The Sounds of Silence

I LOVE YOU...Wonderful When Heard...Stinging When Withheld...

I love you. It is such a simple phrase. A powerful one at that. It can hold you together. It can make you fall apart. I say it every day to my Wife. I say it every day to my Children and my friends. I say it to the World and mean it. There are times it is said in passing like a tip of the hat. The times it can have the deepest impact are the times it's not said.

Growing up my Grandmother's rarely, if ever used these words. They were of a different generation I guess. Both were strong women from tough backgrounds and challenging lifes lived. I knew they loved me. To hear it spoken wasn't so. A scribble in a birthday card nestled next to a crisp five dollar bill was as close to the deed as they got.

In my drinking and using days I threw "I love you's" around like raindrops. They landed upon any young woman who was the object of my desire. I desperately wanted to feel love because I felt so badly about myself. I was a love junkie. I was always the first to say those three little words. I see now how empty and shallow it was. Those are sacred words. To me they are the definition of God himself.

As I have matured and grown in my sobriety I have noticed a terrible habit that I have picked up from some of my family members. That is the intentional omission of the words I love you. To me that is more harmful than a half hearted utterance of the phrase. After a disagreement with my wife when reaching a resolution to our conflict, upon her saying an "I love you" to me there have been times where I have replied, "luv ya," or "ditto." Most likely because I was pouting or things weren't resolved to MY satisfaction.

There have been times when ending a phone conversation she says, "I love you" as she utters her goodbye, and I merely say goodbye. This is truly a sad statement about my conduct and a reflection on what a big dumb baby I can be sometimes. I love my Wife to the center of my being. Why in the name of GOD would'nt I take every single opportunity to let her know that?

I know how bad it makes me feel when I tell someone I love them and they don't say it back to me. To do the same thing to others is just continuing a cycle that is fruitless and cold. Love is the most beautiful thing that we have in this world and should never be taken for granted. I would hate to walk away from someone knowing I held back those words in my selfishness and never see them again.

I know I can be corny. I know I can be a dork, but I really believe that the whole problem with this big ball we are spinning on is that we are moving away from hugging each other to getting wrapped up in ourselves. That "meism" might be our downfall. I have so much to learn about myself. I am glad that I can see where I am wrong and try to change things. I know I don't have to be the guy I was yesterday or an hour ago.

All You Need Is LOVE was such a simple Lennon song. Almost nursery rhyme like in its' structure the songs' simplicity is right on the Money. If all you need is love when someone gives me what I need I damn well owe it to them to give them what they need. Right?

Chasing Serenity, the Clouds and the Corn Row Runners...

Serenity is one of those words that has the feel of the word wrapped up in itself. Words like agitate make my tongue live the definition as it lurches uncomfortably through the three syllables. Caress soothes my mind and body as I utter the invitingly crafted letters. When I say the word serenity I feel the lightness of the elusive term just barely hovering on my lips tranquilly coaching me to comfort.

I have known moments of serenity. I enjoy them as much as anything I have ever experienced. The feeling of being completely at peace with myself, my creator and my universe is like nothing else. The paradox is that serenity is like a drug in itself. Now that I have had fleeting glimpses of it I want more. My whole problem with myself and my conflict with the real world is my desire for ME and MORE and NOW!

The harder I chase serenity, the farther it seems to be from me. I remember when I was a kid and I would be riding in the backseat of the car staring at the clouds. As the car would be going along I would pick out a cloud and wait for the car to catch it. No matter how fast we went, no matter how long I stared, the cloud always seemed to be just out of reach. Then suddenly we had passed it by.

 I also raced the corn row runners. If you lived in corn country as a child you know the corn runners. When you drive by great spanses of cornfields and stare at the rows of corn they seem to come alive. The rows begin to take the shape of legs and begin to run. No matter how many fields you pass corn runners never tire. They just keep on going. They either are just in front of you or right along side of you. they can run all day and into the evening, as long as the shadows are just right.

 I would compare it to taking a pad of paper and making an animation. You start on the first page. Draw a circle, turn the page. Draw the circle again slightly lower on the page. Continue page by page until the circle hits the bottom of the page and you reach the end of the pad of paper. Now flip the pages through your fingers and the ball magically becomes an animated bouncing ball. I used to do this for hours on end with clouds, corn runners and many pads of paper.

Serenity is defined by the American Heritage Dictionary as, "Clear," "Tranquil," "Unruffled" and "Unclouded." I was surprised by the definition when I read it. I though it would be much more mystical and Dali Lama like. That is how things tend to go for me when I "pre-decide" how outcomes should be. They rarely live up to the billing or grand notion my mind has erected. People and their lives, feelings, choices and reactions keep getting in the way of my big picture.

I have come to realize that serenity, for me, isn't a chosen, conscious feeling or experience. It happens when it happens. Usually when I go with the flow and let things be. What I shoot for now is "surrenderty." I can make that happen or end up with that agitation I mentioned way back at the top. I can choose to be happy to a point in life. People don't MAKE us happy we allow them to make us that way. The same can be said for unhappy, angry and all the rest of the positive or negative emotions that come with human interaction.

I know this for a fact because there are times when my wife has called me a co******er and it didn't phase me. I laughed in fact. On another occasion she called me a "Drama Queen" and I almost filed for divorce. It's all in how I decide to accept and surrender to the people and circumstances who are in my reality that are going to determine my serenity or lack of it. I look forward to when it comes again.

For now I am grateful to have moments of serenity and a philosophy of "surrenderty." I will still chase clouds and dreams. I will still watch the corn runners keeping pace alongside my car. I don't waste the paper I did drawing those bouncing balls in crude animation. I am lucky to be a part of real films and television. I know one thing for sure. If I think I can control outcomes, run other people's lives and worry my way to serenity, I'll never even catch a glimpse of it. Thanks God for giving me the wisdom to realize how little I know....and finally realizing I don't need to... 

Another preview from Soul Parole 2: I Was and I AM!

This is a first draft (like all my blogs)

We all have fears! Plug in your favorite....

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 rut. 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 gonna 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, that 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. Emotions can lie or distort the facts. 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. 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 "whoa 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, that 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. My condition is reality. Suffering is an option....

Set the Date

This is a chapter that was omitted from the final draft. Funny how we all set dates.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Resolution.....Shmezolution......Evolution a Revolution...Us Not Me

Welcome to 2011! If some of the experts, and talking heads are right, and the Mayans quite ahead of their time, we only have 2 years until the "End of Days." Scary stuff. If you believe that, stop paying into your 401k now. Why not spend the money? Spend the kids college fund and join a commune. I wish the days of Woodstock and Haight/Ashbury were here again. There was a sense of "US" not "ME". "Well it's one, two, three what are we fighting for...." Country Joe was darn near Nostradamus with that little ditty.

As an addict dates are an essential part of using and recovery. New Year's Eve is a particular favorite. "I'm gonna kick tomorrow...," as Perry Ferrell, of Jane's Addiction, cries in "Jane Says." On TV there are weight loss and exercise commercials every other ad. There is even a piece of exercise equipment available now that reminds me of nights alone in my bedroom with an "Easy Rider" magazine as a Teen. It is a yearly, defined moment for changing your life. You can change your life any day you want, not just once a year at midnight.

When I was trying to kick booze I always had to have a date of significance set as my "gonna quit on" day. I'm gonna quit on my birthday. I'm gonna quit on the Anniversary of Lennon's Death..or maybe his Birth? I am gonna quit in one month from today. It was always tomorrows, never today's. Never forget addicts live in the pain of the past and insecurity of the future. I always had to have a ceremonial date to look forward to, so that date would be seered into my melon as an eternal reminder of the great change in my life. When I would reach my predetermined end date, I would just conjure up a new one farther down the road.

A predetermined date of making the changes in my life aren't on a calendar. Goals are good. Manageable, realistic goals are even better. My end date for using was when I couldn't take one more moment living with my pain anymore. The booze, and whatever, had lost it's magic touch. It was a relentless, merciless master and I heeded it's demands like a mindless zombie. I was truly going insane. My wife called me pathetic, and instead of making me angry, I agreed with her completely.

If you have set yourself up in a resolution plan starting today, be realistic. If you weigh 600 pounds and think you are going to lose 500 by summer you're in for a let down. Try eating better today. If you want to do more for charity, don't join the Peace Corp, look in the paper or Internet for something that interests you. I am an all or nothing kinda guy. If I can't be the Dalai Lama, screw it! I'm a failure. If I can't write like Hemingway I won't write at all! That's the easier way out of taking risks, so I have used excuses not to try at all.

I don't ask for God to remove my anger, or grant me patience because invariably I end up with the shits in a traffic jam, behind an elderly lady who should have stopped driving 10 years earlier. I ask that I be the best me, I can be today. I ask that I be a little better than I was yesterday. I pray that I hear God when he talks to me, and he grants me the strength to follow his wishes through. I try to do a positive thing for a human everyday, not for approval or for being seen doing good, I do it just because...and it makes me feel better.

If you are trying to make a drastic life change starting today, remember these words.  YOU CAN'T DO IT ALONE! Find a support group. There is true for every kind of lifestyle change you wish to tackle. Don't worry about next summer. Just worry about today. If you slip up don't say F-It! Reach out to friends. It takes a long time to form crazy habits and a long time to undo them. Keep things simple. I over complicate everything. That gives me an excuse for quitting once I have overwhelmed myself with too many details to be a success. I have stayed sober for two years by asking for help and not drinking today, after today, after today.

New Year's is great. Trying to better yourself is wonderful. If you need help ask for it. None of us can handle our problems on our own. When we try to, we explode or implode. Thanks for your support in reading my blog. I have over 2050 reads in 18 days. That is a miracle. Sharing with you may help you, and I know it helps me. Find a God you're not afraid to talk to. Just start with hello and forget about the grasshoppers and plagues. Find a friend to share your successes with and someone you can call when you're feeling overwhelmed. The me, me, me approach will fail everytime. The we, we, we, approach is sure to be a smashing success. Remember a man who conquers a city is great. A man who conquers himself is FREE!

The Dough, Ray and Me (Edgebrook Manor)

WrittenWritten 


Edgebrook Manor Home for the Elderly, was situated smack dab in the middle of an upscale residential street. It was stark and square, grey and gloomy. Built in the early 1900's it had once housed an orphanage. It had been a place for children forgotten, abandoned or simply tossed away in the streets, by parent's unable to care for their troubled child any longer. It was sold to the state in 1976, and turned into a long term care facility for the elderly whose memory and recall had left them vacant. They too, like the orphans, had been abandoned, forgotten or had become too much for a loving family to care for at home any longer.

 It seemed so out of place amongst the rows of sturdy, grand Victorian homes and towering oak trees that lined the winding street. The facility looked like it had simply fallen from the sky, a weed grown from a seed strangling out all of the beauty of the flowers surrounding it. The residents who lived on the streets, that surrounded Edgebrook, hardly noticed the thorn in their rose garden like neighborhood.  They had trained themselves to casually look away while passing by to dull the uneasy feelings the living mausoleum created. 

The accuracy that the exterior of the building lent to the period of its' construction was equalled only by the doubly drab interior that Edgebrook welcomed visitors and guests with alike. Antiquated wallpaper and furnishings appeared to be originals. Classic standards, that were once the top hits of the day, crackled through an ancient sound system. It sounded as if an old hand cranked Victrola, stacked with thick 78's,  had been placed in front of a microphone droning out tired muzak for exhausted minds.

Each corridor led to another, looking exactly the same as the previous one. New patients and their families walked back and forth down exacting hallways searching for room numbers that were nearly impossible to find. They could leave a trail of bread crumbs to mark their path, confident no one would sweep them up before they're exodus. Each room, a converted dormitory, provided its' tenant a bed, night table, a TV stand with a TV, if you provided your own, and a shared bathroom. There were no secrets between each room as the bathroom split the two like a bad hotel.

The residence that made up the permanent clientele of the ancient foreboding interior took on the characteristics of their surroundings. Some wandered the maze of endless hallways in search of a destination they never seemed to find. Still others sat stuck in corners, head down like they had been placed there for bad behavior or wanted to disappear into the drab walls that they stared at. Gurneys lined the walls with patients in various stages of sickness and impending death. Some cried out in agony at mysterious pains or called out into the cavernous hallways for loved ones long gone.

At the end of one of the corridors sunshine seemed to find it's way to one of the dorms. It was home to Benny a long time resident and a stark contradiction to those populating his ward, and the whole facility for that matter. Benny looked no more than 50. Even the nurse with the longest term of employment at Edgebrook couldn't tell you his age or how long he had been at the home. He was there since she was a nursing assistant some 16 years earlier and hadn't seemed to have aged a day. The institutionalization that conquered so many of the other residents had little effect on Benny.

Benny was a picture of serenity, or so it seemed. He wasn't prone to excitability like many of the other long term neighbors he shared his home with. He had no visitors, and never seemed to be bothered by it. He was courteous and helpful, and quick to lend a hand of strength or support to somebody in need. His salt-n-pepper hair was shoulder length but held back neatly by a ponytail. The lines in his face didn't appear carved from years of physical work or the stresses of life. They were just lines and wrinkles that seemed to make him all the more handsome. The complimentary etchings that mapped out his face were just an accent to his radiant skin. Benny was slightly browned like the dirty Irish or tribes of South America. In "PC" talk he would be labeled ethnically ambiguous.

While other residents talked of return trips home that would never arrive, Benny just nodded and smiled his support, lending hope for the unlikely trip back out of Edgebrook. His eyes burned blue and almost looked hand painted. They were eyes that saw all of you when speaking with him, and right through you when you weren't. Standing at only 5'7" his a