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SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself

Amazon-Kindle-soulparole.com MARCH-2012

Step Parent? Stepson? There Are NO Steps, Only Parents and kids...

Sometimes I think there should be a recovery program for being a stepparent, or the child of one. I am both. It has been both the most difficult and rewarding experience of my life, more so than my battle with addiction and recovery.

The word "STEP" in front of “parent” or ‘child’ is as ridiculous as the term "holy war," or "amicable divorce,” because it implies a barrier between the parent and child and sets up a preconceived notion of separation between the two. When someone mentions, “stepmother,” I remember poor Cinderella being run ragged by hers. As for "stepfather,” I think of those horror movies where the guy is all cheesecake and smiles when his wife is in the room and pure evil when he's alone with her child.

My first experiences with a "stepparent" happened when I was six. I thought my father’s new wife was pretty and polite, but she brought along three daughters. I was the only boy, so I was either the lucky one or the odd man out. There were feelings of envy and jealousy at the thought of sharing my father, but I think that is pretty normal for a little kid. I also had a "stepfather," for a short time, and he would be a good candidate for the nasty character I described earlier in this posting.

After enduring the loss of two children to miscarriage in my previously failed marriages, I was angry with God for not giving me kids of my own. I prayed over and over, but the answer was always, “No,” or so I thought at the time. Little did I know He had a plan for my life, and when he didn't follow "my" plan, I thought I was getting a raw deal. My father never called his new wife's daughters "step," just daughters. I noted that early on, and it made a lasting impression on me.

When I moved in with Squeaky, I became "instafather." The position has advantages and definite disadvantages. When things were great it was, "I love you DA!" When things weren't so good, the ever popular, "You aren't my Dad!" flew like death darts. I would be less than honest if I didn't point out I pulled the same trump card early in our marriage with comments like, "YOUR Daughter “and “YOUR Son...."

As a parent to my kids, I have made lots of mistakes, both when I was drunk and when I was sober, and I always will because I am human. However, there were benefits from my “dad once removed, DNA-free relationship with my kids.” When they were small, I told them they had a father, and I wasn't trying to replace him. They adopted an affectionate nickname the Irish use, “DA,” instead of the American "Pa.” I told them they could talk to me as a friend, rather than their dad, but that I wanted their respect as the man of the house and their mother's husband.

I have different relationships and memories with each of them. I was there for Bro's first day of school. I will never forget his adorable look of excitement mixed with a touch of terror as I left him behind on that first day of kindergarten. Bro has referred to me as his DA and stepdad, depending on his entourage, and I am comfortable with either title. I know he loves me.

My middle daughter, Sunny was, and is, close to her father. Once, when Sunny and I were at a doctor's office, a man commented that she "looked just like me." We smiled and thanked him for his kind words, then laughed our butts off in the car at the congenital comparison. We had many challenges during our years of growing up together. Now we are the best of friends.

Hemingway, my oldest, calls me, “Dad,” and that makes me feel good. I was proud to take Hemi to the "Daddy/Daughter" dance her senior year. Her father has little interest in her, but I hope that changes some day. I will be happy to share her with him, but she will always be “Daddy's little girl” to me.

Growing up, my relationship with my "stepmother" was up and down. She was patient and always cordial to me, but I could sense her frustration because I always ran to Daddy when I was in a pinch or needed money. She was the “tough love” type, so I’m sure my frequent requests caused disagreements between Dad and her. I am grateful my father assisted me, yet, in my addictive manipulation, I often took advantage of his willingness to help.

During my father's illness (He was in the hospital nine times during the last two years of his life), my second mom and I grew very close. We spoke freely of my addictions and the challenging personality my father brought to their relationship. She loved him, and I could see why he spent his life with her. Today we are close friends, and I love her deeply.

If you are a "stepparent" I feel ya! If you are not, please don't judge us until you have walked a block in our shoes. I do not see my biological daughter as much as I would like to, but that is a story for another day. That will work itself out in God's time. I have two mothers, four sisters and four kids. There are no "steps" between us.

God often gives us what we want; it's just not the way "we" want it. I am blessed to be a second father to my wife's kids, and I have adopted my father's policy of no "steps" when I speak of them. Dad, thanks for the life lesson. I miss you! God, thanks for giving me the children. I have given up on trying to figure you out, but am grateful you understand me….

Depression Makes Me LAUGH!

Depression makes me laugh. What? You thought I was gonna say it makes me sad. Right? It does sometimes. There are times it makes me cry, get obsessive-compulsive, angry or giddy. On other occasions it makes me isolate or dread being alone. I dislike the word depression "sufferer." There are few moments that I suffer from my depression. There are trying times. Every so often I have a difficult day or two.

I usually speak about the triumphs and tribulations of sobriety, addiction and recovery. I don't speak enough about the world of depression. I'm not an expert on it. I live with it, and in it. A friend of mine, who's a county politician, messaged me this morning troubled with how stigmatized addiction and depression is in our society. I told her I was going to be addressing that very thing today.

I was first diagnosed bi-polar in March of 1999 when I checked myself into Hinsdale Hospital for rehab. I have since been rediagnosed as having an anxiety and panic disorder with bi-polar tendencies. My work in recovery and with a therapist has been effective in helping me MANAGE my CONDITION. I have a chemical imbalance that requires medication to stabilize my mood. I am grateful to say that over the last three years I have gone from four pills a day, to two at bedtime. I hope I get to a point when I need no medication at all. The chemical imbalance is a part of life as ME. It's kinda like the fact that I'm left handed in a right handed world. I have learned to MANAGE and ADAPT.

Bi-Polar used to be called Manic Depressive. That's a beauty! To define what I have is difficult. Simply stated I am attracted to both male and female Arctic people.  Traditionally defined, I have really high-highs and really low-lows emotionally. Most folks spend their time in the emotional middle and spike up or down. I tend to be at one of the polar extremes and have to work towards the emotional middle. My chemical receptors and plugs have a problem lining up just right. It's a bit like a car that needs a new set of wires. The car runs but it misfires.  A lot of addicts use because they have some form of depression or chemical imbalance. We self medicate because we can't cope with racing thoughts, mood swings or can't process our feelings that aren't fitting the picture. This is me.

I often have the wrong emotional response for the situation that is occurring. The world sees my actions not my intentions. When my Aunt Dora died we drove down to Carlisle, Indiana for her funeral. I was about 15 or so. My grandfather was cracking jokes about her in the family lounge. I was laughing like George Carlin was sitting next to me. Tears were rolling down my face. I was clearly boisterous and obnoxious. I didn't KNOW HOW to cope with my feelings over the death. I vented through my laughter.

 As White Sox announcer Ken " Hawk" Harrelson says, "right size, wrong shape." It was inappropriate behavior for a funeral. I was depressed and was in a high on my emotional meter. I was in a manic moment. Rightfully, my mother scolded me for my actions. I retreated into a corner feeling as if I had done something horribly wrong. It wasn't that my feelings were wrong. Our feelings are OUR FEELINGS, and are neither right or wrong. My actions were improper for a wake. I couldn't find the middle on how to react to my Aunt's death. When my HIGH reaction was inappropriate I slipped down to the low. Emotional Middle Earth was elusive for me.

I started to drink and use because I couldn't cope with my thoughts and feelings not aligning.  I felt misunderstood all the time. Sometimes I still do. It's been said that addicts are overly sensitive people. It's not surprising to me when I see us dually diagnosed. It does sting a little when I hear people say addicts have no feelings. WE FEEL EVERYTHING! That is a large part of our problem. We feel compassion when a butterfly farts! When you mix a chemical imbalance into an addictive personality KABOOM! Catastrophe is down right inevitable. It is a perfect recipe for self-destruction. However, once we get armed with the facts about WHAT WE ARE and WHO WE ARE there's hope.

The key to SURVIVING addiction and depression is reaching out for help. As an addict and a person who has wondered if I was going out of my mind I know that is a bitter pill to swallow. The thought of approaching someone about being crazy is nuts! No it's not. It's your only hope. You have to have hope. Even when your sitting under that rock. You're not crazy! You're just a little nuts!

When I addressed my alcohol and addiction issues I was having multiple panic attacks daily. Once I found out my wires were crossed I felt better. I WAS NOT ALONE. Panic attacks suck! The ones' Tony Soprano had were a party! I felt like I was gonna DIE every day! DAY AFTER DAY! That's not living. That's existing until you're finally right!

I saw a couple of noodle professionals. I  eventually found one I was comfortable with. This is not like picking out bagels! Take your time. DO RESEARCH. LEARN. EDUCATE YOURSELF. The more you learn about your melon the less you'll feel your losing your seeds! It isn't the end of the world. It opened me up to my life again. I have not had a full blown attack in over a year. I now recognize my symptoms and know I'm not going to die. To be safe I also don't let ducks raise their young in our backyard.

General public, earthlings and pundits, PLEASE don't judge what you do not understand. Chemical imbalance doesn't mean crazy. An addict doesn't have a morality problem. If it were as easy as "just stopping" ...we would. When it comes to depression, if it were as easy as, "just snapping out of it"...we'd do that too....

Parents Just Don't Understand

I remember when I was growing up, and my parents did something wrong, I thought it was high treason punishable by death! If I did something wrong, it was just a mistake and should be forgotten. For some strange reason, I thought parents weren't human. No. Humans went in one column, parents went in another. They were held to a strict double standard.

They were to dismiss my wrongs. I licked up theirs like an all day sucker. I kept a mental diary of all of their faults. Some were hurtful actions and failings, others were just resentments I held against them for not seeing things MY WAY. They had no feelings! I wasn't to be held accountable or judged based on my behavior! I knew everything! My screw ups were different!

As parents we don't keep lists. We have been where our kids are. They think we were hatched, or beamed down from a distant galaxy... just before THEY were born. When we share our experiences with them they look at us as old fashioned, preachy and hypocritical. They say, "times are different now," and that "they just don't understand." Advice burns like hot pokers in their ears. I remember that those hot pokers burnt mine closed for years.

Parents see things from both sides of the fence. Sometimes we are the good cop, on other days the bad one. We too, reflect on things we wish we had handled differently during our kids tender years. We also see where we were wrong in our youth. Some incidents trouble us greatly. We wish we could have a mulligan. Time makes memories clearer when we take an honest look back at what we have said and done. There are regrets for actions taken, and those that were not.

Each of us has a mental time freeze on an age our parents never out grow.  My parents were frozen at around thirty five. When they reached their sixties, I was shocked! I wondered what had happened to their calendars? Theirs didn't match mine! My God! They're old!

 Sometime around thirty, I started seeing my folks as humans. I realized that much of the advice they offered was right. I began to see that my perceptions of their wrongful actions were based on their fear for my safety and guidance. They had not been hatched. They moved into the human column with a parental asterisk. They really did know a lot about life. They weren't clueless.

I understood that they really had already experienced the pains and tribulations of growing up. I had been a bit hypocritical in my assessment of them. They had parents! Grandma and Grandpa had a couple as well!

I did make mistakes as a kid and parent. I still do. Check that! As a human being, sometimes I fail. I know we each share common ground in our victories and failures. I know there is no double standard... we all try our best....

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe and Kindle. Personalized copies can be purchased at tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page. 

Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.