Set the Date

This is a chapter that was omitted from the final draft. Funny how we all set dates.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Resolution.....Shmezolution......Evolution a Revolution...Us Not Me

Welcome to 2011! If some of the experts, and talking heads are right, and the Mayans quite ahead of their time, we only have 2 years until the "End of Days." Scary stuff. If you believe that, stop paying into your 401k now. Why not spend the money? Spend the kids college fund and join a commune. I wish the days of Woodstock and Haight/Ashbury were here again. There was a sense of "US" not "ME". "Well it's one, two, three what are we fighting for...." Country Joe was darn near Nostradamus with that little ditty.

As an addict dates are an essential part of using and recovery. New Year's Eve is a particular favorite. "I'm gonna kick tomorrow...," as Perry Ferrell, of Jane's Addiction, cries in "Jane Says." On TV there are weight loss and exercise commercials every other ad. There is even a piece of exercise equipment available now that reminds me of nights alone in my bedroom with an "Easy Rider" magazine as a Teen. It is a yearly, defined moment for changing your life. You can change your life any day you want, not just once a year at midnight.

When I was trying to kick booze I always had to have a date of significance set as my "gonna quit on" day. I'm gonna quit on my birthday. I'm gonna quit on the Anniversary of Lennon's Death..or maybe his Birth? I am gonna quit in one month from today. It was always tomorrows, never today's. Never forget addicts live in the pain of the past and insecurity of the future. I always had to have a ceremonial date to look forward to, so that date would be seered into my melon as an eternal reminder of the great change in my life. When I would reach my predetermined end date, I would just conjure up a new one farther down the road.

A predetermined date of making the changes in my life aren't on a calendar. Goals are good. Manageable, realistic goals are even better. My end date for using was when I couldn't take one more moment living with my pain anymore. The booze, and whatever, had lost it's magic touch. It was a relentless, merciless master and I heeded it's demands like a mindless zombie. I was truly going insane. My wife called me pathetic, and instead of making me angry, I agreed with her completely.

If you have set yourself up in a resolution plan starting today, be realistic. If you weigh 600 pounds and think you are going to lose 500 by summer you're in for a let down. Try eating better today. If you want to do more for charity, don't join the Peace Corp, look in the paper or Internet for something that interests you. I am an all or nothing kinda guy. If I can't be the Dalai Lama, screw it! I'm a failure. If I can't write like Hemingway I won't write at all! That's the easier way out of taking risks, so I have used excuses not to try at all.

I don't ask for God to remove my anger, or grant me patience because invariably I end up with the shits in a traffic jam, behind an elderly lady who should have stopped driving 10 years earlier. I ask that I be the best me, I can be today. I ask that I be a little better than I was yesterday. I pray that I hear God when he talks to me, and he grants me the strength to follow his wishes through. I try to do a positive thing for a human everyday, not for approval or for being seen doing good, I do it just because...and it makes me feel better.

If you are trying to make a drastic life change starting today, remember these words.  YOU CAN'T DO IT ALONE! Find a support group. There is true for every kind of lifestyle change you wish to tackle. Don't worry about next summer. Just worry about today. If you slip up don't say F-It! Reach out to friends. It takes a long time to form crazy habits and a long time to undo them. Keep things simple. I over complicate everything. That gives me an excuse for quitting once I have overwhelmed myself with too many details to be a success. I have stayed sober for two years by asking for help and not drinking today, after today, after today.

New Year's is great. Trying to better yourself is wonderful. If you need help ask for it. None of us can handle our problems on our own. When we try to, we explode or implode. Thanks for your support in reading my blog. I have over 2050 reads in 18 days. That is a miracle. Sharing with you may help you, and I know it helps me. Find a God you're not afraid to talk to. Just start with hello and forget about the grasshoppers and plagues. Find a friend to share your successes with and someone you can call when you're feeling overwhelmed. The me, me, me approach will fail everytime. The we, we, we, approach is sure to be a smashing success. Remember a man who conquers a city is great. A man who conquers himself is FREE!

The Dough, Ray and Me (Edgebrook Manor)

WrittenWritten 


Edgebrook Manor Home for the Elderly, was situated smack dab in the middle of an upscale residential street. It was stark and square, grey and gloomy. Built in the early 1900's it had once housed an orphanage. It had been a place for children forgotten, abandoned or simply tossed away in the streets, by parent's unable to care for their troubled child any longer. It was sold to the state in 1976, and turned into a long term care facility for the elderly whose memory and recall had left them vacant. They too, like the orphans, had been abandoned, forgotten or had become too much for a loving family to care for at home any longer.

 It seemed so out of place amongst the rows of sturdy, grand Victorian homes and towering oak trees that lined the winding street. The facility looked like it had simply fallen from the sky, a weed grown from a seed strangling out all of the beauty of the flowers surrounding it. The residents who lived on the streets, that surrounded Edgebrook, hardly noticed the thorn in their rose garden like neighborhood.  They had trained themselves to casually look away while passing by to dull the uneasy feelings the living mausoleum created. 

The accuracy that the exterior of the building lent to the period of its' construction was equalled only by the doubly drab interior that Edgebrook welcomed visitors and guests with alike. Antiquated wallpaper and furnishings appeared to be originals. Classic standards, that were once the top hits of the day, crackled through an ancient sound system. It sounded as if an old hand cranked Victrola, stacked with thick 78's,  had been placed in front of a microphone droning out tired muzak for exhausted minds.

Each corridor led to another, looking exactly the same as the previous one. New patients and their families walked back and forth down exacting hallways searching for room numbers that were nearly impossible to find. They could leave a trail of bread crumbs to mark their path, confident no one would sweep them up before they're exodus. Each room, a converted dormitory, provided its' tenant a bed, night table, a TV stand with a TV, if you provided your own, and a shared bathroom. There were no secrets between each room as the bathroom split the two like a bad hotel.

The residence that made up the permanent clientele of the ancient foreboding interior took on the characteristics of their surroundings. Some wandered the maze of endless hallways in search of a destination they never seemed to find. Still others sat stuck in corners, head down like they had been placed there for bad behavior or wanted to disappear into the drab walls that they stared at. Gurneys lined the walls with patients in various stages of sickness and impending death. Some cried out in agony at mysterious pains or called out into the cavernous hallways for loved ones long gone.

At the end of one of the corridors sunshine seemed to find it's way to one of the dorms. It was home to Benny a long time resident and a stark contradiction to those populating his ward, and the whole facility for that matter. Benny looked no more than 50. Even the nurse with the longest term of employment at Edgebrook couldn't tell you his age or how long he had been at the home. He was there since she was a nursing assistant some 16 years earlier and hadn't seemed to have aged a day. The institutionalization that conquered so many of the other residents had little effect on Benny.

Benny was a picture of serenity, or so it seemed. He wasn't prone to excitability like many of the other long term neighbors he shared his home with. He had no visitors, and never seemed to be bothered by it. He was courteous and helpful, and quick to lend a hand of strength or support to somebody in need. His salt-n-pepper hair was shoulder length but held back neatly by a ponytail. The lines in his face didn't appear carved from years of physical work or the stresses of life. They were just lines and wrinkles that seemed to make him all the more handsome. The complimentary etchings that mapped out his face were just an accent to his radiant skin. Benny was slightly browned like the dirty Irish or tribes of South America. In "PC" talk he would be labeled ethnically ambiguous.

While other residents talked of return trips home that would never arrive, Benny just nodded and smiled his support, lending hope for the unlikely trip back out of Edgebrook. His eyes burned blue and almost looked hand painted. They were eyes that saw all of you when speaking with him, and right through you when you weren't. Standing at only 5'7" his a

Reality is Real! Act 1

Last week was my five year sobriety anniversary. Yeah. Yeah. I know it's something to be proud of. I'm grateful and do not want to diminish the accomplishment. Deep down at the core of my heart I know it's how I should have been living for the twenty-eight years I was drunk. The most important lessen I have learned in my sobriety is that the world doesn't revolve around me no matter how badly I want it to and when I live emotionally people react with theirs. We all need each other.

In all of my posts I try to keep it real. I bare my soul, warts and all, because it is easy to spin things as being rosy and bright. Behind the scenes of every TV show or film is much different than what ends up on the screen. Life is the same way. I laugh when I think back to times I was with the kids at a store yelling at them and morphing into Mr. Cleaver when an acquaintance came by. It's easy to wear a mask but if you keep it on too long you might suffocate.

I stopped writing for a while because my world was changing so fast and I lost my inner voice. As my moral compass started to get unstuck and point true north again I found myself torn in a million directions. Being bi-polar I tried to take it all on. I used to watch plate spinners on TV growing up. For the younger generation, plate spinners were entertainers like jugglers. A long row of metal rods were strewn across the stage while a performer would spin plates on each one and run back and forth to keep them from crashing to the ground. Some of the performances went perfectly. Yet, others ended in disaster as the dishes came crashing to the floor. My life became one of those less than perfect performances.

You can read about the various TV and comedy work I have done over the last 3 years and 3 months at the top of this page. I am not a SAG actor yet. Most of my film work has been as a background artist, driver or stand-in. Although I have performed comedy on some of the most familiar stages in the business my path has taken me down a road to sharing my story in Senior Communities and at fundraisers. I am not rich and famous. I'm just a guy with a cool job. 

My wife Kris, better known as Squeaky, is my best friend. She has battled kidney cancer and a myriad of health problems over the last few years. She is doing great. Cancer, like sobriety, is a one day at a time battle. There have been some scares since her kidney was partially removed. She is the star of the house. She's got bigger stones than most guys I know. When she was sick I thought I was doing the best I could as a husband and friend. I was wrong.

If you have followed the blog you know that I try to keep a positive spin on every situation. That is born out of gratitude. It can also be blinding to the reality of that situation. I know this for a fact. My own blind ambition to "make it in the business," almost cost me our marriage.

As I started to work more and write less I became obsessed with MY dreams. Little did I know that I was leaving my best friend behind. I was thrilled that my message was being well received by the groups and audiences I shared my stories with. I twisted what I thought was what Squeaky wanted into what I actually wanted. She had given me signs of growing discontentment that I ignored. Italian women say more with the unspoken word than anything that could come out of their mouths. I love it.

My odyssey to Hollywood began on September 19, 2012. I had just finished appearing on the Steve Harvey Show and Hardcore Pawn Chicago. Friend and Actor Steven Eich had an apartment on Yucca Street right behind Highland Donuts just a block from Hollywood Blvd. He was moving out in a few months and lost a roommate. I jumped at the chance to catch my dream! Squeaky was scheduled for surgery the first week of November. I would make it home for that with SAG card in hand and a ticket to easy street.

Squeaky was slipping away. She was frustrated that I was so willing to help other people but so easily dismissed her cries to have me there for her dreams. I had become alienated, or more accurately self absorbed, by my own ambition. I wanted what I wanted...when I wanted it. Everyone else had to step to the rear of the bus. I was in LA for about three days when she announced that she wanted a divorce. She told me she had moved out and we were done. I had lost the one person who had accepted me for who I was. I hadn't considered that catching her dreams were as important as mine....

The Monkey and the Eagle

SOUL PAROLE 2 Preview!
(Draft)


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. 

Thanks God...for what you haven't given me

Soul Parole 2 Preview....

"Soccer Moms' Please Drive Thru"...

As an addict I have a thing about taking on baggage. I love baggage big and small. I hoard it. The more emotionally painful the package the more I can obsess about it. The more rotten the deed done to another in my past the bigger the package grows in my mind. I caress it and beat myself to bits with it. From a passing comment probably not even meant for me to a second grade fist fight, I remember it all. I have a database of emotional unfinished business that used to make my life unbearable.

The pressure, guilt, remorse, shame and self-loathing created the need to try to escape myself for those many years through bottle and drug. Addicts live emotionally not intellectually or logically. Our emotions make our decisions in most cases. I reacted emotionally then would sort out the fallout from my behavior. We remember everything by our PERCEPTION of the emotional impact people and situations had on us or we had on them. That is why we create chaos in others lives. It is for the emotional insanity and drama. It is our ultimate drug. Chaos.

As our mind clears and we begin to work recovery strategies we try to reduce the baggage which in turn lessens the desire to use. We begin to feel comfortable in our own skins and minds. We try to go back through the rubbish pile that was our past and clean up the joint. The people we have hurt and lied, cheated and stolen from whether it be financially, emotionally or physically are met face to face and we come clean with a sincere desire to make things right. Sometimes it works out and there is a happy ending. Other times we get a dressing down. Still other times we are told that we had no impact at all.

 All of the reactions are growing experiences and are important if long term sobriety is to be achieved. If a flower wants to grow it needs space in the pot or its' roots will rot and it will die. The same goes for drunks like me. I was going crazy from all the baggage. As I have cleared it away and made peace with my friends, family and self (to an extent) life gets better. God has given me the strength to stay clean and my mind is less packed with that crap. The worries, fears, pain and shame of who I was that paralyzed me is now setting me free by cleaning it up.

Now I am able to look at people in the eye with confidence and honesty. I can be a true friend. I can be of use not a user. I can sit with Tommy Connolly and not want to stab the guy in the eye with a fork! Wherever I run to I will always be there to meet me. That is a fact. It gets a little bit easier to hang with me the more I get right with God, man and me.

There are some people I can't make things right with. Some are dead. Some have new lives and I can't disrupt their happy harmony with my horror show rewind. Some I can't find but am ready to make things right if I find them. In these cases I try to be of service in other areas. On one occasion I stole something from a store that I could not go back to for fear of Shaw Shank Redemption. My mentor had me buy dog food in the amount of the item taken and had me take it to the humane society. Perfect! Karma square! I felt better that I was able to make the situation right. In a few years I will go back and make the situation right with the store. The point is that baggage was removed and I am a bit more okay with me because of the cleansing.

Yesterday I went with a friend to work at a food pantry here in Joliet. It is called the Family Outreach Food Pantry. I did not go there for any particular reason. My buddy called me at 6:10 am and asked if I wanted to volunteer at the food bank at 6:30. At first I was miffed because I hate to be late. Its' part of the new me. The only thing I was on time for in the past was beer sales and fresh bales. I said sure, and away we went. I can tell you now that God had my friend call me. There are no coincidences.

My vision of a food bank and food lines takes me back to my grade school history classes and the "Great Depression". You remember the old films and the market crash of 1929. There was the dust bowl and the people getting broth put into tin cups. I had a vision of homeless people coming up to the food bank and us handing little packages to the less fortunate. You know? It was going to be people in ratty cars and ripped clothes and winos and all the stereotypes I try so hard to fight when it comes to the labeling of alcoholics, addicts and those who suffer from mental disorders. I was doing the SAME thing before we got there.

We arrived at the tiny tavern parking lot where the food distribution point is and my friend was assigned to traffic control. WHAT? Traffic control at a food bank! He had the vest and the cool little flashlight with the pointy orange end on it and everything. I was jealous for a minute. I was assigned to fill orders. That was to put the boxes of food into the vehicles as they pulled up. This is where the story gets interesting, horrifying, eye opening and real folks. It was the real state of the STATES.

As the cars began to pull up I was taken aback. This can't be! There were a few beat up cars and a few homeless folks walked up whom I greeted with a grateful hello and a "God Bless you." The vast majority of the cars were "Soccer Moms." There were cars of all makes and models right up to a Tahoe with leather interior. The common denominator was all of these people "needed" food. There was no scam. Some folks looked down as I put on a smile and made a quick joke as to let them know it's a beautiful day as I slung the food into their back seats.

Single parents' pulled through with babies strapped in and we offered extra bread to those who wanted it. Every single family wanted it. Like alcoholism and addiction the people in the line to receive the food were a perfect cross section of Americana and it blew me away. Some folks looked as though they had stopped on break from work or were on the way to drop the kids at school. It was heartbreaking and gratifying at the same time. It is a day I won't forget.

In 90 minutes we handed out 300 boxes of food. When that ran out and we had only bread left people were happy and humbled to have a few loaves of that alone. I went home and sat silent for awhile. We are in trouble in this country. They have the food pantry every week and turn away more and more families.

I stood in front of my fridge and looked at the food and saw that our pantry was filled and it made me think of the times when I have said there is nothing to eat when in fact there was plenty. There just wasn't what I WANTED TO EAT in the fridge or pantry at that moment. I will be back to help again next Thursday at the  pantry.

 I remember not having food. I remember not wanting food because it would take up space my booze needed to fill. I also remember eating garbage when I wanted to eat and had to use my money to buy the booze. I've seen it from all sides. I think if there is anything that I can leave you with it is be thankful for what God has given you... and more thankful for what he hasn't...

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...

When Love Is Not Enough!

The pain and despair that comes with addiction is excruciating. Every day you wake up you feeling like hell and you know you are going to do the same thing that day. It's like there's a guy with a sledge hammer standing behind a door and even though you know he's there, you choose to open the door any way. The power of addiction is merciless, deceitful and doesn't care who you are. It just wants you to submit to it's every command - and you do.

Being through addiction, part of my recovery is trying to help others to recover and make it to the other side. As a recovering addict I have done the lying, cheating, stealing and manipulation that makes addiction possible. Being an alcoholic or addict is a 24 hour job. You are either trying to get high, getting high or suffering from the last high. The paradox of addiction is that it convinces you that you are not an addict. It also twists your mind into thinking that your family and the world are against you. It reassures you that giving in and getting high is your only path to peace.

There is a person very dear to me who I see slipping into the jaws of addiction. She is a daughter to me. Knowing the signs and games an addict plays is both a blessing and a curse. It's like you know the fastball is coming and you still strike out. The person I am speaking of is a beautiful girl. She is bright and intelligent and only 20 years old. She is completely lost.

When I used "checking out" of myself was required. I had no choice. For over 20 years I continuously opened the door and let the guy with the sledgehammer beat my brains in. I lost everything from my self respect to my family. Those losses just added fuel to the fire and more power to the addiction's constant reminder that it was my only friend. It wasn't until I truly thought I was losing my mind and going to die that I got help. Friends, family, strangers and God Almighty can't help an addict until they get tired of the guy with the sledgehammer beating them to death. I was thrown life preserver after life preserver and my denial let me drown for years.

It is so sad for me to look at her and see the patterns I am so familiar with. There have been threats, sob stories, broken promises and I'm sorries. The patterns are all the same. Only the faces and places change. I see the pain in her eyes and the self hate she has for herself. The self hate is the ultimate master of destruction and obsession for an addict. As life gets more chaotic, the greater the drive is to escape. It is hell on earth.

As a loved one you can make threats, try tough love, beg, spoil and play every game you can think of to get an addict to see reality just for that one second. Sometimes it works. Other times it doesn't. Alcoholism and addiction are the only diseases that tell you you're not sick, that you can quit at anytime. An addict thinks they know all the answers and everyone else is full of shite! Prayers are important. Setting a good example is right thinking. Loving the addict who is suffering is vital.

The reality check is that all of the solutions, combinations of them, love, anger, compassion and punishment, may or may not work. It's a crap shoot. Some times you roll a 7. Sometimes you roll box cars. There is no perfect solution. All of us suffer from terminal uniqueness. You can do your best and keep the faith. That is all.

I am going to see this lovely girl tomorrow night. I can share with her my love, experience, strength and hope. I can pray for her. I can tell her the stories of living on the street or having cockroaches crawling all over my body. Maybe something will stick. Maybe it won't. We can control our actions but we have no control over the outcomes. When she walks out the door she will be left with my love and words of support and the knowledge that I will always be there for her. Once she hits the streets it's just her and her addiction. Until the scale tilts from misery to recovery I must accept I can only do so much. I must also face the fact that her life is out of my control. Sometimes love is not enough to save a friend.
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When she walks out that door I will say "Sunny, I love you and I'm here for you."


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.

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