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....

"Signs, Signs Everywhere There's Signs"....

I love the song SIGNS. We sang it in Mr. Lamb's music class when I was in grade school. The original version was written by The Five Man Electric Band. A lot of people think it's a Tesla song. It reminds me of the sixties. The lyrics that revolve around accepting change, and seeing the signs around us, are profound.

For the better part of my life when the world said zig, I zagged. It was intentional. I hated conformity, and being one of the crowd. I was fiercely independent. My definition of independence meant defiance. I thought rules were suggestions. If I liked a rule, I followed it. If I didn't care for it, I dismissed it because I knew better.

Recently, I was issued a ticket for pausing at a stop sign. I paused. No one was around, so I interpreted the sign as pause instead of stop. It was clearly marked. I know what a stop sign means. It means stop, not pause. I had my reasons for the infraction. My wife was in mid-flight on a trip to Germany to visit our daughter. I was praying for a safe flight. I was making deliveries and needed to get back to work. My reasoning for committing the violation were my perceptions, not the reality. It was not what the sign read.

We all have a small still voice inside of us. Before I have said or done anything hurtful or wrong, the small still voice warned me for a split second before I acted. I used to dismiss it. Sometimes I still do. Once again, I knew better. The voice was wrong! Some call it conscience. I call it GOD.

My third marriage was a disaster. My ex wife and I were toxic together. In our abbreviated  marriage we never lived together for a week. We were very much alike. That's what made things so volatile. I was trapped deep in addiction. She had a violent temper. We were not on the same page. I dismissed our troubled beginnings. I thought they were growing pains.

There were signs all over the place before we got married. I saw her instantaneous anger rear its ugly head towards her two year old daughter at Christmas. The little girl opened a present and didn't like what was inside. Her mother became enraged and tossed all of her gifts into a garbage dumpster. After I left the house I returned to the dumpster to retrieve the toys and wrapped packages.

I figured I could change her. I felt as if the insanity is what I deserved. My addictions, and low self esteem talked me in to, what I knew I should run from. I ignored the signs. I jumped in to marriage with her against the advice of my friends and loved ones. I drew closer to her because I thought people were attacking her. Nobody knew her like I did! They were right. I reacted in spite. I knew in my heart that it was a mistake. My drive to zag overtook me. It was going to be me and her against the world. She threw my belongings out into the street the night we were wed.

If I had listened to the voice, heeded the signs I witnessed, and listened to the people observing the situation from the outside, I would not have made the choices I did. Nobody needed to tell me. I knew it, but tossed it, out of the window.

When I get into an argument with someone, in that split second before I say the words I'm going to regret, the tiny voice warns me not to do it. In my younger days I told the voice to SHUT UP and out spilled the venom. On some occasions it still does. I pay the price, often after wounding someone I care for deeply. Then I ask myself why I didn't listen.

As I mature, the tiny voice has gotten louder. I don't ignore it anymore. I realize that the voice is my gut feeling. If I went with that early warning system all the time, I would find myself in better places, with more positive outcomes. I realize the tiny voice is usually right. I can not recall a time when it was wrong.

There are signs everywhere, inside and outside of us. From getting a new job, to buying that shirt I can't afford, there are always signs I can follow or dismiss. I am glad that I can see, and hear, them now. I listen to them when I am unsure. Acceptance does not mean that I am compromising my independence. It proves that I am growing in it.

I now know that zigging doesn't mean I will always like doing it. The outcome is usually to my benefit. Now, I halt at stop signs, and look both ways. The cost of the ticket was enough to teach me it's a stop sign, not a suggested pause. There will be a price to pay...If I don't read the signs....

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.

A Christmas of Love and Extra Hands of Hope....

On November 13, 2012 I was 3 months away from the anniversary of my third year of chemical free sobriety. My dedication to service work to those in need was at an all time high. I couldn't imagine my life without it. From helping others in sobriety to lending a hand at an area food pantry my life was rich with the desire to serve.

About that time a friend I had worked with as a movie extra came to me with an idea to start a toy drive similar to "Toys for Tots," mobilizing actors and extras to help the less fortunate. I loved the idea from the start. My all or nothing mentality set in. This cause was ALL IN for me. My mind began to brainstorm on who and how we could make it happen.

After working in several underserved neighborhoods on the South Side of Chicago in the past, I wanted to center our efforts there. In the inner city poverty, foreclosures and the jobless rate is double that of the national average. I did much of my work in Englewood where crime rates are high and the pressures of the economic downturn are clearly visible.

I called my church and asked if they could put me in touch with a community support organization on the South Side. They gave me names of worthy local programs and one in Englewood. It was as if God had directed me to the place I wanted so desperately to reach out to. The name of the organization is Urban Youth Outreach (urban7.com), a safehouse for underserved and homeless kids situated in a home at 63d and Union. The fearless man who devotes his life to the kids, and GOD, is Pastor Keith Vosler. I told him what we were trying to do and set up a meeting.

On my first trip to Urban Youth Outreach I was unaware that the home was located in the middle of a powerful gang controlled part of the city. I had been given the address and was looking for a church. I pulled down the street and pulled over waiting for the Pastor to pull up to what was the safehouse. I did not realize I had parked my car in front of a gang leader's home. I was  concerned when two cars with blacked out windows began driving past my car repeatedly. I quickly realized that it was not a good situation.

One of the cars began to pull along the side of my car. The window rolled down slowly and the driver was slouched down behind the wheel with just one eye peeking over the door. I knew instantly I was in trouble. My window was rolled down. I prayed and waited for his next move. I have been around the city enough to recognize he was a street soldier positioned to shoot.

 He asked if I was in the right place. I looked at the car as I spoke, careful not to show disrespect as I answered his questions. I replied that I was looking for Pastor Vosler. He never sat up, but told me he was in the corner house. I thanked him and breathed a sigh of relief. The car slinked away back to the areas he was protecting.

It wasn't long before a tiny white man pulled up in front of the home. He was all of about 5'7" and had a smile that was infectious. I have to be honest that based on our conversations, and the fact that we were in the middle of a stretch of African American churches, my mental picture was of a Black Minister with a swagger and unshakeable purpose in helping the kids.

I was instantly captivated by the conviction of this man, and the fearlessness that glimmered in his eyes. The house is more of a compound than a church. It truly is a safehouse. The Pastor quickly informed me that the houses down the street where I originally parked were home to street liutenients who commanded over 100,000 soldiers in the city. I thanked GOD again and knew I had chosen the right place for the drive.

During our previous discussions the pastor explained to me that the ministry served more than 200 plus families and several kids living on the streets. The house provided safety, food, games and access to computers, along with words of hope and a message of faith. After our talk I decided to expand the drive to clothes and books along with toys.

I returned home and began to work on a name for our cause. I came up with "Extra Hands of Hope." I drew a basic concept for the logo. It was a peace sign made of hands. A local graphic artist Victor T. brought it to life. The logo was amazing. It far exceeded my rough sketch and wildest dreams.

I immediately began to call the casting companies in Chicago. I contacted both extras casting and principal casting companies. The first on board was Atmosphere Casting owner Jon Kinnas, Joan Philo of JP Casting and Darlene Hunt of Extraordinary Casting. They all agreed to join in the cause. Jon offered to be media contact. Darlene offered field support and Joan said to call if we needed anything else.

I was amazed that the competitive nature of the 3 was cast aside to embrace a worthy cause. The next step was to secure drop box locations for toy, winter clothing and book donations. A plea on Facebook got the ball rolling. As we moved forward I approached the 3 biggest principal casting companies to see if they too would take part in our mission. Simon Casting, Paskal-Rudnicke and O'Connor Casting all said yes. Some have told me it was the first time that all of the cities casting agencies had come together for one common project. I was grateful to all of them and felt GOD was making things happen to make the drive a success.

The logos were printed. Jeffrey H., a Sag insider, offered a donation of 20 drop boxes. Jay D. promised to get the Screen Actors Guild involved. I reached out to several "Ma and Pa" stores and community centers to see if they would allow a drop box at their location. Not one of them said no.

Every day I made impassioned pleas to the Facebook community to join the cause. With well over 100,000 actors in Chicago I knew we couldn't fail. Along thwe way friends began to offer their help. Jeffrey H., Jan and Kera S., Theresa C., The Bolber family, Charmane W. and Randy B. were my elves. After trying to run the show alone I saw that as in most cases reaching out my hand to friends was needed if we were to reach our goals.We also took on two more organizations bringing the total number of families we hoped to serve to 800.

The drive was to run for 30 days between November 17th and December 17th. 16 locations were secured around the city. The casting agencies put notices of the drive on their home pages and Jon Kinnas did a press blast announcing Extra Hands of Hopes' mission. Boxed were put in place and I sat back and waited for them to fill up with everything the families needed to make Christmas extra special.

Yahoo Contributor Patricia B. ran a story on the cause (appendix). I was certain the city would embrace the idea. I was certain that as in "A Field of Dreams," if we built it they would come. I could just sit back and drop off the thousands of donations to Keith back at Urban 7. For the first few weeks things looked shakey.

Everyday I posted what we needed. I was emailing my drop box locations like a man posessed. I felt like a tv preacher trying to get people to "fill them boxes." I waited for the press to jump on the story. The casting agencies devoted more announcements and even pages devoted to the drive. Still there was no media pick up.

For the first 2 weeks dribbles and drabs of items began to come in. Charmane W. recorded a song to encourage people to give. I am confident that it will be a song known to many as we make the event an annual event. We moved from collecting only new items to "gently used." That would be the ticket. My prayer life couldn't be stronger. With every call I made to my satellite elves there was only a couple items in the box or nothing at all. I prayed harder but I can honestly say that I was discouraged. I was concerned about the kids and didn't want to let them down.

Meanwhile Jan S. and Jeffrey H. were making things happen on the North Side. The halfway point came and it looked like we would only be able to help about 25 families. There was no way we could accomodate the original goal of 800. I bought the website extrahandsofhope.org. I was beginning to see that a month was too short of a time frame to collect the amount of resources needed. Jon did another press blast. Paskal-Rudnicke, O'Connor and Simon Casting all had postings. Where had I gone wrong?

As we closed in on the collection date of December 15th I was happy for what we had accomplished to date but disappointed that I had not brought corporate sponsers into the mix. My own disdain for Big Brother got in the way of doing the best for the families. People shared kudos and posts congratulating us on a job well done. I set my goals so high I was having a hard time seeing just how much we had done.

On the the 14th we began to collect items from the boxes. Charmane covered the downtown. Pert cleaners on Irving seemed to be a fountain of giving. Randy had collected several items of his own. As we made our rounds to clear the drop boxes our cars began to fill up. Jen had a warehouse lined up for us. Kids were joining in. Police officers hopped on board. We were beginning to see things shape up at the finish line.

We assembled at the warehouse and were astounded at what we had. Darlene, Jon, Erin and Jess from Girls Gone Casting, Jennifer from Paskal-Rudnicke, Claire Simon all came in at the end with huge personal donations. We were blown away with what we had amassed. I finally felt the beauty and generosity of the actors and agencies around this beautiful city. I had been overwhelmed by the logistics and almost missed the spirit of the Christmas Season.

We counted and sorted. I had rented a truck for the haul down to Urban7. Pastor Vosler had assembled a team at the house and we were ready to rendesvous at 3pm. There were clothes, coats, toys, books, bikes and every conceivable item. The two funniest donations were a can of pumkin filling and a karate outfit. It was all the more encouragement as it was a bitter cold day as we sorted. Theresa was dressed as an elf. We had Santa hats donated to us. We laughed and shivered our way as we organized the booty.

By the time we had finished we had hundreds of coats, shoes, kids outfits, books, jeans, toys, stuffed animals and various odds and ends. We would meet our original goal of helping Urban7's 200 families. I was grateful to have such wonderful friends and supporters of the worthy cause. I imagined the smiling faces of the kids and gratitude of their parents. I felt Christmas joy bubble up inside me. It warmed me to the core.

We made our way to the safehouse. The cube truck I had rented was completely full. As we arrived at Urban Youth Outreach there were small children dancing and singing by the gates excited to see what the truck held inside. The Pastor's army of volunteers began to pur out and move the haul from the truck into the house. A team of missionaries had come in from Arizona to help sort the gifts for distribution to the families during the annual community dinner.

At the last minute we were shocked and amazed that a few groups outside of ours were delivering packages to the center directly. I was extra grateful because I wanted others to see the amazing work the Pastor was doing in the community. It is a place where some kids get their only meal and clothing from. I pictured them with a shiny new toy as they returned to the street. I prayed for them that they would find safety and a home.

As we finished up the drop Pastor Keith explained that he treated a gun shot wound a week at the home. These are mean streets where he had set up the home. The little man with the big heart was fearless. Stories of kids coming to the compound with guns and intentions to shoot other youngsters after losing basketball games left us gasping. Our respect for the Pastor's mission grew. He is truly a miracle worker.

Jeff and I left the outreach feeling blessed that we were making a difference. It was another example in my life that I can't go it alone. So many people stepped up at the end and took us over the finish line. We warmed ourselves in the truck and began talking about Christmas 2012. My plans are to make Extra Hands of Hope a full time charity. This time I will put my feelings aside and approach every store and corporation I can find. A council of elders will be in place to relieve me of the burden of such a massive undertaking. We will start months earlier instead of weeks. I will have a game plan in place.

My wife asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I thought about her question and couldn't find an answer. I was filled with the joy of giving. My normal practice of self-criticism had been pushed aside. I told her I was grateful for whatever her and the kids chose. As we sat opening gifts on Christmas morning I couldn't help but think of the kids in Englewood. We had made a difference and put some smiles on tiny little faces. Pastor Vosler told me the items were gone within hours and the new gifts were distributed at the dinner.

God gives me all I need and more. It is so easy to forget those underserved and overlooked in our world and city. I get frustrated when people say the folks in the inner city have the same opportunities and resources we have in the suburbs and nicer city neighborhoods. It is just plain not true. I would suggest to those who hold that philosophty to take a ride down to Englewood for an afternoon and come back and chat with me again. I defy anyone to return with the same thoughts about the area.

I am grateful to all those who helped, donated and were drop locations for the first year of Extra Hands of Hope. It will certainly become an annual event. I have the elves in place. They took a simple plan and turned it into a beautiful reality. My worry that the kids would not be served was for naught. God came through working through his people. He always seems to amaze me with his grace when I least expect it. I am humbled by his surprises.

Lord! Please Don't Let Me Wake Up Tomorrow....Ghosts of XMAS PAST!

On that Christmas in 1998, I was three months from entering rehab at Hinsdale Hospital, with a guest appearance in the "Nutty Bin." I started drinking by about seven that morning. I had stocked up on Christmas Eve because the stores would be closed for the holiday. My Christmas meal consisted of Jim Beam, cheap beer, cheaper vodka, some chips and a pack of lunchmeat to keep all the medicine down. As a seasoned drunk I knew the right combination of booze and food to keep the numb going. It was enough not to kill the buzz and just enough to keep me on my feet.

I hadn't talked to my family in months. I imagined what they were doing as I sat alone in the darkness with curtains drawn. My mom was probably scurrying around the kitchen making a shrimp platter or some kind of cheese ball with nuts. My sister and brother-in-law were knee-high in shredded wrapping paper, the torn-up remains from the wonderful gifts my niece and nephew were giggling amongst and dancing between. My dad and second family were just rising preparing for a feast later in the day. They were only a few miles away in La Grange, but they were done with me.

I hated them for not calling. They had tried many times to get me sober, yet whenever I saw them, I only wanted money or help out of my latest jam. When family or friends did invite me over, I got drunk and funny, then wasted and wicked. The calls, then the relationships ended. I had no consideration for other peoples' lives or their problems. My addiction only had room for thoughts of me and my next high. I was nearly dead already. My body was beat. My emotions were spent.  My soul was on empty.

I drank more and ate less. My mind was slowing down. The rage was subsiding. Sadness and self-pity were now crying out. Why did life always deal me the bad hand? Gulp! Why did everyone hate me so much? Slurp! Where did all my dreams go? Swig! I wasn't afraid of dying at that point. A couple more beers, and I would pass out. A couple more hours, and my family would sit down to a delicious feast.

I came to, head pounding and stomach fighting back. I squinted through the slits of my eyes and made out that it was five o’clock. I didn't know if it was p.m. or a.m.! I stumbled out of bed and saw it was dark outside. Being December, the darkness lent no clue as to whether it was night or morning. My worst fears were realized when I turned on the TV. A Christmas show danced on the screen. I had not slept Christmas away.

By now, my family had finished up the food and treats and was enjoying a belly-stuffed nap or the drive back home with boxes and bags of Christmas cheer. I rang the front desk to see if anyone had left a message for me. But how could they? Nobody knew where I was. I still had seven hours until the blessed holiday would finally be over for another year. Enough!I took a slug from the freshly cracked bottle of vodka, dropped a cigarette into it, and tossed it in the tiny plastic trash can. I swore off drinking forever..again.

Seven hours to go until midnight. My stash was gone. My snacks were eaten, and my nerves were shot. I was like the cat in the cartoon where the mouse nails the furniture to the ceiling, and the cat wakes up thinking he's sleeping on the ceiling. Frantically, he jumps up and down to reach the floor. He runs to the medicine cabinet and promptly downs a bottle of nerve tonic. He jumps to the "floor" holding on with his nails and every bit of his strength only to fall again in futility.

I staggered to the dresser, grabbed a sock, then rinsed the empty bottle from the whiskey. I placed the sock over the lip of the bottle and carefully poured the tainted tonic into the fresh bottle mindful not to spill a drop. It caught the ash and butt. The tar and toxins had turned the once clear liquid a vile shade of brown. Cigarette vodka was the brand of choice for my holiday night cap.

I knocked back the ashtray cocktail and chased it with a soda. I got drunk enough to sleep and numb enough to dismiss the realizations of the depths I had reached to keep the buzz going. I wept, as I collapsed onto the filthy bed. I wrapped myself in the sheet to ward off the roach parade that would march over me as soon as the TV went black. Then I prayed. It was a real prayer, one of desperation and sincerity. It was a prayer I felt to the pit that was my soul. Between the tears and self-loathing I mumbled to the heavens: “LORD!... Please don't let me wake up tomorrow.”....

I've Got A Hangover...Boy Does My Head Hurt!

Ah ha! You thought I went out and got drunk last night! No I did not. In sobriety it was just another day. It is funny when a family member or friend knows you are in recovery they feel an obligation to ask if "I mind" that they have a drink. Nobody asks me when I'm on a diet if "I mind" if they eat a donut. I assure you that if I know you have a shell fish allergy and we are at a holiday party, I will feel no guilt grabbing the chubby mollusk and dragging it through some cocktail sauce on the way to my big mouth.

It is courteous and appreciated, but if I wanted to get drunk or high, I would instantly switch into "McHighver" and find a way to get wasted. If I were on a deserted island and wanted to get drunk, I would find some coconut milk and monkey piss to ferment and make a sweet island cocktail. That is the deliberate obsession when an addict wants to use. Rationalizing the need, formulating the plan, attaining the resources, and getting away from the people who would frown upon us for using is the equation for doing the deed.

I want to stress again I am not anti-alcohol. I am not mightier than thou! I wish I could have a drink like normal folk. But for me there is no such thing as "a drink." The only thing guaranteed after the first drink is lots more of them. If I don't have the first, I don't need to worry about the 56th.

The hangover I have is that of the racing thoughts, obsessions and unrealistic expectations I put on holidays and every day for that fact. I question my gift selections, the wrapping, the traffic getting to our destination and the safe return home. I have the expressions of approval of each gift recipient acted out in my mind and my courteous, humble acknowledgement to their gratitude for receiving it.

Unrealistic expectations are a one-two punch for me with addiction issues and depression issues. It is a plain and simple fact that no one, especially me, can meet my expectations because they are unattainable. If you were to ask me what my expectations for me were, it is perfection and nothing short of that. That is why the obsessive person tends to be frustrated a lot. I could not write out specifically what goals I am trying to reach in my life. I do know if I'll never meet them. My mind sets up goals and ideals for me that are always just out of reach.

It is impossible for any of us to know how people will react. My reactions don't properly match the situation I am experiencing. That is what a racing misfiring mind offers. I can remember going to a funeral for an aunt and having zero emotion at her death. Nothing! Zip! My critical mind then questioned if I was some kind of heartless, head case because of my lack of feelings. I cared for her and I was going to miss her.

On the way home from the service, a sparrow flew into the grill of my 1973 AMC Javelin. I pulled over and extricated the lifeless body from the chrome screen and sat there weeping for 10 minutes at the demise of the tiny creature. It was just a bird, not a blood relative. I, however, processed it as a catastrophe and injustice! I felt guilt for driving my car in that place at that moment. I took out the "hit me stick" and whacked away at myself, weeping all the way for taking the breath from one of God's miraculous creations.

On a previous Christmas, when my son was about 6, he wanted a remote control dinosaur. I was a man possessed going from store to store, rabid with the focus that I would find the gift my son so wanted at any expense. I found the item after several hours and several mall trips. I felt quiet satisfaction picturing his elation as he ripped open the treasure I had found for him. On that morning my heart was racing as he reached for the magical box. Ripping the paper feverishly from the booty I presented him, he quietly uttered, "Wow, cool," and cast the dinosaur to the side and grabbed a foam football I picked up as an afterthought gift. I was devastated, angry and confounded at his reaction. I had played the scene of him leaping into my arms dozens of times before that fateful morning. My day was ruined and I moped around for the day thinking only of my feelings

Today we have Christmas with my side of the family. We are a complicated bunch, to say the least. It will be enjoyable and quietly subdued. I will "think" my way through what I say and have my feelings bruised somewhere along the way. These get togethers were a source of pain for years. It is easier now and gets less traumatic with each visit. Our history together has been challenging and we all suffer from some residual pain from the events of the past.

If I have no preconceived notion of what people say or do, there can be no frustration when the action and outcome don't align. Family is family. I can remember saying to my mother one time in anger, "You are not the mom I wanted!" It was a horrible and cutting remark, but liquid courage had welled up in me when I spat such vile words. Her reply shocked me into sobriety and I will never forget it. She replied, "Did you ever think that maybe you're not the son I wanted?" The words hit the bulls eye and started me on the road of acceptance.

Today I will keep my lofty expectations for a "Rockwell" moment out of my mind's eye. I will just go with the flow. I will enjoy my time with loved ones and accept everyone as being just the way they are supposed to be. That will guarantee me a happier day, a quieter mind and gratitude for sharing another day of life on planet earth where each day is a gift.

Christmas Rules For 2010 A MUST READ!

Today, I got up before the sun, as usual. Another Christmas is here. I had some time before everyone got up to think of Christmases past and the optimism I have on Christmases to come. There is not a pile of gifts under our freshly cut tree. The decorations are minimal and the perennial playing of Frank Sinatra and Deano holiday songs is not playing.

In the front window sits a fiber optic tree just 3 feet tall. It is my Charlie Brown Christmas tree. There are a few assorted family gifts and holiday clutter in the dining room. There are no lights circling my house as in years gone by. When the kids got up there was no rapid shuffling in slippered feet as each of them jockeyed for first place in the gift grabbing derby. The paper wasn't strewn about like a Hallmark Tsunami hit our family room. There was no happy faces at receiving the perfect gift or familiar frowns as a box with socks or underwear was opened.

My wife got up and her back hurt. My daughter got up and jumped in the shower. My son grabbed a cup of coffee and retreated to his room to rid the world of Nazi Zombies. My, how times have changed. How fast the times goes. There was hugs and kind words of love and it was a relaxing, contented feeling as my tiny children have grown. But there is some melancholy reflection on how I miss those days.

Later we will be visiting Kris' side of the family for Christmas dinner and gifts. Her family is colorful and very Italian. I remember times when certain family members would irritate me to the point of obsession, thus robbing me of a lovely day. Some couples have broken up or moved away to start broods of their own in different towns and distant places.

My wish to you today is enjoy TODAY! There will come a day when the adrenalin charged shrieks of your kids will be replaced with their new plans and new friends. Traditions long held will be altered as multiple family visits demand careful time management and logistical planning. There are times when our kids talk or chatter so much we wish they would shut up. The day is coming when you will crave that chatter and have to pry a decent conversation out of them.

WARNING! One of your family members will make you crazy today. One will drink too much. Another will gossip or say nothing. A story that you wish was long forgotten will be thrown in your face and new stories will be created. Don't let it get to you! Nobody should have that much power over us anymore.

Family is our family. Our kids will soon be grown and gone. New traditions will replace the old and some members will disappear from death, divorce or whatever. Enjoy every minute today! Suck the life out of your kid's antics. Accept the crazy things Uncle Joe does as cute. Forget what happened to you when you were 9. Live this Christmas like it is your last.

This is my first Christmas without my dad. Our family was able to bring him home last year and it was difficult to see him declining. We all somehow knew that it would be our last together as one. I miss him today and everyday.

As you go about the frenetic pace this day brings, be thankful for what is right in your world. Put pain aside and breathe gratitude and thanks for what you have been given. Be more thankful for what you haven't been given. We only have today. So does everyone who populates our hearts and minds. Just for today live your life as love, happiness and gratitude.

My Christmas Gift 2010

In a previous chapter I mentioned that I spent Christmas in 1998 alone, drunk, lost and covered in cock roaches, wishing God would end my life. Boy how times have changed! It is 10:30 pm here in Plainfield. I am sitting at my coffee table with my back just 20 feet from the attached garage where I tried to force his hand at my exit and he chose to let me live.

Fabian, my black Lab, and Grace, my Pekingese, are laying by my wife, who is sawing logs on the couch across from me. My son Scotty, or Bro as I call him, is in bed or more likely killing zombies on Xbox. Cooter, my yellow Lab, is laying near the bedroom of my eldest daughter, Ange and keeping watch over that part of the house. Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse.

I have so much to be thankful for on this Christmas. This is the 12th Christmas with my pre-made family. 2010 has been rough with the death of my Dad, putting down my Pug Ruby, having a cancer scare, losing my job and trying to get through all of that sober. Those life challenges are what we all face and for an addict with depression issues, it feels great that I have friends who help me deal with things sober minded. I have finally realized I can do very little alone.

As I write I am comfortable being me right now. It isn't like that every day. The face that stares back at me sometimes bugs me. But I can look myself in the eye. I can look at others in the eye. When I was using I would look at me and others then quickly redirect my gaze. The amazing thing is that the better I get along with me, the better I get along with the world around me.

Even when I was using I got flashes of peace, especially on Christmas Eve. Did you ever notice how quiet it gets outside around midnight? As a kid I would look at the nativity scene and be fascinated and uplifted at the story of Jesus' birth. If you haven't experienced it open a door and listen to the sounds of silence. It seems to me that for a few moments the noise and commotion of the world gets muted. I can feel a tinge of "Peace on Earth." I can feel the good of the universe edging out the bad in that rare and precious moment.

I am so grateful that in 1998 God said no to my pleas. I am so grateful that God said not yet in 2004. I am so very humbled at the friends I have found in you and the many people I have met on the set or on the stage. It feels comfortable and I almost feel normal. Normal isn't a word thrown in my direction very often.

I don't know what stands in the road of my life between now and next Christmas, or between tonight and tomorrow, for that matter. I do know I can face life sober. It feels good to feel! It feels amazing to have emotions instead of living emotionally. I have learned from my ghosts of Christmas and May Day's past that God does answer our prayers. It isn't always when we demand the answer. It is in his time.

I have also learned that sometimes, when I ask for what I want, God says NO! I have also been blessed with a God who gives me everything and more than I really need. MERRY CHRISTMAS to you all. I am glad I have, God, you, family, friends, sobriety and HOPE in my life tonight. Happy Birthday Jesus and I hope some of you join me outside in a short while to hear the sounds of silence ringing in your ear. Peace! God it's Good to be alive.

Happy Holidays!....FUGETABOUTIT!

I have talked about the ghosts of Christmas past and the ghosts of Christmas present and still am a little anxious about the ghosts of Christmas future. But let's get back to the ghosts of Christmas present.

I want to wish each of you a Merry Christmas! If you are Jewish, Happy Hanukkah! If you are African-American Happy Kwanzaa! If you are Hindu, Happy Pancha Ganapti! I wish that whatever celebration you celebrate this year is full of the customs and traditions you have grown up with and make your culture unique and something you identify with.

I don't want to take your traditions, they are important to you and part of what makes your culture unique and part of the great American melting pot. But I want to celebrate my customs and traditions and that is the celebration of Christmas. In our politically correct society, (note to reader: look up word 'oxymoron' here), every attempt is made to sterilize and assimilate every one into individual Stepford wives and husbands. The very traditions and cornerstones of what made America what it is are being forgotten.

I am quite sure that the celebrations of Cinco De Mayo are much more grand in Mexico than the ones they have for Independence Day, as it should be. If I moved there and demanded equal billing for the Fourth of July it would fall on deaf ears. They are celebrating what made Mexico...Mexico! When visiting a restaurant in Japan, the patron must remove his shoes before entering. They don't cast aside their way of living just because I want to wear my new Air Jordan's! They would politely tell me to do it their way or find a McDonald's. I was slightly jealous at this time of year when my Jewish friends had 8 days of gift giving. But there was one big difference - I didn't cry at the injustice and inequality of their traditions!

America was built on "In God We Trust" but was careful in crafting religious freedom into our Constitutional Rights. Kids don't say the Pledge of Allegiance in school at the risk of hurting someone's feelings by mentioning "under God." In our ability to bring everyone together we are succeeding in creating great rifts and separation. Our politically correct posture is slowly eating away at being American in America. Soon the only things held dearly by Americans will be Walmart, Starbucks and iPOD! We wonder why America is having an identity crisis while taking everything American out of America!

The pride I have for this country runs deep. I served in the U.S. Navy Reserve for 1 year after 911. In our attempt to please everyone we are letting the inmates run the asylum. Big Brother should just come in and finish the job! When we use our phones to call a business we should hear a plea from the other end, "Press 1 for Spanish, 2 for Italian, 3 for Vietnamese, 4 for French and so on and so on. They should redo our coins into large half-dollar like creations mentioning "we trust" followed by a laundry list of deities! The National Anthem should be banned. Believe me, it's coming. When I try to satisfy everyone I only end up frustrating everyone.

When my ancestors came to America from Ireland via Canada, they cherished the American ways and ALSO embraced the traditions of the Irish. The same can be said of the Italians, the Germans and the African Americans, blah-blah-blah! Let's just start a "world bank like" set of beliefs and turn everyone in the world into neatly quaffed lemmings running through the maze of the earth. No identity is right for all! Right?

I'm not an apologist. This is Christmas. It's the day of our Lord. We already built the Santa guy into the day just in case you aren't a Christian. That's enough! Merry Christmas, No, MERRY CHRISTMAS! I hope your holiday is happy and that GOD fills your new year with many blessings!

"And So This Is Christmas....War Is Over, If You Want It"...John Lennon

After my last two blogs on past Christmases, and at the risk of jumping to the end of my story, I thought it was appropriate to riff on now. Christmas 2010. I always say that I'm grateful when I DEMANDED that God give me what I deserved he didn't take me up on it, and that I am grateful for what he has given me, and more importantly what he hasn't. The comments I have received thus far from followers of the blog have been encouraging but have also opened up some old wounds and new ones for me and others.

As I stumble through this entry my three dogs are lying at my feet. I have heat, food, clothes and my health. I have a hot cup of coffee and I am at peace with those in my life. Most importantly I am sober, have found a faith in a God that I can lean on and I understand I can't get through life successfully without the help of others. Armed with these simple truths I know the future looks bright and if it gets dark I can get through it if I remember those simple truths.

Tom Dreesen wrote to me when I was getting ready to do this blog something to the effect that "We all have personal demons and we have to get up each day and give 'em hell." Last night David Brenner messaged me "Geronimo was ten years older than you and was still kicking the white man's ass!" I read somewhere that, "A man who conquers a city is great...but a man who conquers himself is greater."

I have spent so much of my life looking at what was wrong with my life and the world around me. When I colored a picture as a kid I focused on where I went outside the lines, not at the beauty of my creation. When I walked through the city I saw the alleys and filth, the dark shadows and pain, not the magnificence of the man made jungle. I spent each day with one foot on yesterday and one foot on tomorrow and missed out on a lot of amazing todays.

When my father died in July I was relieved that he was freed from his pain. I was thankful that I was sober for the last two years of his life and was there to shower and shave him. I was given the chance to make up for the years of anguish and hurt I put him through and I showed up like an adult. He was my buddy and best friend and I was there for him. I gave freely but got so much more in return from that time with him.

My oldest daughter is flying in from Germany today to spend three weeks with my wife and I. It wasn't too long ago that she would rather gouge her own eyes out than to spend three hours with me. I held onto her so tightly that she ran at the age of 18 because I suffocated her. I am unemployed but have the opportunity to spend more time with her and share with you. I have friends, real friends, who I can lean on and share my pain and happiness with.

I live my life one day at a time, one moment at a time and I suck every second out of them the best that I can. I am conscious of the fact that I throw away more food in a day than half the people in the world eat in a week. I can feel other peoples' pain. The world no longer revolves around me. I am no longer the biggest wave in the ocean. I am just a grain of sand on the beach.

The holidays bring out the best and worst in us. The thought of people getting trampled to death trying to get their hands on the latest gadget or homes being burglarized for their Christmas gifts is mind numbing. I have spent holidays alone or caught up in the commercialism. I have flipped people off while spreading glad tidings and Christmas cheer. I have also seen people do amazing things for each other, sometimes complete strangers.

I have reached a point in my life where my glass is not half empty. It runneth over! I have everything I need and more. Worry, anxiety and obsession are man made emotions. My prayers finally contain more thank you's than pleases. My wife asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I told her I wanted nothing because I have everything I need right here. Always remember: Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a GIFT! That's why they call it the PRESENT.

Thanks for being a part of my life.

Lord! Please Don't Let Me Wake Up Tomorrow....

On that Christmas in 1998 I was 3 months from entering rehab at Hinsdale Hospital, a guest appearance in the "Nutty Bin." I started drinking by about 7am that morning. I had stocked up on Christmas Eve because I knew the stores would be closed on the holiday. My Christmas meal consisted of Jim Beam, cheap beer and cheaper vodka. That was accompanied by some chips and lunch meat to keep the booze down. A seasoned drunk learns the right combination of booze to keep the drunk going and just enough food not to kill it.

I hadn't talked to my family in months and I imagined what they were doing while I sat alone in the dark. My mom was probably scurrying around the kitchen making a shrimp platter or some kinda cheese ball with nuts. My sister and brother-in-law were knee high in shredded wrapping paper, the torn up remains from the wonderful gifts my niece and nephew were giggling about and dancing between. My dad and my second family were just rising and preparing for a feast later in the day. They were only a few miles away in La Grange but they were done with me.

I hated them for not calling me. It didn't dawn on me that they had done all they could to get me sober. Ultimately I knew I would either stop by some miracle or die. I was nearly dead already. My body was beat, my emotions were spent and my soul was dead. When I did see them it was to borrow money or ask for help out of my latest jam. When I was invited to join the kin I got drunk and funny, then wasted and wicked. I had no consideration for other peoples' lives or what problems they faced. My addiction only had room for thoughts of me and my next high.

I drank more and ate less and began to feel my mind slowing down. The rage was subsiding and the sadness and self-pity were stirring. Why did life always deal me the bad hand? Gulp! Why did everyone hate me so much? Slurp! Where did all my dreams go? Swig! I wasn't afraid of dying at that point in my life. I already was. The machine that contained my agony and called my body was just going through the motions. I knew I was an alcoholic and was okay with that. The fact that I knew I was going insane, literally, was where the panic came from. A couple more beers and I would pass out soon. A couple more hours and my family would be sitting down to a delicious feast.

I woke up with my head pounding and my stomach rumbling. I squinted through the slits of my eyes and saw it was 5:00. The thing was that I didn't know whether it was p.m. or a.m.! I jumped out of bed and saw that it was dark outside. Being December the darkness gave no clue as to whether it was night or morning. My fears were realized when I turned on the TV and a Christmas show danced on the screen. I had not slept Christmas away.

By then my family had finished up the food and treats and were enjoying a belly-stuffed nap or heading back home with boxes and bags of Christmas cheer. I rang the front desk to see if anyone had left a message for me. But how could they? Nobody knew where I was. I still had seven hours until the blessed holiday would finally be over for another year.

That morning I reflected on the horror and despair I was stuck in. Then and there I decided that I had enough. I took the slug out of the freshly cracked bottle of vodka and promptly dropped a cigarette into the top to pollute its contents. I tossed it in the tiny plastic trash can and swore off the drink forever.

Seven hours to go until midnight. My stash was gone. My snacks were eaten and my nerves were shot. I compare it to that cartoon where the mouse nails the furniture to the ceiling and the cat wakes up thinking he's sleeping on the ceiling. Frantically he jumps up and down to reach the floor. He runs to the medicine and promptly downs a bottle of nerve tonic. He jumps to the "floor" holding on with his nails and every bit of his strength only to fall again.

I made my way to the dresser that held my socks. I removed a white sock and rinsed the empty bottle of Jim Beam. Placing the sock over the lip of the empty bottle I slowly poured the tainted vodka over the sock into the fresh bottle. It caught the ash and butt from the cigarette but the tar and toxins from the smoked butt turned the once clear liquid a vile shade of brown. Marlboro vodka was my brand for that night.

I was at a new low at the bottom. I knocked back the ashtray cocktail and chased it with a soda. I got drunk enough to sleep and numb enough to dismiss the depths I had fallen to in order to keep the buzz going. I wept as I collapsed into the filthy bed. Taking the corner of the sheet I wrapped myself up to ward off the roach parade that would be marching over me when the lights went out. Then I prayed. It was a real prayer, a prayer of desperation. It was a prayer I felt to my empty soul. Between the tears I mumbled to the heavens...Lord! Please don't let me wake up tomorrow...