Hiatus

A 6 month hiatus from writing, it’s been hard. It is no reflection of my desire to write but a reflection of myself. I, at times feel that I say the same things repeatedly, obsessively, redundantly. Searching for the perfect vehicle to present the truest of abstraction. How does one truly help others understand the deepest emotions. What words can be used to describe the innermost self. I will continue to reflect, assess, adjust, remember, dream, make, look, listen, laugh, cry…seek clarity.

If Normal were a color- An open letter to young readers

Painting a picture of normal 

If normal were a color it would have many profound shades. Many struggle with the palette of normal and believe to their core they are not. However who claims normal to be a pure consistent hue of certainty? We know young people struggle with personal identification and normalcy. We know many adults model what they believe to be a normal persona in thought and action. Young people are particularly susceptible to decision making which may have an immediate effect on their current situation. Most who suffer from behavioral health issues seek a life of pure consistent normalcy. This innate drive is fostered by internal and external factors alike. Young people want to feel, be normal to others. They seek concrete reinforcement form their immediate surroundings. I was never comfortable with myself as an adolescent. I never felt as though I fit in. I surrounded myself with others who didn't fit in. I engaged in behaviors which made me numb to the uncomfortableness. I felt lost, trapped, hopeless. I put myself in the position to allow others to define me, my character. No matter how hard I tried I could not find normal…or at least what I thought normal should be. As I have grown older I still struggle with the socially acceptable “normal”. I still do not know what that means and I somehow have found comfort in understanding that there are many shades of normal. 

In my painting of normal there are many colors and shades, on most days my painting looks completely different then it did the day before. And I find comfort in that.

if you struggle with normal please know you are not alone, if you cannot find someone to talk to out of fear of judgement, please know I understand. 

B

82.1

82.1

How do you fill the emptiness, the feeling that never goes away? 

How do you face the day, the world? 

How do you get out of bed? 

How do you continue on? 

How do you keep it to yourself?

How do you hide it?

How do you act normal?

How do you communicate with others?

How do you face yourself?

How do you explain it to others?

How do you do you?

How do you feel normal?

How do you do it?

on average 82.1 people commit suicide each day…RIP RW

being scared

That day in 1988, the last time I used drugs, I was scared. I didn't understand what I was doing or what I was going to do. I knew and had learned that being in hand cuffs and living in jail cells was something I didn't want to continue doing. I literally had nothing except some drawings, some letters and a few photographs others had sent me. There is very little more demoralizing than being treated like an animal. I hated every second of it. I despised the world and wondered every minute what others where doing. I knew I wanted to try something different and made no promises to anyone. I wanted to disappear from my life. I wanted to start again. I wanted take control of writing the story of my life. I was sick to my stomach listening and reading what others had authored about my character. I had made a plethora of terrible decisions but I wanted to believe I was not a terrible person. I wanted to change my life so people would leave me alone and stop saying negative things about me; I had no clue what that meant or how I was going to do that. 

I have the opportunity to speak to many about recovery, change, and motivation. I get to re-live this moment. To go to a place deep inside myself and remember the fear, the uncomfortableness of my life. I get to feel humbled about my journey. Its easy with the business of my daily life to forget how vulnerable, scared, and fragile I feel at times. I still feel uncomfortable with the world and myself at times. I have come a long way from that person in 1988. And it has not been without mistakes, there has never been any perfection in any of this. I continue to author the story of my life. I am continually surprised when  others say nice things about me. 

I hope this story is a good one for someone to read…

B

“it's harder to make the glass than break the glass"

this week was filled with me making speaking to others. I was invited for my rotation at a prison where I conducted 5 groups with 40-50 inmates in each. that’s a lot of guys, and a lot of me talking. I spoke about learning, listening, coping skills, utilizing skills learned while in prison to have a life in recovery, a life free of the consequences of addiction and institutions…FREE. I was asked dozens of questions of how to make it, how did I make it. People looking for an answer, the answer. Unfortunately answers that a person must find on their own path. Generally I fond most people want the straight, honest answer even when it hurts. Somehow I have been blessed with the opportunity to be the bearer of this type of truth. A truth that means it’s hard, it hurts, it’s hard work. I don't believe that others don't know this, I believe that we want the easier softer way to deal with ourselves and the world.  Some people in prisons want the easier softer way, they want the answer, the fix. 

I ended my week speaking to a group of high school students about my life. That’s always a personal challenge, a place to grow. During that presentation I have to scrape the dirt off of graves I dug many years ago, expose my imperfections, admit my faults, stand in front of strangers and tell some of my secrets. Honestly admit that I am imperfect. Acknowledge my blessings and the belief that I don't know why. I loved speaking with the high school kids and they asked great questions…some of which I had no answer…which is okay.

In both speaking situations I was humbled, I admitted I do not have the answers, but I explained that the it’s harder to make the glass that break the glass…this is my life.

B

Everyone has a story...

I have several speaking engagements coming up and sometimes I am amazed anyone would want to hear me talk. I never considered myself a “public” speaker and really have spent much of my life very shy and somewhat reserved. I learned that to accomplish anything I would need to step out of my comfort zone and engage others. I was asked several years ago to tell “my story” at a private luncheon and I had never spoken open and honestly with a room of strangers about the person who I used to be and the journey I have been on. I believed my recovery, my story were things I should be ashamed of, to hide, to only share in the company of others with similar stories. I have challenged myself to make my recovery, my journey a source of pride. If I were a survivor of any other disease I would wear my pride on my sleeve. There are many things I don't understand about myself, but I have faith and hope. I don't understand why I have been blessed with the opportunity to have an audience to listen to me. My story is not that different than others’, but it’s my story…everyone has story.
B

The Disease Concept

This week I have been reflecting on addiction and the disease concept. The passing of Phillip Seymour Hoffman this week has thrust addiction into the main stream media. Many people outside of the scope of addiction appear concerned and “clueless” of how someone with 23 years of sobriety could relapse and ultimately die from the disease. And whether you respect Dr. Drew he got it “right’ all over my TV. Here is an excerpt from an interview

Dr. Drew: You can't kick addiction, it's 'lifelong'

By Amanda Sloane

Some people have been saying how sad it is that Hoffman died after 'kicking' his addiction two decades ago. How do you feel about that?

Dr. Drew: The idea that addiction is something that’s “kicked” or is a “demon” -- these are crazy notions in my world. The fact is, once the switch is thrown on addiction, it’s a chronic, lifelong condition that needs to be managed every day much the way a diabetic has to take insulin every day. And if they don’t take their insulin, their blood sugars go out of control and the same is true of addiction. If they’re not practicing their treatment and recovery and participating in that in a regular basis, they will use -- it’s inevitable.

The people who are actually in the recovering community say their disease is doing push-ups while they’re sober. It’s a brain disorder in them and it’s waiting and lurking and ready to take advantage of any opportunity it has to re-emerge. It’s a motivational disturbance where the usual motivational priorities like our loved ones, our work, our very survival, start to diminish in importance relative to this one overwhelming priority, which is using. And that takes over thinking and it takes over the emotional systems. It’s interesting to see a brain that’s under the influence of a distorted motivation.

What do you think when you hear that someone who was purportedly clean for so long has started using again?

Dr. Drew: Well, we don’t know if he was sober those 20 years. But it’s not unheard of for people to sort of diminish their participation in treatment or begin to think they don’t need to do all the work and the addiction will re-emerge when that happens. Let’s say he was sober all those years, the fact that somebody after two decades of sobriety relapses makes them an extremely difficult population to treat. They -- in a way -- sort of know too much and their addiction takes full advantage of that.

How common is relapse when it comes to addiction?

Dr. Drew: Relapse is a part of recovery. The people that do poorly, though, are the ones that relapse and then relinquish their participation in recovery. If somebody slips, it’s a slip. But a full-blown relapse is when people dismiss recovery, they don’t participate in any more treatment. That’s when they die.

We normally hear of celebrities overdosing on prescription medications. Is heroin having a comeback?

Dr. Drew: It’s always been around. It’s not that it’s having a comeback. It’s that the pills are so massive now that when people can’t get pills or can’t afford pills -- that’s when they switch over to heroin. It’s cheaper, more intense and very available. The extraordinary thing about Philip Seymour Hoffman is that he died of heroin and not pills. Typically, what happens these days is that pills get people. Although we don’t know yet, we may find that he had pills in his system, also. That may be the issue here. Maybe that’s what finally took him.

What’s one important thing people should know about others who struggle with addiction?

Dr. Drew: The one thing that I always want to emphasize is to separate the person and the disease -- the career and the disease. This is a wonderful person by every account, a wonderful father and clearly a magnificent artist who left us a glorious body of work. That is not in any way diminished by him having a chronic medical problem we call addiction -- any more than if he had cancer.

What can we learn from this tragic event?

Dr. Drew: More people will die of opiate addiction in the next 30 days than died in the 9/11 tragedy. This is something to remember. Also celebrities have a tendency to get special care. They want special care from special people. I would just remind them that Conrad Murray [the former doctor who treated and was convicted in the death of pop star Michael Jackson] is a perfect example of a special treating physician and what kind of special outcomes are in store for people who seek special care.

“DISEASE”, “CHRONIC, LIFE LONG CONDITION”, “BRAIN DISORDER”

I am a subscriber to pure abstinence, something I believe is part of the maintenance of my disease. I was at the Dr.’s office yesterday and made it very clear, I am a person in recovery and I will not accept and habit forming medications. I am scared of the “what ifs”. Developing healthy boundaries with myself is of upmost importance to keep my condition in check. 

Thank you Phillip Seymour Hoffman, you died so I can examine your life and for one more day I can live.

Rest in Peace.

B

1988- Journal entry

I wrote this when I was early in my recovery and still trying to figure out what was going on around me and within me. I was 18 years old...

Life is a mirror, look at what you see.
The crowd behind you begins to flee.
The rage you feel begins to surge
you clinch your fists, you feel the urge
Shatter your life, break the mirror
feel the pain, the pain is fear.
your all alone, no one around
the thoughts in your head are the only sound

it really sucks, its always the same.
the life I lived was a no win game.
Try and be happy I know I should.
Try so hard...I wish I could.
To end it all I think I would.
All I did was fucking cry.
I never had the nerve to die.
Every thing's the same, nothing new.
What am I suppose to do?

It's my desicion
I'll decide.
to take the ride
or run and hide.

B

A light that shines from within

“We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.” Buddha

I recently had the privilege to spend some time with someone new to recovery. A humbling experience for me to see her joy, her excitement, her undeniable happiness. She discussed the early parts of her journey, her desires, her plan, her commitment. She talked about her challenges, the hard parts. And joy flowed from her like a light shining from her soul. A light which will continue to grow, be stronger, and brighter. 

And as I reflect on our conversation I begin to understand why I need her. I need to be reminded that I am no different, that my light continues to shine. That I deserve joy and happiness. She is a version of myself. A version that is easily forgotten. It becomes easy to obsess over the defects. It’s hard sometimes to sit back and take in everything, to let that light shine...and I am blessed that she reminded me of this!

Thank You N!
B

Violence. Where does it start, where does it end.

This week I have spent much time dealing with, talking about, and processing violence. I was asked to do an antiviolence workshop with inmates in prison. A daunting task. To discuss, educate, and motivate some men with severe histories of violent behavior. I spent some one on one time with a person resorting to threats to attempt to get his way. I talked to someone whose family is being victimized by another family member. I attended a victim impact panel for DUI offenders and allowed tears to run down my face when listening, and tragically a young man at our local high school committed suicide…reportedly a victim of bullying. I am by no means an expert on violence but I did understand the complexities of how it plants its roots and grows. Some acts of violence are never understood and some acts are never acceptable no matter the reasoning. I believe if a person does not address their feelings, does not clear their conscience, those corrupted emotions can grow like a weed, a parasite that takes over and destroys its host.

I do have a history of anger and violence. I have invested relentlessly to address these issues. To make amends for harm I have caused. To be aware, mindful of my emotions. To take care of myself. To ask for help, talk to others. The effects of violence are like a rock thrown into the center of a pond. It creates ripples that have an effect far reaching. Many perpetrators of violence fail to acknowledge the true harm that has been caused. They believe this is an act between themselves and a victim. Sometimes never acknowledging there is a victim (“they deserved it” mentality). No one wants to be a victim. As many perpetrators of violence were once victims themselves. 

The world is full of violence which is hard to fathom or even begin to understand, however I believe that we as citizens of our communities, our world must invest in helping to address the needs of others. To hold out a hand, to comfort, to listen, to show compassion and empathy. To believe in repairing harm, to giving back.

I’m trying… 

B

Why I went to the woods

“what is joy without sorrow? what is success without failure? what is a win without a loss? what is health without illness? you have to experience each if you are to appreciate the other. there is always going to be suffering. it’s how you look at your suffering, how you deal with it, that will define you.” ― Mark Twain

The past week has been very difficult for me to navigate. Things have been very out of balance, very overwhelming, and very hard to keep myself on course. I have been subject to some highly stressful situations and at times wanted to scream, cry, and disappear. Luckily I know how my cycle feels and I have different techniques to help myself. I am able to work through, to stay the course. But what is the cost? I want the world to pause for a minute. To let me catch my breath. I considered a self-imposed time out from the world and this is always an option. But how do I surrender to that? How do I do what needs to be. Knowing helps. Talking to others helps. I have to remember to go into the woods, close my eyes, breath, and be mindful…this too shall pass

B

No instructions?

In 1998 I decided to make a decision that I would do one of the scariest hardest things in my life. I have experienced many scary things and I have worked through many hard things in my life. But the decision I would ponder and eventually make was one of the hardest. I wanted to become a parent. But I wasn't for sure what that meant or if I was capable. I felt very unsure of myself, I felt scared, I felt inferior. I knew that I had gotten to place with myself that I was confident I knew how to take care of myself. This maybe was a prerequisite; how could I care for a child when I wasn't caring for myself. In my relationship with my wife I had been experiencing love, empathy, compassion, care and I began to learn how to give those things back. I knew that there were plenty of examples of parenting out there that I was not interested in. I watched other parents, the way they interacted with their children, the way the talked to them, the way they touched them or didn't. I had an idea of the parent I wanted to be, but was I capable. In 1999 we had our first child and my world changed. I loved her unconditionally. I held her, I played with her, I talked with her, I held her, I cared for her. I experienced emotions that were so foreign to me. I at times was so confused, so vulnerable. At times I had no idea what I was doing or if was even close to being right or wrong, or if that even mattered.
14 years and 3 more children later, I still am not sure what I’m doing. I am by no means a great parent. I miss things that my children do or tell me. Sometimes I don’t notice their cues that they need something from me. Sometimes I make mistakes. I think I have good kids and I hope that reflects on me as a parent. I know that my children, wife, and my decision to become a parent has helped me become a better person even though sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing.
B

I want to be loved...

“He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.” ― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

I want to be loved. I want to be cared for. I want to be liked, respected. I want to matter. I want others to think I’m okay. Often times I think about my funeral. I imagine what people may say about me in my passing. I think about the ending of the story of my life and does it end well or in tragedy. I am not perfect, nor will I ever be. Probably better to not be perfect as I need a reminder where I need to grow as a person.  I want to be okay with me. I want to look in the mirror and know and be comfortable with the person I see. I want to smile more, laugh more. I want to let down my guard more. I want to feel safe more. I want to be less scared; scared of myself and the world.
For those who take a minute out of your days to read this please know it means the world to me. I find it strange that anyone cares what comes out of my mouth.

I’m glad you’re listening…makes me feel like it matters and that you care.
B

Who am I and why am I here?

Who am I and why am I here is a question that I ask myself daily. I was asked to address a conference for mental health recovery and this was the title of my speech. I believed the committee assumed I would be bringing answers to this questions not spend my hour discussing why I continue to ask myself this question. I have always longed for a different “version” of myself. 
     I have never felt comfortable with myself. When I look in the mirror, I sometimes don’t know the person reflected there. Most days I struggle through feeling scared. Not scared of the world, but scared of how I am reacting to it. Many people have observed and commented on my “laid back” demeanor. This has taken years of self-reflection and practice to keep my emotional state on a level plane. I know at times I project a “stand offish”, intimidating, mean expression on my face. I do this not by choice. This is part of my natural self-defense mechanism- (insert fight or flight). I do not want to mean or thought of as someone who is a jerk or scary. I really am not. One of the saddest and meanest things anyone has ever said to me is, “no matter how hard you work on recreating who you are, people will always know the true you by the expression you carry on your face and in your eyes.” This was told to me over twenty years ago and it haunts me. It’s not like I am trying to be someone I am not. I was given an opportunity through recovery to change the way my story ends. This is what I call the “gift and curse” of recovery. I believe that if I or anyone else wanted to write the story of my life, I have been given the ability to affect the outcome of how that story ends. This is what I am doing. 
To be continued...
B

I didn't want to die but I didn't want to live-by request and censored by request

The first time I cut my wrists,
a great light came over me,
not only had I found a way to release my sadness but I also found the perfect way to illustrate my emotions. I had this mark on my body that conveyed a message for all to see. A message that could only be interpreted one way, I was hurting. My self harm was a perfect complement to my substance abuse, I could intoxicate myself, cut on myself to amplify the high, release my sadness, and send a message to those around me that my life was spiraling out of control and that I had deep rooted emotional issues. I wore the cuts on my body like huge billboards, “I’M HURTING”. I never wanted to kill myself but romanticized the idea that I could cut deeper, more, bigger and come close to death. In fact the closer I came, the better it felt.

The more I cut, the better I felt.

What started as an experiment with emotions and pain quickly developed into an obsession.
I cut on myself everyday; designing patterns of marks that somehow exemplified the number of times I had felt pain. The only problem is I didn't have enough skin. I cut on cuts, I cut on scabs, and I cut and cut. The group of people I hung around were impressed with my cutting. Other kids at my high school, with whom I had never spoken, came forward to compare their cutting to mine, an exchange of desires, dreams, and shared pain; a somewhat intimate exchange. Finally they must have thought someone we can relate to and someone who needs us. I never wanted to gain any relationships from my self-harm, only bring attention and resolve to the destructive nature of my own existence. I became obsessed with using different instruments to cut with razor blades, utility knife blades, broken glass, pins, and needles. As the sensation of cutting began to numb, new ways became a last option. I began to burn “blue circles” into my wrists using a cigarette. I would lie in bed and choke myself. I would punch myself repeatedly in the face and stomach. I didn't want to die but I knew I didn't want to live.
B

25 years of change

"If you do not change your direction, you may end up where you are heading" Lao Tzu

This weekend was the summation of an eventful week for me; I attended my 25^th High School reunion. I have never attended one before and had many reservations about being there; I could have easily skipped it. I was asked by a friend and former classmate to attend and after some pandering by him and few others, I got up the courage to go. I was not “popular” in high school, I wasn’t in any clubs, didn’t play sports, and really struggled through the whole process. I was constantly in trouble, multiple suspensions, expelled my junior year, and dropping out my senior year. I was under the care of a psychiatrist beginning my sophomore year for suicidal ideation and self-harm. I was heavily medicated and had developed a severe substance abuse problem. I was involved in the criminal justice system and was constantly in trouble outside of school. The last two years of high school are truly a blur. I remember very little about any of it, by design. I was incarcerated at the age of 17, my senior year of high school. After some time away from the world I made a decision to never return to the place where so much harm existed for me and others. While my classmates finished school and graduated, I was beginning to author a new ending to the story of my life.  I had no idea what this story would read like and was very scared that any moment by book would end. I knew that redefining myself would be a huge undertaking. I call this the “gift and the curse” of recovery. While my classmates walked across the stage receiving their diplomas I intoxicated myself for the last time. While they dreamed of college, families, careers, I dreamed of the same. 
Together we dreamed of our future, our change. 
While we celebrated 25 years since graduation, I carried with me in my pocket, my 25 year coin from Alcoholics Anonymous.  I am glad I attended the event this weekend it was wonderful to see so many people. Many have changed so much, I know I have.
B 

Fear

I was recently asked why someone in an active addiction cycle cannot abstain from their drug of choice even after they admittedly say they don’t want to continue use. They honestly want to chart a new course for their lives, a course that is drug free; but they can’t. This is perceived by others as an example of dishonesty, a “he doesn't really want to stop”, “she’s just saying that, but doesn't really mean it”, “drug addicts should just stop using drugs”. This week I facilitated a treatment group where we discussed and defined addiction, a complicated task for anyone to achieve. We used and examined the American Society of AddictionMedicine’s definition. Here is the “short” definition:

Addiction is a primary, chronic disease of brain reward, motivation, memory and related circuitry. Dysfunction in these circuits leads to characteristic biological, psychological, social and spiritual manifestations. This is reflected in an individual pathologically pursuing reward and/or relief by substance use and other behaviors.

Addiction is characterized by inability to consistently abstain, impairment in behavioral control, craving, diminished recognition of significant problems with one’s behaviors and interpersonal relationships, and a dysfunctional emotional response. Like other chronic diseases, addiction often involves cycles of relapse and remission. Without treatment or engagement in recovery activities, addiction is progressive and can result in disability or premature death.

As you can see this is a complicated disease. There are many factors that cause an individual to engage in an addiction cycle and the baffling part of the disease is that the brain constantly “plays a trick” on the individual to continue the cycle. There is no way to “fix” the problem. Everyone has different path into addiction and just as complex as the journey into, the journey out is even more complicated. Many attempt, many commit themselves to the journey and become lost. Sometimes death is the only relieve from the suffering. I wish we could solve the complicated mess of addiction. In recovery I know how blessed I am. I am not perfect nor do I try to be, however 25 years ago something happened in the universe, the heavens, and in my life. I began the journey of recovery. I work with others daily in addiction and recovery. I get to share in the pain, the pride, the sadness, the relief, the honest and dishonest, the loneliness, the happiness, the Fear…and for that I am blessed! 

B

Twenty Five Years of tree climbing. A Prologue.

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion." Henry David Thoreau

Twenty Five years ago I began the process of being a “tree climber”. I had spent years in the dust. I had the breath knocked out of me repeatedly. I gasped for air. The air I breathed in was full of dust, dry and dirty. The view never changed. Others came and lay in the dirt, others bathed in the dust to hide. I gasped for air. I could see the trees. I could see the forest. It seemed unattainable. The tree grows from the dust and reaches for the sky. Twenty five years ago, I slowly rubbed my eyes to remove some of the dust. The sun shined through the trees. The brightness made me want to turn my face away as the sun combined with dust caused my eyes to tear. The tears mixed with dust, the view was magnificent and the most frightening thing I had ever seen. The forest, so large, so overwhelming, the trees stoic, brave, rising from the dust like the phoenix. I cried. I spent years standing at the bottom of the tree. 

I knew tree climbing was dangerous, exhilarating, rewarding, but I did not know what the view was like. I had watched others climb trees which lay horizontal with the dust, trees that had fallen after a great storm, and lay to die, to become dust. That view appeared to be equal to lying on the ground.  

Climbing a tree can be difficult. I had to learn from experienced tree climbers. I watched as others stood on limbs that cracked and popped. I watched as limbs broke and people returned to the dust. I stood and watched. I looked around and saw the bodies pile up around me. I watched as some became exhausted, tired, fatigued, and let go. They chose to fall, they seemed to enjoy the feeling of the fall. Others climbed and climbed. They yelled form the trees how beautiful it was, how the view was amazing, others never wiped the dust from their eyes and their view was dust, they fell, they returned. 

I learned the process of climbing trees. To start at the base, near the trunk. This was the foundation of every tree. To reach for the first branch, to grip it tightly, to shake it, to determine how stable it was. Will it hold my weight? To ask myself, is this a good branch? After taking a deep breath, pulling myself up into the tree the view instantly becomes different, the dust starts become distant. Slowly, methodically, I began climbing the tree. Uncertain, scared of the climb. I tried limbs that looked, felt familiar, realizing too much time spent on these types of branches would not hold my weight. I looked down, seeing others I knew and loved laying on the ground looking up at me. 

I continued to climb unaware of my destination, the view changed with the seasons. 

Every branch I climbed to, another presented itself. 

I continue to climb… 

Alcohol the most seductive lie ever told.

The past two weeks I have been inundated with discussions about the use of alcohol. Discussions about the culture of alcohol, the acceptance of alcohol use, the infinite number of reasons to drink alcohol, and the never ending excuses as to why someone doesn't have a “problem” with alcohol. I've sat with inmates and listened to their desire and plans to have a “cold one” when released from prison. I've sat across the desk from someone with early stage cirrhosis of the liver who continues to drink alcohol. I've heard the seductive telling of story after story, I've heard the errors in thinking and reasoning, I have heard a million explanations of why consuming alcohol is okay.  
Now I understand that there are those out there who can consume alcohol in a responsible way and by no means am I inferring that they have a “problem”.  Maybe it’s the nature of the work I am involved in or my natural observation of others, or my own corrupted opinion, I see and encounter many people who have issues around the use of alcohol. I observe others test themselves and their ability to control their use. I watch as some completely destroy themselves to drink. I had someone suggest to me that I probably was not an alcoholic. An interesting thing to say to someone who meets the DSM IV criteria for alcohol dependence. And maybe I’m not, but what if I am? The last drink of alcohol I had was December 27^th, 1987. That night ended with me in a jail cell with multiple felony arrests. For me it’s not just the out of control behavior that being under the influence allows me to engage in, but the emotional turmoil that was triggered when in my addiction cycle. I know with all my heart that if I were to take a drink of alcohol I would be thrust into complete and utter emotional chaos. I have a hard enough time dealing with myself sober. I don’t want to drink, haven’t wanted to in long time. Have way too much to lose, the work I have invested in my life is worth the world to me; it’s definitely worth more to me than a drink. I feel blessed to know and understand that alcohol is the most seductive lie ever told.

B

The person I was...

So I haven’t written in two weeks as I have had a lot going on in my day to day life. Spring brings a whole bunch of projects that have been put off all winter, yard work, etc.

 I had the privilege to read through my probation record, which one of my good friends was able to get out of storage for me to look through. It was hard to read. It tells the story of a young man trying in every way to destroy himself. A story that if read aloud, the narrator and audience would surely believe that the main character would not make it, doomed to either spend his entire life in institutions or death. To read what professionals thought of my wellbeing, my behavior, my attitude, repeated arrests, failed treatment episodes and interventions, to read what people outside of my world tried to put the pieces together of what I can only describe in reflection as pure inner and outer chaos. My prognosis was not good. I was not going to make it. And yet here I am. And if I think about, which I do daily, I don’t understand why. Why did I get so lucky? Why did my higher power pick me to save? I know that I am truly blessed. The majority of those with my background rarely make it. I knew that then. I knew that the odds, statistics, the professionals, didn’t believe I would make it, that I would come out the other side. At the very core of my soul I wanted a different life, I am still motivated by this. I am still working on making myself a better person, and a better life. There is little perfection in this. If I am honest with myself and others I can and am able to recognize when I stray from the course and correct it. I thank God daily for my existence. I hope when this journey comes to end that others will reflect on my life and be proud of where I have come from and what I have achieved. Although I sometimes have to be reminded, I know that I am.

B