Squeaky Speaks! Life with an Alcoholic....a Wife's Point of View!

Hey gang long time no blog. Well, this is it. My wife speaks! These are her words. I put her through hell and back. Let her tell you about it.

Hi, I'm Kris Connolly, also known as Squeaky. I’m not the writer in the family, that would be my husband and our oldest daughter. They’re writers.  I’m just a mom, a wife and a friend who’s been through some life.

I grew up with 2 parents (still married to this day!), 1 sister & 3 brothers. I guess you could say we had a kind of “Cleaver” life.  I grew up in Berwyn when everyone knew who everyone was and where your parents knew what you did before you even got home to deny it. Life was simple and easy. My dad has his own company so we were pretty spoiled. Mom didn’t like for us to stay out late so we were pretty naive. That was until we broke loose and discovered life; drinking, smoking & breaking curfew. I drank in high school, doesn’t everybody?  It’s a phase, right?  We didn’t have any alcoholics in the family.

Of course we pretty much had our share of strange relatives, as does every other family. We were able to drink wine on holidays, it was no big deal. We had a “friend” of the family who got blasted at every family function. He was a sloppy drunk and quite embarrassing. I later heard he had a drinking problem and started a recovery process. That was the first time I’d ever heard of people that could not stop drinking. Personally, drinking made me tired and slow. I had no use for it - and then there was prom night 1984. I had a few too many, got a little crazy with my boyfriend and 9 months later there was beautiful baby girl. Talk about growing up fast! 

 As a single teenage mother I didn’t have my "crazy" time until about 21. I had a good job working for Dad’s company. Every Friday night we would all go out to the local bar after work and there I met HIM, the “bad boy”. He was married, good looking, tattooed, rude and drunk. There was my chance to not be “Mom” and get crazy. I got loaded that night and did some things out of character. A year later I ended up marrying him. 

He had a drinking problem and I knew it from the start. I was just having fun until he told me he was getting divorced, because of me. Oh, great! I knew what he was, I heard about these “types” that drink all the time. One of my co-workers even went so far as to say he was an alcoholic. I was sure he drank because he was in a "bad marriage". Ok, I’ll marry him and he’ll be happy and not drink. I soon learned that anytime was “beer:30” in his world and it was always 5 o’clock somewhere. The drinking was insane and soon so was I.

On to plan B. Let’s have a baby! That will certainly make him stop! Shortly thereafter a beautiful baby girl was born, then a baby boy. I found myself alone, now raising 3 kids. He went out every night after work, came home so drunk he could barely crawl up the stairs. On to plan C. Let’s move and buy a house. Once he has an established home and family he will surely stop drinking. Well, that didn’t work either. His drinking escalated to the point of no return. We had knock down, full on fights. He could certainly throw a punch but my sober stamina and crazy Italian blood wouldn’t allow it. I knew he would eventually wear out and I would win. I only looked like I lost according to the police and E.R. doctors. Needless to say the marriage was over. I gave him one last chance, the booze or your family, and his exact quote to me was “You don’t want to hear my answer."

Fast forward about 5 years. I was working for a small export company that rented space from my sister's company. It was great to be in the same building with my family. I remember one day I was feeling very depressed and lonely.  I walked out into the main office and saw this strange fellow standing there.  He was dressed kind of messy and looked dirty. I figured he was one of the dock guys. He was wearing a stocking cap pulled down and the one thing I remember most were his awful looking sneakers! For some reason I found myself staring at him as he stood talking to someone. I saw a light around him, I guess you would call that his aura. I don’t even think he noticed me. I was frozen. I’ve never had anything like that ever happen to me. I remember asking his boss who he was. The boss told me “That’s Tom, the new guy.  Stay away from him, he’s trouble. He’s a recovering alcoholic." A WHAT? Recovering alcoholic? I’ve never heard of such a thing. I had no idea those even existed. That means they stopped drinking. How interesting.

I had to know this man. I would occasionally run into him outside for smoke breaks. We would sit on the stairs and talk about everything. I couldn’t let him know a part of me was fascinated with his “recovery." After all he didn’t know that I knew. I left to work for another company but we kept in touch. I remember the day he showed up at my new office and showed me his 6 month coin. He then shared his story with me about his past, his life and his future. I found myself falling in love with this man deep in my heart. The more I thought about it, the more I knew that this was God's way of putting him in my life. 

 We started having lunch dates, then after-work dates, then he moved in with us. At the time he was living at the YMCA. I couldn’t bear the thought and had to "save" him. I gave him an instant family and home. After two years we were married and sure to be the new “Cleavers”.

Over time I would notice him getting short tempered. I chalked it up to his Irish blood and went on with life. Eventually he met some of my co-workers. They were a younger bunch that liked to party and smoke the maryjane - everyday. Well, Tom thought that would help calm him down. I was all for it.  After all, he wasn’t drinking, right?  

I saw a new, calm man and was very happy with the results. I had no problem getting it for him since I had the hook ups. Then he started doing it every day. He was putting me in very uncomfortable situations. If my connections were dry, he would get very upset with me. I felt like I failed him. There were times we would drive 40 miles to a friends house to "score." Looking back, what was I thinking? I guess I’m what you call a "people pleaser."  I wanted my man to be happy, while making myself miserable. I found him taking other drugs. In my mind that was okay, he wasn’t drinking and booze was the monster I was most afraid of.

Eventually we had a house built and were the perfect couple living the American dream. I will never forget the day I came home from work and we were running out for a few grocery items. We were driving in the car and I thought I smelled booze. That’s one of those nasty things you don’t forget. I tried to make conversation with him but he would only nod and face the window when speaking to me. I must be crazy, there’s no way he would drink! He was a recovering alcoholic. They can’t drink, right? I dismissed it and didn’t say a word to him. The following day I came home from work and there was a six pack of beer on the table. I couldn’t understand. He said it wasn’t a problem to drink a few, that he would stop when he was done. I thought it was no big deal. Well, six turned into twelve, twelve turned into twenty-four. When that stopped working the hard liquor was next. When that wasn’t enough the pills and who knows what else was required. I found myself right back in the nightmare I was in from the beginning.

What the heck is wrong with me that I’m driving these men to drink? Maybe I work too much. Maybe my kids are driving him crazy. Soon I found myself watching him drink himself into oblivion every night. I would get up to check on him and usually find him laying on the floor somewhere (bathroom, dining room, kitchen). I would always make sure he was still breathing, mumble a few choice words under my breath and return to bed, angry. Very angry. On the few nights he would make it up to bed, I usually didn’t know until  morning when I would wake up soaking wet in his piss. Yeah, I’d say that’s a bad start to anyone's day.

I lived like that for a long time. Every night he was the meanest person on earth ridiculing me and the kids. He would throw my innermost secrets in my face. He would remind me on a daily basis that I was a complete failure as a wife and mother. I would wake up every morning very hurt. I started blaming myself until I started blaming him. Then it was all out warfare. I tried escaping and moving back to Mom’s. That was the day he tried to kill himself. I remember sitting in my mother's kitchen and talking to him on the phone thinking he’ll never go through with it. I was trying to be compassionate but all of my feelings were turning black. I was pissed that he would mess up the house. I was even more pissed that he didn’t have any life insurance, leaving me with nothing. In the back of my mind I thought that it would probably be the best thing for both of us.

Well, he called me the next morning. It wasn’t successful as I had planned.  He promised me the drinking was over. You see, if I had a dime for every time he said that to me, I wouldn’t have needed to think about life insurance because I would have been a millionaire. I ended up going back to him. It was like that move Groundhog Day where nothing changed. I was determined to find a reason to end this marriage. So I did what every good wife does and checked the Internet history. Bingo! I got you this time! Porn, really? Singles and dating sites, are you kidding me? Sending nasty messages to other women when you won’t even look at the one you’re sleeping next to? O.K, I’m done now! I can handle everything but cheating. He thought it was harmless. I saw the Internet trash as cheating. I was mentally exhausted and empty. I had to get out of there or go crazy with him. 

I started house hunting. I’m not sure how my husband found out (perhaps the Internet history) but he confronted me on it. We actually sat down and talked, like "big people" about what was going on. I told him I would no longer live like this and something to the effect that he was pathetic! Seems that out of all the things I had called him “pathetic” struck a nerve.

He started going back to recovery meetings and introduced me to some other spouses of alcoholics. Not only were the wives there, but there was a man too. I didn’t get it. Aren’t alcoholics only men? I was thrown into a world of people that had actually lived like me and thought like me. You mean this wasn’t a big secret we just lived with? I made a comment in a meeting about growing up in an Italian family. We’re born, baptized and immediately fitted with a set of blinders. We don’t talk about what goes on in our family with other people. After all, what will the neighbors think?

    

I can honestly tell you that this meeting was one of the best things that ever happened to me. These people loved their spouses so much that they were going to get “treated” for a problem that wasn’t even theirs? I don’t have a drinking problem. I don’t belong here and I certainly can’t talk about what goes on in my house. It only took a few turns around the table before I lost it.  They really did live and think like me. I’m not weak because I love this man and want him back. I’m human and I feel and I love. I can be weak. It’s okay to cry and share with other people. I’m not the only one in this situation. My problem was, I just didn’t know. I learned that alcoholism is a disease that cannot just be turned off because I want it to. I learned that my husband has to “want” to stop. It’s all up to him, NOT ME. 

 I learned that I need to pray. I need to thank God everyday for putting our family back together, for giving us strength to get through it together and for giving my husband the desire to quit drinking. I pray that we will never have to go through the misery and pain that alcohol has caused in our lives. I pray that my children saw and learned what addiction does to a family. I sometimes wonder why we had to go through that horrible chapter in our lives but then I would be questioning God. Our pastor once said "God never gives us more than we can handle."  Well, HE must think very highly of us. After all, God is the one that chose for me to see Tom's aura that day. I suppose we did it just the way HE planned. I hope HE’s pleased.

Today I look at my husband as a man. He's a man that I’m proud of and that I love being married to. I can’t imagine my life without him. I don’t want to give the impression that every day is roses and daisies but at least we can get through them together. To quote my husband “Every day is a gift." Thanks for letting me share.

Love

Squeaky

Sometimes Recovery Really Makes Me Want A Drink!

Based on the small number of reads I've had on my blog reflecting on how hard it is to forgive myself for my past, either it really sucked or it was avoided completely due to the subject matter. If you avoided it because it hit a nerve, I'll make sure I don't write about denial. If you are planning on reading it, and just haven't gotten around to it, a procrastination blog will send head your head spinning - someday.

This is blog 98 since I started it on December 13, 2010. 99 is going to be from my wife's perspective on her experiences living with me and her ex husband who also had drinking issues. Number 100 will be a summary, and then we'll see what happens. God will let me know how to proceed. It fascinates me that out of the 97 blogs I have written, and over 5000 reads in 60 days, that the comments have been about a dozen total. It shows me that people are interested in my experiences but don't want to be the one at the front of the classroom with a question.

If you ever need to reach out and don't want to comment, email me directly at tommyconnolly@att.net . I will do my best to share my experience with you and point you in the right direction to finding support. I will answer all emails to the best of my ability based on MY experiences with addiction and recovery. I am not a doctor. I'm a recovering drunk and addict. Admitting there's a problem is the first step in solving any crisis. The willingness to reach out for help is the wild card. Nobody wants to admit that they are out of control or risk being found out. Believe me, you're out. Addiction and recovery is a team effort, not a solo act.

I have written about being homeless and wanting to take my own life in my beautiful home. I have written about doing scenes with Jennifer Beals, William H. Macy and Kate Winslet. Through most of my addiction, I was just a working stiff. I was a functional alcoholic and addict. In using the word functional I am referring to the fact that I held a job, looked fairly normal, was a part of the family and put on one helluva show. I didn't get wasted until after work and on weekends. If I stood in a line-up of 10 people, and you were asked which one was the fall down drunk, I would probably be your tenth choice.

The first response an addict or alcoholic does when contemplating whether they have a problem is to look for all the differences in the stories they hear. Common thoughts amongst the alcoholic are "I never did that" or "I make a ton of dough and drive a nice car, drunks live in the gutter" or "I never got arrested." Some other "Top 10 drunk denial excuses" include: "I go to work every day", "I never had a DUI", "I can stop whenever I want to, I just don't want to", "If you had my life you would drink too", "I'm different!" Please let me make it clear that addiction doesn't care what you drive, wear, do for a living or if you are sipping the finest scotch or a bottle of Mad Dog.

Let me ask you a simple question. In the middle of the night have you ever considered that you may have a problem with alcohol or drugs or that you really need to cut back? I know you probably quickly dismissed it as being silly, but if the thought came to your mind EVER, that is a huge red flag. I have never sat watching "Ancient Aliens" and wondered if I was E.T.! If you have ever considered the POSSIBILITY of having a problem explore it now. All those things you "haven't done" are known in recovery as "YETS."

Addiction and alcoholism always progress. They never regress. Have you ever found yourself dreading a weekend barbecue at the home of a friend who doesn't serve alcohol? You probably politely declined the invitation or you had a few in you before you got there. That's what I did. Do you find yourself getting a little uncomfortable around someone you know who doesn't drink? I bet you didn't have that same feeling eating a Big Mac next to a chubby guy! These are warning flags.

Have you ever had a few drinks before a party so you could sip only a few once you got there so people didn't notice how much you drank? Have you told your wife the "half story?" This is a term I coined because if my wife came home and smelled beer on me and asked me how many I had I would quickly reply 3 when it was really 6. If I was ripped I would say I didn't eat anything all day and probably should have eaten before I drank. For those of you who drink vodka thinking it is odorless, it is as odorless as skunk roadkill!

Believe me when I tell you that I have lost everything, gained it back and nearly lost it all again due to booze and drugs. It is just a matter of time. Addiction is patient. It will wait for years being happy that you're drunk when it really wants you dead! By the time you get to the bitter end of abuse you will probably wish you were dead. My addiction made me question my sanity, marriage, jobs, opportunities and running away from it all. No matter where I run to, I am there to greet myself and my addiction is adaptable to any climate, occupation, relationship or rationality.

Today my wife smiles at me instead of avoiding me. My kids talk to me about anything without fear of me going off. My employers get my best everyday. Today I can look at that guy in the mirror and be okay with him. I used to hate looking at that empty shell that stared back at me every morning. Today I have friends in recovery I can call when I need help with a problem. The dope man and the liquor man didn't show up at my father's funeral but 23 people in recovery did. All of the things you think you have missed or regret are there waiting for you in sobriety. Why don't you give it a shot, instead of drinking another one?

Forgiveness is Easy! I Just Can't Forgive Myself! (STILL)

As part of my recovery as an alcoholic and addict, I've had to take a hard, honest look at the repercussions of my years of chemical abuse and take responsibility for the damage I have caused in my life and to those around me. Then, make reparations to those wronged.This honest review of where we hurt others is vital to recovery and is a bitter pill to swallow. No pun intended. The total domination of mind, body and soul that is demanded by addiction is centered in the self. Addiction survives through its ability to manipulate the self into serving only the needs of master addiction.

Addiction makes the user "self-ish." Although in the traditional definition we think of it as not sharing it is not the selfish I am referring to. Alcoholism and addiction creates a cycle where the abuser is in the middle of a high or drunk, planning the next high or recovering from the last one. Some of the "self" terms associated with addiction are self-centeredness, self-denial, self-justification, self-seeking, self-loathing and ultimately self destruction.

It doesn't mean we don't love or think of others. It means that our addiction is an unrelenting tyrant that only allows us to think of others if it fits into our cycle of using. Feeding the addiction comes first. Period. After that we can be a part of a family, friendship or any relationship. But as a normal person sits at a birthday party adoring the children at play, the addict is obsessing about the high they are on or the one they are looking forward to. Addiction creates a parallel universe of thought that runs along the side of reality.

In order to meet the demands our selfish tormenting master places on us, we lie, steal, manipulate, lash out, blame and create chaos for those around us. What appears to be, and what  is completely irrational behavior to a healthy minded person is normalcy to an addict. Addiction has its own set of moral code and behaviors to allow the addict to continue doing what they know in their soul is wrong. It is when we reach the end of the rope, and are willing to admit to defeat and surrender, that the healing begins.

If you are an addict, or newly in recovery the repairing of our past is not to be done alone. There are a few foundational principles to stabilize the base of our recovery before we set about making sense of the past. We have spent years avoiding responsibility and reality. Once sober, reality rushes in like water in a sinking boat and we are bombarded with emotions and feelings that we don't know how to process straight. These are not "I'm sorries" or "I promises." We have said those things hundreds of times. We have promised our love ones "never again" and come home ripped. When we make those cock sure pledges at breakfast we mean it. Then the obsession and slow drone of reasons to use for the day begin to chip away at us. We may give in on number 5 or 75. We get wasted then are  genuinely perplexed at how we broke the promise we made over coffee and donuts just hours before.
I have made most of my reparations to those I have hurt through my behaviors while trapped in addiction. Some have forgiven me, some have dismissed me and others have told me to stick it where the sun don't shine. All three are acceptable. The important thing is taking responsibility for my actions and experiencing the emotions of the confessional cleansing of our wounds and of the wounded. Some may become more responsive when they see we are sober, others may never forgive us because the damage was too deep. Some we will make reperations to for the rest of our sober lives. Some we avoid because it would be wrong to disrupt their lives with such damage. In those cases we try to make good in another area by proxy.

It is always important to remember that as addicts we want the world to judge us by our intentions. That is one of the delusions of addiction. The world judges us by our actions! In recovery our actions become positive and as we begin living right, those around us take note. In essence as we grow healthier, our loved ones grow healthier too. This is not in all cases. Some damage is beyond repair. The important thing is that we face that person and take ownership in our role in the relationship.

For the most part my experiences in making reparations has been pretty satisfying. For every person I have faced and confessed my wrongs to, some of the burden of the past is lifted from me and them. It is vital to remember that these repairs are not to be made if they cause further pain or injury to the person involved. It is not fair to heap new wounds upon those we have wronged in the past to achieve our own peace of mind. The one person whom I have had the hardest time making peace with is me.

Some of the other "self" emotions we experience are self-hate, self-criticism, self-loathing, low self-esteem and self-punishment. These are some of the emotions that fueled our addiction when using. I used for 28 years because I hated myself. I didn't know who I was and addiction made me unable to form and nurture healthy relationships. Once the anesthetic had been removed I was left with all of those feelings. Recovery is about lightening the burden of being who we were and are.

The ultimate goal is to make peace with the world and ourselves. When this peace starts to fill up our hearts, the urge to escape and use begins to disappear. The ultimate goal is to learn to love ourselves. It is hard to truly love another when we dislike ourselves so much. This is a problem I often struggle with. I have asked forgiveness from others and forgiven those who have harmed me. That is with the exception of one person. That person is me.

That is where recovery groups are vital to contented sobriety. On the outside I appear very confident, some would say cocky. I don't disagree with either assessment. I use a strong personality on the outside to mask the fear and inferiority complex that is the real me. I act like I'm together while inside I often feel like I am falling apart. Recovery groups give me hope and they love and care about me unconditionally. That is the beauty of recovery. We love each other until we love ourselves.

I don't wake up in the morning and look in the mirror and say to my self, "Tom, I love you!" I hope to get to that point someday. I am however, comfortable in my own skin now. The 28 years of negative thinking I endured is going to take some time to eliminate. I can say with a grateful heart that recovery has brought me to a place where I am comfortable hanging with me. By helping others in recovery I know I am doing something good and that makes me feel good. Although I don't gaze in the mirror and smile at the cool cat looking back at me, at least I can look in the mirror and see a changing man.

There was a time when I would look in the mirror one time a day. That was usually to see how horrible I looked from the previous night's drunk or high. I used to avoid eye contact with people or look at the ground while I was in a crowd. All of that is gone now. I can look in a mirror and see that I'm growing. I am learning to like myself. Love may or may not come. I can walk down the street with my head held high and look any man straight in the eye. Recovery is a marathon, not a sprint. It takes time to fix a completely shattered soul.

As long as I stay connected to recovery, recovery groups and keep my faith in God's strength and guidance, I will continue to grow. If I go back to listening to my own crazy thinking I will end up right back where I started which is miserable, drunk and hopeless. I have a choice not to get high or drunk today. That is by the grace of God and recovery groups. It wasn't very long ago that I had no choice as to whether I would use or not. I was a slave. Today I have a choice but for the grace of God! He has forgiven me. I know it's only a matter of time before I forgive me too in God's time...

The Thought of Dying Scares Me to Death!

The title of this blog sums it up. I have had a near death experience and it was indescribable. I have prayed to die, many times, when I was lost in addiction and alcoholism. My experience with panic attacks put me in the hospital three times. All three incidents made me feel like I WAS dying. I have drank enough alcohol to be in a clinical coma with a 33% blood alcohol level and rolled my car end over end four times. I could have been killed or killed someone else.

 I have been with a loved one when they took their last breath. I have had dogs put down and had the undesirable power of their life or death in my hands. I know it's inevitable. I know I'm going to heaven. It is the physical part of the deal that kills me! The uncertainty of when it is going to happen is nerve wracking. I often wonder if I would be happier knowing when it was coming or get one last surprise at the end of my ride. I don't know which it will be. I don't have much say in the matter.

Death is a subject people just don't talk about. We talk about those who have passed after the fact. The topic of our own mortality rarely comes up unless we are faced with an accident or terminal illness. I think about it a lot. I won't say obsessively but being a wee bit of a hypochondriac makes the subject roll around in my head more than the average bear. When I pull a muscle in my back or my arm spasms I am instantly catapulted into "The end is near mentality." It may seem silly but I think we all ponder it sometimes and just don't let it out. When I go in for a teeth cleaning I say a prayer of confession and ask God to save a place for me in paradise. I know I'm an extreme case but I know we all do it at times.

When I was young I thought everyone lived to around 90 and then died in their sleep. Man, I wish that simple childish theory was the case. I thought I was indestructible climbing trees and doing goofy stunts. Broken arms came to mind but permanent exit was never really a consideration. When I turned 17 and started abusing alcohol and drugs I still thought I was Iron Man. Then I moved the number to 40. I thought that 40 years of fast living was enough for me and I would be ready to check out. God knows I was committing suicide slowly, an inch at a time from the substances I punished my mind and body with.

My grandfather died at 39 and my stepfather at 42. Based on genetics, I figured, and the skip a generation theory I was gonna be right on the money with my age of 40 cutoff. Most of my relatives died in their late 70's and older. When I was young that was like, a million. No problem! Now that I am 45 the definition of being old bar keeps sliding to the right. 50 is around the corner, 60 is still pretty young, 70 is getting up there, 80 is a decent life and by 90 I probably would think I was 12 again so that's not an issue.

I find it funny that I used to pump my fist and sing "Hope I die before I get old!" Now I carry a low dose aspirin in my pocket that I can chomp on if I have a grabber. I really do! I used to laugh at those chairs that take you to the second floor on a little rail. Now I see those commercials and think that would really be comfortable. The scooters! Oh, the scooters. To me that is like a go kart for old people. Even if I live into my 80's and am in great shape, I am still getting the scooter. I'm going to put a basket on the front to carry my stuff and put one of those long orange flags on the back like I used to have on my bike.

As I get more sober and see how much I have missed from the memory loss that accompanies substance abuse, it makes me want to live more and fear death even more. I want to see my grandkids and play the Ramones for them and teach them to play baseball. I want to retire and have the focus of my day be on whether I should make a pot pie or have some Raisin Bran. I want my biggest decision of the day to be choosing between reruns of "Sanford and Son" or "Rescue Me."

The bottom line is we don't know when IT'S going to happen. I just don't want it to hurt! I just don't want any of my loved ones to see it happen. I just don't want it to be when my car is in front of a girlie bar, leaving my wife to wonder if I kicked before or after I went in. I make light of a subject that really does occupy some of my thoughts. Ultimately I just don't want to be a burden on my wife. If I don't know who I am or who she is and can't take care of myself, just whack me. Consider this a legal document. Kick out the plug. At the memorial service tell a funny story about me. Don't cry. I'll be moving on to paradise.

Time really does fly as you get older. At 45 it is zooming buy! At 65 I might have to wear a helmet and goggles to protect my head from getting hit by the time flying by. At 75 I will risk the injury. At 85 I will be grateful for the run. At 90 I think I'll be tired enough to welcome the idea. It is all up to the big guy.

I do know this. Every Day is a GIFT! The other day I heard a woman on TV say that as long as she is walking on this earth God has something for her to do. I like that. I will help my fellow man in between the pot pie and Sanford and Son. I do live my life to the fullest. I do live each day like it may be my last. I try to leave each person I encounter on a good note. I will help people in recovery as long as I can, I will make people laugh as l am funny and I will give thanks each morning when I know I have been granted one more TODAY!

Life with a Drunk or Addict Makes You Feel Like Damaged Goods!

I have spent a lot of time sharing stories about my experiences with the destruction that I created while drinking and using. I grew up in an environment where alcohol was always in the picture so I see things from both perspectives. I have only briefly touched on my wife's feelings trying to deal with my self-destruction and the personal hell that loved ones go through living with addicted people. Yesterday I learned a lot more about her turmoil and frustrations that I was responsible for creating. Two incidents that occurred during the day gave me a direct line into what she was thinking and how she felt during my "lost moments." She has also promised to write a blog aimed directly at those who suffer along with the active user.

I spent my tender years with 3 heavy drinkers. Whether they were alcoholic is not for me to determine. That condition has to be determined by the user themselves. I do remember that I felt like I was always dealing with multiple personalities. I was never sure what "mood" the drinkers in my life would be in and had to be ready to morph into whatever character would upset them the least. I spent my time walking on egg shells and felt deep dread when I stood at the door wondering which personality would be waiting on the other side.

For some strange cosmic reason people who grow up around substance abuse, or over use, are attracted to friends and lovers who suffer from the same conditions. You would think that we would run away from people like me. Before I became an active alcoholic and addict I knew that I was drawn to troubled people. I felt as though I could save them. I felt helpless around my loved ones who "relaxed" too much. So I made it my personal goal to find someone I could "fix." I wanted to save every man, woman, child, dog and a few cats from having to deal with people like the one I became. I inevitably found myself with people who were emotionally unavailable and treated me like crap. Feeling like crap was normal to me and somewhere along the line I concluded that this is what I deserved.

 I was also drawn to the seemingly healthy minded so that I could seek out their flaws and exploit them through criticism and hurtful words. The thought of someone living in a well-adjusted, healthy world was impossible for me to grasp. They had to be faking it. I took the time to find something wrong and point out where the defects were. It made me feel somehow vindicated to tear down people to my level of pain. Even if I had to manufacture it. I sought out healthy people because I was jealous of their well adjusted behavior and felt the need to show them what "real life" was like, that dysfunction was the norm and the apparently well-adjusted were hiding something.

Yesterday Squeaky and I went to a recovery meeting that focuses on relationships. The people who attend are couples that have one person with addiction issues and their significant other. There are also husbands and wives of alcoholics and addicts who were enablers or caught in the cross hairs of the wrath an addict spews at the innocent while they're under the influence. It is the bringing together of the perpetrators and the victims to discuss recovery. Those who love us addicts and alcoholics need and have their own place to heal and vent and get well. I am glad they have these places.

I was a blackout drinker and don't remember many of the things I said or did under the influence. My wife has it worse because she remembers it all. The unreachability, indifference, anguish, helplessness and insecurity of living with an active user creates severe damage to the spectators who have to sit and watch their loved one self-destruct and possibly take them down with them. My wife and some other spouses of alcoholic addicts spoke up about their feelings and accounts of life with an addict. It really opened my eyes. Later in the evening my eyes were opened even more.

I had never considered many of the daily experiences and work that goes into living with an active addict. As a proud Italian, my wife was standing by her man. While I was unraveling she was following behind me rolling up the string of damage I was creating. She was the actor, not me. She had to put her game face on when I didn't show up for family functions or concoct stories to cover for the fact that I was home in bed with yet another brutal hangover. Anger and the discomfort of wondering"What would the the neighbors think?" or "What am I gonna tell Ma this week?" were always facing her. There was the reassurance to the kids that everything would be alright. It was a grand charade that required constant attention, planning, lies, stories and cover-ups on a colossal stage.

She made the comment of feeling like "damaged goods." Her remark hit me like a right hook. While I was going crazy the dedication to our marriage was a constant burden and made her begin to feel as if she was going crazy too. She felt like something was wrong with her, realizing she found herself in a second relationship where alcohol issues were prominent. When I stopped drinking a whole new set of emotional landmines went off around her.

How could a bunch of drunks and junkies keep me sober and she couldn't? There was resentment that I spent so much time with people in recovery after leaving her feeling abandoned for so long. What had she done wrong? The answer is nothing. Addicted people need the help of those who are recovering from addiction. The spouses of the addict need to spend their time with other spouses of addicts. They are both vital to the recovery of the family. If you are an addict and you say you're not hurting anyone but yourself, you're not fooling anybody but yourself. My sickness made everyone sick. My recovery is helping every one recover.

I have recounted times when I wet the bed after drinking too much. My wife endured every painful moment of those disturbing incidents. Trapped in my addiction I was able to justify it and just fixed it by scrubbing the bed. I never realized that our bed wasn't covered with fancy pillows and comforters for a reason. There was. My wife didn't want me to ruin such beautiful things with my late night loss of bladder control.

On the anniversary of my 6th month of sobriety my wife was going to let me buy a drum set, a passion I had in high school. She was glad to have her husband back and eager for me to find new habits to replace the old ones. On the way to the drum store we passed a mattress shop. My selfish side left me at just the right moment and God steered me to the mattresses, not the drums. She picked out the bed she wanted. I could see the happiness in her eyes and relief that the old mattress could be erased from our lives forever. We got our new mattress and today it has pretty pillows and comforters. It is amazing that since I have stopped drinking my bladder control problems have disappeared. It must be the new bed.

A few weeks ago we got our fourth dog. Her name is Fiona Apple Schmutzy Connolly. She is a puppy and full of life. That is a nice way of saying she is a typical puppy and out of her mind. We have been allowing her to sleep on the bed with us and Gracie, our other Pekingese-Chin dog. We enjoy having them up there with us and it keeps "The Schmutz" out of trouble while we sleep. We had settled into bed with our canine companions and I went down stairs for something to drink.

My wife gets mad but usually not loud. As I sipped some Kool-Aid I heard some very bad words coming from upstairs and a teeth gritted command for Fiona to flee the area for her own safety and well being. I flew up the stairs and found Fiona, head down, knowing she had done something wrong and my wife bundling up the pretty bedding. Right between our two pillows was a wet spot. Schmutzy had peed the bed. I yelled at the puppy and took her outside. We do not believe in corporal punishment for our kids or animals. My tone let Fiona know she had made the pack leaders very unhappy. I am the Irish "Dog Whisperer."

At that instant I felt what my wife had felt so many times after dealing with me when I was doing the Fiona-act. She felt angry, violated, inconvenienced and pissed that her beautiful bed had been soiled. I quietly helped unmake and remake our bed and comforted my wife. I expressed to her that I now knew what it must have felt like dealing with that from a grown man. I told her I would do the laundry in the morning and relax. She put her head back down on her pillow and I stroked her hair. She really likes that. Today the sheets are clean and Fiona seems to have learned a lesson, but then again she is a puppy.

What I learned is that all the lying, manipulating, controlling and covering that I did when using, planning on using, or recovering from using is not exclusive to the drunk or addict. Our loved ones have their own hell to face and games to play. I am grateful that my wife didn't leave me. I see her strength and it makes me love her more. I know the I'm sorry's I spit out like sunflower seed shells while drunk won't cut it anymore. I show my sorrow by being a good husband, friend and father daily to the best of my ability. I won't do it perfectly but I will try my best. I drank for 20 years. I won't fix everything I broke in 2 years. It is a daily repair job, like staying sober a day at a time.

For those of you who suffer with an addict or alcoholic, thanks for all you do and endure. We don't mean to hurt you and the sickness of addiction doesn't afford us the ability to see the destruction we leave in our wake. There are lots of support groups out there. Find one for yourself and your sanity. I am not telling you to stay with or leave a person who is in the grips of addiction. That is a difficult decision each person must face. The one thing I want all spouses, loved ones and friends to know about addiction is that it's NOT YOUR FAULT WE ARE DRUNKS OR ADDICTS! Understanding that is your first step to recovering you.

When I Think About My Insomnia... I Don't Sleep A Wink!

It's 2:58am in Plainfield. I have been up since 2am. I was laying in bed thinking about getting up since 1:15am. I went to bed at 11:15pm. What I'm trying to say is that I suffer from insomnia. When I think about it, I can't sleep a wink. I've suffered from it for as long as I can remember. It has been at least 12 years, but more likely longer than that. To top it off my body clock wakes me up at 3:46am everyday. Even if I go to bed at midnight! I don't need an alarm clock, it's automatic!

My wife gets up at 4am for work Monday through Friday. I started getting up with her years ago so we could have some time in the morning to be alone before the hustle and bustle of life took us in our separate directions. On the weekends she sleeps in until about 8am. Me? Heck no! I am still up at 3:46am seven days a week. What I wouldn't do to be able to sleep until 8am. I might as well be dreaming about closing for the White Sox because that's just not the way my body works.

As a kid the only times I had trouble sleeping was either on Christmas Eve or the night before I was going to pitch in a baseball game. It wasn't too long ago that I would drink 20 or so beers and I would still wake up at 3:46am. That's enough alcohol to knock out a sperm whale but not me. It didn't matter how much I took or drank, I would still be up before the crack of dawn. Maybe I'll get a job as a paperboy. That seems to me to be the only job where a 3:46am wake up routine would be useful.

I've heard a lot of alcoholics and addicts have sleeping problems. Using chemicals was our knock out formula. When that is taken away there's no more knock out. During the day I take a couple of "power naps" for about 30 minutes each day to make it through the daylight hours. My dad taught me the magic of the power nap when I was about 12. I love them. The fact that I lived in my car for a couple years helped also. I can take a power nap anywhere, anytime.

It's almost 3:30am so I have 16 minutes before my body would be waking me on any other day so I might as well roll with it now. 3 of my 4 dogs get up with me in the middle of the night. My 12 year old Yellow Lab, "Cooter," doesn't get up. She could sleep through a home invasion. Whoever started using the word "dog" as an insult must have had a bad one because I would change places with any of my dogs in a heartbeat. Sleep, play, sleep, eat, sleep, go out, clean your naughty bits, sleep...all sounds like heaven to me.

When I was drinking I would be spending the time I am using now to clean up pee from my bed or come to in the middle of our family room. Sometimes I would even wake up in the bathroom naked, puke all over the place and not knowing how I ended up there. I am so thankful those days are gone. They will stay gone if I stay connected to God, people like me and am honest with myself about what and who I am. I better start wrapping this thing up, my body clock is going to wake me in 9 minutes.

Now I spend this time corresponding with people who connect with me concerning addiction or depression issues. I prayed that when I started this blog I would be able to connect with people like me and share their pain and give them some hope that they can make it through anything, a day or minute at a time. In the last 48 hours I have had 2 people approach me about recovery and dealing with depression. I am grateful that God has allowed me to be a channel for hope and faith in a new way of life to help them find their way.

With each new day, when someone reaches out to me and tells me I am helping them or others with their own struggles, it makes the insomnia okay. I live my life free of guilt, shame and remorse now. In the two months I have been writing, God has spoken through me to give an encouraging word or just help someone through a crazy day. Sometimes it stresses me out and I feel overwhelmed. It is nothing like the continuous assault on my sanity that alcohol created.

We are all messengers of God. I mean the Great Spirit, not a God of a particular color or shape. My human mind can't quantify the concept of God. I do know it is centered in love. We all can spread a little love in this world. So as you get up today and are sipping your morning coffee, or eating your dinner on the other side of the world, try an experiment for me. Say or do something centered in love for everyone you meet or see. To the people we live with greet them with a pleasant "Good Morning!" or compliment them on something.

I know when I lend a hand or a shoulder to cry on, when I just listen or be there for someone I feel better knowing I am making them feel better. It doesn't take a lot of effort or time. The positive energy or love of God is contagious. It is not denominational or exclusive. We all have the ability to change a dark moment into a sunny one for each other every day. When people reach out to me and say I have said or done something to help them, or when they say nothing at all and I see hope growing in their eyes it makes my past worth it.

 If I do not share the gifts and blessings that god has chosen to give me through grace, I just might lose it all. Try my experiment. I guarantee it will make you feel better about you knowing you have made someone feel better about themselves. Give it a shot. You won't be sorry. It's 4:15am. I better get my day started. Hey! A smile goes a long way. Let the experiment begin!

BLUE......An Addict or Depression Sufferer's Favorite Color!

Just leave me alone! I just want to be alone. I need some time to myself. I'm just gonna chill tonight. I'm just tired today. I don't want to talk about it right now. There's nothing wrong, I just want to be by myself. All of these are favorites I use on family, friends and loved ones when I am in a depression. It is also a warning sign or a cry for help from someone suffering from depression or addiction and recovery.

"9 out of 10 addicts and depression sufferers' favorite color is BLUE! The last one's favorite is dark blue!" For the last week or so my favorite color has been BLUE. If I don't stop isolating, it will quickly turn to DARK BLUE! Then I am in the danger zone. There is quiet solitude and there is also intentional isolation. Suffering from both depression and addiction, isolation is the first "friend" I turn to when I'm feeling BLUE.

Suffering from depression really makes me sad sometimes. It is particularly frustrating when someone says "Why are you so down?" and I honestly don't have an answer for them. There is no answer because I don't know myself. A person with depression can be sitting on their own private island, with a winning lottery ticket and Beyonce rubbing their feet and feel like crap. Depression is misunderstood by the sufferer and those around him.

Before I started writing this blog today I did some Internet research on "famous" people who suffered from depression or other forms of mental illness. I hate that phrase MENTAL ILLNESS! It implies that my brain has typhoid fever or malaria and I'm going to spread it around the whole village or go postal and wipe everyone out! No! I have a "chemical imbalance" in my noodle. The feel good chemicals up there just aren't produced as effectively in me as in "normal" people. Can I stop and say that "normal" people scare the hell out of me? I always think they're hiding something, like bodies under their family room.

I always hear things like "You're so funny, how can you be sad?" My favorite is,"How can you be a comic and suffer from depression?" Those questions make me cringe because my guess is as good as yours. Try these ones on for size. Jim Carrey suffers from depression and Bi-Polar Disorder. Additional "funny people" who suffer from some form of depression are Drew Cary, Robin Williams, Ben Stiller, Drew Barrymore, Tracy Ullman, Roseanne Barr, Spike Mulligan, Jonathon Winters and Louis Anderson. The Louis Anderson "funny" reference is subject to reader interpretation.

"Funny people" aren't the only high profile people who suffer from these conditions. It has no prejudice or favorite "type" to grab on to. Beethoven, Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Edison, Teddy Roosevelt, Vincent Van Gogh and my favorite Beatle, John Lennon, all suffered with depression issues. There were a total of 244 people listed on the celebrity menu of depression sufferers which I am referencing from Google. Those folks seemed to get around it and push forward. That is what we must do also. It does give me some comfort in knowing that there is a thin line between artistic genius and insanity. I'm not sure which side of that equation I fall. It just feels good knowing that I'm not alone.

"Alone!" "Now there's the rub!" When I am in a funk I want to be left alone. During those down times, while you see sunshine, I complain about the glare. Where you see a beautiful snow covered hill, I see the filthy slush on my street. While you see the wonders of the Chicago skyline, I see the garbage in the alleys. The need to be alone occasionally is important for anyone. To a person like me it can only be implemented for a short time or I will slip from "light blue" to "Dark Blue" to BLACK.

Nothing gets me out of a depression or funk better than forgetting about myself. Sitting alone listening to John Coltrane seems like a good idea but it leaves me alone with me! I have proven to myself over and over again that there are few things in this world that I can overcome ALONE. In recovery it means attending more recovery meetings and calling fellow addicts. It means turning off the Coltrane and turning up the Ramones! It means taking an interest in things outside of my mind intentionally. Sometimes I have to force it. I have to make myself engage with other people.

Knowledge is power, so I've heard, and by golly I believe it! As addicts and/or depression sufferers we tend to focus on the emotional side of our condition and try to figure ourselves out. I have made it my mission to learn about my conditions from a medical and psychologically objective point of view. The more I know about why I tick the way I do, the easier it is to push past the funk. I used to analyze myself to death. Now, knowing the symptoms, triggers and SOLUTIONS to dealing effectively with my conditions, makes it easier to be me. I can experience negativity or downward depression and be confident that it is going to pass. I don't have to buy into the "woe is me" mentality and go for the whole miserable depressive ride!

Surrender and acceptance of exactly who I am is the start to making peace with my conditions. I am not a crazy drunken baby anymore. I am a person who suffers from a chemical imbalance which I see a doctor for. I take medication to rebalance the chemicals in my melon. I go to places where there are other people just like me, who understand me and can help me through situations I can't handle alone. I have a family, loved ones and friends who I can share my feelings with. I have a God whom I can turn to at anytime and ask him to help me through whatever I am experiencing and be confident that he will show me the way through it. Every obstacle and challenge I face no longer has to be a catastrophe as long as I am willing to reach out for help from someone else.

Husbands and The Hardware Store Fantasy Girl!

In my other chapters I have recounted the previous 3 marriages I had prior to Squeaky. In those three failed marriages, I was lost in alcoholism, addiction and undiagnosed depression. They were doomed to fail. I give God most of the credit for my successful marriage to Kris (Squeaky). The rest of the credit goes to her. She dealt with my insanity, mood swings, unreachability, selfishness and indifference. I would have left me a long time ago. She saw through the madness, into my soul and saw there was an actual decent human being in there. I am eternally grateful to God for putting us together and to her for not letting us fall apart.

I love my wife and am as happily married as is humanly possible. I will be with her for the rest of whatever life God gives us. I can honestly say that my wife is my friend. I never feel the need to get away from her. There is nothing another woman could give me that Squeaky doesn't give me already. Our kids see our friendship and love and I am glad they understand the difference. It is easy to fall in love with someone you can't stand. Love is perfect when it is matched with soul connection and a friendship that is man and wife and much more.

That being said we are both still human. The song "I only have eyes for you" is absolute crap unless you are blind. As a man I see women who are attractive. As a woman my wife sees men who are attractive. It is how we react to these "visual distractions" that make for harmony or hell raising. I remember in the crazy days when a pretty woman walked across the room my eyes would follow her all the way along her trip. I had no respect for my wife's feelings. I thought it was harmless but that is from a Neanderthal Man point of view. Women seem to take a quick look at a handsome man and instantly return to whatever they were doing.

My wife and I have 2 ways of dealing with opposite sex attraction. The first is the "3 second rule." Each of us is allowed to take note of the pleasant looking subject for 3 seconds and then reconnect to each other. The second is "compliment code." My wife thinks Andy Garcia is a dream. When he comes on screen she'll say, "He is a very good actor." That's my cue. She thinks he's handsome without her gawking at the screen and shouting, "huma-huma-huma!" When I see Neve Campbell I comment that, "She is a very good actress." Message sent we move on.

My wife is actually a master of cooling my visual libido the older I get. Women are cunning like that. If I see an actress like Megan Fox on the screen and comment on her acting ability, my wife is quick to point out that she is the same age as our oldest daughter. This response sends me from intrigued to disgusted with myself when I realize the actress is practically a kid. Having a daughter that is 25 and 18 wipes out alot of the talent pool. My comments on the attractiveness of Diane Keaton is welcomed by my wife and a cute agreement with my assessment.

Men also secretly want to have women find them attractive. Although happily married, it is an ego feeding proposition to consider that a Barbie-like woman finds us middle aged dads attractive. It is not something you dwell on but it sits in the back of our thick male skulls. The funny part is how we react as men when one of these Barbie-like youngsters seem to take an interest in us.

Last summer I was doing some work around the house. I needed some WD40 and some other miscellaneous hardware items. Dressed in my Van Morrison tee shirt and some dirty cargo shorts, I made my way to the local box hardware emporium. I went from aisle to aisle hunting and gathering the items I needed to complete my "Honey Do List." I moved quickly like I was on a recon mission. I like to get in and get out. I'm not the type of guy to browse around the store.

At the back of the sore, as I picked up my last item, I turned from the shelf and found myself face-to-face with a 20-something Barbie. I was not in the 3 second check mode. I wanted to get home and complete my projects. As I started toward the middle aisle she stepped in front of me and said "You have a Van Morrison shirt on." I looked down and saw she was correct and commented that my wife and I had just seen him on his last tour. I am a music audiophile. I can talk music all day, no ulterior motive needed.

She took another step toward me and said "I really like Van Morrison," twisting back and forth like the bad girl from Catholic school. I was taken off guard a bit and politely mumbled "Yeah, he's the Belfast Cowboy. Ireland's Bob Dylan." I was turning away and it happened. Her next comment was not what one would call Christianly. Looking me right in the eye she cooed "The only thing I like more than Van Morrison is YOU!"

My hands trembled as I unlocked my car and dove into the drivers seat. I hunched down thinking she might have followed me out the door. What a goof! Like she knew what car I was driving! I snapped up my cellphone and called my wife. Her voice was like "glue" in the game of tag I found myself in the middle of. I explained the whole thing to her and she LAUGHED. I was shaken silly by the experience and she thought it was a riot. Now I felt emasculated by not only the terror I faced with Barbie, but how my wife took the final slice at me with her amusement at the whole episode.

To this day we laugh at the story. I do not go back to that box store. I have found another one. I have radar to make sure only hardware store stereotypes help me. I had been faced with the ultimate middle aged fantasy. Of course some flirting or chest puffing conversation would have been harmless. NOPE! I ran to the car and hid, afraid that Barbie was gonna catch me, trembling like a child. The fantasy was over.

Squeeze the Trigger... or Walk Away...

It's been a few days since my trip to the dentist and the pain is easing. I am getting back to my grateful, hopeful, yet cynical self. I have landed a small role in the Joliet Drama Guild production of "Meet My Husbands."  I am grateful for the opportunity. My blog was also voted one of the "Top 100 Addiction Blogs" online. That is a trip. But for the grace of God, there go I. I give the credit to God, my recovery friends and those of you who inspire me to continue with sharing my life story.

We all know what the trigger on a gun is. It is the lever we squeeze that causes the gun to fire. To an addict a trigger is similar to that of a gun. It can have the same consequences of destruction or or even death. One of The American Heritage Dictionary definitions of a trigger is "An action that precipitates another." For the gun, the pulling of the trigger precipitates the discharge of the weapon. What happens after the gun has been fired is the wild card.

In recovery, active addiction "triggers" are emotional, physical, visual, auditory, or psychological cues that make us want to use, or remind us of when we used. In simple terms when you smell chocolate chip cookies being baked you suddenly have the urge to eat one. As addicts we have used in so many places and under so many circumstances that almost anything can be a trigger. When I would keep my mind and finger on that trigger long enough I eventually found the denial and justification to squeeze it. Then it was off to the races.

As you move into recovery it becomes a daily practice to recognize our triggers and stay away from them, or at the very least, not to dwell on them. Sometimes they are unavoidable but get easier to dismiss as we grow in sobriety. Getting high doesn't start at the crack of a can or the opening of a bag. It begins earlier in the mind. Addiction is a mental compulsion, obsession and allergy that becomes "The Trilogy of Terror." As a matter of fact my addiction used to chase me like that little demon Indian who chased Karen Black around her house with that tiny knife in the 1970's movie, "Trilogy of Terror."

As a comedian and actor I am faced with booze, drugs and temptation whenever I work. The final film shot of a day on set is called "The Martini Shot." It is a cue that the day is over and time to relax. In comedy clubs booze is where the money is made. Drugs are a part of the background scene and all the other "stuff" that happens there are work hazards I face regularly. It is vital to state that my sobriety level is strong enough to handle the situation. If you are new to sobriety, hanging out at the bar sipping a Coke or chilling with your boys while they roll one up is an invitation to disaster. All such situations should be discussed with your mentor FIRST. My work is in these places. I have a reason to be there and I have the tools to combat any strange urge that comes my way.

What? I have urges? Heck yeah! If you played hockey for 25 years and retired, the occasional thought of those good ol' days on the ice pop in your head every once in a while. The hockey player doesn't grab his skates and head for the stadium. When an addict is in recovery we need to find new thinking to slide into when the bad thoughts linger. I would be a liar if I didn't say that when a TV commercial for some new fangled blue vodka that turns yellow when you mix it with a lime, the thought crosses my mind that that might be tasty. But I let it go.

I know if I drank the blue vodka shown in the happy love-filled party scene, I would drink it all and search out more. It's not number 43 that gets me drunk. It's number 1! If I avoid 1 I don't have to worry about 43. Active addicts and alcoholics have the ability to tune into the fun parts of the high and dismiss the horror that surrounds the during and aftermath of using. That is one of the mysteries of addiction. In recovery we think about the fights, DUI's, pee pee pants, fights and misery. That keeps us sober. We flip the fantasy of using into the reality of the disasters that occur once we pick up.

The other night I did a comedy gig on the West Side. This is an old school tavern with great food and filled to the rim with tough, no nonsense working folks. I went out for a smoke break because it was an "Open Mic." That means lots of comics and a long night. As I stepped outside to prepare for my set I smelled the burning of that old natural, God created, grown like corn, non-addictive, good for your eyes aroma of weed. I took a couple drags of my smoke and went back inside.

The crowd was drunk and tough on every comic. I ended up in a fight on stage with a heckler and cut my set short. I was pissed off. I went outside to regain my composure and have another smoke. One again, I smelled the burning of that old natural, God created, grown like corn, non-addictive, good for your eyes aroma of doobage. I took a couple more drags of my smoke and watched them with curiosity. I returned to my can of Coke and watched the next 4 or 5 comics.

By now the place was packed and I couldn't breathe so I went out back to get some fresh air. Once again, I smelled the burning of that old natural, God created, grown like corn, non-addictive, good for your eyes aroma of mary jane. I smoked my cigarette and made small talk and then it happened. The average earthling has about 6 or 7 thoughts swirling in their minds at once. An addict has 6 to 700. Our minds work on warp speed. They asked me if I wanted some. My whole life of homelessness, addiction, pain, happiness, hope and fear flamed through my melon in a split second.

If I took a hit no one would know. Right? Wrong! I would. It was all natural and not full of preservatives right? WRONG! I politely declined and did not return outside again. The difference in that split second of CHOICE, for a using addict and recovering addict, is the key to happiness or misery. Back in the day I would have hit the joint and then went in and bought a beer. Recovery has taught me I can never use chemicals safely like normal folks. It is an impossibility. I may be able to control it for a short time but it will return with greater destruction than ever.

I see the beauty and serenity of sobriety in life now. There was a time when I thought living sober was NOT possible. I have gotten my family and respect back. I have begun an exciting career in show biz, and most importantly, I wake up being okay with me. It is hard to live inside yourself when you hate yourself. Sobriety removes that hate and replaces it with self respect and love for others. That dark hole I tried to fill with booze and dope and escape has been filled with faith, friendship and hope. I wouldn't trade my sobriety for all the God created, grown like corn, non-addictive, good for your eyes grass in the world.

I Hate Clowns, Bats and DENTISTS, I'm Not a Hypochondriac Drama Queen!

Alright I have shared with you my phobia list in past chapters. By order of ranking, for those scoring at home, number one is clowns. Number two is bats. Number 3, with a bullet, is Dentists. My sister Chris has labeled me a hypochondriac. My wife has labeled me a "drama queen." I feel that these descriptions are slanderous generalities. I am merely convinced that I have "monsters inside me" and a trip to the dentist may be my last gasping moments as I shuffle from this Mortal Toil. That sounds normal to me.

In the idyllic village of Mokena there was one dentist in town while I was growing up. His name was Dr. Killian, a moniker that fit him to a T. I remember my first dentist trip like it happened a half an hour ago. I have a big mouth. We all know that. Structurally my mouth is very small. As Dr. Killian entered the office with his neatly parted hair and white smock, I couldn't help but notice he had huge hands! I am talking hands like those plastic "Incredible Hulk" slip ons kids wear. The only difference was Dr. Killian's hands were white not green, and they didn't slip off, exposing wee tiny hands underneath.

For those of you who love Dr. Killian, I salute you. It is possible that my perceptions were slightly altered. From the moment he hovered over my pint sized choppers, I was convinced that he was a Russian operative there to extract information from me about my candy and sugar intake, by any means necessary. He had a sterile, neatly organized set of shiny tools on a silver tray, ranging from simple mirrors and picks to the "jaws of death." He could extract my tooth or remove the crushed roof from a mangled Pinto, with the tools splayed out before me.

As he checked and stretched my mouth there were simple instructions for me to follow. They were "open" and "bite down." These are easy to follow dog-like commands, but I was a psychological wreck and obviously being monitored by the Kremlin. At one point he asked me to "open" and I misunderstood it for "bite down." His commands became louder and more concise as I was tortured. By inflicting pain upon his Hulky finger he was going to exact his revenge on American freedom, via my mouth. I felt as though Sir Laurence Olivia was standing over me and I was Dustin Hoffman in the "Marathon Man."

This experience actually bothered me so much that I didn't go back to the dentist until I was 18. I had no problem with bad teeth. It wasn't slowing Great Britain or Ireland down and I thought the banjo playing kid in "Deliverance" was kinda cute. I did take care of my crooked teeth and was thrilled when my trip resulted in only 3 cavities. I do not remember the name of the second Mokena dentist but I found his bedside manner much more pleasant. I don't mean pleasant like Carol Brady checking on Marcia's broken nose. It was more of a pleasant executioner, making sure my straps were comfortable before my lethal injection proceeded.

My phobia is so bad that I need gas for a cleaning. It makes for a more enjoyable cleaning and doesn't violate my sobriety. I talked to my mentor before going and I follow prescription medication instructions carefully. I do not abuse them. I can also say that the internal terror I experience at the dentist office doesn't trigger me or put me much in the mood for a party. All people are different. Check with your recovery mentor or doctor before taking any medication if you are in recovery.

I have had a toothache for about 2 weeks. I was scheduled to perform tonight in Elk Grove Village at the Korner House. It was a competition and I was looking forward to going. The pain in my tooth decided that being funny tonight wasn't a possibility. I made an emergency appointment with my dentist, Dr. Shindollar, and his faithful sidekick Tammy. They are familiar with my phobic condition and they have a custom fit nose inhaler for my visits. As I entered the office I took my last few deep breaths of the sweet fresh air as if they might be my last. I don't know the statistics but I am convinced there are hundreds, if not millions, of deaths that occur during simple dental exams yearly, worldwide. "THEY" just don't talk about it.

As they cajoled me into the chair with their scripted "this won't hurt a bit" ploy. I saw through their mind games. This wasn't my first dental rodeo. We started with a simple x-ray of my tooth. It seems so innocuous in its' simplicity. In reality, I am fairly certain they placed an 8"x10" plate into my mouth. I was stoic and only slightly whiny. The color would return to my knuckles after I was done gripping the chair. I said my I love you's to my wife, family, friends, and thanked God for giving me an interesting life. I then waited for the x-ray results.

It was a gum abscess that would not require surgery or extraction, just a scraping and cleaning of the gums, and removal of the infected area. There was hope I would see my loved ones again. The gas fairy hooked me up and told me to breathe normally. I must have misunderstood her because I was sucking in gas like I was huffing paint behind a local hardware store. I was amazed at my lungs capacity. As I took each lung filling dose of my phobic relief, I relaxed more and more. I wish dentists would paint Pink Floyd-like murals on the ceilings of their offices. It would make the trip all the more enjoyable for everyone.

I heard no angels but as my mood was becoming more dental friendly, my phone rang. It was my wife calling. Her ring tone is Etta James' "At Last." I could see Etta belting out the blues classic and pictured my wife wondering if she had been widowed. It took 3 shots of Novocaine before the doc could clean up my mouth. The first two didn't work. He asked me if I needed a third. I said "sure." Imagine a dentist phobic, hypochondriac, drama queen requesting another needle in the mouth! At that point he could have built a birdhouse in my mouth and I would have been perfectly happy with the work.

Well as you can see I made it through the ordeal. If you suffer from this condition I am here for you. I didn't care for the uncontrollable drool I dripped on my shirt as I left. I felt like Leo DiCaprio in "Benny and Joon." I am grateful for the gas that dentists offer to guys like me. The drugs have worn off and I should be able to whine my way into my wife babying me for the evening. I will return again to the dentist in a few days for a follow up. As long as he doesn't enter the room in clown make up and a Batman costume, I think I will make it through like the real man I am. As long as he still has the gas, I've got the guts!

My Wife and "The Change!" A Husband's Survival Guide!

I have grown up around women my whole life. When I was young it was my mom, sister and me. I have 3 sisters from my dad's second marriage for a total of four. I am the only son in the family. As a father I have 3 daughters and 1 son. So as I delve into the mysteries of the female "monthly curse" I feel I have a pretty good grip on the subject.

Between my wife's few days of pre-menstrual hormonal mood shifting, the actual cycle, and the post cycle mood swings, I have approximately 2 days a month that her mood is not affected by these evil hormones. I have learned to live with it to some degree. In fact we are so connected she says I have a "man period" along with her. I do not disagree.

One day last week I was eating everything in the house. I had 2 sweet-n-salty granola bars, 2 bowls of cereal, ice cream and leftover cold fettuccine. I was so ravenous that I called my wife. She assured me that there was nothing to worry about. We were due in 2 days. I have learned to roll with it and not overreact when she is acting like Sybil on a coffee drinking binge. Her instant emotional shifts, that change like someone is switching them on or off, I can handle. When she makes it to the happy personality, that is when I talk to her about the important stuff.

The worst is when my daughters and wife are all together for any length of time. It becomes the "Sistahood of the travelling menstrual pants." Any man worth his salt knows that a woman has regular clothes and "period clothes". These special garments are usually more comfortable, have more ventilation and are just a bit bigger than the regular sized clothing to account for the wretched bloating. Men: feel free to take notes on this chapter. It may save your marriage or your life.

When the three of them have merged their cycles into one evil menstrual demon, I get out the holy water and fill my schedule with a lot of "out of the house business." I have made it through the years with the help of God and up until the last few years booze. They are now split up around the world so the powers they held as a menstrual trinity has been broken. It amazes me how much power a tiny little egg, working it's way to evacuation, can hold so much control over the egg keeper.

All of these incidents and cycles have made me a stronger man, husband and father. I have learned to read the signs like a Cherokee scout examining hoof tracks in the great forest. I know when to approach the Squaws' and respect the spirits that bind them. However, nothing could prepare me for the chaos and emotional confusion that my wife has introduced to me by way of "THE CHANGE." The doctor who coined this term was obviously sharing a home with a woman in the midst of this phenomena when he came up with it. He made it sound so innocuous for fear of losing his life or worse, facing his wife's wrath.

Squeaky has a thyroid malfunction and her family has a history of entering this dark phase of existence early in the mid-40's. She is 44 and we are smack dab in the middle of an emotional tempest! The wild card is how long and how severe "The Change" will last. This is true for the long and the short term. I felt it my duty to enlighten men who may be experiencing this with a loved one now or in the near future. Please be comforted in knowing your wife is not Satan's spawn. There will be brief periods of calm and brief periods of storms. When your wife is going through it, the man must have a bronc riding mentality. Just hold on to the reigns and hope the ride only lasts a few seconds and pray you don't get permanently injured from the ride.

The two most important rules for men dealing with the afflicted woman is that whatever she says, do it. The second thing is whatever she says do it! You must be comfortable with wearing sweatshirts in the summer and having a high electric bill in the summer time. The "Hot Flash" is a mighty foe and will present itself at any time, in any place. If you are driving in the dead of winter and she turns to you with madness in her eyes claiming it is 8,000 degrees in the car. It is! Roll down a window or turn on the air. "The Change" comes complete with it's own weather patterns that usually conflict with physical reality. If you wish to survive, follow every instruction to the letter. Up is down, cold is hot, yes means no and so on.

When you have fallen into a deep, restful sleep be wary. "The Change" loves to come out in the dead of night and with a fury. If you feel the sheet is slightly wet, not to worry. It is not incontinence. It is the sweat dripping off your precious wife. During these late night flare ups do not be surprised if your wife turns to you and says "I love you, I need you and screw you!" in the span of about 20 seconds. Accept all three responses as being of equal weight. She means all three. If you find yourself dealing with her in a particularly foul mood, hang in there, she will be morphing into a different person in just a few moments.

The other two important keys to survival are responses to food and fashion. During this transition of life there are times when you will think your wife is pregnant or has a binging disorder. Strange combinations of sweet and salty, burgers to beef jerky, ice cream to ice cubes are not to be questioned. Let them feed. Any comment you make in regards to what or how much she is eating will be met with rabid lashings. Just shut up and get her what she wants.

When it comes to fashion men have one set. Women have multiple lines of clothing for whatever stage of the month they are in and choices should never be questioned. If your wife comes down the stairs in a mumu and a cowboy hat compliment her on how beautiful she looks. If you question her outfit selection you are in for a sobbing breakdown or verbal undressing. Remember this too shall pass. If your wife feels the need to go shopping for different clothes, let her. You may think she has plenty of sweaters and pants. She needs different ensembles to make her transition as comfortable as possible.

Above all, always keep your cool. Over the centuries countless men have tried to figure out "The Change" and alter its course in their loved one. Few have made it. This rite of passage is not meant to be interpreted by man, only accepted and adhered to. Period! By my estimations I have approximately 10 more years of enduring the fury of my wife's midlife change. I pray a lot. I drive to the store at strange hours returning with exotic foods. I bite my tongue a lot and have decided to live with the beast instead of trying to tame it. To my fellow man I wish you good luck on this journey.

Ahh! Alone At Last....The Truth About Sex And Marriage!

Valentine's Day is Tomorrow. I thought I would take this sacred day of romance and break it down into the reality of what the sex life of a married couple is reduced to over the years of bliss spent together. This chapter is directed toward those married couples who have been together for 10 years or more. Those of you who are reading this, and thinking about tying the knot don't get discouraged. The outcomes of your intimate marital encounters remain the same. It's the before, during, after, when and where that changes.

When a man and a woman switch from dating to becoming a couple the world is their oyster. The chemical pheromones that attract them to each other is fierce, almost magnetic. The way he brushes back his hair with his hand makes her hot. That little laugh and come hither glance sends him into a frenzy. The moment is "always right" and the answer is always yes. Creativity, endurance and effort are achieved effortlessly and the excitement never ceases to end.

After these early intimate encounters comes the cuddling and sharing of a Ben and Jerry's pint in bed, playing footsie and then round two or maybe three. Everything is like a scene out of "The Notebook" or "9 1/2 Weeks." It might even have a little of the flare that "Wild Things" had. But just as these classic movies have become distant memories, that don't lose their excitement when reminisced about, they do lose some of their zing as time ticks by.

Fast forward to 10+ years with that same couple. That irresistible thing he does with his hair makes her secretly want to shave his head. That cute laugh she does is irritating to him. That come hither look isn't seen as often. One round is normal, 2 rounds a rarity, 3 rounds an impossibility. The fire that once roared between you is still beautiful but it has smoldered with an occasional flare up. It is not the flaming passion that was consistent and intriguing just a few years earlier. Life has set in.

 There are jobs to be worked, bills to be paid, houses to be cleaned and THEN......comes the kids. Suddenly the focus of your every waking moment switches from the "act" to what you've created from it. The baby years, toddler years, the terrible two's and grade school years consume time and energy. There are practices to get to, games to attend, activities to be endured and with that the flame is reduced to a spark. By the time the little cuties make it through high school angst and have decided that we popped out of our parents at age 30, the spark is reduced to a pilot light. Not due to lack of desire, but lack of motivation.

I know there are exceptions to these rules but these are my experiences. I can also say that where the physical attraction was the strongest in the early years, the later years are filled with deeper friendship and true partnership. I am writing this next to my wife as we chuckle at our reality. This blog is not a complaint it is an observational piece. It's like watching NAT GEO and seeing a couple of older lions sprawled out in the plains of the Serengeti.

The "I want you right here, right now!" is replaced with "We have 20 minutes before the kids get home." Passion is replaced with release. Heat is replaced by need. Spontaneity is replaced by "Hey, you wanna...you know?" I will illustrate with an example that may create a disturbing mental picture for some, a laugh for others, or "Yep! that's it" by others. The following is a true story. Rated M for Married.

When I was a younger "manscaping" was nonexistent for the male species and a novelty in the female species. Today it is common place for both sexes. I personally don't care if my basement carpet looks like Tito Jackson's afro from the 70's. My wife however likes a neater cleaner, modern Tito cut.
The kids were gone this morning and we both felt the pilot light kicking up the oven temperature. We smiled and giggled and devised our intimate rendezvous.

The spontaneous "Take me on the table" demand is now, "Where do you wanna do it? Here? How about the bathroom counter top or upstairs?" We decided on the bathroom and held hands making our way with excited anticipation. We kissed, our temperatures were rising. My wife gave that rarely seen naughty look and suggested she would trim my hedges before we got down to it. She made it all sound so inviting I was up for anything. I was on fire now and ready to go. As she took the trimmer from my shaving drawer and slid the tiny garbage pail into leaf collecting position - Boom! The magic stopped. "Why are these cans in here instead of the recycling?" Between you and son I am tired of taking soda cans out of here."

She slammed down the clippers and retrieved the cans, taking them to the recycle bin in the kitchen. I boyishly muttered "We always put them in recycling at the end of the week." I now picked up the clipper and decided to finish the topiary work myself. I didn't realize that this was a delicate procedure. I thought it was like how they shave a Marine's head on all those old war films. After one swipe of the trimmer I ripped out a few hairs and decided my Afro was back in style.

After a few moments my wife returned. Style and creativity went out the window. We did our thing quicker than you can change a furnace filter then quickly put our lounging clothes back on. We hugged and exchanged "I love you." The Ben and Jerry's was replaced by a couple bowls of Raisin Bran and an argument between watching Brad Pitt in "Fight Club" or "House Hunters International." We ate our cereal on separate couches. I took a short nap and all was well. It was another day of romance in the 10 plus year love making club. We are due for another hook up in a week or so - right on schedule.

My Greatest Confession Part 2.....Christian Myths Unraveled.

I want to clear up some misconceptions about me and my faith. As always these are my OPINIONS. I am not a Theologian or Legalistic. I am a Christian. That means Christianity is the belief that Jesus is the son of God and he came here to give us a second chance at heaven. He paid the penalty for my sin; the ones I have committed and the ones I know I will continue to commit.

I have to admit that some Christians come from a "I'm better than you, you heathen" point of view but that is not Christianity. That is a human expressing themselves. I am uncomfortable around these people myself. Christ left two instructions before he headed out of here and I paraphrase. First, love God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. Second, love your neighbor as you love yourself and as I have loved you. These are two simple instructions and a pretty cool way to live life. God is LOVE! He sent His kid here to be beat to death so we wouldn't have to.

For a long time I told people I was "spiritual", not religious. Church is not a requirement to get into heaven. I tried them all and the only "ism" I ended up with was alcoholism. The problem was I quit searching after "men" who gave me a bad vibe about religion. It wasn't Jesus' fault that humans are flawed! That is why he came to save us in the first place. We tend to write religion off because of a bad experience. It's funny though because when we get a bad pizza we don't cry out "Pizza is horrible and hypocritical and I'll never eat it again!" No! We just keep trying pizza places until we find one that we like.

I found Parkview Christian Church to be a great place of worship. By being a member my relationship gets better. The better my relationship with him is, the better my relationship with everyone around me gets. Our church doesn't demand money or make legalistic rules. It helps me grow and does wonderful things for people around Chicago and around the world. My pastor wears jeans, drives a Harley and smokes a good cigar here and there. The key to finding a new church or faith is to get rid of the old one and start anew. For years I thought God had it in for me and was chasing me with clowns, bats and snakes. Now I see he had my back when I was lying in the streets and laying on the streets.

We all sin. There is the top 10 he layed out in stone but sin is sin. I find it amazing that someone who calls themselves a Christian berates gay people as going to hell and then lives as a racist, or wife beater or tax cheater. Sin is sin. Christians are no more or less hypocritical than any man who walks the earth. What we do have is a faith in Jesus and a desire to follow his ways to the best of our abilities. We will all stand in line before God alone. It isn't a VIP line where some get moved to the front and the ugly ones get moved to the back. We will stand alone and account for our time here.

The next one I hear is "You're trying to shove your religion down my throat!" Again, some folks do that but that is the minority not the majority. I share my faith with those who want to hear about the wonderful life I have found. If I had the best pizza in town wouldn't you want me to tell you where I got it? Jesus wanted his followers to spread the good news, not beat them to death with it. Faith is a choice. I want everyone to know how I was delivered into a joyful existence. I would be selfish to keep this gift to myself. It is a choice. You can take it or leave it.

I don't walk into Walmart and scream out "Hey, anyone want to talk about Jesus?" That is not the way for me. I believe that Christianity is living a life of attraction not promotion. When people ask me how I made it through homelessness, depression and addiction I am glad to share my experiences with them. I tried to force my way through life on my own understanding. Sometimes it worked out but most of the time I lived in guilt, shame, remorse, envy, greed, lust, hate and so much more negative emotions.

Believing is the basic requirement. I have many Godly experiences playing with my dogs or walking through a forest. Christianity is a relationship with Christ on the inside that I try to put into my daily living on the outside. I am a comedian and actor and I swear and tell off-color jokes. None of them disrespect God or my marriage. I am fallible and that is why I need Jesus. He is the great equalizer. I try to show love to my fellow man but I get ticked when someone cuts me off in traffic because I am human. The sceptic is quick to point out that as a Christian I shouldn't be doing this or that. I know what I am supposed to do and I have a book to cross reference when I think I am going off track.

Jesus doesn't fight wars, men do. I know that people have been killed in the name of all religions including Christianity. Those were men fighting other men for earthly spoils. Jesus wasn't in there with a bayonet. Why blame him? Don't blame the apple when the chef cooks a bad pie!

We are not promised sunshine and butterflies as believers. What we are promised is a place in heaven if we believe in Christ and are sorry for our sins. Simple! I don't have opinions good or bad about other religions. That is not my call. I am only a man. Once again we will all stand alone before our maker. It's his call from there. I believe in Jesus and a loving God. The rain falls on the good and evil and no where does it say that bad things and pain aren't going to fall upon us. We can be assured that we are not alone. It's when I have tried to go it alone that all my troubles began.

Thanks for following. Who knows what's next. I love you all and wish you all the blessings God has in store for you. Don't miss the 50 miracles that happen in your life every day waiting for God to answer your laundry list. Remember God also says no. I hope to see you along the way and I hope my story has shown you that EVERY DAY IS A GIFT!

My Greatest Confession.....The Day I was Reborn!...A MUST READ!

I'm really not much of a writer at all. What I am is a man who was given chance after chance to find freedom from alcoholism and addiction and finally reached my hand out for the hand of God. I owe my sobriety to him and other people who think like me. No matter where you are on this big beach ball called earth pain, addiction, despair, self-hate and self-destruction are a universal theme. I also know that hope, faith, love and forgiveness are available to all of us. Love is the key to the darkness that we sit in alone and amongst our fellow man.

I have written this chapter from my heart. I feel that the words are God's message. I am just the messenger. I bared my soul to you to help you see that there are several kind and levels of addiction. The roughness of my writing was the point. Life is not shiny and polished nor neatly arranged.

I do know that the months I was homeless, the 3 failed marriages, the pain of addiction and depression and the 26 years I spent in chemical hell were not in vain. There is no way for me to know how my chapters have impacted you. I know it has helped me reconcile and forgive myself. Forgiving oneself for our sins and misdeeds is one of the hardest things to face. I have no problem forgiving those who have hurt me but when it comes to myself I have a hard time letting go of my mistakes.

On August 2, 2009 I entered Parkview Christian Church with Squeaky and dear friend John Ott. I had been going to worship there for 2 months and was 7 months sober. The albatross of self-loathing and disgust with my past was unbearable. Toward the the end of the service we were directed to a door at the end of the stage in the sanctuary. Dressed in white gowns, Squeaky and I stood at the top of some steps that led into a small pool. John was baptizing us and Pastor Lonnie Caha was officiating our rebirth. The three of us hugged and sobbed as we waited for the door to open into the small pool. All of my pain and guilt and shame were racing through my mind. I was also comforted to know that I had finally made peace with God and His son, the two guys I was running from or chasing after for years.

The door opened and the three of us stepped into the warm swirling water. It was perfect, like a bathtub you had filled to just the right temperature. I walked on tippy toes and was sobbing before the profession of faith even began. John has known me for years and knew all too well the pain and misery I endured and put others through. He looked at me and said "After today all of that garbage is washed away." He cried. We hugged and Pastor Lonnie asked us to step up to the mic. He announced that Tom and Kris Connolly were being reborn. This ritual was a ceremonial rededication of our lives to Christ and one that was taken of our own free will. Babies don't have sin or choice when they are baptized. Rebirth is a conscious choice to be baptized as Jesus was by John the Baptist.

We repeated our words, accepting Jesus as the son of God. My head was spinning. My heart was ready to leap from my chest. I stood in the middle as John dunked me in the clear warm water. I kept my eyes open and could see the spotlight shining down on me underwater like a star from heaven itself. As John lifted me back to my feet, years of pain and hate were replaced by elation and joy. Squeaky was next. This time John and I both guided her under the water.

She was radiant. She popped up out of the water and we just grabbed on to each other. It was one of those clutching hugs like you give your child after you have momentarily lost them in a crowded mall. I was free and I knew my new life had begun.

As we made our way back out of the pool I continued to cry tears of gratitude and thanks. With each falling tear the weight of my shame and sin was lightened all the more. It was a great cry. I was free. I was forgiven. I was a new me. It's there for you too. God's grace is free. Take his hand.

I love you all. Love is free! Grace is given when we don't deserve it. If our hearts are pure and our faith is at the foundation of our lives, eternity awaits. We will fail becase we are human. That is why God sent His Son to give us a second chance at heaven, just like God gave me another chance on this earth. God Bless us all! AMEN!