Marriage 3...I Created My Own Prison...

Earlier I wrote about the once unthinkable euphoria I had on my first professional commercial shoot. The memory I am about to share isn't as rosy as yesterday's giddy description of life on a production set. It is quite the opposite. I flashback to darker "yesterday's" along with my "today's" to illustrate what we can endure and overcome in the challenges of life. I am not a martyr, nor feel sorry for myself. I understand that my todays were crafted and shaped from those yesterdays. God's plan was written for me exactly how he wanted it. My addictions and pain are my reality. If you take anything away from this chapter, I hope that it is that we are all haunted by yesterdays and fearful tomorrows. Today is the day to live. Through pain comes strength, wisdom and appreciation for what we have. Not what we have not.

I have written that between 1992 and 1998 I was married and divorced three times. My alcoholism and speed addiction were running my life. My third wedding was March 13, 1998. It was not the sweet romantic storybook ceremony like the one Squeaky and I had in Las Vegas. It was quite the opposite. It was filled with chaos, pain and confusion. Let the ceremony begin.

I have said that my marriage to my third wife was a business deal. It sounds cold but that's the way it was. I know I told her I loved her. I was always the first person to say I love you in a relationship. I have really only been in love a few times, but I said it to all the girls I dated. I also meant it when I said it. I didn't say it to be deceitful. I was a "love" addict. I craved the excitement, butterflies, favorite songs and giggly walks that come with love. The endorphins of love created a high for me and got me out of myself. I could direct all of my attention onto my significant other. That way I could forget about hating myself so much and ride the psychologically manufactured fantasy for awhile.

She was an illegal alien from Poland and needed a green card. I wanted a child. It was simple. I thought that a child would provide me an opportunity to right the perceived wrongs my parents made and raise a healthy, open minded mini-me. She didn't realize that the documentation process took more than just marrying an American. There is a several year waiting period and piles of bureaucracy to climb over before becoming legal. As for a child, I was unable to manage my own life. The good Lord new I was not prepared to shape the young mind of a child. Nor was I responsible enough to care for them. I thought that having a child would be like getting a puppy.

I was working nights as an ad room supervisor for a weekly car publication and she did what she did. I didn't know for sure. She was pregnant and that was all I needed to know. I had slept at the YMCA the night before and packed my bags to move in to my soon to be bride's apartment in Elmwood Park. I took a handful of speeders and drank a half pint of vodka on the way to her place from Lagrange. I was dressed in a sweater and slacks. What she wore I can't say. I don't remember driving to the Maywood Courthouse, the vows, the "I do's" or returning to her place. I do have a flash memory of being in the judge's chambers realizing I was actually getting married again. I was a 3 time offender and should have been banned from ever marrying again. I am glad there was no such rule or I wouldn't have Squeaky today.

I unpacked my plastic bags of belongings in a drawer in her apartment and laid down for awhile to get some rest. Yes! I worked on my wedding night. There was no party or family celebration. My family knew I was nuts. Her family was in Poland. I woke up, kissed the little lady goodbye, took some more speed and headed off to work. My hours were from 7pm to 5am. I had picked up a bottle of booze to calm me after work and loosen me up for my trip home to the latest Mrs. Connolly.

During the night, the first night of wedded matrimony, my wife called and asked me how much money I made. I told her and she said that wasn't enough. I assured her that I would look for another job. She called again and again berating me and anyone else who picked up the phone in my office. I was the "boss" and her barrage of calls was making for some juicy office gossip. I knew she had a temper but thought there would at least be a slow transition from miffed to rage. Not a chance. In fairness to her, she was getting a drunken, underachieving speed freak with an inferiority complex. We were a match made in hell.

I made it through the night and drove from Addison to Elmwood Park. I turned the key to the outer door of our 6 flat and was greeted with a wedding surprise. All of my belongings were smashed back into my disposable luggage and piled by the door. My knocking came with no answer. I retrieved my things and headed back to my car/mobile home. My plans of consummation were dashed. I was married less than 24 hours and it was already over.

I opened the bottle of vodka in front of her apartment and put in a CD. The band was Creed. They were edgy and heavy on the lyrics. I am a lyric guy when it comes to music and Scott Stapp could write about pain like nobody's business. One particular track, "My own Prison," captivated me. It was my biography neatly crammed into 4 minutes of emotional confession. Without quoting lyrics the song revolves around a man trapped in a prison of sin and being sure of his conviction and sentence to hell. I listened to the song over and over. "I created my own prison" played endlessly in my racing mind.

I felt sorry for myself and took a gulp. I realized I was a prisoner inside my own body and took another. I cried out to God as if to ask Him why He was putting me through this. He didn't answer me right then. Years later I found out that the song is actually about finding peace with God, not being trapped in the prison of our minds. On my wedding night I passed out in my car and headed back to the YMCA as dawn broke. If you have a moment, go to YouTube and enter Creed My Own Prison Lyrics. The pain I identified so perfectly with in that song was misinterpreted. It was just one more experience in my life when I chose pain instead of looking for hope.