Make Me An Offer I Can't Forget

We held garage sales over the last 2 weekends. Most have held sales of their own. If you're like me, you have visited a few. When I stop at one, I'm certain that I'm going to find a Ming Vase, or an original copy of the Declaration of Independence tucked behind one of those bug eyed, fuzzy kitty posters.

Once I found a sterling silver chalice. I quickly snapped it up. The ornate engravings and elaborate swirls wrapped around the cup in beautiful detail. I was certain that King Arthur had sipped wine from it. It might even be the Holy Grail! I looked up the stamped marking on the bottom. It was from Egypt and worth $1.99. I bought it for a buck. I doubled my money. I'm ready for Suburban Pickers I reckon! My imagination is sparked when I see glimpses into peoples lives laid out on the tables before me.

Preparation for a hoarders blowout is tiring. After the items have been labeled as keep, sell or toss the adventure has just begun. All of the booty is moved into the garage staging area. Card and camping tables  are round up to display the treasures on.

Cable television has permeated my psyche. I had visions of Martha Stewart chastising me for my lack of style and product placement. I organized the artifacts like Dr. Jones would at a museum exposition featuring items from the Temple of Doom. I  created groupings on the tables to make visitors shopping experience more enjoyable. My final presentation would make the DIY girls giggle with envy.  There were housewares to the left, and sporting goods to the right. The yard was divided into a men's and women's section.

As my wife and I went through the boxes we went through a range of emotions. There were nick-knacks that should have been tossed years before, there were broken cups and plates that had been casualties of basement living. Some of the discoveries were things stuffed away, instead of thrown away.

We had purchased a lot of things together. They had sentimental value, but we no longer had room for them in the basement. Many were items we couldn't even recall buying. We about statues and glass dolphins. Each one took us on a nostalgic journey through our time together.

Most of the romantic bears and hearts were gifts I had presented as offerings of forgiveness after I did something stupid. As Ron White says, "I was stuck on stupid," for a long time. I came across my son's first baseball glove and fondly relived the day I had gotten it for him.

Over the years I have been collecting the kids crafts and putting them in to a box. There are Popsicle stick creations and macaroni faces smiling up from the glitter covered box bottom.  From hand made "whatever they were" to certificates of achievement, I had been socking them all away over the years.

While we were organizing I told Squeaky about the box. She had packed away some of the kids stuff as well. She was touched by my sentimental stash of childhood memories. I think, over the years, I had been filling the secret box as a small gesture, recognizing that even though my mind wasn't always there, my heart was still ticking

The sale began with a bang! I had set signs out at every entrance to our subdivision like political signs. For the first few hours I sold little insulted at the paltry offers for such amazing treasure. Many of the product offerings were methodically removed off the sales floor by some mysterious force as the weekend went by. If you can keep a secret. I just couldn't let go of some of our memories for fifty cents! I started another box! I made room for it in my office.

Garage sales are like life. We have to clean out some of the clutter to make our living space more manageable. We can't hold on to everything. It's impossible. There will be new things bought and received. Some will end up in future garage blow out sales.

Change is really tough sometimes, even when you know it's the right thing. Objects have no feelings. They create them in us. Some wax nostalgic as we see them daily. Yet others get passed by without notice. Things come and go. Memories are forever. There were many items sold that I couldn't hold on to any longer, that I will never forget.

No one can steal my joy, or my memories. As long as I'm growing, new memories will enhance the old ones. I can't live in the past or I won't move forward. Glancing back at it is good. Living in it gets me nowhere.

Financially the sale was a success. The remaining items will go to Goodwill and a Joliet Area Recovery Club. It makes me feel good that my treasures will soon be someone else who needs a few.

P.S. If anyone needs any old wooden spoons or coffee cups, let me know....


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.

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

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

Depression makes me laugh. What? You thought I was going to say it makes me sad. Right? It does sometimes. There are times it makes me cry, get obsessive-compulsive, angry or giddy. On other occasions it makes me isolate or dread being alone. I dislike the word depression "sufferer." There are few moments that I suffer from my depression. There are trying times. Every so often I have a difficult day or two.

I usually speak about the triumphs and tribulations of sobriety, addiction and recovery. I don't speak enough about the world of depression and fear. I'm not an expert on it. I live with it, and in it. A friend of mine, who's a county politician, messaged me recently on how stigmatized addiction and depression is in our society. I told her I was going to be addressing that very thing soon.

I was first diagnosed bi-polar in March of 1999 when I checked myself into Hinsdale Hospital for rehab. I have since been rediagnosed as having an anxiety and panic disorder with bi-polar tendencies. My work in recovery, and a therapist has been effective in helping me MANAGE my CONDITION. I have a chemical imbalance that requires medication to stabilize my mood. I am grateful to say that over the last three years I have gone from four pills a day, to two at bedtime. I hope I get to a point when I need no medication at all. The chemical imbalance is a part of life as ME. It's kinda like the fact that I'm left handed living in a right handed world. I have learned to MANAGE and ADAPT.

Bi-Polar used to be called Manic Depressive. That's a beauty! To define what I have is difficult. Simply stated I am attracted to both male and female Arctic people.  Traditionally defined, I have really high-highs and really low-lows emotionally. Most folks spend their time in the emotional middle and spike up or down. I tend to be at one of the polar extremes and have to work towards the emotional middle. My chemical receptors and plugs have a problem lining up just right. It's a bit like a car that needs a new set of wires. The car runs but it misfires.  A lot of addicts use because they have some form of depression or chemical imbalance. We self medicate because we can't cope with racing thoughts, mood swings or can't process our feelings that aren't fitting the picture. This is me.

I often have the wrong emotional response for the situation that is occurring. The world sees my actions not my intentions. When my Aunt Dora died we drove down to Carlisle, Indiana for her funeral. I was about 15 or so. My grandfather was cracking jokes about her in the family lounge. I was laughing like George Carlin was sitting next to me. Tears were rolling down my face. I was clearly boisterous and obnoxious. I didn't KNOW HOW to cope with my feelings over the death. I vented through my laughter.

As White Sox announcer Ken " Hawk" Harrelson says, "right size, wrong shape." It was inappropriate behavior for a funeral. I was depressed and was in a high on my emotional meter. I was in a manic moment. Rightfully, my mother scolded me for my actions. I retreated into a corner feeling as if I had done something horribly wrong. It wasn't that my feelings were wrong. Our feelings are OUR FEELINGS, and are neither right or wrong. My actions were improper for a wake. I couldn't find the middle on how to react to my Aunt's death. When my HIGH reaction was inappropriate I slipped down to the low. Emotional Middle Earth was elusive for me.

I started to drink and use because I couldn't cope with my thoughts and feelings not aligning, and my irrational fears paralyzing me. I was afraid to talk about them. I thought I was crazy for having them.  I felt misunderstood all the time. Sometimes I still do. It's been said that addicts are overly sensitive people. It's not surprising to me when I see us dually diagnosed. It does sting a little when I hear people say addicts have no feelings. WE FEEL EVERYTHING! That is a large part of our problem.

We feel compassion when a butterfly farts! When you mix a chemical imbalance into an addictive personality KABOOM! Catastrophe is down right inevitable. It is a perfect recipe for self-destruction. However, once we get armed with the facts about WHAT WE ARE and WHO WE ARE there's hope in overcoming ANY obstacle, or at least coming to peace with it.

The key to SURVIVING addiction, depression or facing any fear is reaching out for help. As an addict and a person who has wondered if I was going out of my mind I know that is a bitter pill to swallow. The thought of approaching someone about being crazy is nuts! No it's not. It's your only hope. You have to have hope. Even when your sitting under that rock. You're not crazy! You're just a little nuts!

When I addressed my alcohol and addiction issues I was having multiple panic attacks daily. Once I found out my wires were crossed I felt better. I WAS NOT ALONE. Panic attacks suck! The ones' Tony Soprano had were a party! I felt like I was gonna DIE every day! DAY AFTER DAY! That's not living. That's existing until you're finally right!

I saw a couple of noodle professionals. I  eventually found one I was comfortable with. This is not like picking out bagels! Take your time. DO RESEARCH. LEARN. EDUCATE YOURSELF. The more you learn about your melon the less you'll feel your losing your seeds! It isn't the end of the world. It opened me up to my life again. I have not had a full blown attack in over a year. I now recognize my symptoms and know I'm not going to die. To be safe I also don't let ducks raise their young in our backyard.

General public, earthlings and pundits, PLEASE don't judge what you do not understand. Chemical imbalance doesn't mean crazy. An addict doesn't have a morality problem. If it were as easy as "just stopping" ...we would. When it comes to depression and fear, if it were as easy as, "just snapping out of it"...we'd do that too....






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


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