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

a paper boat

memories, dreams flow like the river.

its force creates a vibration much like a locomotive

there is no love here it has been carried down stream 

the echo 

a ghost

it cannot be stopped, only muffled

we drop hope in the shape of a paper boat

on the waters edge.

a love letter to the sea

the walls talk to me

heat vibrates in the air

the ghosts cry out in silence

to be paper boats

B

two weeks

I haven’t written for 2 weeks and I must say I have missed it. I sometimes don't know what to say or what you want to hear. I was to see my psychiatrist two weeks ago and have my meds again adjusted and my appointment was changed for another month. Guess I will continue to deal with taking meds which have a negative side effect. I was to get tattooed last week and that appointment was changed to 5 weeks from now. Seems like this is how my last two weeks have been. 

I did find out I have been approved to receive my MISA (Mental Illness Substance Abuse) license. Im very excited and proud of this and have spent much time doing training on co occurring disorders and counseling techniques for individuals who have mental health and substance abuse diagnosis.

I have spent a lot of time with the kids and outdoors as the spring weather has been nice. I have been working in my garden and look forward to the harvest this year. I have started selling prints of some of my artwork on society 6 and am excited about the potential. I am getting ready to start a series of collaborative artwork with my good friend Andrew. You can see his work at http://www.andrewrigsby.com. should be great work and I'm excited about it!

I continue my personal art work daily and find much comfort in the process. 

Not sure what else to say…be blessed

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

an examination of ego

Humility. Humble. Accoutability. Power. How does one learn Humility? Can it be taught? and what does it have to do with Power. Accountability is a value, trait most of us are taught at an early age. But how accountable do we keep ourselves? and what does accountability have to do with power. I try to live my life with humility. I acknowledge my wrong doings and try to repair any harm they have caused. I try to practice the ideal “not have everything I want, but want everything I have”. I keep myself accountable. I have very little interest in power and believe in giving power to others, empowerment. 

But I am human and I have ego. And ego corrupts these tenants. I believe I have to keep my ego in check, to seek a humble existence. I observe ego in others. I watch power corrupt others, destroy people, relationships, lives. I don't know the answer to all these questions, nor do I understand the full complexities of these values, tenants. 

I know I am aware…are you?

B

restoring justice

I have spent some time the last couple of weeks contemplating justice and harm. I believe in the tenants of correcting and repairing harm. I understand that my place in the world is to make things right. I can never go back and do things over and I know I caused harm and continue to cause harm, as I am not perfect by any means. I believe part of my purpose my reason for existence is to make things right, to repay the world for everything it has given me. I encourage others to do the same. Somehow if we all give to one another maybe the world would be a better place.

Do something nice today

B