year ahead of him so I spent my Freshman year without my sidekick but once he arrived, goofy smile and Pork-Pie hat in hand, we were inseparable. When we weren’t in class, we were in the cafeteria, smoking, drinking coffee, and socializing. If we weren’t in school we were probably playing hooky and underage drinking in our favorite bar down the street.

I shared my difficult times with him also. When my relationship with my father took a bad turn, I stayed at his house many nights. I was very close to his family. They treated me as another son.

We leaned on each other and got through those times. Often with the aid of laughter. Never underestimate the power of a warped sense of humor. Comedy specials on HBO, cartoons and movies were our refuge. We shared a love for Bloom County. I think the lovable oaf Opus the penguin was a relatable character to us. We could quote both the cartoons and the movies line for line. And we did that a lot.

Johnny Dangerously was our favorite. Now, it brings back the sense of loss of how we drifted apart for so many years. Of not seeing him, along with the rest of the guys that I spent all of my time with in my late teens and twenties, since we all went the married with kids route.

And,of course, the shock and heartbreak of learning that he was recently arrested for sexually abusing his own son. My friend (can I still call him that?) is going to spend the rest of his life in jail.

Between the shock, disgust, anger and countless other confusing emotions, I still cling to the memories of a better time. Thanks to associations. Silly movies, in this case, stand for the good and the bad times alike.

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.

Waiting on a verdict

the accusation and the path of its destruction

I testified as a character witness today, via WebEx, for a friend accused of a terrible crime.

I learned about the accusation in 2017, when he asked me if I would be a character witness. I was on the spot and, despite my reservations and a desire to think about it first, I agreed. I would come to regret not thinking it through before answering. I was sickened by what he was being accused of. Inappropriate sexual conduct with his girlfriend’s daughter.
Would my testimony play a role in possibly setting free a predator, or worse, would I discredit a possible victim? Neither choice appealed to me.

The plan was to hope that it somehow would not go to trial and that it would go away on its own. I think we all know that ignoring a problem or hoping that it goes away seldom works. Imagine my reaction when I got the call from the public defender’s office 2 weeks ago. Since then I have been so very torn over what will happen, and of course what, if any, impact could my testimony have on the outcome.

When I spoke with the PD yesterday, as they prepped me for my testimony, it became clear to me that I was only required to answer questions about the time frame in which I lived with my friend. That time period was before the “incident” occurred. There would be no tricks, and it would not be as portrayed on television and in movies. I would merely testify to his character.

Today I did just that.

I heard the case they have prepared. It’s weak, there is no evidence, and I find the accusations completely inconsistent and unbelievable with what I know of his behavior.

I talked to him tonight. He was thankful for my testimony. He expressed gratitude for my friendship. He then told me, in no uncertain terms that he is hoping to see me soon. That is, of course, unless he is convicted tomorrow and brought directly to State prison. A place where he is certain he will be killed.

If he is convicted, and this sounds bizarre, I sure hope that he did it. Because his life is over already. He has lost everything over this accusation. There is simply no full recovery from this, even if found innocent.
The stakes have never been higher. It’s all on the line. His entire fucking life.

I guess we’ll know tomorrow.

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.