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.

May Day! May Day! I AM HERE!

May Day is a date that is permanently etched into my mind. When it rolls around each year it marks a dark anniversary for me. On April 30, 2004, Squeaky left me. I had started to mix drugs and alcohol. After 4 years of being alcohol free I went back to my old stand by. Pills and pot no longer relieved me of the self torture that was ruling my mind and empty soul. The pain of watching me self destruct, and the thought of me taking down the whole family was too much for her to bear. After a terrible argument...she left. I would have left sooner.It is the day I tried to take my own life.

I was no longer homeless. We had built a beautiful home. I had a good job. There were two cars in the garage. My addiction didn't care. It doesn't discriminate. I had sobered up for a while after living in my car and losing everything. Now, just 5 years later, I was living the "American Dream." 

It wasn't enough to satisfy an addict like me. Nothing was ever enough to satiate my need for escape. I couldn't  take another day of being drunk and high against my will. I was a slave. Booze and drugs were my god. The thought of trying to face reality sober was just as terrifying. How could I face my feelings? The baggage of my past was impossible to bare without chemical fortification. 

I had turned my back on therapy. I refused to accept the fact that I had depression issues. I figured if you had my life...you'd be high too. Chemical imbalance? I didn't think I was crazy! The insanity of addiction becomes what's normal to the user after years of practice. 

I didn't see that God had given me the life I dreamed of ! I was living in an unheated car in Stone Park just a few years before that. My addictions knew me longer than anyone. God's words went in one ear and out the other. When my addiction demanded my attention, I always heeded it's call, willfully, and often, even when I dreaded the thought. I tried to fight. It always won.

When the car stalled in the garage after I had set up my mobile gas chamber with vacuum hoses and duct tape I woke up completely sober. I had taken a bottle of prescription meds and drank a half a bottle of rum. When I slid into the car I carried a Bible, a family photo and had hung a rosary around my neck. I knew I was going to hell. I figured, just maybe, the props would be a great con to try to make my way to heaven.

When I came to that morning it was May Day. I couldn't believe I was still alive. Something had sparked in me. I was sober as a judge. There was no hang over or headaches. I went to a recovery meeting and broke down. I spent a long time on my knees begging and thanking GOD for the break. I would drink and use again in a few months. Addiction has a short memory of the agony and the race is on again if you try to go it alone.

This is my third sober May Day. I am active in my recovery and therapy for my depression. As the Beatles sang, "It's getting Better All The Time!." When it's not so good I turn to God and my friends. Not trying to figure out everything on my own is the key to my happiness and serenity these days.

Today I woke up SOBER and spent a lovely morning with Squeaky. Then I went to an audition for a commercial.  I spent the afternoon with my son. I talked to two people in recovery. I confirmed the date for "Rally Round Recovery 2012." I will be hosting it again this year. I also committed to emceeing at the "Recovery Walk" at Governors State on September 22, 2012. I got a call for another audition on Friday. Tomorrow I will be taking my Mom to the doctor. None of those things were possible high. Anything is possible now!

But for the grace of GOD I have been given chance after chance to make my life right and make peace with myself. I am glad I have turned to others in my recovery and faith to get me to where I am today. It was when I began to listen to the tiny voice inside of me and the sober friends around me that life began anew. I tried to go it alone for years. My ways got me drunk, high, afraid, crazy and alone.

God has a plan for me. He has one for you. If you are trapped in any situation that you think you can't bear...YOU CAN! Reach out to a friend and your God. He will always pick up the phone. He sends directions. We have to do the walking. There is NOTHING in this world that you can't overcome with hope, faith and the hand of a friend. 

I gotta go now. Squeaky and I are gonna watch some History Channel and fall asleep together. That is after I get on my knees and thank God for another day of living, another day of sobriety. I will also thank him for the privilege of serving him and trying to make my brief time here a testament to his grace. I wish you all well. May your God bless you. He's always willing to give you a second chance. If you cry, "Mayday, Mayday,"... he'll be there for you..

Squeaky Speaks! Life with an Alcoholic....a Wife's Point of View!

Hey gang long time no blog. Well, this is it. My wife speaks! These are her words. I put her through hell and back. Let her tell you about it.

Hi, I'm Kris Connolly, also known as Squeaky. I’m not the writer in the family, that would be my husband and our oldest daughter. They’re writers.  I’m just a mom, a wife and a friend who’s been through some life.

I grew up with 2 parents (still married to this day!), 1 sister & 3 brothers. I guess you could say we had a kind of “Cleaver” life.  I grew up in Berwyn when everyone knew who everyone was and where your parents knew what you did before you even got home to deny it. Life was simple and easy. My dad has his own company so we were pretty spoiled. Mom didn’t like for us to stay out late so we were pretty naive. That was until we broke loose and discovered life; drinking, smoking & breaking curfew. I drank in high school, doesn’t everybody?  It’s a phase, right?  We didn’t have any alcoholics in the family.

Of course we pretty much had our share of strange relatives, as does every other family. We were able to drink wine on holidays, it was no big deal. We had a “friend” of the family who got blasted at every family function. He was a sloppy drunk and quite embarrassing. I later heard he had a drinking problem and started a recovery process. That was the first time I’d ever heard of people that could not stop drinking. Personally, drinking made me tired and slow. I had no use for it - and then there was prom night 1984. I had a few too many, got a little crazy with my boyfriend and 9 months later there was beautiful baby girl. Talk about growing up fast! 

 As a single teenage mother I didn’t have my "crazy" time until about 21. I had a good job working for Dad’s company. Every Friday night we would all go out to the local bar after work and there I met HIM, the “bad boy”. He was married, good looking, tattooed, rude and drunk. There was my chance to not be “Mom” and get crazy. I got loaded that night and did some things out of character. A year later I ended up marrying him. 

He had a drinking problem and I knew it from the start. I was just having fun until he told me he was getting divorced, because of me. Oh, great! I knew what he was, I heard about these “types” that drink all the time. One of my co-workers even went so far as to say he was an alcoholic. I was sure he drank because he was in a "bad marriage". Ok, I’ll marry him and he’ll be happy and not drink. I soon learned that anytime was “beer:30” in his world and it was always 5 o’clock somewhere. The drinking was insane and soon so was I.

On to plan B. Let’s have a baby! That will certainly make him stop! Shortly thereafter a beautiful baby girl was born, then a baby boy. I found myself alone, now raising 3 kids. He went out every night after work, came home so drunk he could barely crawl up the stairs. On to plan C. Let’s move and buy a house. Once he has an established home and family he will surely stop drinking. Well, that didn’t work either. His drinking escalated to the point of no return. We had knock down, full on fights. He could certainly throw a punch but my sober stamina and crazy Italian blood wouldn’t allow it. I knew he would eventually wear out and I would win. I only looked like I lost according to the police and E.R. doctors. Needless to say the marriage was over. I gave him one last chance, the booze or your family, and his exact quote to me was “You don’t want to hear my answer."

Fast forward about 5 years. I was working for a small export company that rented space from my sister's company. It was great to be in the same building with my family. I remember one day I was feeling very depressed and lonely.  I walked out into the main office and saw this strange fellow standing there.  He was dressed kind of messy and looked dirty. I figured he was one of the dock guys. He was wearing a stocking cap pulled down and the one thing I remember most were his awful looking sneakers! For some reason I found myself staring at him as he stood talking to someone. I saw a light around him, I guess you would call that his aura. I don’t even think he noticed me. I was frozen. I’ve never had anything like that ever happen to me. I remember asking his boss who he was. The boss told me “That’s Tom, the new guy.  Stay away from him, he’s trouble. He’s a recovering alcoholic." A WHAT? Recovering alcoholic? I’ve never heard of such a thing. I had no idea those even existed. That means they stopped drinking. How interesting.

I had to know this man. I would occasionally run into him outside for smoke breaks. We would sit on the stairs and talk about everything. I couldn’t let him know a part of me was fascinated with his “recovery." After all he didn’t know that I knew. I left to work for another company but we kept in touch. I remember the day he showed up at my new office and showed me his 6 month coin. He then shared his story with me about his past, his life and his future. I found myself falling in love with this man deep in my heart. The more I thought about it, the more I knew that this was God's way of putting him in my life. 

 We started having lunch dates, then after-work dates, then he moved in with us. At the time he was living at the YMCA. I couldn’t bear the thought and had to "save" him. I gave him an instant family and home. After two years we were married and sure to be the new “Cleavers”.

Over time I would notice him getting short tempered. I chalked it up to his Irish blood and went on with life. Eventually he met some of my co-workers. They were a younger bunch that liked to party and smoke the maryjane - everyday. Well, Tom thought that would help calm him down. I was all for it.  After all, he wasn’t drinking, right?  

I saw a new, calm man and was very happy with the results. I had no problem getting it for him since I had the hook ups. Then he started doing it every day. He was putting me in very uncomfortable situations. If my connections were dry, he would get very upset with me. I felt like I failed him. There were times we would drive 40 miles to a friends house to "score." Looking back, what was I thinking? I guess I’m what you call a "people pleaser."  I wanted my man to be happy, while making myself miserable. I found him taking other drugs. In my mind that was okay, he wasn’t drinking and booze was the monster I was most afraid of.

Eventually we had a house built and were the perfect couple living the American dream. I will never forget the day I came home from work and we were running out for a few grocery items. We were driving in the car and I thought I smelled booze. That’s one of those nasty things you don’t forget. I tried to make conversation with him but he would only nod and face the window when speaking to me. I must be crazy, there’s no way he would drink! He was a recovering alcoholic. They can’t drink, right? I dismissed it and didn’t say a word to him. The following day I came home from work and there was a six pack of beer on the table. I couldn’t understand. He said it wasn’t a problem to drink a few, that he would stop when he was done. I thought it was no big deal. Well, six turned into twelve, twelve turned into twenty-four. When that stopped working the hard liquor was next. When that wasn’t enough the pills and who knows what else was required. I found myself right back in the nightmare I was in from the beginning.

What the heck is wrong with me that I’m driving these men to drink? Maybe I work too much. Maybe my kids are driving him crazy. Soon I found myself watching him drink himself into oblivion every night. I would get up to check on him and usually find him laying on the floor somewhere (bathroom, dining room, kitchen). I would always make sure he was still breathing, mumble a few choice words under my breath and return to bed, angry. Very angry. On the few nights he would make it up to bed, I usually didn’t know until  morning when I would wake up soaking wet in his piss. Yeah, I’d say that’s a bad start to anyone's day.

I lived like that for a long time. Every night he was the meanest person on earth ridiculing me and the kids. He would throw my innermost secrets in my face. He would remind me on a daily basis that I was a complete failure as a wife and mother. I would wake up every morning very hurt. I started blaming myself until I started blaming him. Then it was all out warfare. I tried escaping and moving back to Mom’s. That was the day he tried to kill himself. I remember sitting in my mother's kitchen and talking to him on the phone thinking he’ll never go through with it. I was trying to be compassionate but all of my feelings were turning black. I was pissed that he would mess up the house. I was even more pissed that he didn’t have any life insurance, leaving me with nothing. In the back of my mind I thought that it would probably be the best thing for both of us.

Well, he called me the next morning. It wasn’t successful as I had planned.  He promised me the drinking was over. You see, if I had a dime for every time he said that to me, I wouldn’t have needed to think about life insurance because I would have been a millionaire. I ended up going back to him. It was like that move Groundhog Day where nothing changed. I was determined to find a reason to end this marriage. So I did what every good wife does and checked the Internet history. Bingo! I got you this time! Porn, really? Singles and dating sites, are you kidding me? Sending nasty messages to other women when you won’t even look at the one you’re sleeping next to? O.K, I’m done now! I can handle everything but cheating. He thought it was harmless. I saw the Internet trash as cheating. I was mentally exhausted and empty. I had to get out of there or go crazy with him. 

I started house hunting. I’m not sure how my husband found out (perhaps the Internet history) but he confronted me on it. We actually sat down and talked, like "big people" about what was going on. I told him I would no longer live like this and something to the effect that he was pathetic! Seems that out of all the things I had called him “pathetic” struck a nerve.

He started going back to recovery meetings and introduced me to some other spouses of alcoholics. Not only were the wives there, but there was a man too. I didn’t get it. Aren’t alcoholics only men? I was thrown into a world of people that had actually lived like me and thought like me. You mean this wasn’t a big secret we just lived with? I made a comment in a meeting about growing up in an Italian family. We’re born, baptized and immediately fitted with a set of blinders. We don’t talk about what goes on in our family with other people. After all, what will the neighbors think?

    

I can honestly tell you that this meeting was one of the best things that ever happened to me. These people loved their spouses so much that they were going to get “treated” for a problem that wasn’t even theirs? I don’t have a drinking problem. I don’t belong here and I certainly can’t talk about what goes on in my house. It only took a few turns around the table before I lost it.  They really did live and think like me. I’m not weak because I love this man and want him back. I’m human and I feel and I love. I can be weak. It’s okay to cry and share with other people. I’m not the only one in this situation. My problem was, I just didn’t know. I learned that alcoholism is a disease that cannot just be turned off because I want it to. I learned that my husband has to “want” to stop. It’s all up to him, NOT ME. 

 I learned that I need to pray. I need to thank God everyday for putting our family back together, for giving us strength to get through it together and for giving my husband the desire to quit drinking. I pray that we will never have to go through the misery and pain that alcohol has caused in our lives. I pray that my children saw and learned what addiction does to a family. I sometimes wonder why we had to go through that horrible chapter in our lives but then I would be questioning God. Our pastor once said "God never gives us more than we can handle."  Well, HE must think very highly of us. After all, God is the one that chose for me to see Tom's aura that day. I suppose we did it just the way HE planned. I hope HE’s pleased.

Today I look at my husband as a man. He's a man that I’m proud of and that I love being married to. I can’t imagine my life without him. I don’t want to give the impression that every day is roses and daisies but at least we can get through them together. To quote my husband “Every day is a gift." Thanks for letting me share.

Love

Squeaky

Angels and Dreamins'.....Near Death Experiences and Visitations! Part Two!

At the risk of sounding like James Frey's confession of adding fictional flare to his semi-non-fictional story of pain and addiction, I have to make a confession that is the opposite of his. It is an admission of holding back facts in my story. To fully understand the following chapter you will have to go back to my chapter "I Was Dead but Didn't Die." My comparison to Frey is that I left a part OUT about my attempted self termination. It was a fact that I didn't think added to my story and I didn't want you to think I was cruel to animals. Nothing could be further from the truth. I now regret the omission, and am eager to share everything. Now that I am writing about my "Near Death" experience and unexplained encounters, not of this dimension, it must be recorded.

There was no thoughts of misleading the reader. I just wasn't prepared to tell the whole story of that night. It was hard enough telling people I was trying to off myself. The omission revolves around my black Lab Fabian. I have had him since my wife rescued him at 6 months old, from the Downers Grove, Illinois Humane Society. He is now 11 and nearing the end of his road. On that haunting date I was going to speed up the trip and take him with me. I should also mention I have 2 other rescue dogs, "Cooter" an 11 year old yellow Lab, and "Grace" a 3 year old Pekingese. An endorsement for adopting animals may sound trite, seeing as I was gonna take myself out, and him with me.

I love my dogs dearly, as I do all animals. Kris and I have no biological children together so our dogs are our adopted proxies. Check that! I hate BATS, all bats big and small, and most snakes! I also despise any spider that I cannot squish with a paper towel victoriously. The most glaring phobia I have is clowns! They're always jumping out of tiny cars with honking horns and miming terribly choreographed slapstick skits in grossly over sized shoes with large painted-on mouths over their existing tiny mouths. What the hell is that? Too much time around them is sure to trigger a panic attack. That said, I am one of the few fathers who can say, with pride, that I never took my kids to the circus! I didn't want to pass on my phobias of the strangely painted creatures, nor create a scene of their father shrieking and running from center ring. That would inflict an equally painful psychological scar upon their young minds. Again, I use humor to deflect heavy feelings I have a hard time addressing in the moment.

Fabian and I have been joined at the hip for years. He knows my moods and tries to lick my wounds when I am hurt inside or out. He is the ultimate companion and I love him dearly. He is truly this man's best friend. He ultimately saved my life and was a part of the unexplainable events that happened that evening in 2004.

When my wife left me on that day after I relapsed and I planned my exodus to the great beyond, I did not leave a bowl of food for Fabian in the house. I did open the windows so the gas from the car exhaust didn't damage the house. Psychotic, I know. My plan was to take Fabian with me. We were going to be friends to the end. I have a small office that connects to my garage and that is where my suicide attempt began. I closed the door of the tiny office and opened the door to the garage where my Dodge Neon was running. I sealed the door to the house with duct tape to keep all the gas in the garage and into my office. I took Fabian into the room with me and we laid down by my CD rack.

After about 45 minutes went by, I began to feel sluggish. My breathing was slowing and it seemed as if things were going in slow motion. It was like I was watching a film. Fabian was laying next to me and I closed my eyes, as his were closed also. His breathing was more beleaguered, less frequent than usual, and very shallow. I knew he was getting close to death and I wasn't far behind.

As I laid next to him my eyes burned and I was unable to sit up. I closed my eyes and soon found myself in a different place. What I saw is hard to describe but I remember it vividly, even though I was being over taken by the carbon monoxide. Although I was sprawled out on the floor, I found myself standing up with Fabian at my left side. There were no white lights. The color for my experience was mostly grey. Describing the physical surroundings is hard to put into words because I have little to compare it to.

Imagine an hour glass each end perfectly symmetrical with a tube in between. Now take a thinly sliced cross-sectioned cut of the hour glass and lay it down flat. I was standing on one side of the hour glass floor and there was a bridge that separated me and Fabian from the other side of another hour glass floor. The whole vision was in white and grey. I could see that Fabian was still black but I could not see myself. I was there but couldn't see my physical being.

There was a presence there that seemed to to be hovering over my shoulder and encapsulating the whole place. It was very peaceful and strong. I was not afraid. There was no conversation in my experience but communication between me, the presence and the others I soon saw was definitely taking place. It was a non-verbal dialogue with a feeling based exchange of information. Fabian stood, happily transfixed at the view across the bridge. The more powerful presence was not encouraging me to do anything or go anywhere. It was just there letting me survey my surroundings.

From my side of the bridge I could see images of what I knew were people. It wasn't like, "oh look it's Grandma and Uncle Jack." I could sense loved ones and saw shapes of auras but there was no definition to the forms. I knew what they were but they were shapes, not outlines of humans, and they had a cloudy illumination to them. I also did not recognize, or feel, all of the auras that filled the background behind those closest to me on the other side. The bridge was slightly curvy and to each side was only grey vapor and nothingness. There was no sense of depth perception but the auras on the other side were seemingly about a 100 yards away.

I was not drawn to the other side and the loving figures did not call for me to join them. They were letting me know they loved me, but that was all. The stronger presence surrounding me gave me the feeling that I had a choice to go to the other side of the bridge or not. It was up to me. There was no pressure either way. It was simply up to me. I was not intimidated or feeling pressure. I was just at a point of decision. I looked down at Fabian and I realized that taking my own life and crossing the bridge was my decision, but that he didn't have a choice. I held the power of his life and death in my hands.

I knew I loved him too much to take his life and taking him from my family was wrong. I didn't reflect on the impact my death would have on my family. I just loved my dog too much to be so cruel to him and doubly cruel to my family. He is laying next to me now as I write this, as is Cooter. I call them  Salt-n-Pepa.

I found myself back on the floor, next to Fabian and the sealed door that went into the family room. He was barely breathing and his tongue was hanging out to the side. I reached up and pulled the door open. Oxygen and clean air rushed in. We both stayed there. The car was still running in the garage. After a few moments he began to somewhat get it together. I crawled into the family room pulling him along. A short time later, he was snapping out of it pretty well and I had the strength to let him outside to get more air.

I didn't fully comprehend what I had just experienced, like I do now. After I knew Fab was okay, I returned to the garage and closed the door behind me to finish the job I had set out to do. Rosary draped on me and Bible in hand, I shut the door from the office to the garage, leaving Fabian behind. You know the rest of the story. It has a happy ending. I am still here.

I now know I was on the edge of death. I know that I was given a choice to cross the bridge or stay behind. My love for Fabian helped me choose to stay here. God had decided to make my decision for me, through him. When I woke up later in the garage the Neon had stalled. I believe in heaven or another plane like I believe in oxygen. No one can veer me from that conviction. I saw what many, and few, have seen. Life's the journey, not the destination. I am glad God made my choice for me. In the condition I was in, I can honestly say that choosing life would not have been my decision, without God and Fabian's intervention.

I Was Dead... But Didn't Die...

When I started to write this book I told my wife that there was no experience in my past that I wouldn't write about. If I truly wanted to help people trapped in the merry-go-round of addiction I would have to bare my soul. Leaving names and places out is my way of protecting people who I do not wish to hurt any more than I have. Only a handful of family know this story - up until now.

I have intimated the fact that I switched from drug to drug to prove I wasn't addicted, like any seasoned addict would. I stopped drinking on March 21, 1999. I went into Hinsdale Hospital for 5 days to detox and then admitted myself to their psych ward. I had 11 days left of inpatient coverage on my insurance and was fired from my job while detoxing. I was free to come and go from the ward and walk the hospital grounds but was on lock down at night. I was so afraid of drinking that I was willing to make a stop in the nutty bin to help assure my continued sobriety. After my 11 day stay as McMurphy hanging with the Chief, Billy and Martini, I spent 28 days at a recovery house in Poplar Creek.

After 6 months of honest sobriety, I started smoking pot again. It kept me relaxed so I didn't need to continue with my alcohol recovery, or so my addiction convinced me. My new girl Kris, Squeaky as I call her, was okay with the pot as long as I didn't do it in the house in front of the kids. Her previous husband had alcohol issues and she was happy I wasn't drinking. She had no idea how addiction works the addict from every angle until it has its grip firmly on the soul of the user and starts the insanity again. I figured God created it and the Native Americans smoked it so I saw no harm in my occasional high.

I would smoke and go to work. I was a gainfully employed professional, suit and tie intact and was wasted all the time. As the months went by my use got heavier. The level of drug needed to get me to where I wanted to be - outside of being me, was increasing. I was a good worker or good enough to keep the gig. I always had a back-up job in my pocket in case the one I had fell through.

After 5 years of freedom from alcohol we bought our dream house. Nestled on a cul de sac in Plainfield, we began our new life in suburbia. It was a lovely 4 bedroom, quad level with the prerequisite large fenced in yard for my dogs. I had the "American Dream." It was 2003 and Squeaky and I had gotten married the year before. I proposed to her from a phone booth on the coast of Ireland. I had everything a man could want or need, and more.

My weed habit was costing me about $160-$200 dollars a week. I planted grass to fill our dirt plot, and landscaped with bushes and trees to match our dream homes' exterior and smoked grass in all my waking hours. Seeing that I had achieved my goals of happy home and ideal wife, the notion came to me that I could have a few beers. After all, I had not taken a drink in 5 years. It was obvious to me that I wasn't an alcoholic from the control I had displayed during that time.

It started as a couple, then a few, then too much, to where I couldn't get enough. I was now drinking again and smoking dope. But then I was getting tired from the combination so I started taking speed to keep me going. I made it through work doing just enough to keep the boss off my back and when I got home I would tie one on, and two, or three or more. The mind numbing trifecta was now costing me more money than I made and my wife was losing faith.

After a particularly loud and expletive laced argument about the money I was spending and how pathetic I was becoming, she told me she was leaving me. She had packed a small bag and was heading home to her parents. I was furious, high, drunk, afraid and terrified of abandonment. She drove away and I drove to the supermarket. I formulated my plan on the way. I purchased a bottle of 100 proof rum, a bottle of Robitussin and some sleeping pills. I returned home, my resolve forged. I would show her...I would kill myself! The pain of living was suffocating me. I loathed me. I lost my best friend. I had been drunk and homeless and drunk in my dream home. The common factor was I was drunk. My disease didn't care where I was, how much money I had or what I did for a living. Addiction wanted me dead and settled for me high! High was no longer working for me so dead was the only option left.

Addicts crave chaos and drama. I had told my wife I was going to end it before in a carefully crafted Shakespearean-like soliloquy. She never bought into the game and would reply to my performance with a quick reply like, "go ahead, just don't make a mess." This time I was not acting. I was afraid I would go to hell for taking my own life but I figured it couldn't be much worse than the hell I was living day after day here. I called my wife at her parents and announced my intentions of self extermination. She replied with her usual remarks. I called several more times and she wouldn't take the bait. She was done with me. I was done with me.

I drank about half of the rum and sipped on the Robitussin. Why Robitussin, I'm not sure. I think I had read about it in a Jack Kevorkian book. I took the sleeping pills and prepared to move to our attached garage. Being the conscientious suicidal person I was, I opened all the windows in the house and put food in the bowl for my Lab Fabian, then straightened up before I closed the door behind me.  As each moment passed and more of the chemicals spilled into my bloodstream I began to make peace with myself and my final decision.

I took the hose from my shop vac and placed one end into the exhaust pipe and the other through the vent window of my tiny Dodge. I stuffed the window with newspaper and taped the openings closed. I gloated in a macabre satisfaction at what a good job I had done in my preparations. I returned to the house and grabbed  the items I would take into eternity...hopefully! I placed a rosary around my neck and a picture of my wife and the Holy Bible in the passenger seat. I slid in behind the wheel and turned on the motor. It choked and spit for a few minutes while it got used to the foreign object obstructing its breathing. I said I was sorry to God and cried. I sobbed for forgiveness. I thought the rosary and the Bible might enable me to con my way past Gabriel. I was getting sleepier as the fumes filled up the tiny sedan. It struck me that it didn't smell so bad.
The lids of my eyes felt like they weighed a pound each as I struggled to stay awake. The fear returned but I was too tired to reconsider now. My lungs burned as I passed out cold. It was April 30, 2004.

I came to several hours later and wasn't sure if I was dead or alive. My head pounded and I threw up all over my rosary and steering wheel. The car was off and the battery was dead. The engine had stalled, no doubt from the choking pipe restricting the exhaust. I was elated and sullen at the same time. This was no cry for help. I tried to off myself but God had other plans for me. He wanted me to live. It was May Day 2004. I slept a few more hours in the house before calling my wife and rehashing the nights events. I realized it was May Day. May Day, May Day Tom it's not your time. I was grateful to be alive and thankful the car had malfunctioned at the perfect moment.

My wife did not return home right away. I returned to recovery support and began a new relationship with God. I wish I could say that I never used again but that would be a lie. I can say that I have never had the thought of trying my luck again at a kamikaze mission. Addiction will kill you if you let it. You can't do it alone. I know I wasn't alone that May Day when my tiny car stalled in my lovely house in the suburbs. I know now that I am never alone!