The Stateville Gig and David Brenner

This is a reprint from my book Soul Parole: Making Peace with my Mind, GOD and Myself (Available on Amazon and Kindle or click the link on the blog)

STATEVILLE! My First Invitation to Prison and I Didn't Want To Leave.....(original unedited copy 12/10)

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

I was part of the "Comedy Faith Outreach" Ministry Tour that did a show at Stateville Prison. The program was conceived by comic, and spiritual leader George "Milkdud" Poe, and coordinated on Statesville's end by the unforgettable prison Chaplain Adamson. The Comedy/Faith Ministry has already visited Dwight Women's Correctional Institution and will be heading to Danville Prison a week from today. I was honored to be a part of that show. It changed the direction of my career dramatically and I hope it changed some young men's future choices as well. David Brenner told me that if I Could make these guys laugh, I WAS FUNNY! 

I have been in a jail before. I have even spent a night in one or two before. No, it wasn't for a charity fundraiser but the jail did raise some funds from my personal overnight stays and the required fees for me to be released. PRISON is a different universe. Statesville Prison is another dimension. Let me put it this way. Stateville is an enigma wrapped in ah....whatever that thing Churchill talked about during the war, but just add some really heavy vibes, killers, thieves, murderers, rapists and some guys who made some really poor choices. It was an unforgettable day for me and I hope it was for them too. I was one of 7 comedians and a headliner, plus an emcee and Minister. Lets startfrom the beginning.

Pulling into Stateville, you are quickly deceived by the tranquil drive outside of the massive maximum security that stands a quarter mile from the perky entrance. I felt like I was heading down Forest Gump's driveway. The words Stateville are written out neatly in big stones. I wanted to grab a couple of the big fellers and put em' in my drawers because I realized trying to humor 300 inmates, who may never seefreedom again, was like having a mild stroke at a morticians convention. They would all just be staring at me, waiting for their moment. I pulled into the staff lot and could see the armed guards waving down at me. I wish it was with their teeth. My smile was much more disarming as I was unarmed.

I went into the visitor center and checked in with a sergeant who didn't know about the show. Government didn't work on the inside either. That gave me comfort in my choice to join the band of merry makers. Chaplain Bishop came out and greeted me along with Tom Dykstra, Ray Fisher and Salty Peters. Milkdud Poe, our emcee and minister for the show's end, wasn't there yet. We were waiting for Poe, Patrick Bagdon, Jay Washington and headliner Lady Lunchabell.

I really wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be. I had been in cuffs a few times, was comfortable around weapons and hung out with some bad guys back in the booze and dope days. The cool thing was that back then, I would spend the night hopped up and paranoid that I could get busted for an assortment of things that I was doing. I was clean the day of the show. I knew I was going home and I was eyeing up a couple of the weaker comics like we were gazelle in the Serengeti. If someone was going down it wasn't going to be me. I had been doing leg crunches all week and had a reverse chastity belt made for the gig. The only thing I feared was a skeleton key.

Chaplain Adamson was not what I pictured. I was the idiot picturing Spencer Tracy in a collar and whites. No. Adamson was part Jeff Bridges, part Chuck Norris and part Dennis Hopper, but with a theological bend instead of an existential one. He was cool, all the way from his pony tail to his snake skin boots. I wanted this guy on my side if I was dying or in a bar fight. After we left I saw why he needed all these characteristics to survive, and thrive, with a positive message in a pretty dark place. The chaplain also had a great sense of humor...I think. Being April Fool's Day he told the 300 inmates we were performing for that we were theologians from around the country, coming in for a round table discussion.

Our fearless leader George Poe, Patrick Bagdon and Jay Washington arrived and we began our walk to the gymnasium for the "theological symposium." The walk took about 4 days. I would have been thrilled with a "Green Mile." This was a "Red faced 2!" I walked the line and hummed the Johnny Cash song, keeping my head down. The chaplain kept us cool with funny stories and the guys we met were very respectful. I tried to act like I was just one of them. I was for a couple years as I recall. I was proud to be part of a show that was sending a positive message to these men and glad that I had the stones to commit to doing it. I will do it again. Milkdud, you have my word.

We entered the gymnasium to a largely minority group of males, who at first looked pissed that we weren't imams or monks or bishops. I thought I would piss myself but I didn't want to rust the chastity belt and create a possible weakness in one of the hinges. Adamson had a podium and 8 chairs sprawled out in front of our captive audience. He is a truly inspiring guy with the perfect demeanor for a difficult job.

As I sat and listened to the first few comics do their sets, I was people watching. I can't speak for other comics or actors but I literally could watch people for hours on end. My favorite part of air travel is the terminal, not the flight. Human behavior is fascinating. I saw these guys as men, not inmates. I wondered to myself what they had done to get there. Out of the 300 I saw, one young man was barely 20. I have belts that old. A haggard old gentleman of about 90 sat calm and chiseled with life experience. I also saw two people I recognized from recovery groups I had attended with in the past. I was floored. My life's troubles seemed like whining suddenly. I won't speak on the morality of the deeds the men did but they were paying their dues to society.

It EASILY could have been me sitting there and one of those guys telling jokes. I just didn't get caught. I got the breaks. I was leaving that night to have a nice dinner not mystery meat and beans-n-rice. You become very aware of how blessed you are after being in a prison. We were allowed to bring in a piece of paper and an I.D. That was it. No Tic-Tacs, Chapstick, Blackberry or bubble gum. We take for granted how we can just reach into our pocket for some Bazooka or an Atomic Fire Ball. These guys would love to have that just once in a while as a TREAT.

After Tom, Ray and Salty did funny, well received sets. Then it was my turn. A calm came over me. I opened with a bit about this being my first sold out gig and that after reviewing all the restrictions on material, I was left with only Knock, Knock jokes. I told a few more and went on to talk about my alcoholism at 17, homelessness at 32, 4 marriages and now an acting and comedy career starting to take off at age 45! I'm in "The Chicago Code" with "Flashdance" knock-out Jennifer Beals, blah, blah. The point being that I never gave up, even when I wanted to die.

Hell, I used to pray to die! Literally, as the roaches crawled on me. I told them to have faith in the goodness of their God because He saved my ass for some reason. I am nobody special but we all have our burdens to face each day and we have to keep our chins up and move forward. I didn't make light or try to intimate that I had a clue as to what they were facing, but I did tell them that we all are in prison within our hearts and minds. Some of us do it in jail. Some at Walmart. Some of us alone in our bed. Life is for living, no matter what your circumstances are. No man is better or worse than the next in God's eyes. We have all failed. We will all stand before Him and account for our actions individually.

Jay Washington came out and tore the house down. He is one of Chicago's hottest! Patrick Bagdon was feeling a little under the weather but I admire the fact that he showed up to the gig and kept his word. That's a pro. Of course, Lady Lunchchabell had them rolling in the aisles and I just soaked it all in. George "Milkdud" Poe wrapped up with his words of faith, surrender, hope and redemption. He hit all the good stuff. He has a gift for comedy but more importantly, faith. It was the most memorable show I have ever done. Then came the twist...

As we finished it seemed like, we/I shook hands with all 300 men who were in that sweaty gymnasium. I was not concerned about why they were there. I was glad I had made them laugh and given them a moment or two of hope. It might have been the high point of their day. As I said earlier, the restrictions on our material made me take a hard look at my set and write comedy that could play anywhere from a church to a nursing home and it felt good. It also taught me that we are all screw ups, some just get caught. Some of us are screwed up and live in a prison of our own, in our own private universes that we call our lives.

About half way through the hand shaking, a young man stopped by and said he was inspired by my message from addict to actor/comic, faith and hope and asked if I would give him my autograph. Any comic or actor remembers the first time someone asks for their autograph. At least I will. This was my first. It was not an ego feeding moment. He asked me to sign his bible where he had written some encouraging, sad, desperate and cheerful thoughts over the years for inspiration. There were a lot of notes. I was moved to a little tear, and certainly wasn't going to take that moment to scrawl in 2 inch letters, "GREAT TO MEET YOU MY MAN, ALL THE BEST TOMMY CONNOLLY", especially in a Bible. I took it as a message to keep my ego in check and that I can deliver a clean show and message that is funny and uplifting. God has a sense of humor. For the first autograph request in my career, I merely wrote next to his notes "Faith Not Fear." I printed it like it was for a 1st grade school paper. That's how humbled I was by the moment. I was proud that my words touched the young man. I was moved to humbly print in pencil a word of encouragement to him and pray that he finds a new path when he gets back on the other side of the wall - if he gets to the other side of the wall.

I was glad to be a human on this earth, trying to get along on this troubled ball of pain and confusion we know as Earth. God Bless. Never did I think, EVER, that my first request for my John Hancock would be in the words of God! I had a goal of reading the Bible cover to cover the first year of my sobriety. I had a Gideon's Bible from one of the crack hotels I lived in during the late 90's. Every night I would scribble a line or two about my feeling after reading a few pages. It became a sort of diary in the footnote of that Bible from my "Lost Years." I finished reading it from Genesis to Revelations that year and I have a journal of my first year of sobriety.

That young man saying I gave him inspiration and putting a few words of hope in his Bible made that whole thing come full circle. My pain wasn't wasted years fully realized in a moment. Good luck to all of you. Bishop Adamson, keep slinging the word and riding that white pony. You are a tribute to the profession, a great messenger and I am amazed you can walk around with a Bible in one hand and 50 pound cahones weighing you down all with a smile in your heart.

To Milkdud, The Bishop, Jay, Lady, Patrick, Salty, Tom, Ray and "The Comedy Faith Outreach" Tour and Ministry: thanks for letting me be a part of such an amazing day. I will never forget it. Amen.

God! I'm The Frog! (Soul Parole 2)

This is a sneak peek at SOUL PAROLE 2: I Was and I AM....

My world seems to be running at a frenetic pace lately. As a person with bipolar issues it always is at differing degrees inside my mind. Add my addiction issues and how I am working my recovery program and my melon can become a fun house. Not an actual house of fun. More like something that Stephen King would conjure up including the clowns everyone knows I'm SO fond of. At times my mind is like the center lane of the Dan Ryan at about 7:30 am and everyone is running late.

Professionally I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams. Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, God and Myself is still on track to be released through Amazon/Kindle in mid November. I just finished a film called "Family" that is going to rock the festival world. "Chasing Hollywood," My first costarring film is premiering next week at the Naperville film festival. I have two films lined up back to back "The Fruit of Andersen Farm" shooting here in Chicago in October and "Beneath" Shooting in L.A. in November. As an actor I couldn't ask for more.

I have been speaking to civic groups about my story of addiction and depression and the list of appearance requests is growing. I am the Spokesman for this years "Rally Round Recovery 2011" in Will County taking place this weekend. All of my goals seem to be right on track. I feel I am doing the right things for the right reasons. I am grateful to be working with other people newly sober and facing depression and addiction issues. God is using me as a messenger. I am happy to be of service. I was a user, hostage taker, mind bender and scar tissue on this beautiful place we call earth for 28 years too long.

Squeaky whom I have put through the wringer emotionally, financially and everything else that ends with "LY"  is facing surgery Monday. They will be removing half of her right kidney. There is a mass at the top that is unusual. They will biopsy it for disease on the operating table due to its' positioning in her body. I will sleep by her side while she is there and we will get through this season and trial, no matter what the outcome. The doctors have assured us that the long term prognosis is great but there is always concern for this type of major invasive procedure.

I haven't written about it because I have had more questions than answers about the whole thing. Quite a bit of it has left me speechless. I have been supportive and there for her and have tried not to "Fix" things. As a recovering "Fixer" that takes a lot of work to keep a cork in my big fat pie hole. I used to always have an answer or an insecure need to provide one to people even when it wasn't solicited. When she told me she was scared the most brilliant thing I could come up with was that I was scared too. It was an honest answer and I think It's the best bit of husbandry I've done in a while.

I've had to pull over and cry. There have been calls to friends weeping like a fool gibbering that I knew I was powerless and it was in God's hands that I was scared witless. Recovery has taught me how to use new coping skills.I have had to walk out of the room so that I didn't fall apart like a cheap watch. Treating my depression and bipolar symptoms with a professional helps me recognize my own mood swings and emotions and adjust accordingly. There have been times when I have held her and we have fallen apart together. We turn to God in those moments and ask for strength.

The thing that gets me is that I tried to destroy myself a drink or drug at a time, over and over daily for 28 years. On one occasion I tried to do it all in one garage swan song. My faith is strong. I would be a liar if I didn't tell you that I don't get mad at God. I still want things my way. I always will. I probably have spoken about this before. I will undoubtedly again. I don't have to like the way things are in life. I only have to accept them to be reasonably happy and sane. I tried to fight reality for 28 years and it still did it's own thing it's own way. I just got high along the way because it wasn't my way.

The projects, films, speeches, books, jokes and ME things are on hold as of Monday. I am grateful that I can be there for MY WIFE. For the 12 years we have been together I couldn't always say that. I am human and there will be days in the future when I will fall short again. Monday will not be one of those days. Her days of recovery won't be those days. I will be there clear minded and at FULL attention. Sobriety gives me that gift and opportunity. Drunk I would call her mother and have her deal with it. That is the sad truth.

As I grow I ask God WHY less. That is good. I still ask sometimes. I don't know why he does what he does. I will find out someday when I reach the Great Woodstock Festival in the sky. What I can do is the next right things NOW. Sorries don't cut it any more. I will SHOW my wife my love for her through my actions not my intentions. It is my turn to take care of her.

I'm pretty sure that is how friendship and marriage is supposed to go. It's not a 50-50. One is strong when the other is weak. Marriage is a complimenting of each others strengths and weaknesses. One dog has to take the lead of the sled team each day. That dog changes depending on the situation. Both dogs keep the team and sled on track. I ask that you keep her in your prayers. She will be fine. She is Italian and from Berwyn. She'll probably grow a new kidney by the time we get home...

My Wife and "THE CHANGE" A Husband's Survival Guide! (REVIEW)

 

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My, Mind, GOD and Myself Preview. Available January 2012.

Monday, February 14, 2011

My Wife and "The Change!" A Husband's Survival Guide!

I have grown up around women my whole life. When I was young it was my mom, sister and me. I have 3 sisters from my dad's second marriage for a total of four. I am the only son in the family. As a father I have 3 daughters and 1 son. So as I delve into the mysteries of the female "monthly curse" I feel I have a pretty good grip on the subject.

Between my wife's few days of pre-menstrual hormonal mood shifting, the actual cycle, and the post cycle mood swings, I have approximately 2 days a month that her mood is not affected by these evil hormones. I have learned to live with it to some degree. In fact we are so connected she says I have a "man period" along with her. I do not disagree.

One day last week I was eating everything in the house. I had 2 sweet-n-salty granola bars, 2 bowls of cereal, ice cream and leftover cold fettuccine. I was so ravenous that I called my wife. She assured me that there was nothing to worry about. We were due in 2 days. I have learned to roll with it and not overreact when she is acting like Sybil on a coffee drinking binge. Her instant emotional shifts, that change like someone is switching them on or off, I can handle. When she makes it to the happy personality, that is when I talk to her about the important stuff.

The worst is when my daughters and wife are all together for any length of time. It becomes the "Sistahood of the travelling menstrual pants." Any man worth his salt knows that a woman has regular clothes and "period clothes". These special garments are usually more comfortable, have more ventilation and are just a bit bigger than the regular sized clothing to account for the wretched bloating. Men: feel free to take notes on this chapter. It may save your marriage or your life.

When the three of them have merged their cycles into one evil menstrual demon, I get out the holy water and fill my schedule with a lot of "out of the house business." I have made it through the years with the help of God and up until the last few years booze. They are now split up around the world so the powers they held as a menstrual trinity has been broken. It amazes me how much power a tiny little egg, working it's way to evacuation, can hold so much control over the egg keeper.

All of these incidents and cycles have made me a stronger man, husband and father. I have learned to read the signs like a Cherokee scout examining hoof tracks in the great forest. I know when to approach the Squaws' and respect the spirits that bind them. However, nothing could prepare me for the chaos and emotional confusion that my wife has introduced to me by way of "THE CHANGE." The doctor who coined this term was obviously sharing a home with a woman in the midst of this phenomena when he came up with it. He made it sound so innocuous for fear of losing his life or worse, facing his wife's wrath.

Squeaky has a thyroid malfunction and her family has a history of entering this dark phase of existence early in the mid-40's. She is 44 and we are smack dab in the middle of an emotional tempest! The wild card is how long and how severe "The Change" will last. This is true for the long and the short term. I felt it my duty to enlighten men who may be experiencing this with a loved one now or in the near future. Please be comforted in knowing your wife is not Satan's spawn. There will be brief periods of calm and brief periods of storms. When your wife is going through it, the man must have a bronc riding mentality. Just hold on to the reigns and hope the ride only lasts a few seconds and pray you don't get permanently injured when thrown.

The two most important rules for men dealing with the afflicted woman is that whatever she says, do it. The second thing is whatever she says do it! You must be comfortable with wearing sweatshirts in the summer and having a high electric bill in the summer time. The "Hot Flash" is a mighty foe and will present itself at any time, in any place. If you are driving in the dead of winter and she turns to you with madness in her eyes claiming it is 8,000 degrees in the car. It is! Roll down a window or turn on the air. "The Change" comes complete with it's own weather patterns that usually conflict with physical reality. If you wish to survive, follow every instruction to the letter. Up is down, cold is hot, yes means no and so on.

When you have fallen into a deep, restful sleep be wary. "The Change" loves to come out in the dead of night and with a fury. If you feel the sheet is slightly wet, not to worry. It is not incontinence. It is the sweat dripping off your precious wife. During these late night flare ups do not be surprised if your wife turns to you and says "I love you, I need you and screw you!" in the span of about 20 seconds. Accept all three responses as being of equal weight. She means all three. If you find yourself dealing with her in a particularly foul mood, hang in there, she will be morphing into a different person in just a few moments.

The other two important keys to survival are responses to food and fashion. During this transition of life there are times when you will think your wife is pregnant or has a binging disorder. Strange combinations of sweet and salty, burgers to beef jerky, ice cream to ice cubes are not to be questioned. Let them feed. Any comment you make in regards to what or how much she is eating will be met with rabid lashings. Just shut up and get her what she wants.

When it comes to fashion men have one set. Women have multiple lines of clothing for whatever stage of the month they are in and choices should never be questioned. If your wife comes down the stairs in a mumu and a cowboy hat compliment her on how beautiful she looks. If you question her outfit selection you are in for a sobbing breakdown or verbal undressing. Remember this too shall pass. If your wife feels the need to go shopping for different clothes, let her. You may think she has plenty of sweaters and pants. She needs different ensembles to make her transition as comfortable as possible.

Above all, always keep your cool. Over the centuries countless men have tried to figure out "The Change" and alter its course in their loved one. Few have made it. This rite of passage is not meant to be interpreted by man, only accepted and adhered to. Period! By my estimations I have approximately 10 more years of enduring the fury of my wife's midlife change. I pray a lot. I drive to the store at strange hours returning with exotic foods. I bite my tongue a lot and have decided to live with the beast instead of trying to tame it. To my fellow man I wish you good luck on this journey.

July 3rd, The End of a Life, A Moment of Clarity and a Grateful Today...

This was a post from July that was too heavy for me to post at the time. The subject of the story passed a few years ago this month. I miss him dearly. The sun shines and the rain falls on both the good and the evil. Live every day like it is your last. One day it will be for all of us. Leave no regrets on the table...

I sit surrounded by my 3 dogs. Amazing Grace, My Pekingese, is sprawled out unphased by the shock and awe of the fireworks outside. Fiona Apple Schmutzie, My Japanese Chin, is confused and jumpy looking to her canine companions for proper behavior during the noisy onslaught. Fabian, My 80 pound Black Lab is a wreck, completely shell shocked by the hell of aerial warfare attacking his senses. We go through this yearly. My wife sleeps soundly in bed. I rough it on the couch cajoling the animals through the night. They give me great comfort. A nights loss of sleep is glad repayment for their unconditional love for me and my family.

I am reflecting on this date today and one's of the not so distant past. I'm starting with the end and finishing with the start. I hope you and your family have a safe holiday and you realize the precious gift of life that is handed to you each morning. Handle with care. Of course I will relate my story to addictions. Mine were primarily alcohol and drugs. They also included porn, money, work, power, prestige, stuff, objects, more work and all of the 7 deadly sins. Maybe you can relate to my story. I was into me, my and mine. Reality, friends and family had to fit into the "me" agenda or were dismissed or ignored.

On July 3rd, 2007 I was "dry" but on the herbal recovery plan. Squeaky and I were enjoying the fireworks display from our driveway. My cell rang. It was a good friend of mine who was really struggling with recovery. He was loaded on the works and insisting he was going to shoot his neighbor if any fireworks landed in his yard. I told him that was a silly thing to go to jail for and being the Fourth of July weekend made the odds of a landing pretty high. We were close and he just needed to vent. He did. First on me. Then on Squeaky. He had a heart of gold and an insatiable thirst for vodka. He unloaded on us but there were no reports of anyone unloading on a neighbor due to fireworks in the paper the next morning.

He refused to go to recovery meetings or return to rehab. He could "handle it on his own." Addiction gives the addict that same line of crap daily, endlessly. I called. He picked up the phone less and less. I stopped over. He didn't answer the door. We drunks love to isolate. He drifted farther into darkness until he drifted into eternity September of that year. He refused help from many. His solution to ease his misery was to buy several gallons of vodka and bug spray. He had pets including a cat I had given him named Louie.

 The booze was to feed his master. The bug spray to kill the fleas that had infested his home. He did not die from alcohol poisoning. Day after day he was spraying himself with the bug spray to keep the fleas off. Finally enough of it soaked through his skin, into his blood stream and it shut his system down. He didn't feel a thing. He did not commit suicide. He committed insecticide. I loved him like a brother.

 He joined me for a job I had  installing inflatable Sponge Bob's on Burger King roofs throughout the south in the months before his passing. We had a great time navigating the mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee, into the small towns of Indiana and Southern Illinois. The disease was too big for him and the vice like grip of alcoholism too powerful  for him to shake. It's too strong for anyone to shake alone. He was sober on that trip. I'll never forget the first night we stayed in the motel and he dropped his drawers to reveal leopard bikini underwear. He was damn near fifty and a lady killer. I laughed so hard I nearly got us thrown out of the place.

There are lots of success stories in recovery. There are as many or more stories of those who don't make it to the other side and back to reality. This cat had a heart of gold and would give you the shirt off his back and the skin of his teeth. Addiction doesn't care if you're a sinner or a saint. I miss him. I think of him every time I hear a Zep tune. There are times I wish I could have done MORE to help. I couldn't.

The only person who can get an addict sober is the addict. We can't do it alone. That is for sure. You can love. You can beg. You can cry and plea for us to stop. The sad reality is that only about 15% of addicts find any long term sobriety. Of those only about 5% find permanent sobriety. The odds are lousy. The rewards are great. I love the day to day concept. Today I am sober. It's cool. Tomorrow I'll try again. My buddy is up with Bonzo and Moony. He is at peace and sees fireworks in the clouds everynight.....I love you Twister...

I Want My Sausage WITH Peppers AND Onions!

As a person in recovery, long after the booze and dope is out of your system and you have begun to live life the way it's really coming at you, there are incredible moments of growth and personal victories. When your emotional IQ has been frozen in time by the effects chemicals have had it is like catching up with your body and actual age when you get sober. There are times when as a recovering alcoholic-addict, or maybe just as a human, I see myself regress. The difference between the using me and the recovering me is that I can reflect on my actions and be confident that I don't have to use over the rush of emotions. Then I review my day to search out the real cause of my regression.

I had one of THOSE days yesterday. I am working on a benefit for a dear friend and things were not going MY WAY, the great distress of any addict. It was one thing after another. With each rejection for a donation I was getting more irritable and I did not sleep well the night before. I have been nursing a pain in my side that I am convinced is either a twisted fallopian tube, Tay Sachs or Sickle Cell. As I made my calls and was pummeled with unsympathetic replies I was making notes for my memorial service soundtrack.

My son came home and asked if I wanted him to start dinner. As a budding chef and generally pretty good boy I jumped at the offer. The menu for the night was to be hot Italian sausage (sossage for those outside of Chicago) with onions and peppers on hoagie rolls. This is fine dining in my world. Soon the house was filled with the sweet smells of the "Holy Trinity" of cooking and the crackling sounds of what would be a culinary combination that rivals only corned beef and cabbage and surf-n-turf.

I feeling a little better at the table knowing a great meal was coming and a sit down with the family. My boy was starving and had one of the tasty creations as we waited for the queen to get home. I started wrapping up my work and waited for the dogs to rush the office door downstairs, a sure sign that Squeaky was home. In mere moments there she stood ravenous and beat. She had been through a similar day at the office as I had.

I know my wife has had a rough day when she puts her things down, grabs a plate and a soda and makes her way to the table. I finished the last of some follow-up emails. I could see my son was sitting down with another sausage slathered with peppers and onions. My wife prepared hers and asked me if I wanted her to make mine. From behind the screen, as I was hitting send, I said yes.

I moved my computer to the left of our dining room table and folded my hands for grace. I thanked the LORD for his blessings and some other points I needed to hit and opened my eyes. I looked down at my plate to see a poor naked sausage laying naked in a hoagie roll! I was horrified! Speechless! I looked at my wife and son stuffing the falling bits of pepper and onion back onto their sandwich. Then glanced back down at my lonely, naked, orphaned pork delicacy wannabe.

My emotions ran rampant! I was filled with jealousy and hurt. I was left out. Why hadn't I gotten any peppers and onions? Upon questioning my wife dryly replied, "Sorry I finished em'. There weren't that many left. You can have some of mine if you want." 'IF YOU WANT.' the words rang in my ears like I was taking the last dime from a starving orphan! I was doing math in my head realizing my son had TWICE the number of his allotted share of peppers and onions! I sat for a moment at the naked wiener on my plate with disdain. Who are these people at this table? Are there pods under their beds?!

You can't have french fries without ketchup! There is no peanut butter without jelly! I will not eat green eggs and ham! It was all there and I was pouting. I didn't say a word but my face spoke volumes. Eating the naked sausage felt like sacrilege. I didn't make a peep. That is very rare for me so they both knew I was unhappy but munched along in happy oblivion.

After dinner I mentioned to my wife that my feelings were hurt. When I was using I would have made a scene or stormed out the door. I realized I was tired. I knew I was smarting from the rejections I had all day. Trying to help a friend with little success was the real thing that was making me hurt. The peppers and onions were just the tipping point. I went up to bed early and spent some time talking to Squeaky.

When I woke up today my message box was filled with offers of donations from friends and strangers. From paintings, golf rounds and financial support the response was overwhelming. Everyday I learn more. I am grateful I have no desire to use but I am sorting through a lot of the "ic" that comes along with being an alcoholic. WE recovering addicts don't get our panties in a bunch over death, divorce and calamity. We do when there's no peppers and onions.

Forgiveness is Easy! I Just Can't Forgive Myself! (STILL)

As part of my recovery as an alcoholic and addict, I've had to take a hard, honest look at the repercussions of my years of chemical abuse and take responsibility for the damage I have caused in my life and to those around me. Then, make reparations to those wronged.This honest review of where we hurt others is vital to recovery and is a bitter pill to swallow. No pun intended. The total domination of mind, body and soul that is demanded by addiction is centered in the self. Addiction survives through its ability to manipulate the self into serving only the needs of master addiction.

Addiction makes the user "self-ish." Although in the traditional definition we think of it as not sharing it is not the selfish I am referring to. Alcoholism and addiction creates a cycle where the abuser is in the middle of a high or drunk, planning the next high or recovering from the last one. Some of the "self" terms associated with addiction are self-centeredness, self-denial, self-justification, self-seeking, self-loathing and ultimately self destruction.

It doesn't mean we don't love or think of others. It means that our addiction is an unrelenting tyrant that only allows us to think of others if it fits into our cycle of using. Feeding the addiction comes first. Period. After that we can be a part of a family, friendship or any relationship. But as a normal person sits at a birthday party adoring the children at play, the addict is obsessing about the high they are on or the one they are looking forward to. Addiction creates a parallel universe of thought that runs along the side of reality.

In order to meet the demands our selfish tormenting master places on us, we lie, steal, manipulate, lash out, blame and create chaos for those around us. What appears to be, and what  is completely irrational behavior to a healthy minded person is normalcy to an addict. Addiction has its own set of moral code and behaviors to allow the addict to continue doing what they know in their soul is wrong. It is when we reach the end of the rope, and are willing to admit to defeat and surrender, that the healing begins.

If you are an addict, or newly in recovery the repairing of our past is not to be done alone. There are a few foundational principles to stabilize the base of our recovery before we set about making sense of the past. We have spent years avoiding responsibility and reality. Once sober, reality rushes in like water in a sinking boat and we are bombarded with emotions and feelings that we don't know how to process straight. These are not "I'm sorries" or "I promises." We have said those things hundreds of times. We have promised our love ones "never again" and come home ripped. When we make those cock sure pledges at breakfast we mean it. Then the obsession and slow drone of reasons to use for the day begin to chip away at us. We may give in on number 5 or 75. We get wasted then are  genuinely perplexed at how we broke the promise we made over coffee and donuts just hours before.
I have made most of my reparations to those I have hurt through my behaviors while trapped in addiction. Some have forgiven me, some have dismissed me and others have told me to stick it where the sun don't shine. All three are acceptable. The important thing is taking responsibility for my actions and experiencing the emotions of the confessional cleansing of our wounds and of the wounded. Some may become more responsive when they see we are sober, others may never forgive us because the damage was too deep. Some we will make reperations to for the rest of our sober lives. Some we avoid because it would be wrong to disrupt their lives with such damage. In those cases we try to make good in another area by proxy.

It is always important to remember that as addicts we want the world to judge us by our intentions. That is one of the delusions of addiction. The world judges us by our actions! In recovery our actions become positive and as we begin living right, those around us take note. In essence as we grow healthier, our loved ones grow healthier too. This is not in all cases. Some damage is beyond repair. The important thing is that we face that person and take ownership in our role in the relationship.

For the most part my experiences in making reparations has been pretty satisfying. For every person I have faced and confessed my wrongs to, some of the burden of the past is lifted from me and them. It is vital to remember that these repairs are not to be made if they cause further pain or injury to the person involved. It is not fair to heap new wounds upon those we have wronged in the past to achieve our own peace of mind. The one person whom I have had the hardest time making peace with is me.

Some of the other "self" emotions we experience are self-hate, self-criticism, self-loathing, low self-esteem and self-punishment. These are some of the emotions that fueled our addiction when using. I used for 28 years because I hated myself. I didn't know who I was and addiction made me unable to form and nurture healthy relationships. Once the anesthetic had been removed I was left with all of those feelings. Recovery is about lightening the burden of being who we were and are.

The ultimate goal is to make peace with the world and ourselves. When this peace starts to fill up our hearts, the urge to escape and use begins to disappear. The ultimate goal is to learn to love ourselves. It is hard to truly love another when we dislike ourselves so much. This is a problem I often struggle with. I have asked forgiveness from others and forgiven those who have harmed me. That is with the exception of one person. That person is me.

That is where recovery groups are vital to contented sobriety. On the outside I appear very confident, some would say cocky. I don't disagree with either assessment. I use a strong personality on the outside to mask the fear and inferiority complex that is the real me. I act like I'm together while inside I often feel like I am falling apart. Recovery groups give me hope and they love and care about me unconditionally. That is the beauty of recovery. We love each other until we love ourselves.

I don't wake up in the morning and look in the mirror and say to my self, "Tom, I love you!" I hope to get to that point someday. I am however, comfortable in my own skin now. The 28 years of negative thinking I endured is going to take some time to eliminate. I can say with a grateful heart that recovery has brought me to a place where I am comfortable hanging with me. By helping others in recovery I know I am doing something good and that makes me feel good. Although I don't gaze in the mirror and smile at the cool cat looking back at me, at least I can look in the mirror and see a changing man.

There was a time when I would look in the mirror one time a day. That was usually to see how horrible I looked from the previous night's drunk or high. I used to avoid eye contact with people or look at the ground while I was in a crowd. All of that is gone now. I can look in a mirror and see that I'm growing. I am learning to like myself. Love may or may not come. I can walk down the street with my head held high and look any man straight in the eye. Recovery is a marathon, not a sprint. It takes time to fix a completely shattered soul.

As long as I stay connected to recovery, recovery groups and keep my faith in God's strength and guidance, I will continue to grow. If I go back to listening to my own crazy thinking I will end up right back where I started which is miserable, drunk and hopeless. I have a choice not to get high or drunk today. That is by the grace of God and recovery groups. It wasn't very long ago that I had no choice as to whether I would use or not. I was a slave. Today I have a choice but for the grace of God! He has forgiven me. I know it's only a matter of time before I forgive me too in God's time...