Insert Fear HERE!

FEAR is a four letter word. I believe it carries within it the same power as love and hate. It is usually the divider between the two. Sometimes they are intertwined and inextricably separable. FEAR is at the root of all hate. My fears of success and failure have left me paralyzed into doing nothing at all. For years, my fear of being hurt by loved ones made me a dark and demanding lover. My insecurities led me to dive into the bottle and a plethora of self destructive behavior.

When I speak about the isolation and insanity of alcoholism and depression, fear is at the center of my speech. You may not be an addict but I don't know of a single person who is fearless. If you say you are, you're probably afraid to talk about what's really eating you.

Some folks self-medicate with food, work, shopping, gambling or chaos. I know that chaos and drama were an essential part of my insane behaviors. When things are going along just ducky I like to toss a monkey wrench into the whole works and gum it up with some drama!

For some reason, when something good or bad happens to me I feel like I don't deserve it. Either the cosmos are dealing me a bad hand, or the big guy upstairs is rewarding the wrong fella. It's not exactly an emotional roller coaster. It's more like a hamster wheel! My mind is a switch hitter between the darkness and the light.

As I have grown in my sobriety over the last six years I've gotten much better. I don't beat my self to death with a Louisville slugger anymore. It's more of a NERF Bat. Old habits are hard to break. My 28 years of alcoholism and undiagnosed depression days were more than half of my life on this crazy spinning ball.

My fears led to isolation. Not solitude. The more time I spent alone, the bigger the fear grew and the farther I dug down into my own abyss. I can;t afford to do that these days. I need to surround myself with people who really know me. My wife can instantly see when my clock ain't ticking right. The more I educate myself about my conditions I can think my way through them instead of sulking in them or running away.

Whatever FEAR that is controlling you won't move out until you reach out and face it with a friend and your God. I'm still a hot mess, but I'm able to function without chemical courage. It really is a choice. Beyond Fight or Flight our fear instincts are self created. But I see now that conquering them is a team effort. Take it slow. Take it extra slow. But I hope you take the shot.

This is my first new blog in over a year. My fears had quieted me to mute. I'M BACK!

FAITH not fear!

The truth does set you free.

SOUL PAROLE: MAKING PEACE WITH MY MIND, GOD AND MYSELF

 
(CLICK) SOUL PAROLE is now available at AMAZON.com, AMAZON EUROPE and on KINDLE by September 15. Proceeds benefit Chicago Area Addiction, Homeless and Mental Health facilities. Click the link for more information.

  

The Monkey and the Eagle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Devil Done Did it!

I have a habit of telling people, "GOD BLESS YOU." No, not just when they sneeze, all the time. I like to add "MAY YOUR GOD BLESS YOU," as well. I am a Christian but feel faith is a personal issue. The key to spiritual contentment starts with a personal relationship with GOD.

Wishing blessings upon people is a beautiful thing. However, I think as Americans we are blessed beyond our wildest dreams. We take our freedom for granted. When I see rude angry people on the street I am puzzled by how they could think we have it so bad. Don't get me wrong, the economy and job market is horrible. I just can't see why everyone is so miffed. Spend a few days living in the streets and your outlook will change in a jiffy. On your next trip to the islands or Mexico have a guide take you outside the tourism district. You'll see people living in boxes...literally!

Why is it that when good things happen we say,"Thank God," but when something bad happens, we blame it on the devil? I don't know about you but I grow the most through pain. As a parent I can be a great guy for twenty-nine days of the month and be in a bad mood one day, and that's what the kids remember. GOD puts us through terrible things to change our direction and give us strength.

I believe in the devil. I just don't think he's the source of all the bad things that happen in our lives. GOD doesn't micromanage. I think GOD says "NO". HE says, "Not Yet," and "I have another plan." We have to keep our eyes out for dark forces, but freewill and, GOD's will need to be considered. When we don't know what his will is, doing the next right thing is usually a pretty good choice.

When my father died it devastated me. It still does. When he passed I was grateful to GOD for relieving him of his pain. His passing gave me the motivation to pursue my dreams of being a comic, actor and writer. This was a painful time that changed my perspective on living. I am more afraid of not living my life to the fullest, than I am of dying.

We can pray to do "GOD'S WILL." However, WE have to do things that are adding to the goodness here on earth...as it is in heaven.  He won't parallel park my car in the city. He won't call me up with job opportunities. He will send messengers. We are to get it, then get it done. We do the footwork.

There are times I have thanked GOD for teaching me a lesson. Sometimes I need to be redirected to the path I think he wants me to travel. I can't do anything to impress him. I can do things that would please him. Mostly, I can do good things for others as a way of saying thanks for all that you do for me BIG GUY!

When I mess up unintentionally that is my humanity. When I act like a jerk because life isn't going MY WAY, I can't blame it on the devil! If I don't work at being good, and helping others, how can I be surprised when things turn bad? When tragedies happen I don't need to blame it on the devil. I'm not going to give him that much credit. Sometimes I have to look in the mirror and decide if the devil really made me do it...or not do it, or was it me. Sometimes I just have to keep the FAITH in knowing the answers will come. I just have to let them in....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

Racism, Math Not Genetics, It's Taught Not Caught

THIS IS A BLOG FROM EARLY 2010. IT DOES NOT APPEAR IN MY BOOK SOUL PAROLE: MAKING PEACE WITH MY MIND GOD AND MYSELF AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.COM AND AT WWW.TOMMYCONNOLLY.COM. IT WAS AN HONEST LOOK AT HOW THE WORLD AROUND US CAN SHAPE US...OR WE CAN SHAPE IT....


Recently I was offered a leading role in an urban film being shot in Chicago by a bright, young film maker.  I had to turn it down due to a scheduling conflict. The script was well written. The production team was well organized. The cast was carefully selected. The marketing and distribution was well thought out, and I'm sure the project is going to be a success. I am honored that they chose me for the role, and disappointed that I could not take the part.

The cast and crew was 95% African American. I was to play a single parent father who has inappropriate relations with his daughter. He is a dark, flawed delusional character.  When I was presented with the opportunity to audition for the part my first reaction was "NO WAY!" I didn't want to be the BAD WHITE GUY! My personal attraction to trying things "outside the box" and a great conversation with the director led me to audition.

The first audition, on film, was an ad-libed "personality" audition. I stepped in front of the camera and proceeded to act like a stereotypical urban white street thug. I "assumed" that was what a black urban film called for. I got a "call back" with a script and did my next audition which was of me talking to a telemarketer after a long day at work. I talked like a blue collar, foul mouthed, white trash idiot stereotype. Shame on me on several levels. I was offered the part because my anger in the scene, and portrayal of the character was what the director had moved me to do. After I had to turn the project down I thought about the whole experience and came away very disappointed in myself.

First of all I was only one of about 5 actors who were not black in the production. It made me uncomfortable. Why? The money was just as green no matter what color the hand was that was giving it to me. Second, I used urban slang and gestures in my "personality" audition. Why? That is not my personality! I let the word "urban film" take me to "New Jack City" and "Boyz in the Hood" (both amazing films) to predetermine my approach. This was before the director even told me how he wanted the role played.

Lastly, when I had my callback and had my scripted conversation with the telemarketer why did I play it like I was a "blue collar worker?" Doctors, teachers, scientists, cops, computer geeks and professionals live in "urban environments!" I defaulted to the steel mill worker or the tire shop guy. Shame on me! I place labels on things I don't fully understand to make them easier to cope with instead of asking questions or researching the other side of the story. I jump to conclusions.

I am not a racist. I base my relationships on content of character. Invariably, I think, we all have subtle or blaring forms of it. It is passed on from generation to generation like a cookie recipe. It is math not genetic. We are taught it and pass it on. We are not born with it. We can continue the cycle, or break the chain. White people have hurt me more than all the other ethnic categories put together.

I can say that when I am leaving a Sox game at 35th and the Ryan after a night game sitting at a traffic light where a group of black teens are gathered, I lock my doors. I also do the same thing at night in Plainfield when a group of teenage white kids are by my car at a light. My fear sees no color, only fear. Where I am disappointed in myself is that I made some predetermined assumptions about the urban project that I turned down.

What a horrible habit! Sometimes, I let media, TV, movies, music, magazines and the internet worm their way into my opinions, instead of learning the facts for myself. What a rotten way to see the world. It's the easy way out and the fast track to stereotyping. I know better.

This doesn't go to just people of a color, it goes to how people live, where they live, what they wear, how they talk, what God they worship, what food they eat, what books they read and so much more.  Who am I to decide what is the good, the bad, and the ugly?


My kids have been raised to treat all people equally. Their cliques are more diverse than when I was growing up. They see the inside not the outside. I guess I have done some things right.When I have contempt prior to investigation on any subject, I am judge, jury and executioner. Then I have failed myself, My GOD and everyone in my orbit....

"There'll Be Jelly Beans For Tommy..Colored Eggs For Sister Sue!"

Monday is going to be a very big day for me. We will get back to that because I am hoping that it will be the start of a new era and growth for the direction of my mission and intention of where I wanted this chapter to go.

I am not apologizing for any of my chapters. There is no need to. I share my story; that's what makes it mine. I tell it like it is as it comes out of me. I certainly am not Hemingway or some wordsmith. I am just a guy trying to stay sane and sober in a crazy world. I share my pain and the mundane, maybe the inane. The point is that I lay it out there. I share what people strain and fight desperately to hide from the world and deny to themselves and their family. I am an easy mark. I will continue to do exactly as I am doing. This is not required reading. Snookie's blog and Charlie Sheen world is right down the Internet dial.

Sometimes I do chase my tail. That is life. Sometimes I do fall into old thinking, I make mistakes, I get angry, I cry, I pout, I am a human. I have been around recovery long enough to know that you can't live in chaos for 20 plus years and come out of it the picture of ideal mental health in a few short years. I live and work on my weak points daily, sometimes moment to moment. I would like to point out that I have never mentioned how or where I go to recovery. I spent too many years, not walking away. That brings me to Monday.

Starting Monday, "Every Day Is A Gift NOW" is moving to the wonderful world of Internet talk show radio. The show can be found at www.blogtalkradio.com. The first show will run for 30 minutes from 9:30am to 10am central time. Enter "Every Day Is A Gift NOW" w/Tommy Connolly and the show will pop up. Then you can call in and TALK LIVE. I am looking forward to the comments, experiences, success stories and recovery that my readers can bring to the show.

I will also be bringing on guests who have dealt with addiction and depression, plus I will be making a complete left turn. The show will also talk about the possibilities and new life that sobriety brings. I will be interviewing comics, actors, filmmakers, real folks with inspiring stories like Kerry and Misty. I will also address the stigma and misinformation that surrounds addiction and mental disorders. I am really stoked about it.

God sends us messengers with messages. I look forward to what God has in store for me in this new season. I remember when we were kids we would play "ding-dong-ditch." We would ring the bell and run. The owner would come to the door frustrated that there was nothing he could do. The new radio show will end the "ding-dong-ditch" syndrome for "Every Day Is A Gift." I lay my opinions on the line and my passion flows deep and real. Now all of you can call in with questions, criticism, answers, ideas or inspiration. The possibilities are endless. Happy Easter. God Bless Each and Every one of you. Talk to you Monday.