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

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.
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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...
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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… 

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

"And there was a kid with a head full of doubt"- AB

This week I had the opportunity to visit a medium security prison and spend the day not only speaking to about 100 guys, but spent individual time with many of them. The prison is about an hour and half from my house and I had to be at the gate house between 8 and 830a.m. (which meant an early morning for me). During the drive I attempted to clear my head and focus on what I would say to them. This can be overwhelming as I usually walk into a gymnasium or commons area and they are there waiting for me to walk in and start talking. One of the ways I try to get myself focused and centered is through music. My music interests span many genres and time frames. However I recently have been listening to the Avett Brothers for my long drives at work and to relax when at home. There is one specific song “Head full of doubt/Road full of promise” which I found to be appropriate for this mornings commute and preparation. The lyrics of the song are:

 "Head Full Of Doubt / Road Full Of Promise"

 There's a darkness upon me that's flooded in light

 In the fine print they tell me what's wrong and what's right

 And it comes in black and it comes in white

 And I'm frightened by those that don't see it

 

When nothing is owed or deserved or expected

 And your life doesn't change by the man that's elected

 If you're loved by someone, you're never rejected

 Decide what to be and go be it

 

There was a dream and one day I could see it

Like a bird in a cage I broke in and demanded that somebody free it

And there was a kid with a head full of doubt

So I'll scream til I die and the last of those bad thoughts are finally out

I met many men who have spent 20 or more years locked up, many of which are murderers. They shared the same nervous anticipation that any person would have in their position. A scared of what the world is like after 20 years disposition. They shared stories of their children who were toddlers when they went away, who have grown up, got married, had their own children, and continued on with their lives. And I reflected on my last 20 years being in recovery, being free, and having a life. During the speaking part of my day I was in a gymnasium with about 100 men sitting in the bleachers, all dressed in the same state issued blue uniform (made by prisoners, wore by prisoners) and I talked about  many things including dreams and doubts. I know many of them will not make it once released. The burden of life on the outside is too much. The problems that lead them to incarceration remain, some have continued to grow. And I talked about it. I discussed what it means to be part of a community and the debt they must someday payback to their towns, their families. I talked about the responsibility they have to themselves, their children, their mothers, and their community. A shared responsibility we all have to be citizens.  We discussed plans, goals and more importantly I discussed dreams. I challenged them all to look inside themselves and find their dreams and use those desires to succeed, accomplish, conquer motivate and guide them to make better choices.  And I talked about a desire for something different
B