Love Is Not Enough To Save A Dying Friend

The pain and despair that comes with addiction is excruciating. Every morning you wake up feeling like hell and you know that you are going to do the same thing that day. It's like there's a guy with a sledge hammer standing behind a door, and even though you know he's there, you choose to open the door any way. The power of addiction is merciless, deceitful and doesn't care who you are. It just wants you to submit to it's every command - and you do.

Part of my recovery is trying to help others to recover and make it to the other side. As a recovering addict I have done the lying, cheating, stealing and manipulation that makes addiction possible. Being an alcoholic or addict is a 24 hour job. You are either thinking about getting high, trying to get high, getting high or suffering from the last high. The paradox of addiction is that it convinces you that you are not an addict. It also twists your mind into thinking that your family and the world are against you. It reassures you that giving in and getting high is your only path to peace.

There is a person very dear to me who I see slipping into the jaws of addiction. She is a daughter to me. Knowing the signs and games an addict plays is both a blessing and a curse. It's like you know the fastball is coming and you still strike out. The person I am speaking of is a beautiful girl. She is bright and intelligent and only 22 years old. She is completely lost.

When I used, "checking out" of myself was required. I had no choice. For over 20 years I continuously opened the door and let the guy with the sledgehammer beat my brains in. I lost everything from control of my mouth, my self respect to my family. Those losses just added fuel to the fire and more power to the addiction's constant reminder that it was my only friend. It wasn't until I truly thought I was losing my mind and going to die that I got help. Friends, family, strangers and God Almighty can't help an addict until they get tired of the guy with the sledgehammer beating them to death. I was thrown life preserver after life preserver and my denial let me drown for years.

It is so sad for me to look at her and see the patterns I am so familiar with. There have been threats, sob stories, broken promises and I'm sorries. The patterns are all the same. Only the faces and places change. I see the pain in her eyes and the self hate she has for herself. Self hate is the ultimate master of destruction and obsession for an addict. As life gets more chaotic, the greater the drive is to escape. It is hell on earth.

As a loved one you can make threats, try tough love, beg, spoil and play every game you can think of to get an addict to see reality just for that one second. Sometimes it works. Other times it doesn't. Alcoholism and addiction are the only diseases that tell you you're not sick, that you can quit at anytime. An addict thinks they know all the answers and everyone else is full of shite! Prayers are important. Setting a good example is right thinking. Loving the addict who is suffering is vital.

The reality check is that all of the solutions, combinations of them, love, anger, compassion and punishment, may or may not work. It's a crap shoot. Some times you roll a 7. Sometimes you roll box cars. There is no perfect solution. All alcoholics and addicts suffer from terminal uniqueness. You can do your best and keep the faith. That is all.

I am going to see this lovely girl tomorrow night. I can share with her my love, experience, strength and hope. I can pray for her. I can tell her the stories of living on the street or having cockroaches crawling all over my body. Maybe something will stick. Maybe it won't. We can control our actions but we have no control over the outcomes. When she walks out the door she will be left with my love and words of support and the knowledge that I will always be there for her. Once she hits the streets it's just her and her addiction. Until the scale tilts from misery to recovery I must accept I can only do so much. I must also face the fact that her life is out of my control. Sometimes love is not enough to save a friend.

When she walks out that door I will say "Sunny, I love you and I'm here for you."


SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Please visit tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page.

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

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... 

The Monkey and the Eagle

SOUL PAROLE 2 Preview!
(Draft)


I have loved reading for as long as I can remember. As a kid my favorites were "Where The Wild Things Are," Encyclopedia Brown," and any book about baseball. I imagined I was the kid in the boat heading for Wild Thing island in his tiny sailboat. I helped Encyclopedia Brown solve the latest neighborhood caper. I read to escape the real world and disappeared between the pages. My love for reading has never left me.

I measured each book between my fingers. I carefully removed my hand as I stared at the gap between my pointer finger and thumb to review its thickness.I was fascinated that someone had cobbled all those words together. I felt a sense of achievement as the space grew between my digits. The bigger the book I consumed, the better I felt. When I zipped through "The Hobbit," it was ecstasy. I never let my buddies know I was a reading fanatic. Back then it meant you were a geek. I was one, but was not ready to lose my place in the cool club.

I decided I was going to become a writer when I grew up. It was going to be a fat book, with lots of words. People would gobble it up. They would measure it's girth with their fingers and be amazed at my work. I set out, at once, to achieve my goal of literary greatness.

My grandparents lived in the city. It was on the South Side of Chicago, on Karlov Avenue, just west of Harlem on 79th Street. I adored the predominantly Irish neighborhood they lived in. As kids we didn't ring the doorbell when we were seeking out a playmate. We stood on the porch and would call out, "Yo, Johnny can you come out and play?" Our singing pleas were droned endlessly until someone came to the door. If they didn't come, or their mom shooed you away, you moved on to another house replaying the same song with a new subject line.They didn't do that in Mokena where I lived. I thought it was the coolest. 

In the summer time the ice cream man would cruise the streets in a white painted cube truck that blared out "Pop Goes The Weasel," to announce his presence. I thought that was the coolest too. My heart would race as the sounds of the droning song got closer and closer. Grandma would pull some change from her tiny clasped purse. I would barely have my hand clinched around the coins before I dashed out the door. We would sit on the curb licking away at bomb pops or the latest Good Humor treat.

Grandma had an old Smith-Corona typewriter in the basement. A ribbon was stretched between two spools. The top half was red. The bottom half was black. The red served as highlighting back then. When you got to the end of the spool, you simply rewound it back to the left and continued with the task at hand. I loved plunking away on the fat round keys. When you wanted to capitalize a letter you would hold down the caps key. The heavy rubber roller would rise up from the black machine as the keys hammered at the paper like piano hammers hitting the strings stretched taunt inside.  When you released the key it would fall back into place with a thump. I worked feverishly as the slender arms slapped the ribbon to the page.

My first work was called "The Monkey and the Eagle." I was about seven. My mother still has it. It was a simple paragraph. The plot revolved around a monkey who steals an egg from an eagles' nest, then returns it after he realizes the mother eagle was sad. I went through pages of paper, and rewound the spools a few times, before I got the story just right. Inevitably I would near completion of my masterpiece and hit the wrong key. The spindle whizzed and whined as I ripped the botched up paper from the machine and replaced it with a fresh one.

I presented it to the world with glowing satisfaction. I was an author just like the ones' who pecked out my favorites. I wrote story after story. I was the hero of course. Sometimes I would type out a sad theme. In those works I tried to save a person or animal from doom. My heart fell to pieces when I couldn't. Now I see that people pleasing, and my desire to save the world, crossed into my reality.

I feel blessed and grateful that I reached my goal of becoming a published author. Writing SOUL PAROLE was a cathartic journey. As a kid I thought my works would be about safaris and daring rescues. I never thought I would pen the recounting of years of self destruction. I hope someone finds it as intriguing as Encyclopedia Brown.

When I got the first proof copy I stared at it for a few minutes. I flipped through the pages in disbelief that I had pecked out the words. I measured the book between my fingers. I slowly removed my hand, then stared at the gap between my pointer finger and thumb to review its thickness.I was fascinated that I had cobbled all those words together. I felt a sense of achievement as I carefully removed my fingers to keep my measurements true. I sat in awe, fixated on the space between the two. I was bathed in a sense of accomplishment. I have come a long way from "The Monkey and the Eagle." I know that the only thing that keeps us from catching our dreams is the FEAR that they are possible....

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

Silly Putty and Ramen Noodles

I am grateful to GOD for giving me a sense of humor. I am more grateful that HE has one too. As an actor, comic and writer, part of the gift of that humor is that I verbalize the things that people are thinking but don't have the nerve or need to spit out. That's great because it keeps guys like me, philosophers, pundits and poets in business. Tom Dreesen told me that Carl Reiner advice to him early in his career was to "show people your pain." I have always done that in my act. I poke a lot of fun at myself. People identify with the daily mishaps of just trying to get by.

The distance between the frontal lobe (MY MELON) and the voice box (MY BIG FAT MOUTH) is only a few inches. I have seen many pictures of the brain. It looks to me like chubby Ramen Noodles mixed with Silly Putty all smushed together and placed in an airtight bonehead container. It's quite a fascinating looking machine. When I am told that we use less than 10% of it I am appalled. What the hell is flying around in the other 90% of the noodles that we don't use?! The few I am trying to get a rise out of are driving me and everybody around nuts!

I need to call the people who design filters for water or furnaces because I have a bit of a problem. In my personal life those same skills that make me a funny comic or good improv actor sometimes make me a poor communicator. That's PC talk for sometimes I say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time and I can't help it! I want a filter between the Ramen Noodles, The Silly Putty and my pie hole!

As a recovering alcoholic/addict the problem is doubled because we learn to use words as weapons of mass destruction like fists, knives and passive aggressive napalm! We find our loved ones' tender spots in passionate moments of weakness, trust or sweet confession and BAM! If we get pushed the wrong way we will pull that sweet secret you never told a soul and spit it in your face like rattle snake venom. 

In recovery that doesn't just disappear. It slowly goes away but I still have my moments. I'm not beating myself up right now. Don't worry I'll do that when I get to my rant about procrastination somewhere down the line. I am just becoming more self aware of some of my character flaws. Some of the time I am hilarious. Yet other times I can be critical and hurtful and not even realize I am doing it.

The power of a word is more damaging than a fist in my estimation. Both are violent. A sore chin will heal. The wounding of the mind through criticism and demeaning can be crippling. A perfect example is that there were many times my wife called me an alcoholic and every swear word her Berwyn upbringing could conjure up, and they meant nothing to me. The day she called me PATHETIC was the day I took my last drink. Why THAT was the word that pushed my "get sober" button GOD only knows. 

The point is that a few simple letters put in a prearranged form said at the right time, under the right conditions had a life changing impact on me. The biggest argument my wife and I EVER had was about...wrapping paper! Yes you heard it...WRAPPING PAPER. Left to it's own proper use wrapping paper is associated with joy and gift giving. In the context of the argument it was connected to my ex-wife and it was a hot button for Squeaky. We were screaming. There were attorneys involved in the uproar. She shouted that I was an "Oedipus Complex!" I spat back that she was an "unclean female dog." It really got ugly. By the time we got home we had pulled over and stopped to laugh at the fact we were going to divorce court over...Wrapping Paper.

The most frequently mentioned subject in the Bible is our words and how we use them. The second is fear. Usually the two go hand in hand. I have a tendency of shooting my mouth off when I am scared of losing something, someone getting hurt or someone hurting another person I love. At that point the Ramen Noodle-Silly Putty-Tongue is connected. That is dangerous for me and something that I am working on. The quick wit and snarky comment work great on stage and for hecklers. Not so for family and friends.

I am trying to incorporate a few new rules into my personal behavior for rules of engagement. These help me with human relations and how comfortably I live with myself. They are as follows and are not all my creations. Most of them were taught to me:

1. I do not have to be right nor have an opinion on everything. 
2. It's okay to say "I don't know."
3. I refuse to have arguments with people unless they are actually there!
4. The phrase "hold your tongue"... can actually be done.
5. When I am unsure of what to do, phone a friend is good. 
6. When I react emotionally so do other people!
7. Doing NOTHING when I am unsure is acceptable.
8. I do not have to jump into every conversation I meet.
9. Whatever dress I want my wife to wear... pick the opposite one so she wears the one I like.
10. Turn to GOD more often Tom. When you lean on his words you need less of your own...


SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is available on AMAZON and Kindle. Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, mental health and homeless facilities....

The I Haven't Kicked The Bucket Yet List

Thank you to all of you who have purchased my first book SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself (AMAZON). The feedback has been positive so far. I am humbled that people have said it has inspired them to seek treatment, or to catch their goals. I bared my SOUL in the book on my path to rediscovery.

In the chapter, "I Was Dead But Didn't Die," I share a candid look at the day I tried to take my life in April of 2004. I am glad I am still here. It is frightening to reflect on the fact that even a near death experience didn't stop my drinking and using. It would be five more years until I surrendered and found sobriety.

While I was going through boxes to find items for the garage sales. I ran across some journals and poems I had written over the years. The first one begins in 1983, my year of High School graduation and entry into college. I am reviewing them all now and am certain there will be stories to share based on where I was "at" during those years.

The last diary I found was from August of 2003. It was eight months before I attempted to "off" myself. I was surprised what the pages held inside. There was a list of "100 things I wish to do over the next 40 years." A year later death moved to number one on my "to do" list. If I would have succeeded in my death mission I would have been 2 years short OF 40.

Some of the goals, and wishes have come true. That is, in sobriety. I was out of my mind when I wrote the list. I was employed with a company that delivered medicine around five states. It was just me, my drugs, the car and the medicine. Some of the goals are no longer important. My new bucket list will be much different.

Here are a few of the thirty-two listed out of the planned hundred. I was so high back then I couldn't even find 100 things to shoot for in my life. It saddens me. The fact that many have come to fruition over the last 4 years is gratifying.

Here we go:

1. Do God's will and find peace within myself (trying to do that every day)
2. Work better with Squeaky ( We go through seasons like everyone. Things are WAY better than in 2003)
3. See my daughter Kelly regularly ( I still don't know where she is. She is 12. I have left that to GOD.)
4. Have acceptance ( I am glad I accepted the fact that I am a REAL addict. I try to live life as it is)
6. Try acting and comedy (Those dreams have and are coming true)
7. Teach others ( I share my testimony of overcoming obstacles with the help of friends wherever I can)
8. Publish something I write ( Soul Parole and a Poem about Bill Murray have made that dream come true)
12. Work for myself (that one has been realized in sobriety)
14. Save a life (I have been told the book has inspired people to change their lives for the better, That's cool)
17. Donate to charity more ( The 2012 "Extra Hands of Hope" clothing drive for Urban7 begins soon)
19. Get paid to be funny (I have been paid to do comedy. Performing at fundraisers pays me more)
32. Sign an autograph (Dreams of stardom then and something I am uncomfortable doing each time)

There are plenty of material goals on the list. Those are not as important to me in sobriety, as they were lost in addiction. I always thought things, people and different circumstances would spark my desire to get clean. Nothing could, or would, until I surrendered and realized I couldn't get clean on my own.

As I look at the list of 32, I see that I made it past 40 with God's help. I got sober with the help of others like me. I achieved personal goals because I worked hard, and found faith in my sobriety. I don't have to go it alone EVER now. I achieved over 30 %. That is really cool. I am starting another bucket list now. I have also written out a gratitude list. As long as I have gratitude for what I have the other stuff is just icing on my life cake....

But for the grace of GOD...There go I....



SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Please visit tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page. The book will be available on Kindle in September, 2012.

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

" Sweet Release, I love how you use me." - Morriso-

I love Van Morrison. Most people associate him as the singer/songwriter who penned, Gloria, Domino and Brown Eyed Girl. I agree with those who call him the Irish Bob Dylan. I see them both as poets who use songs as their medium.

I am a lyrics guy. Some folks dig a song for the tune. I tune in for the message. When I can't seem to cobble my words together effectively, I'll ask the person I'm trying to communicate with to listen to a song that better conveys what I am trying to express.That thing hanging in the back of my throat seems to change my wonderful thoughts into misunderstood ramblings.

The book release party for Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself was July 28, 2012. It was a week after the second anniversary of my father's death. I thought it was fitting to have the release around that date. He had an impact on my life more than anyone. He was usually around for me, when I was no where to be found.

Writing the book was an emotional journey. The baring of my soul on paper was liberating. It was also painful and difficult at times. Recounting the things that I regret, and am ashamed of from my past, was a closet most folks would spend a lifetime trying to keep closed. For the most part this blog was the source of the books content. "Every Day Is A Gift," reached 19,000 reads today. That is truly humbling. The fact that I've only been writing it for nineteen months makes it mind blowing.

As an author, when you present your work to the world, you're hopeful that it will be gobbled up by the masses. I was certain that friends, family, and most importantly people trying to overcome obstacles, would have it flying off the shelves. As of this writing, seventy one copies have been sold. That is far out!

So far the reviews have been positive. That is truly satisfying. A few have said it has given them hope. I hope all who read it find that it is about overcoming our past and reaching for our future, not just about my addictions.  You can plug in any word for what is holding you back into the spaces that read alcohol or drugs. We are all paralyzed by fears and obstacles that prevent us from reaching for our dreams.

The party was surreal. There were many friends and strangers on hand to enjoy the dinner and show. It is hard to grasp that people would want my signature in a pile of paper. The last time anyone asked for my autograph was when I performed at Stateville Prison. The night was a bookmark in coming full circle on my journey. I was in a dream.

As the multi-gifted Charmane Ward started the festivities with her songs of passion and faith, I was comforted by her angelic voice.The dinner was great. People were laughing. That always makes me smile. Squeaky was graciously greeting guests.Comediennes, M.J. Brown and Josie Dykas rocked the house with hilarious sets. The three ladies entertaining created a night to remember by all. Each of them are making a positive impact in their orbits.

Beyond the faithful friends who attended, I was moved by a few strangers who came out that night. A woman, whose son is fighting addiction and recovery, called to see if she could get tickets at the door. She thought the book would inspire him to stay in recovery. That young man made me realize that my work was making an impact. It reminded me that my sobriety is a gift. It helped me see that the writing of Soul Parole was never intended to be a book. It is meant to be a message. It will never be a best seller. It is not a recovery handbook. That one has been written.

Reality and the wreckage of my past hit me full in the face as well. Not a single one of my family attended. It left me feeling wounded. I see how much damage I have done over my twenty eight year run. My In-Laws came. I looked out over the many who attended and realized family goes beyond flesh and blood. That reinforced how close we have grown together. The hits didn't stop there.

Just as I had sat down to greet the people lining up to have the book signed, our alarm went off at the house. I have read about burglars breaking into homes when people post their vacation or travel plans on Facebook, or in other public forums. Our dogs yelping had set off the alarm once before. I thought that they were the source of the emergency call from the police. In fact, it was someone I know that had made an attempt to break in. That was devastating. It was mind numbing knowing that someone I loved would try such a terrible thing.

I feel a deep sense of accomplishment from fulfilling a life long dream of writing a book. You can catch your dreams as well, if you overcome your FEAR that they are possible. That doesn't mean that there won't be hurddles. It does not mean that realities won't impede your journey.

The signing was a personal success. WE raised two hundred and fifty dollars for an area recovery club. The emotions created in me from the attempted break in, and the fact that none of my family attended leveled the playing field. God keeps my feet on the ground. I still have a long journey in trying to amend my past. Some relationships seem broken beyond repair. Time will tell. As long as I keep my side of the street clean, I can live free of guilt. I am responsible for one half of a hundred percent of the relationships I have in this world.

My favorite Van Morrison Album is The Philosopher Stone. I can listen to it endlessly. One song in particular, I Have Finally Come to Realize, rocks me to my core. In the lyrics Morrison sings," I have finally come to realize, a child don't do what I have done. Cut my nose to spite my face. I'm just one tiny, tiny grain of sand. Oh, sweet release, I love how you soothe me, and when I let go, I love how you use me...It's in the doing that we find, a certain way we can live our lives, and obtain some peace of mind."

The book release showed me where I stand in the world. It also pointed me on my continuing journey to spread some hope. Happiness is a choice. No one can make it for us. No one can steal it from us, unless we let them. Others share emotions that enhance our happiness. Sometimes they inflict some pain. We all do. It's the human condition. My attitude toward adversity and treasuring life, can not be touched by anyone. I choose life. I want to make people smile. It makes me smile. I have wonderful friends. I am blessed, and rich  beyond my wildest dreams.

God is always working in my life whether I'm tuned in or not. Every once in a while he throws me a curve. Sometimes I hit a home run. Sometimes I strike out. I will always step up to the plate. I'm grateful to have others on my team. I am glad to be a messenger. As Van would say, "It's in the doing that we find...."


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

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

The Dough, Ray and Me....

THIS IS AN EXCERPT FROM A FICTIONAL PIECE I STARTED WHEN I BEGAN WRITING SOUL PAROLE CALLED "THE DOUGH, RAY AND ME." I might as well have called it non-fiction. IT WAS... ME....

This is the original unedited copy from March, 2011. It contains crude language, grammar and spelling.....


3:30am. I'm painfully awake. My head is pounding with dehydration and demons. They're not the little red guys with horns and trident tail. They jab at me though. They never stop.They are my demons, created from my fears and wrong choices. They were forged from broken hearts and failures, pains of my making, and the agony handed to me by everyone else's reality. They never sleep. They're relentless. Sometimes they let me catch a nap. Then they poke at me in my dreams. They must not sleep, because they are always there to wish me hell-o. They are the only constant in my life, beyond  booze and misery.

I have to get up and shower. My terry cloth diaper didn't hold again. I'm drenched in my own urine. It has grown cold, and leaves me shivering to the bone. The maid hates me. Cleaning my room must be how they break in the new girls. The tiny motel box, I know as home is the litmus test to check the intestinal fortitude of the new hires. I don't feel bad for them. The dozens of roaches that cover me at night, and shoot into secret corners when I turn on the lights, have dulled me to apathy. I don't hate them. They know it. They taunt me as I splatter them on the wall. I leave their guts there for the others to see. It doesn't matter, they have legions to replace my victims.

I have become like them, crawling in the darkness, feeding on the garbage people have tossed aside. Poison has no effect on my body. I ingest it nightly. Sometimes I  run my fingers through my thinning hair. I am convinced that tiny feelers are sprouting from my head. They are survivors. I am a survivor, if not a hanger on. They are oblivious to me while I exist in oblivion. I am a creature of the night too. Light hurts my eyes and attempts to brighten up the darkness of a world too much for me to witness. I am no threat to them. I am either drunk, working, passed out or too sick to care about their take over. They are the only family I have left.

I slip in my own vomit as I fumble into the mold covered bathroom to hose myself down. I don't remember being sick. I've blacked out again. Blackouts scare and delight me. I come to, day after day, with strange objects in my room, bruises on my body. There's more or less money in my pockets than when I left the cave that night. I am grateful for not remembering. It's like my gratitude for cheap vodka or cheaper beer. My fingers and knuckles are painted in cracking blood. I was shooting my mouth off the night before, or punished someone for shooting off theirs.

Sometimes I wake to find a woman laying next to me. I don't remember her name or where she's from. I don't care. I know why she's there. I hope her expectations weren't high when we staggered back to my palace. I am useless as a lover when I'm drunk. I'm a useless drunk when I'm in love. I may have hurt her feelings by my impotency. I don't remember. I would have made it perfectly clear when I picked her up at the bar that I only wanted sex. I find comfort in sharing a bed with someone as lost as I am. I dread it when they wake up. I hate morning conversation. I loathe it with people whom I don't know. I have to guess what to call them. It's rare to find them next to me. I usually kick them out before I pass out, to prevent the uncomfortable morning chit chat.

I turn on the shower. The cold numbs me further. The piss and puke slide from my body. The freezing water dulls my headache and offers the closest thing to sobriety I'll feel that day. I see my roommates are enjoying the mess I have spilled on the floor. I scrub my self like an animal is tearing at my flesh. No matter how hard I try I can't wash myself off of... me. I try to shave with shaky hands and aching soul. The cheap razor tugs at my face. When I feel yesterday has been washed away I dry off. First my hair, then my back, then my front and legs.

There is only one thing left to do, comb my hair. I squint through blood shot eyes like two piss holes in the snow. I try to neaten my thinning hair. I quickly look away. I hate mirrors. I won't look into another one until tomorrow. I will do the same thing tonight as I did the night before, and the hundreds before that. I will try to drink my way out of feeling. I hate how I feel drunk or not as drunk.. I don't need the reminders a mirror offers. I know what I am.


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


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

FEAR! Don't Get Licked by a Sucker.....

I write all of my posts from the pit of my heart. I hope you do not think the themes are just about addiction and depression. You can plug any fear or obstacle impeding your journey in to those blanks and it will instantly be pertinent. Someone who bought my book recently was taken back by my brutal honesty in the pages. I took that as a compliment. I did some pretty dark things and kept on plugging away. Face your demons. They always look and feel like giants, but if you face them I guarantee they're not as big as you think. A sucker gets smaller when you lick it. A person who lets fear lick at them become suckers.

Depression makes me laugh. What? You thought I was going to 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 and fear. 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 recently on how stigmatized addiction and depression is in our society. I told her I was going to be addressing that very thing soon.

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 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 living 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, and my irrational fears paralyzing me. I was afraid to talk about them. I thought I was crazy for having them.  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 in overcoming ANY obstacle, or at least coming to peace with it.

The key to SURVIVING addiction, depression or facing any fear 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 and fear, if it were as easy as, "just snapping out of it"...we'd do that too....






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


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

I had Amnesia...What was I Just Saying?

When I share a post about day to day life, I try to keep it real. I have done a fairly good job of that to date. I have been candid about my journey to today. I report my triumphs and tragedies, as well as the silly and the insane. In every entry I try to give a piece of myself to my readers to identify with.

When addiction is active in a household, roles are formed and the family adapts around the sick. Mom or Dad steps in and makes decisions on their own to cover for the user. Enablers are confused when the user gets sober because they no longer have a codependent partner. Kids who were pushed into becoming  grown ups prematurely, are suddenly given their chance to be kids again. The whole family dynamic is thrown into flux. Roles are redefined, and there are growing pains that go with that.

Early in my recovery I had the emotional I.Q. of a young adult. I will turn 47 shortly. Thirteen years ago I began a relationship with a woman who came equipped with three beautiful children. I instantly became a stepfather, a word I loathe. I dove in to my new position head first. For the first few years, there was no water in the pool. It was as if I decided to become a brain surgeon and started doing operations the next day. I was suffering from untreated alcoholism and had lots of issues to work through. I did not handle my new role very well. I have done my best with the job, but quite frankly, I don't really know what I'm doing sometimes.

When it comes to being a good husband and father consistently, I often slip into old thinking. That is an honest assessment of myself. I didn't have a traditional upbringing. I grew up in a single parent home. My mother worked very hard. My father had a family of his own. My sister went her way. I went mine. My grandparents were our neighbors. They were caught in the middle.From my late teens on, we were pretty much on our own. That's not a knock on anyone. That's just the way it was.

My first 3 marriages were not even marriages. I was so far gone. I was barely human. The loss of two children made the relationships impossible to mend. The losses fueled my anger at God and the world. My addictions deepened.  Now I AM a husband and stepfather. I love my kids as though they were my own. Some days I am a champ and on others am clueless, jealous, thoughtless and selfish. I sometimes wonder if I'm fit for either job at all. I am just learning what I am all about, and I seem to make mistake after mistake in the "other people" category. I don't do it intentionally. It just happens.

I have grown in my relationship skills over the last 45 months of recovery.  I still have gaping holes in my "big boy" abilities and skills. There are moments when I see my wife with the kids and feel left out. I understand they are her babies. They will always be held in a different light, as they should. When they disrespect me because "I'm not their Dad," it burns me up when she says nothing. I am her husband. I feel she should demand my respect from them. Now, I understand that respect is earned, not an entitlement. She says it's me. I say it's me against them. Our lives can move from, "A deluxe apartment in the sky", to "Funky Town," in a flash. Not knowing where my youngest daughter Mouse is, makes it all the worse.

We both have expectations. Sometimes we don't meet each others. Sometimes others don't meet both of ours'. I know I have a big mouth. I am learning to keep it closed more often. It shrinks with each day in recovery. It doesn't open as wide as it used to.  I have said, and done, many stupid things as a husband and stepfather. I will again. This is still new to me. Each day I learn positive and negative things about myself and the world around me. Getting sober is truly like being reborn. It is like I had amnesia and am being reintroduced to my life. I really don't know how I feel or which way is up. The old me says run. Just run. The new me says go ahead and run. You can help yourself unpack when you get there.


SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW  on Amazon and Amazon Europe. Personalized copies can be purchased through PAYPAL at tommyconnolly.com. 


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

Easy to Remember, Hard to Forget....

In life, everyone has done or said things they would like to forget and can't. There are memories we try to wish and pray away. There are always a few in some dark corner of our minds just waiting for us to wrap our heads around them, and drag them back into the light. Sometimes they are dragged out for us.

Alcohol, and/or anger makes people say, and do things they wouldn't normally even consider when calm or sober. There's the cutting remarks, pushing of hot buttons, dredged up family secrets and reminders of poor past decisions. We want them erased permanently from our memory drive. There is inevitably something we have done or said while drunk, or riled up, that we wish we could take back. This is not exclusive to people like me. Everyone has an incident or remark they remember, or don't, that haunts them or embarrasses them to some degree.

For an alcoholic this haunting presents itself through remorse, shame and self-loathing that eventually becomes overwhelming. It is simple math. Too many drinks, plus several years of too many drinks, equals loss of control, rage, verbal warfare and multiple bad decisions. This beast of burden becomes so daunting that it creates a cycle of more drinking and bad decisions. The equation is more drinks to forget, more for created mistakes, more drinks, ad infinitum.

For the occasional partier or abstainer, there are probably a few silly, or sometimes serious, incidents that happened on a vacation, or at a company party that are uncomfortable when relived. Some of them were serious enough to create a permanent scar on the parties involved. The normal person moves on, or works through it.

Before I ever picked up a drink, things happened to me that I couldn't process as a little boy. The incidents were confusing, and happened at the hands of a person I trusted. The mixed messages created conflicting emotions, and later would fuel my isolation and anger. It twisted my sense of trust and robbed me of my innocence. This "loved" one is no longer here. I have never shared the pain with my family. I know that nothing positive will result from dredging up the ghost of painful past.

That person is not here to respond, and other lives would be damaged by the news. It is my choice to hold it inside. There is no redemption that would result from my soul cleansing. It can not be changed, no matter how badly I want it to. No human can change history. I have forgiven this person. Not for his actions, but for his human weakness, and my own sanity. God has given me so many chances. To hold hatred inside would rot away at me like acid, while he is dead. He has stood before his maker and accounted for his stop here. His fate is up to powers I can't even perceive.

One of the most difficult parts of my recovery  has been facing the past, and those whom I have hurt along the way. By cleaning up the messes I have created, I am relieved of some of the baggage I was burdened with daily, monthly and yearly. We drink to forget. We drink to escape. We try to temporarily erase the massive discomfort we have created through the fog of a hangover.

Remember the Grinch cartoon where the little dog with the stick on his head is pulling that massive sled stacked four stories high with the Grinch's stolen Christmas booty? At one point they slide down a hill to a cliff, the overstuffed sleigh is teetering on the edge of disaster. The cute little dog is hanging over the edge of the cliff looking up at the huge bags that are sure to destroy him if it falls. That is what a drunk in recovery is trying to fix. Active drinkers keep adding to the burden. We try to remove the baggage, a little bit at a time, so that it doesn't destroy us. As we lighten the burden, the urge to escape is replaced by satisfaction in making things right, or at least taking responsibility for our past mistakes.

Setting the record straight with those we have wronged is greeted with acceptance and forgiveness, angry rejection or indifference by the attempted confession. The outcomes, once again, are out of our control but the issue being faced takes one more package off the sleigh of guilt. There are those we can't reach, those who are dead that make taking the responsibility for past wrongs impossible. We do the best we can with who we can, and leave the rest up to GOD'S timing.

The majority of people we have crossed are wives, husbands, loved ones and friends who are still in our orbit. The reparations offered to these people are lifetime repairs. By leading decent, sober well intentioned lives, we show others that we are "new creatures." Our actions, without expecting anything in return, is a lifetime commitment to sobriety, and our sanity. The ultimate goal is taking ownership of our errors and living peaceably with those offended in our darker days.

The selfish, uncaring drunk I was for 20 years, is still inside of me, and a part of my permanent record. It can not be expunged. There are times when people perceive that I have done them wrong. I am accused of things I did not do. The false accusations are understood but create anger and resentment towards our accuser. If a dog has stolen your socks time after time, when one goes missing, the doghouse is the first place you check. Lashing out creates more trouble. An honest appraisal of my past gives me understanding as to why they think I am the perpetrator. I was a sock stealing dog for years. I just don't steal them anymore.

Forgiveness is the key to contented life, whether drunk or sober. Anger and resentment are deadly for an addict. If dwelled upon for too long, these feelings will eventually lead us back to escape through the bottle or insanity. Forgiving myself has been the hardest reparation I have faced. The self-loathing, self-hate, fear, remorse, regret and shame can be relentless as my mind gets clearer in my sobriety. Forgiveness of self is vital, or I will end up drunk and crazy again.

I know GOD has forgiven me for my sins and human failings. By failing to forgive myself and others, I am questioning GOD'S omnipotence. I have been pardoned for my past mistakes by the ultimate expert on forgiveness. If I question my worthiness for forgiveness, I am doubting his authority and grace. It will take time, but with help, I will make it to the other side. I spent 28 years drinking. It may take 50 years before I am forgiven by others, and myself. As long as I am open-minded, and keep GOD centered in my efforts, everything will work out fine. More specifically, they will work out exactly as God has planned.

Forgive yourself and others for shortcomings and their humanity. God has forgiven us if we have sincerely asked for his mercy. Life is too short to live in the past. Remember that every day is a gift, and the days we live with hate and anger, whether inward or outward, robs us of enjoying the "present" of today. If I don't share the grace and blessings that have been freely given to me, I just might lose them all....

Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself

Soul Parole: Making Peace With My Mind, GOD and Myself is now available on AMAZON.com and Amazon Europe. Foreword by Tom Dreesen, Epilogue by David Brenner.


Proceeds will benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health facilities for the under served.


It's hard to believe that Soul Parole is finally complete. I have wanted to be an author since I was old enough to read Dick and Jane. I never would have imagined that reaching such a lofty goal would come in the recounting of 28 years of alcoholism, addiction and undiagnosed Bi-Polar Disorder.


My first work was called "The Monkey and the Eagle." I tapped it out, on an old black typewriter, in my Grandmother's basement. It was 1972. There were at least 20 drafts. White out and delete were not invented yet.


Each time I would carefully peck away on the old machine I would near the completion of the work and BANG, I would make a typo and start again. I wanted it to be perfect when I presented it to my Mom. My obsession with trying to do things "perfectly" had gotten a hold of me already.


The book is not perfect. As I read through it, I can say with confidence that it is an interesting read. I also see that I have a penchant for run on sentences, and should use more commas. You can see the growth in my writing abilities as the book progresses. It reflects my growth as a man.


I decided to leave things raw to show my metamorphosis from hopelessness to confidence. Soul Parole (Volume 2)will be more polished. I am grateful to have written all of it. The conception of the book was created, right here. I am humbled by the fact that "Every Day Is A Gift," is read in 62 countries world wide. When I see that a thousand people are reading the blog each month when I am writing so few assures me that I am touching hearts.


I hope people will look at my story from the perspective of overcoming fear. It is not an alcoholic manual. That has been written already. I hope that earthlings see that it is about victory over the things that hold us back from achieving our dreams, or conquering the fears that paralyze us.


Sharing accounts of failed marriages, addiction to darned near everything, and explaining how THIS addict reacts to life was unfurled. It was difficult to put some of those intimate details to paper, but I am glad I had the courage to do just that.


You can do anything with hope, faith and the hand of a friend. Take it from this 46 year old goof who didn't free himself from the bondage of fear until he was 43. I did not do my first film or commercial until I was 44. There are no age restrictions on catching your dreams. Go out and grab what you were meant to do! FEAR is the only thing that is holding you back.


I guarantee that if you put 10 percent of the effort into working on how YOU CAN catch your dreams, versus the 90 percent that you spend THINKING YOU CAN'T, you will be amazed with the results. At the very least, you can walk away with one less obsession and one less regret.


Don't leave any cards on the table. Nobody lays on their deathbed wishing they had made an extra hundred bucks. Many do bemoaning regrets and sadness over the things they DIDN'T do while here. We are all messengers. God gave us ALL gifts to share with the world. I hope people like Soul Parole. The sales will help many.  I have one less regret on the table and another dream realized.


Go out and DO IT! The only thing you have to lose is your fear.


God Bless you ALL for supporting the blog and helping me grow in my sobriety and life. You made it happen. I just wrote it down.

Two Slices Of Pickle And A Dose Of Reality

A Sliver of Hope, a New Direction and a Genius Idea!

As of this writing Squeaky is cancer free. We have been through some other medical hurdles she has been presented with. We are tighter than ever. This entry was written in September, 2011 when she was facing Kidney Cancer surgery. I am grateful to say she made it through a tough season. She's got game! I am blessed to have her as my BFF.

As an addict my default thinking is usually me. I want the universe and all of its' atoms formed, or random, to revolve around my plans. Whoever came up with the expression "there is no ME in team" was not an addict. I can say that with almost complete certainty. It is not that we don't have feelings for others but that our addiction demands 100% percent of our attention. Once the booze is gone the melon needs to be rewired for healthy thinking.

In recovery I have found that the biggest problem that fueled my years of self-destruction was the love-hate relationship I had with myself. I would wake up each day and hate myself more and more.  My addiction LOVED it. The more I hated me, the more I would turn to chemicals and booze to try and escape MYSELF temporarily. The next day I would wake up with an extra helping of self hate and some physical pain, guilt and shame to throw into the mix. Then the games would begin again for another 24 hours.

For years I thought I was using because the world was all wrong! I realize now that I was using because I was all wrong inside. It was my thinking.  I had a twisted perception on reality. More precisely, I used because the people and atoms of the universe didn't act in a way that met with my satisfaction. As I grow in sobriety I have learned to like myself by accepting the fact that the world will do what it is supposed to do. I accept others as they are. Most importantly I try not to spend too much time alone in my head. It can become a Wall Street riot up there in a jiffy.

Now that I am sober I work with other alcoholics and addicts new to recovery. I perform for fundraisers and causes because I am grateful to give back this gift that was freely given to me. I will never give back enough. God and recovery groups gave me my life, family and a purpose to live back.

Squeaky and I had been going through a rough season leading up to the "Rally Round Recovery 2011." I was working on a film. I had just returned from California after a week of therapy and a shoot for an "Animal Planet" series. I am in final editing of my book Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, God and Myself. I am about to start 2 new films. I was working to promote the premier of "Chasing Hollywood." I was in hyper "ME" mode. This happens in sobriety and reality.

Squeaky's kidney surgery was scheduled for 2 days later. The doctors were not sure if they were going to take a portion of her right kidney or the whole thing. I cleared my schedule of EVERYTHING. I thank God for giving me the sense to do that. I did bring a galley copy of the book that I intended to read as Squeaky lay in recovery. I made arrangements to stay with her while she was in the hospital. They were very accommodating. I never once opened the galley.

As the time passed all I could think about was the stupid arguments leading up until that day and question God about putting her through this instead of me. I was the idiot! My heart was shifting back to center. Why is it that we have to be in a big pile of shite with a loved one,  they're in an operating room or funeral parlor for us to look at how truly dear they are to us? It boggles my mind! We fight about wrapping paper and who ate my cereal? For the love of GOD who cares?!

The surgery went better than we could ever have imagined. They were able to use the Da Vinci robotic surgery method on her, and as the doctor said, "if her kidney were a hamburger we only had to take two pickle slices." It was the greatest horrible analogy I had ever heard.  It did make me a bit crazy that they assign patients numbers now during operations. They have a television you can check like an arrival board at the airport to see if they are "boarding," "on the runway," "ready for takeoff," "inflight," "on the tarmack" and "safely on the ground." Her flight was near perfect.

He said she would be staying for 2 nights. That was okay with me. They would know if it was cancer later in the week. She was medicated.  Her family was there to support her, and me, during the day. It kept me calm. In post-op she smiled and mumbled in tongues. She looked glorious. Every time she moved I jumped afraid she was in pain or going to fall out of bed or needed the nurse. I contorted myself up in the tiny Hobbit like chair and slept with one eye open grateful we dodged a bullet.

Being the real alcoholic I am I spent the hours beating myself up a bit. I also reviewed my behavior and realized I was not sharing enough of the projects I was involved in with my wife. I am proud she appeared with me in "Chasing Hollywood." It can be seen in its entirety on youtube. My Squeaky is on IMDB as Pina Connor. That is the Cats Pajamas! But I used to read scripts to her. I used to read all my blogs to her. I used to consult her on every career move I was making as I was making them. Her opinions played into my decisions on what road to take.

I can't tell you what we talked about during her 60 hour stay there. I honestly don't remember. We just talked and laughed like things were early in our relationship. We were focused on each other and I was in the NOW, not so danged worried about the future. We laughed at stupid stuff. She made me stop goofing around because the laughter made her side ache. I fetched ice chips and cups of coffee. I started calling her sliver kidney. She chuckles at the nickname.

Everything I try to do is for the betterment of the family and marriage. When things are going wrong in my life, I need to look at myself first. The problem I often have is that I have a grand plan inside my head. It is carefully crafted. We will work together spreading a message of hope and recovery to alcoholic/addicts and their loved ones. She can't see my thoughts. ACTIONS speak louder than thoughts. God calls the shots. I just show up for each DAYS game and worry less about the season....

What About Bob?

It has been a long time since I have felt the urge or NEED to write two blogs in one day. If you had a chance to read the entry from this morning the ending revolved around my gratitude for my sobriety. I checked out by saying I was going to a recovery meeting. It was one that changed my mood from happy to sad. It further ingrained in the deepest depths of my psyche that EVERY DAY IS A GIFT!

I hope the readers who regularly follow the blog have realized that you don't have to be an addict to relate to my message. We all have fears and habits that we are slaves to. Some use food, envy, relationships, greed, work and a myriad of other things as their means of escape. The justifications and denials are the same. The pain runs as deep. It effects ones' ability to live comfortably, without guilt. Because it is not a drug, or can be easily concealed, it is dismissed as being just a "BAD HABIT."

To escape the grips of any obstacle that is impeding your ability to live a guilt free, fear free life is my goal. Addiction is what I know best. The other examples I listed are a few of the other things that kept me lost in myself or codependency for years. The joys of being free of self, and at peace with GOD and my fellows is what I hope to drive home.

You can't do it alone. The deeper an unwanted habit or fear is driven the more it tells you to keep it a secret. The less likely we become willing to talk about it. It also becomes nearly impossible to reach out for that help. Once you are freed from the ties that bind you, anything is possible. Life, family and life being "YOU" is amazing!

While I was at my meeting I found out about the death of a friend who was my age. His name was Bob. Bob was a fun loving, highly intelligent guy who loved his family. He had eyes that were piercing. Bob could not escape the grips of alcohol. He died last week. He was taken to a hospital with a blood alcohol level of .70. His organs shut down. Then he did. I am glad he is no longer at war with himself.

People who find the miracle of sobriety are few and blessed indeed. The guilt and shame of living a lie and in a secret world are crushing forces to have to relive day after day. Being said that I have been given a second chance would seem paltry to the miracles I have seen since I turned to GOD and friends for help. My life is anew. I am living a dream. I can deal with me as me. I can cope with reality and have stopped beating myself up emotionally. That is where all these habits center. The euphoria of experiencing our drug of choice is brief. It is really the self loathing, and emotional self beatings, we become addicted to.

When Bob was sober he was like a lamb. I used to see him sleeping in the streets. I gave him clothes and a winter coat. He drank. He was arrested over and over. He drank. He got to a point where if he stopped drinking he would have seizures. I was talking with him once when one occurred. It was terrifying. He jumped up in a moment and was ready to fight. He lost the fight last Week.

Overcoming yourself is the hardest thing a human can do. We get so caught up in chasing after money, material success, and escapism, that we are soon lost.

When I say I try to leave every meeting with a friend or loved one with a good feeling, I MEAN IT! Every day is a gift because we only live moment to moment whether we like it or not. I don't want to leave any regrets on the table when I split for paradise. Guilt is no longer a feeling I can live comfortably with. Anger is an emotion that is toxic for me. I avoid it at all costs.

Wherever you are in your world please realize what you have is so much more than you need. We have it so good in America. Even in these dark economic times. Take a trip through the shacks of the Caribbean Islands or Mexico and see what shanty life is.

Take time to enjoy the simple things in life like smiles, hugs and sunsets. The next time you eat an apple, marvel at its natural beauty. Laugh at the laugh of a child. Most of all, make peace with yourself and the people that surround you. Live like there's no tomorrow. There may not be one. Eventually we all will have a last moment. I do not want my last day to be wasted on fear, hate, broken relationships and wasted negative energy.

The greatest thing about life is that you can start over any time you want. Take time today to thank GOD for what you HAVEN'T been given. Call that lost friend or shunned relative. Your last day may not be tomorrow. Theirs may. Nothing in life is as precious as...LIFE....

Though I walk through the shadow of death....

Everyone has fears. I know I do. Some of them are healthy. Yet others have been paralyzing.

I look strikingly like my paternal grandfather. He died of a massive heart attack when he was 39. He is buried in Toronto, Canada. My family immigrated from Ireland to Canada. Then they made their way to Chicago. My father was only fifteen when he passed. He has a picture of his tombstone. It reads Thomas Connolly. I also have a copy. It is sobering to see your name spelled out on a tombstone.

I wish it had continued to have a sobering effect on me. It did the opposite. His death at such an early age contributed to my justifications to drink. I figured I was going to croak by forty, so I might as well live fast and leave an average looking corpse. Through 28 years of addiction I was obsessed with a perception that I was going to die prematurely. It was going to hurt real bad too.

My stepfather died shortly after his 41st birthday. That was the deal closer. It set me off on my path of self destruction. It also ingrained in me the notion that GOD was smiting everyone down in anger. He was a vengeful guy as far as I could see. I ran from him and chased after him for years. I couldn't understand why he had it out for me.

From the time I was five until the age of eighteen, I was a member of no less than 6 different churches. Methodist, Lutheran, Baptist, The United Church of Christ and the Catholic church were just a couple of stops on my spiritual journey. Every where I went I heard stories of love and acceptance. I saw only pain and loss. I believed in the fella because I was in complete terror of what he was going to do to me. It was just a matter of time.

When my great grandmother died I was horrified at seeing her lifeless sweet soul lying in a box. As more of my elders passed I found myself thinking about death more and more. I believed with absolute certainty that GOD took the good and left the bad to wreak havoc on the planet.

Of course, like most folks, what I feared most was the way I was going to die, and the thought of how bad it was going to hurt. For me fire is the most horrific way to go followed by drowning. I conjured up scenarios and mental pictures of my crispy or bloated body sprawled out for all the world to see.

Right before I got sober I was having multiple panic attacks. If you have never experienced one I hope you never have to. They are devastating. Your mind convinces you your going to die at any moment. Your body follows suit with sweats, racing heartbeat and a myriad of other symptoms that compound your certainty it's curtains. It was consuming me..

By now I was 45. I had passed gramps and the stepfather. I was on borrowed time. As each birthday came I was certain I was going to kick the bucket and fall face first into my cake. 3 of my attacks put me in the emergency room. All of the visits led to the same prognosis. It was all in my head.

I am grateful to say that I no longer fear my lifelong obsession. I am comfortable with the fact that we all get our ticket punched at some time. It is out of my control. I can do things on my end to help promote a longer life, but ultimately it is in HIS hands. I hope to live many years and end up on a scooter with a miracle ear and those space clamps that grab my cereal off the shelf.

The key to conquering this fear was building a new relationship with my creator based on a one-on-one basis. It also stems from the fact that I try to live in the moment. I never try to leave a friend or family members' company on a bad note. My fear has moved to a healthy desire to get the most out of the rest of time I am here. I am sure I'm going to heaven based on my beliefs. My life is so much more fulfilling living in the goodness and opportunity a positive outlook creates. Fear only creates darkness and immobility.

Whatever your fear may be I hope you can take a good look at it. If it's death there is no point in obsessing about it. We all know it's coming. Why waste a day stuck on death? It prevents us from living. It's comparable to worrying if the sun is going to rise tomorrow. It is wasted energy. I would say that the key to removing those fears is based on a connection to YOUR GOD, the ability to love, an appreciation for the beauty of this world and a desire to make peace with yours. I wish you well.

GRATITUDE and Passion Is Why I do WHAT I DO?

Over the last two years of writing this blog I have been asked, "Why do you share such dark personal secrets?" They are no doubt referring to the blogs about my addictions, alcoholism and Bi-Polar Disorder. I have bared my soul in talking about being homeless, hopeless, suicidal, insane and an all around jerk. Add to that 3 marriages and the loss of two children and the kettle can quickly turn black.

I can say that it is painful to recount the things I have done that were unfair, or down right ignorant to my family, friends and strangers. Some folks have said that the blog will hurt my career as an actor and comic. To all those offering warning, advice and personal insights thanks, IT'S OKAY! I never imagined that I would share stories of peeing on myself and living in my car, the insanity I lived in for 28 years and my new life in faith and hope.

You see I share my story because we all learn through pain. I do for sure. After a quarter of a decade of slowly trying to kill myself I have found light at the end of the tunnel. Many don't get that chance. More importantly if I can help someone seek treatment and escape the grips of addiction then all that time wasn't wasted in vain. If I kept all the pain inside it would be of no benefit to me or anyone. It would simply be pain.

This week I had a friend over who said he doesn't believe people when they, "If it helps one person, it was all worth it." I can appreciate that. It is an overly romanticized statement. I think we say things like that because it's humbling when you reach a point that you are grateful to be a positive influence even if it's to the few. In reality we hope to inspire many. Many people inspire me. I think that's what it's all about down here on good ole' Terra Firma.

My blog has had 15,000 reads in the 15 months I have been writing it. It has been read in 57 countries. I'll take that! I'm not the Huffington Post or Joyce Meyer, but I can see that I have touched some hearts. That is all I am supposed to do. I think that is what GOD wants from all of us. My happiest, most contented moments are when I step outside of myself and jump into serving or helping a friend in need. My melon and me don't get along very well alone.

It doesn't take a blog or becoming a missionary. We all have gifts that God has given us to share. I am sure you have had days when you were at your wits ends and feeling like doom was about to fall on you like raindrops. Then at the most unexpected moment some stranger says just the right thing to make you feel a little better. THAT is being a messenger! Every act we do outside of self makes the world a little better. It may be only one person. If my writings help ONE person that is being a messenger and fulfilling God's will.

If you aren't a person of faith, it's just a right way for living. Being a decent human being isn't a religious thing. Hold a door. Let someone into traffic. Call an old friend just to say hi. Catch the dream you have always been FEARFUL of going for! Lennon said, "You can dream alone, but it takes others to make them realities." You are unique in this world. SHARE YOUR UNIQUENESS! It's a gift.

I received an email today that someone had read one of my blogs and it had an impact on them. It is posted on the bottom of this blog. If you ask me if I'm happy to touch just one persons life I would answer with an emphatic YES! I see that I am. Trust me when I say the more help you offer to others...the less self-help you'll need to seek. Change someones world for the better today with a smile or simple gesture of kindness. Then try it the next day. You'll end up with many smiling faces and one of them will be yours....

I am truly touched by your article and I thank you for writing it. I am John Roberts' oldest daughter, Bonnie. I am so proud of my dad for fighting the war on heroin. Losing my brother, Billy has forever changed my family's lives. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of my little brother. You are right, he wasn't a "junkie" or "low life" -- He was a funny, smart, hard working, loving kid who was taken too soon.

Again, thank you for your kind words and support.

Than you Bonnie...You just touched my heart. Thanks for being a messenger of good news in my life today....God Bless You All! 

Friday is Good!

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.