On Good Friday, 1999 I entered the SHARE Recovery Home in Hoffman Estates. I had been sober for eleven days after spending three days in the detox unit of Hinsdale Hospital. I spent an additional eight days in the psych ward on voluntary admission. That's how many days I had left on my insurance for inpatient care. I had been fired while there. I was so afraid that I was going to drink, that the extra few days with the guys in white was not of concern to me. I so desperately wanted to begin a life free from chemical dependency.
Although I had to surrender my shoe laces, pointed objects, belt and any thing else that I could do harm to myself or someone else with, I was free to come and go from the unit to attend recovery meetings. I spent time in the chapel trying to sort out the insanity that I had been living in. It's hard to make sane decisions with a sick mind. I loved the quietness and peace the tiny room offered and symbolized. I was still fearing, running from, and chasing after a GOD I did not understand. I still figured he didn't have the time to deal with my petty problems. My temporary stay in Hinsdale would be the start of almost five years without alcohol. It was also where I was first diagnosed as being Bi-Polar.
I chose not to participate in craft making during my stay. The thought of making Popsicle stick and macaroni pictures made me feel too much as if I was one of the lock down patients. They were nuts. I wasn't one of them! I surmised that putting yourself in a psych ward didn't count! I spent those times alone trying to sort out what I was going to do with my life when I was on the outside again. I also had visits with the psychologist who wanted to know what made me tick and sick. I lied and denied that I was a REAL alcoholic. I was just a guy who let things get out of control for a bit. He saw right through my addict speak and we got down to how my racing mind and tattered body had driven me to self-commitment.
I explained to him that while most folks could sit and read the morning paper while enjoying a nice cup of coffee, I didn't have the ability to focus on one thing...EVER! 2 minutes after I met someone I couldn't even tell you their name. I still struggle with that problem. I went on to intimate that while I was reading the paper and sipping my coffee, three different songs were running through my head. I was reliving painful moments of my past and obsessing about the doom that was certain to fall upon me at any moment. I was worried about war, famine and the laundry. All I did was THINK...THINK...THINK!
His diagnosis of manic depression, or Bipolar Disorder was swift. As he explained the symptoms and parallels to my life I couldn't deny that it was me he was describing to the letter. He went on to share the fact that many people with BPS and depression often self medicate with drugs and alcohol to slow their minds. I was put on a commonly prescribed medication and he went on his way. I had a hard time accepting the diagnosis even though I knew I suffered manic highs and the darkest of lows. I now embrace the fact, and try to educate people on the misconceptions of mental disorders, or more accurately chemical imbalances.
After my eleven days were up and I entered SHARE for 27 days. My loved ones didn't come to "Family Night." I spent Easter with my new recovery friends as most of the others laughed with their folks and children. After my treatment was complete, my third marriage fell apart. Our toxic relationship that was once strained by my addiction was unsalvageable in sobriety. I checked into the Lagrange YMCA. It was a sad desperate place. It was only 90 days after arriving there that I began to use pot and speed heavily. It was classic switch and control behavior. It was just new candy for the same sick kid. The thick roots of addiction erased the gratitude that God had given me yet ANOTHER chance. I began to have anger issues that I did not understand. The medication I was on was not working for me.
I stayed on it for nearly 3 years before I realized that something was terribly wrong with my mood swings. The drugs I was ingesting was massive and grew with each passing day. I wasn't drinking. I saw no problem with the drugs. I didn't have a desire to drink. It is no wonder that I was not progressing in establishing. emotional balance. It often takes several different trials of medications to find the one that truly offers balance. I was once again masking my discomfort with prescriptions from Dr. Feelgood. As of this writing, through chemical free living, and the help of a therapist, my mania and depression have been arrested for the most part.
I stopped going to recovery meetings even though they held them in the very building I lived in, and throughout Lagrange. I quit talking to people like me. I did nothing that was suggested for a life of contented sobriety. I could do it all on my own. I was a survivor, a warrior! That need to figure it out on my own is a common addiction thread. Nobody understands us. Nobody feels like we do. No one can help us. We have all the answers.
It would be another nine more years before I was completely sober. Between my days living in the street to the last drunken end I learned to be highly functional in my disease. I lived 7 years with my depression unchecked. My addiction was a roller coaster ride of ups and downs and I couldn't get off! The highs were never high enough to slow my thoughts down. My using was increasing but my professional career was booming. Good money was coming in and bringing out bad behavior. I had all the justification in the world! I was salesman of the month! I was top ten in the country! How could I possibly be out of control? Even after Squeaky left me for a few weeks and I tried to end my life, I still couldn't stop....
On GOOD FRIDAY 2012 God's grace was shining on me. I finally completed and submitted the final manuscript for Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself. My marriage is stronger than ever. My friends are close. My recovery is strong. I am doing the next right thing, a day at a time. I have worked on 3 TV series in the last month and have a commercial and 2 movies to shoot in the coming weeks. I have two agencies considering representing me on a tour promoting the book.
As I felt the tension, brought on from deadlines and editing subside, I realized it was Good Friday. I saw the grace of God shining into my world. On that holy day that represents the end of suffering and the beginning of life renewed in paradise, I had come full circle. Where there was once only despair, there is rebirth. I was lost but now am found. Hopefully, Soul Parole will help someone seek sobriety, a relationship walking with God and let them know that dreams come true. For almost 28 years I was lost in the wilderness. I was lost but now...I'm found! HE saved a wretch like me. Every Day IS a GIFT.
Although I had to surrender my shoe laces, pointed objects, belt and any thing else that I could do harm to myself or someone else with, I was free to come and go from the unit to attend recovery meetings. I spent time in the chapel trying to sort out the insanity that I had been living in. It's hard to make sane decisions with a sick mind. I loved the quietness and peace the tiny room offered and symbolized. I was still fearing, running from, and chasing after a GOD I did not understand. I still figured he didn't have the time to deal with my petty problems. My temporary stay in Hinsdale would be the start of almost five years without alcohol. It was also where I was first diagnosed as being Bi-Polar.
I chose not to participate in craft making during my stay. The thought of making Popsicle stick and macaroni pictures made me feel too much as if I was one of the lock down patients. They were nuts. I wasn't one of them! I surmised that putting yourself in a psych ward didn't count! I spent those times alone trying to sort out what I was going to do with my life when I was on the outside again. I also had visits with the psychologist who wanted to know what made me tick and sick. I lied and denied that I was a REAL alcoholic. I was just a guy who let things get out of control for a bit. He saw right through my addict speak and we got down to how my racing mind and tattered body had driven me to self-commitment.
I explained to him that while most folks could sit and read the morning paper while enjoying a nice cup of coffee, I didn't have the ability to focus on one thing...EVER! 2 minutes after I met someone I couldn't even tell you their name. I still struggle with that problem. I went on to intimate that while I was reading the paper and sipping my coffee, three different songs were running through my head. I was reliving painful moments of my past and obsessing about the doom that was certain to fall upon me at any moment. I was worried about war, famine and the laundry. All I did was THINK...THINK...THINK!
His diagnosis of manic depression, or Bipolar Disorder was swift. As he explained the symptoms and parallels to my life I couldn't deny that it was me he was describing to the letter. He went on to share the fact that many people with BPS and depression often self medicate with drugs and alcohol to slow their minds. I was put on a commonly prescribed medication and he went on his way. I had a hard time accepting the diagnosis even though I knew I suffered manic highs and the darkest of lows. I now embrace the fact, and try to educate people on the misconceptions of mental disorders, or more accurately chemical imbalances.
After my eleven days were up and I entered SHARE for 27 days. My loved ones didn't come to "Family Night." I spent Easter with my new recovery friends as most of the others laughed with their folks and children. After my treatment was complete, my third marriage fell apart. Our toxic relationship that was once strained by my addiction was unsalvageable in sobriety. I checked into the Lagrange YMCA. It was a sad desperate place. It was only 90 days after arriving there that I began to use pot and speed heavily. It was classic switch and control behavior. It was just new candy for the same sick kid. The thick roots of addiction erased the gratitude that God had given me yet ANOTHER chance. I began to have anger issues that I did not understand. The medication I was on was not working for me.
I stayed on it for nearly 3 years before I realized that something was terribly wrong with my mood swings. The drugs I was ingesting was massive and grew with each passing day. I wasn't drinking. I saw no problem with the drugs. I didn't have a desire to drink. It is no wonder that I was not progressing in establishing. emotional balance. It often takes several different trials of medications to find the one that truly offers balance. I was once again masking my discomfort with prescriptions from Dr. Feelgood. As of this writing, through chemical free living, and the help of a therapist, my mania and depression have been arrested for the most part.
I stopped going to recovery meetings even though they held them in the very building I lived in, and throughout Lagrange. I quit talking to people like me. I did nothing that was suggested for a life of contented sobriety. I could do it all on my own. I was a survivor, a warrior! That need to figure it out on my own is a common addiction thread. Nobody understands us. Nobody feels like we do. No one can help us. We have all the answers.
It would be another nine more years before I was completely sober. Between my days living in the street to the last drunken end I learned to be highly functional in my disease. I lived 7 years with my depression unchecked. My addiction was a roller coaster ride of ups and downs and I couldn't get off! The highs were never high enough to slow my thoughts down. My using was increasing but my professional career was booming. Good money was coming in and bringing out bad behavior. I had all the justification in the world! I was salesman of the month! I was top ten in the country! How could I possibly be out of control? Even after Squeaky left me for a few weeks and I tried to end my life, I still couldn't stop....
On GOOD FRIDAY 2012 God's grace was shining on me. I finally completed and submitted the final manuscript for Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself. My marriage is stronger than ever. My friends are close. My recovery is strong. I am doing the next right thing, a day at a time. I have worked on 3 TV series in the last month and have a commercial and 2 movies to shoot in the coming weeks. I have two agencies considering representing me on a tour promoting the book.
As I felt the tension, brought on from deadlines and editing subside, I realized it was Good Friday. I saw the grace of God shining into my world. On that holy day that represents the end of suffering and the beginning of life renewed in paradise, I had come full circle. Where there was once only despair, there is rebirth. I was lost but now am found. Hopefully, Soul Parole will help someone seek sobriety, a relationship walking with God and let them know that dreams come true. For almost 28 years I was lost in the wilderness. I was lost but now...I'm found! HE saved a wretch like me. Every Day IS a GIFT.
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