Thank You! No! Thank You

I usually start out the blog welcoming the latest country to visit the blog in to my readership. Today I welcome an old friend back. Argentina. Welcome back. I am dressed like Evita right now as I hunt and peck my way through this blog but we'll save that story for my therapist or another blog. The thing that is really weighing upon my heart and mind this morning is old habits and new ones, the old and new me, and how I grow and slip back into unhealthy thinking patterns.

 I'm just a messenger. So are you. Before I dive into the 700 mile an hour salt flat speed testing site known as the inside of my mind I want to say a few HEARTFELT, "I'm Sorries." The first to my wife Kris, the second to my good friend LT in AZ! I'm sorry and Thank you are the focus of today's trip into Tommy's recovery and depression fun house. Please put your seat belt on. Do not stand up while the ride is moving and you must be taller than Frodo to take the trip.

An addict, a depression sufferer a human will say "I'm sorry," and/or "I thank you," for many reasons daily. I will speak for myself. I hope you can relate. When I was drinking "I'm sorry," and "I promise" were the two phrases that came out of my mouth most. That is after I had poured booze and whatever down my throat and hurt feelings and did rotten things. I used "I'm sorry" as a way to get out of things, to avoid shouting out how I really wasn't sorry or because "it's the right thing to say," after a disagreement or when we are wrong.

"Thank You," and "Please," are two beautifully simple phrases with a lot of power packed int a syllable or two. I used these to appear grateful, look good, show temporary superficial happiness and put on a good show. Of course there were occasional times I meant all of these phrases but they have now become so over used that they are losing their power. I/maybe we just say them because we are supposed to? I can honestly say that I have had a girl spill my coffee all over me at the gas station at checkout and thanked her for it! I have been conditioned into some of these responses. They have lost their heartfelt, soul based meaning that they are intended to partner with. I have also said "THANK YOU!" in an almost demonic tone to some rude register lady to show her how civilized I am. HUH? Earth to Tom!

There are so many of these phrases in the English language, American style has the best, that we have beaten down into meaningless innocuous, droning reactions instead of feelings. When my kids come home from school and I ask them how their day was, when they respond, "it was great." or "it was cool," or "it was fine," in all honesty I am relieved because I think to myself that I am glad that there won't be a crisis to settle that evening. That should be the time I jump up and ask them what made it "great," or "cool." I don't do that nearly enough! Why because I accept the simple word of contentedness as affirmation that all is well. When they come home and say their day was "horrible," rotten," etc.,. I won't lie. In my head I think, "oh no, here we go..." Shame on me!

For those of you who follow the blog regularly I went through a few weeks where I was very down and depressed. My depression medication had run it's course and was no longer working at an effective therapeutic level for me. I switched to a different medication. When you switch medications that are manipulating the wiring in your melon there is a transition. The switch is accompanied with yet more depression, mood swings, sleep problems and a list of symptoms unique to the med and the patient. Depression, like alcoholism and addiction is never cured, it is merely arrested, controlled and managed.

My new meds are evening out now and I feel great. I feel motivated again and have put my NIN Cd's back and gotten my Ramone's back out. I have had some moody out bursts with a few friends and especially my wife over the last few weeks. I know it's the meds. They know it's the meds. As always I must remember the world judges me by what comes out of my mouth not what goes into it.

I learn more and more about me each day and it is getting much easier to live with me, and within me. I find the more sober I get the more alcoholic I realize I really am. I have come to accept and surrender to the fact that I have some conditions that are real and forever. It ain't so bad. I am growing and happy for the most part. I make mistakes and can admit them. It sure is nice not having to be right all the time. As for those words we use like hello's and goodbyes.

I am truly sorry to my wife and my friends for shooting off my mouth, new meds or not. The best solution for big mouthitis is keeping it closed. As for thank yous. I thank you for taking time out of your day to listen to my ramblings. I hope it helps you. I know it helps me. I know I am getting somewhere down the road of life because my prayer life is less frantic and more grateful. I don't seek comfort in things I can wear, drive, eat or drink or show off. I have a prayer list. I have friends that I pray for daily. When I hit my knees at the end of the day I thank God for giving me another day of life, even if it was a rotten one by human standards. You see, it wasn't too long ago those same prayers were begging him to not let me wake up the next day. Now when I do wake up. I jump up and say "What are we doing today!"

That is after I say....."Dear Lord, please get inside my head before I do......Have a Day!

COMING NEXT WEEK!   PROCRASTINATION!

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...

The I Haven't Kicked The Bucket Yet List

Thank you to all of you who have purchased my first book SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself (AMAZON). The feedback has been positive so far. I am humbled that people have said it has inspired them to seek treatment, or to catch their goals. I bared my SOUL in the book on my path to rediscovery.

In the chapter, "I Was Dead But Didn't Die," I share a candid look at the day I tried to take my life in April of 2004. I am glad I am still here. It is frightening to reflect on the fact that even a near death experience didn't stop my drinking and using. It would be five more years until I surrendered and found sobriety.

While I was going through boxes to find items for the garage sales. I ran across some journals and poems I had written over the years. The first one begins in 1983, my year of High School graduation and entry into college. I am reviewing them all now and am certain there will be stories to share based on where I was "at" during those years.

The last diary I found was from August of 2003. It was eight months before I attempted to "off" myself. I was surprised what the pages held inside. There was a list of "100 things I wish to do over the next 40 years." A year later death moved to number one on my "to do" list. If I would have succeeded in my death mission I would have been 2 years short OF 40.

Some of the goals, and wishes have come true. That is, in sobriety. I was out of my mind when I wrote the list. I was employed with a company that delivered medicine around five states. It was just me, my drugs, the car and the medicine. Some of the goals are no longer important. My new bucket list will be much different.

Here are a few of the thirty-two listed out of the planned hundred. I was so high back then I couldn't even find 100 things to shoot for in my life. It saddens me. The fact that many have come to fruition over the last 4 years is gratifying.

Here we go:

1. Do God's will and find peace within myself (trying to do that every day)
2. Work better with Squeaky ( We go through seasons like everyone. Things are WAY better than in 2003)
3. See my daughter Kelly regularly ( I still don't know where she is. She is 12. I have left that to GOD.)
4. Have acceptance ( I am glad I accepted the fact that I am a REAL addict. I try to live life as it is)
6. Try acting and comedy (Those dreams have and are coming true)
7. Teach others ( I share my testimony of overcoming obstacles with the help of friends wherever I can)
8. Publish something I write ( Soul Parole and a Poem about Bill Murray have made that dream come true)
12. Work for myself (that one has been realized in sobriety)
14. Save a life (I have been told the book has inspired people to change their lives for the better, That's cool)
17. Donate to charity more ( The 2012 "Extra Hands of Hope" clothing drive for Urban7 begins soon)
19. Get paid to be funny (I have been paid to do comedy. Performing at fundraisers pays me more)
32. Sign an autograph (Dreams of stardom then and something I am uncomfortable doing each time)

There are plenty of material goals on the list. Those are not as important to me in sobriety, as they were lost in addiction. I always thought things, people and different circumstances would spark my desire to get clean. Nothing could, or would, until I surrendered and realized I couldn't get clean on my own.

As I look at the list of 32, I see that I made it past 40 with God's help. I got sober with the help of others like me. I achieved personal goals because I worked hard, and found faith in my sobriety. I don't have to go it alone EVER now. I achieved over 30 %. That is really cool. I am starting another bucket list now. I have also written out a gratitude list. As long as I have gratitude for what I have the other stuff is just icing on my life cake....

But for the grace of GOD...There go I....



SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Please visit tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page. The book will be available on Kindle in September, 2012.

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

Easy to Remember, Hard to Forget....

In life, everyone has done or said things they would like to forget and can't. There are memories we try to wish and pray away. There are always a few in some dark corner of our minds just waiting for us to wrap our heads around them, and drag them back into the light. Sometimes they are dragged out for us.

Alcohol, and/or anger makes people say, and do things they wouldn't normally even consider when calm or sober. There's the cutting remarks, pushing of hot buttons, dredged up family secrets and reminders of poor past decisions. We want them erased permanently from our memory drive. There is inevitably something we have done or said while drunk, or riled up, that we wish we could take back. This is not exclusive to people like me. Everyone has an incident or remark they remember, or don't, that haunts them or embarrasses them to some degree.

For an alcoholic this haunting presents itself through remorse, shame and self-loathing that eventually becomes overwhelming. It is simple math. Too many drinks, plus several years of too many drinks, equals loss of control, rage, verbal warfare and multiple bad decisions. This beast of burden becomes so daunting that it creates a cycle of more drinking and bad decisions. The equation is more drinks to forget, more for created mistakes, more drinks, ad infinitum.

For the occasional partier or abstainer, there are probably a few silly, or sometimes serious, incidents that happened on a vacation, or at a company party that are uncomfortable when relived. Some of them were serious enough to create a permanent scar on the parties involved. The normal person moves on, or works through it.

Before I ever picked up a drink, things happened to me that I couldn't process as a little boy. The incidents were confusing, and happened at the hands of a person I trusted. The mixed messages created conflicting emotions, and later would fuel my isolation and anger. It twisted my sense of trust and robbed me of my innocence. This "loved" one is no longer here. I have never shared the pain with my family. I know that nothing positive will result from dredging up the ghost of painful past.

That person is not here to respond, and other lives would be damaged by the news. It is my choice to hold it inside. There is no redemption that would result from my soul cleansing. It can not be changed, no matter how badly I want it to. No human can change history. I have forgiven this person. Not for his actions, but for his human weakness, and my own sanity. God has given me so many chances. To hold hatred inside would rot away at me like acid, while he is dead. He has stood before his maker and accounted for his stop here. His fate is up to powers I can't even perceive.

One of the most difficult parts of my recovery  has been facing the past, and those whom I have hurt along the way. By cleaning up the messes I have created, I am relieved of some of the baggage I was burdened with daily, monthly and yearly. We drink to forget. We drink to escape. We try to temporarily erase the massive discomfort we have created through the fog of a hangover.

Remember the Grinch cartoon where the little dog with the stick on his head is pulling that massive sled stacked four stories high with the Grinch's stolen Christmas booty? At one point they slide down a hill to a cliff, the overstuffed sleigh is teetering on the edge of disaster. The cute little dog is hanging over the edge of the cliff looking up at the huge bags that are sure to destroy him if it falls. That is what a drunk in recovery is trying to fix. Active drinkers keep adding to the burden. We try to remove the baggage, a little bit at a time, so that it doesn't destroy us. As we lighten the burden, the urge to escape is replaced by satisfaction in making things right, or at least taking responsibility for our past mistakes.

Setting the record straight with those we have wronged is greeted with acceptance and forgiveness, angry rejection or indifference by the attempted confession. The outcomes, once again, are out of our control but the issue being faced takes one more package off the sleigh of guilt. There are those we can't reach, those who are dead that make taking the responsibility for past wrongs impossible. We do the best we can with who we can, and leave the rest up to GOD'S timing.

The majority of people we have crossed are wives, husbands, loved ones and friends who are still in our orbit. The reparations offered to these people are lifetime repairs. By leading decent, sober well intentioned lives, we show others that we are "new creatures." Our actions, without expecting anything in return, is a lifetime commitment to sobriety, and our sanity. The ultimate goal is taking ownership of our errors and living peaceably with those offended in our darker days.

The selfish, uncaring drunk I was for 20 years, is still inside of me, and a part of my permanent record. It can not be expunged. There are times when people perceive that I have done them wrong. I am accused of things I did not do. The false accusations are understood but create anger and resentment towards our accuser. If a dog has stolen your socks time after time, when one goes missing, the doghouse is the first place you check. Lashing out creates more trouble. An honest appraisal of my past gives me understanding as to why they think I am the perpetrator. I was a sock stealing dog for years. I just don't steal them anymore.

Forgiveness is the key to contented life, whether drunk or sober. Anger and resentment are deadly for an addict. If dwelled upon for too long, these feelings will eventually lead us back to escape through the bottle or insanity. Forgiving myself has been the hardest reparation I have faced. The self-loathing, self-hate, fear, remorse, regret and shame can be relentless as my mind gets clearer in my sobriety. Forgiveness of self is vital, or I will end up drunk and crazy again.

I know GOD has forgiven me for my sins and human failings. By failing to forgive myself and others, I am questioning GOD'S omnipotence. I have been pardoned for my past mistakes by the ultimate expert on forgiveness. If I question my worthiness for forgiveness, I am doubting his authority and grace. It will take time, but with help, I will make it to the other side. I spent 28 years drinking. It may take 50 years before I am forgiven by others, and myself. As long as I am open-minded, and keep GOD centered in my efforts, everything will work out fine. More specifically, they will work out exactly as God has planned.

Forgive yourself and others for shortcomings and their humanity. God has forgiven us if we have sincerely asked for his mercy. Life is too short to live in the past. Remember that every day is a gift, and the days we live with hate and anger, whether inward or outward, robs us of enjoying the "present" of today. If I don't share the grace and blessings that have been freely given to me, I just might lose them all....

GRATITUDE and Passion Is Why I do WHAT I DO?

Over the last two years of writing this blog I have been asked, "Why do you share such dark personal secrets?" They are no doubt referring to the blogs about my addictions, alcoholism and Bi-Polar Disorder. I have bared my soul in talking about being homeless, hopeless, suicidal, insane and an all around jerk. Add to that 3 marriages and the loss of two children and the kettle can quickly turn black.

I can say that it is painful to recount the things I have done that were unfair, or down right ignorant to my family, friends and strangers. Some folks have said that the blog will hurt my career as an actor and comic. To all those offering warning, advice and personal insights thanks, IT'S OKAY! I never imagined that I would share stories of peeing on myself and living in my car, the insanity I lived in for 28 years and my new life in faith and hope.

You see I share my story because we all learn through pain. I do for sure. After a quarter of a decade of slowly trying to kill myself I have found light at the end of the tunnel. Many don't get that chance. More importantly if I can help someone seek treatment and escape the grips of addiction then all that time wasn't wasted in vain. If I kept all the pain inside it would be of no benefit to me or anyone. It would simply be pain.

This week I had a friend over who said he doesn't believe people when they, "If it helps one person, it was all worth it." I can appreciate that. It is an overly romanticized statement. I think we say things like that because it's humbling when you reach a point that you are grateful to be a positive influence even if it's to the few. In reality we hope to inspire many. Many people inspire me. I think that's what it's all about down here on good ole' Terra Firma.

My blog has had 15,000 reads in the 15 months I have been writing it. It has been read in 57 countries. I'll take that! I'm not the Huffington Post or Joyce Meyer, but I can see that I have touched some hearts. That is all I am supposed to do. I think that is what GOD wants from all of us. My happiest, most contented moments are when I step outside of myself and jump into serving or helping a friend in need. My melon and me don't get along very well alone.

It doesn't take a blog or becoming a missionary. We all have gifts that God has given us to share. I am sure you have had days when you were at your wits ends and feeling like doom was about to fall on you like raindrops. Then at the most unexpected moment some stranger says just the right thing to make you feel a little better. THAT is being a messenger! Every act we do outside of self makes the world a little better. It may be only one person. If my writings help ONE person that is being a messenger and fulfilling God's will.

If you aren't a person of faith, it's just a right way for living. Being a decent human being isn't a religious thing. Hold a door. Let someone into traffic. Call an old friend just to say hi. Catch the dream you have always been FEARFUL of going for! Lennon said, "You can dream alone, but it takes others to make them realities." You are unique in this world. SHARE YOUR UNIQUENESS! It's a gift.

I received an email today that someone had read one of my blogs and it had an impact on them. It is posted on the bottom of this blog. If you ask me if I'm happy to touch just one persons life I would answer with an emphatic YES! I see that I am. Trust me when I say the more help you offer to others...the less self-help you'll need to seek. Change someones world for the better today with a smile or simple gesture of kindness. Then try it the next day. You'll end up with many smiling faces and one of them will be yours....

I am truly touched by your article and I thank you for writing it. I am John Roberts' oldest daughter, Bonnie. I am so proud of my dad for fighting the war on heroin. Losing my brother, Billy has forever changed my family's lives. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of my little brother. You are right, he wasn't a "junkie" or "low life" -- He was a funny, smart, hard working, loving kid who was taken too soon.

Again, thank you for your kind words and support.

Than you Bonnie...You just touched my heart. Thanks for being a messenger of good news in my life today....God Bless You All! 

Whitney "Had It All" LAY OFF! ADDICTION is an Equal Opportunity Killer!

I am a recovering alcoholic and an addict. If you follow this blog you know that it revolves around addiction, recovery and the complicated mind of the addict. I have never spoken out on the death of a celebrity. I have written before about friends who have died in recovery, or lost their battle against the cunning and baffling grip that  addiction has on us.

I am not a Whitney Houston sycophant with posters and Cd's. The picture above is of the two 45 RPM records I have of her music from my DJ days. They are both from the mid-80's. Her 1991 performance of the "National Anthem" is the BEST VERSION I have ever heard. I believe she had one of the the greatest voices ever. I, like you, watched her slowly fade away on reality shows and gossip TV moments.

Addiction is more powerful than any person who is a REAL addict. WE can not beat it on our own. I was a full blown drunken addict by 1982 and did not find SOBRIETY, and lasting recovery, until 2009. There was a time when I had alienated all of my family and lost all of my possessions. I slept winters in my unheated car because of the destruction my actions, while high, brought upon on my family and friends. In 1992 I had a DUI with a blood level of .32. I was in a clinical coma and driving. I said I didn't have a problem during my alcohol assessment. That did not stop my drinking.

 I had to drink and use. PERIOD! The devious triangle of the allergy, compulsion and obsession of addiction convinced me to turn my back on loved ones, dreams and even self-preservation to drink and use. I spent years on the merry-go-round of using, coming down, guilt remorse and shame and dreading the fact that I was going to do it again at the next sunrise. Do you really think I would made that choice of freewill? I watched helplessly as a dear friend died of poisoning from spraying insecticide on himself in his flea infested home. He did it so he could drink. He refused to go to treatment. He had been in rehab at least seven times. Is this simple choice? NO!

Would I urinate and vomit on myself, steal, eat garbage and live in an unheated car if it were as easy as just stopping?! Are these the actions of a person of sound mind? Imagine trying to commit suicide daily, but only an inch at a time. That is what addiction IS at the bottom of its' run for the addict or alcoholic who is suffering. It is a horrifying existence filled with isolation and insanity. I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy.

I entered rehab in 1999 and drank 5 years later because I did not do the things REQUIRED to maintain my long term sobriety. I failed to go to recovery meetings, find a spiritual power bigger than myself to guide me and the power of my DISEASE drew me back. I felt after 5 years I was CURED of my addiction. Once an addict like me takes a sip or hit an obsession and compulsion kicks in that we CAN NOT CONTROL. We also can't stay sober alone. There are those who stop using but usually live discontented lives because they have not treated the fears, traumas, insecurities,  resentments and baggage that ALL addicts are plagued by.

I have sat in recovery meetings with surgeons on my left and drunken street people on my right. Both were at different phases of their sobriety. Addiction doesn't care if you're Whitney Houston or if you sleep on heating grates on State Street. It ravages the wealthy and the penniless.

Whitney had fame, money, fast cars and vacation homes. She also suffered with the DISEASE of addiction. She was trying to get clean. She may have failed, but she was trying. No one would trade the comforts I have just listed for the misery of addiction. Thousands of people die a year from this disease. The Holy Bible is the "Most Published" book in the world. The book they use in alcohols 12 step program is NUMBER TWO.

If she had cancer you would have sympathy. If she had diabetes you would say,"how sad it was that the disease took her so young." Her death is tragic. She was young, beautiful and had an amazing gift from GOD. Drugs and Alcohol becomes more important than ANYTHING in her world. The gift of recovery elluded her. America has a problem with addiction from both illegal and prescribed drugs and alcohol. It is nearing epidemic proportions.

Do me a favor. The next time you have the runs hold it. That's it. Just hold it for 5 minutes. That discomfort and pain, that verges on insanity in your mad dash to get to the washroom, is what I used to feel like when the urge to use came upon me. It was bigger than me. I had no choice, even when I tried to quit alone, I always got pulled back in! Educate yourself on addiction. I'm sure you know a drunk or an addict. You may be or live with one. Is it funny? Take their picture and post it on FACEBOOK with the horrible, misguided comments you have seen.

Whitney does not get a free pass. If she was working a recovery program, honestly and fearlessly, she should have taken proper steps. She should have avoided certain places that were addiction triggers. Hang around the Barber Shop too long and a hair cut is guaranteed. Do not judge what you don't understand.

Pray for Whitney Houston and her family, particularly her young daughter. Pray for all the other addicts and alcoholics who die alone or are living in the daily tortured existence of addiction. Then pray that it doesn't happen to you, your kids or a loved one. I assure you that if it does the jokes won't come as easy.

There's No Extra STEPS in Parenting....

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself (PREVIEW)

Amazon-Kindle-soulparole.com MARCH-2012

Step Parent? Stepson? There Are NO Steps, Only Parents and kids...

Sometimes I think there should be a recovery program for being a stepparent, or the child of one. I am both. It has been both the most difficult and rewarding experience of my life, more so than my battle with addiction and recovery.

The word "STEP" in front of “parent” or ‘child’ is as ridiculous as the term "holy war," or "amicable divorce,” because it implies a barrier between the parent and child and sets up a preconceived notion of separation between the two. When someone mentions, “stepmother,” I remember poor Cinderella being run ragged by hers. As for "stepfather,” I think of those horror movies where the guy is all cheesecake and smiles when his wife is in the room and pure evil when he's alone with her child.

My first experiences with a "stepparent" happened when I was six. I thought my father’s new wife was pretty and polite, but she brought along three daughters. I was the only boy, so I was either the lucky one or the odd man out. There were feelings of envy and jealousy at the thought of sharing my father, but I think that is pretty normal for a little kid. I also had a "stepfather," for a short time, and he would be a good candidate for the nasty character I described earlier in this posting.

After enduring the loss of two children to miscarriage in my previously failed marriages, I was angry with God for not giving me kids of my own. I prayed over and over, but the answer was always, “No,” or so I thought at the time. Little did I know He had a plan for my life, and when he didn't follow "my" plan, I thought I was getting a raw deal. My father never called his new wife's daughters "step," just daughters. I noted that early on, and it made a lasting impression on me.

When I moved in with Squeaky, I became "instafather." The position has advantages and definite disadvantages. When things were great it was, "I love you DA!" When things weren't so good, the ever popular, "You aren't my Dad!" flew like death darts. I would be less than honest if I didn't point out I pulled the same trump card early in our marriage with comments like, "YOUR Daughter “and “YOUR Son...."

As a parent to my kids, I have made lots of mistakes, both when I was drunk and when I was sober, and I always will because I am human. However, there were benefits from my “dad once removed, DNA-free relationship with my kids.” When they were small, I told them they had a father, and I wasn't trying to replace him. They adopted an affectionate nickname the Irish use, “DA,” instead of the American "Pa.” I told them they could talk to me as a friend, rather than their dad, but that I wanted their respect as the man of the house and their mother's husband.

I have different relationships and memories with each of them. I was there for Bro's first day of school. I will never forget his adorable look of excitement mixed with a touch of terror as I left him behind on that first day of kindergarten. Bro has referred to me as his DA and stepdad, depending on his entourage, and I am comfortable with either title. I know he loves me.

My middle daughter, Sunny was, and is, close to her father. Once, when Sunny and I were at a doctor's office, a man commented that she "looked just like me." We smiled and thanked him for his kind words, then laughed our butts off in the car at the congenital comparison. We had many challenges during our years of growing up together. Now we are the best of friends.

Hemingway, my oldest, calls me, “Dad,” and that makes me feel good. I was proud to take Hemi to the "Daddy/Daughter" dance her senior year. Her father has little interest in her, but I hope that changes some day. I will be happy to share her with him, but she will always be “Daddy's little girl” to me.

Growing up, my relationship with my "stepmother" was up and down. She was patient and always cordial to me, but I could sense her frustration because I always ran to Daddy when I was in a pinch or needed money. She was the “tough love” type, so I’m sure my frequent requests caused disagreements between Dad and her. I am grateful my father assisted me, yet, in my addictive manipulation, I often took advantage of his willingness to help.

During my father's illness (He was in the hospital nine times during the last two years of his life), my second mom and I grew very close. We spoke freely of my addictions and the challenging personality my father brought to their relationship. She loved him, and I could see why he spent his life with her. Today we are close friends, and I love her deeply.

If you are a "stepparent" I feel ya! If you are not, please don't judge us until you have walked a block in our shoes. I do not see my biological daughter as much as I would like to, but that is a story for another day. That will work itself out in God's time. I have two mothers, four sisters and four kids. There are no "steps" between us.

God often gives us what we want; it's just not the way "we" want it. I am blessed to be a second father to my wife's kids, and I have adopted my father's policy of no "steps" when I speak of them. Dad, thanks for the life lesson. I miss you! God, thanks for giving me the children. I have given up on trying to figure you out, but am grateful you understand me….

The Last Words of an Atheist are, "I Was Only Kidding!"

The Last Words of an Atheist are, "I Was Only Kidding!" (unedited original 12/2010)

Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself -Preview (AMAZON/Soulparole.com

March 17,2012)

In one of my stand-up bits, I say that an atheists' last words are, "I was only kidding..." In another I say “I've tried Methodism, Catholicism, Judaism, and Buddhism, but found the answers to all of life's mysteries in alcoholism.” GOD, The Creator, The Great Spirit, The Man, whatever you want to call him/her or it, used to scare me to death.

In the winter of 1998, I was living with a prostitute in a crack hotel in Stone Park, Illinois, a hustling blue collar suburb west of Chicago. We didn't have a relationship or sex. It was economics! I wouldn't have sex with a crack head prostitute! She was below me! I was a homeless drunken alcoholic with a legitimate job, making less money than she did, but I had morals and boundaries! It was so much easier to point out what a loser she was, than to take a hard look at myself. I spent considerable time with these so-called "lower companions." When I was full of booze, and whatever else I could find, I would counsel them about their problems and shortcomings.

I would live in my car for a week, spend a few days in a sleazy motel to clean up and drink up, then return to the car. It had no heat, but I needed to save money to drink. When I had a room, I spent my nights encased in sheets like a mummy. When the lights went out cockroaches scampered all over my face and body. I could feel them probing for a way into my mouth and nose. No openings, no problem. I had a job for cry sake! I wasn't a whore or dealer! I was educated. I had a Bachelors of Arts degree from Columbia College in Chicago! I was simply a man down on his luck. 

Just before Christmas that year, my roommate got arrested and thrown into County at Twenty-Sixth and California. I would get calls from Cook County Jail every day. The guard would call asking me to "come bail out my girlfriend." Girlfriend! She was a prostitute and crackhead! I would never date a girl like that! We never had sex. She could hardly be called a girlfriend! Besides, I needed my money for booze, not for bailing “friends”out of jail.

I spent that Christmas alone in my room with my roaches. It is the only Christmas I spent alone. I wasn't completely without companionship, because I invited my friend Jim Beam over. On holidays, all earthlings are issued a license to drink. I just had twice as much as usual. Every day was a holiday for me. There were no calls from family or friends. I had no friends, and my family was done watching me die an inch at a time. I disregarded my lying, stealing, manipulating, and broken promises as possible factors. I didn't look at myself as being a pathetic drunk. I figured I was just misunderstood or maybe a tortured genius.

I talked to GOD that day. He really freaked me out. Ultimately, I thought he just didn't have time for a guy like me. I was going to hell, and I figured I would just enjoy the ride. GOD, to me, was pissed off! My visual was that of Charlton Heston as Moses. He had lightning bolts in one pocket and plagues in the other. He was not to be trifled with by my little problems. He had bigger things to do, like light the earth, cause famines, let little kids die. On bad days, I thought He was out to get me, little ole' me! He’d push the cosmos to the side and say to himself, "Hmm..I think I'll mess with the Connolly kid today.” Out of all the billions of people in the world, I was sure He was a cosmic bully singling me out. I spent a lot of time running from him or chasing after him.

Yes, I believed there was a GOD and life on other planets. How can we be the only intelligent life in a universe we can't even measure? Flowers are beautiful; the ocean is awesome and vast, but the idea they happened through coincidence after coincidence was, and is, impossible for me to grasp. When I talked to Him, it was as if I was on Santa's lap: “Please let me win the lotto.” “Please don't let me get a DUI.” “Please let beer be on sale, and the candy man be extra giving today.” GOD was an order taker, bail bondsman and Vegas Showman! I told him what I was going to do and asked him to answer my prayers through tricks. “If you want me to stop drinking, make The Beatles’, Nowhere Man come on the radio.” “If you think I should quit my job, make this light turn green."

Ultimately, I thought GOD only gave me crap. Looking back at the accidents that did and DIDN'T happen, the trouble I got into or OUT of, and the pain He put me through then DELIVERED me from, I now understand HE WAS THERE ALL THE TIME. When I'm sharing at recovery meetings I start out by saying I'm grateful for what GOD has given me and more importantly WHAT HE HASN'T. Then I thank him for ignoring me when I used to shake my fist at the heavens and shout, "GIVE ME WHAT I DESERVE!"....

Depression Makes Me... Laugh...Cry...Numb...and...ME!

Depression makes me laugh. What? You thought I was gonna 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. 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 this morning troubled with how stigmatized addiction and depression is in our society. I told her I was going to be addressing that very thing today.

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 with 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 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.  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.

The key to SURVIVING addiction and depression 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, if it were as easy as, "just snapping out of it"...we'd do that too....

1095 Today's...Today is the Greatest Day I've Ever Known....

On January 16, 2009 I took my last drink of alcohol against my will. It is my 3 year sobriety anniversary. Today is my 1095th today without a drink or drug. I say the last was against my will because I'm an alcoholic and addict. Once I take the first sip or hit, all bets are off. I can not stop. My need to use becomes more important than ANYTHING on this earth. The lengths I will go to achieve those results are pathetic, edging on frightening.

 I will cast my family, job, friends, food, water, self-respect and ultimately my life aside, to get high. That is, if I pick up that first one. I was not addicted to any one drug. I liked all of them as long as they got me high and out of me. Booze was my favorite. I was addicted to SELF-DESTRUCTION! Fear ruled my life.

In 3 short years I am just beginning to see who I am. I no longer have the desire to use or escape my own skin. I have been blessed beyond my wildest dreams in my personal and professional life. In a strange bit of irony the Joliet Herald News and Shorewood Sentinel are running a "2011 Year in Review" series. On Sunday they ran a recap of "Rally Round Recovery" and a synopsis of my story, and mission, as this years spokesman and emcee.  On January 16, 2009 if you told me that in September, 2011 I would be standing in front of Senators, Congressmen, Councilmen, Commissioners and most importantly recovering addicts sharing my story of RECOVERY and life in comedy, TV and film as Spokesman for National Recovery Month I would have burped!

I am humbled and honored that they have asked me to host again in 2012. I am further humbled when people say my story inspires them. The people who came before me and newcomers in recovery inspire me. Everyday People inspire me along with Sly and The Family Stone. I take very little credit for my sobriety. As a shameless, carnival barker promoter of MY projects, I sincerely mean that. In early sobriety I depended solely on faith and the guidance of others to not drink or use. My decisions got me high. Today only some of the people I attend recovery meetings with know what I do for a living. Addiction doesn't care. It's an equal opportunity killer, it loves to destroy everything. I have sat between surgeons and felons discussing our common ailment. That is a twisted perception of reality that mixed with an allergy and obsession makes drinking and using mind altering substances safely IMPOSSIBLE!

I usually sit down and the words just flow. I make the point of saying I do my blogs in one sitting so that they are one flow of consciousness instead of cobbled, contrived Stepford speak. I am really grateful to be alive. A few years ago I had no idea what gratitude was. I TOOK EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE FOR GRANTED. I love helping other people find sobriety, understand their depression and catch their dreams. Just helping other people gets me out of my head. That's where all my problems center.

If you think you might have a problem with addiction or alcohol, you just may. I thought about it all the time. I made jokes about it. Then when I was alone I knew I was going mad. My life was out of control. Not on the outside, but on the inside. I used more and more to slow the DEATH RACE down that was run everyday! Today my mind has slowed down to about a hundred. That's cool!

My mother left me a message today about using her metal detector down on Lido Beach. I REMEMBER getting it for her 2 Christmas's ago. I had chicken with my daughter for lunch. This morning I went to a recovery meeting with 2 guys who I called on that last night of drinking. Then I talked to a girl about being bi-polar. I'm bi-polar and shared some HOPE. Three years ago I felt like I was alone and had to figure it all out on my own. TODAY I see that I am never alone and don't have to look very far to find people who are just like me....

ADDICTION = I Don't Like Myself Very Much...But I'm All I Ever Think About!

I Don't Like Me...But I'm All I Ever Think About!

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself will be released at the beginning of 2012 (Amazon). Legendary Comics Tom Dreesen and David Brenner wrote the Introduction and Epilogue. I filled in the middle…This is chapter 3 that was written a year ago….

My addictive mind baffles me. If you went to a Chinese restaurant and got sick you would stay away from the place for a while. If you went back and got sick again you’d stay away for good. When I was little I had a babysitter who made me eat tuna fish and mayonnaise every day after school. She subscribed to the 'eat what there is or eat nothing at all' approach. Fair enough. I cannot stand tuna or mayonnaise and would gag as I ate it! But I was starving and that was my only choice. When my mom found a new sitter, I never ate it again. To this day when my wife makes tuna salad I get a little oogey.

The strange paradox with booze and drugs is that when you get sick you go back for more. For the first few YEARS each time I drank I became violently ill. I figured I'd get used to it. I had always heard booze was an aquired taste. Coffee, for me, was an acquired taste. I love the stuff. When I first started drinking it I didn't hurl all over myself and everywhere around me. My body was telling me right from the first swig that the sauce was poison to me. That little voice inside me cried out from my stomach then spilled out on the floor.

There is much debate as to whether alcoholism is hereditary or socially imprinted on us. I believe both are true and how you get something isn't as important as how you respond to it once you know you have it. There were drinkers in my family, but no one ever poured a drink down my throat. I always did it myself. A boss never did it. A girlfriend or wife never held me down bottle in hand. No one ever put alcohol and drugs into me... except me.

I have also heard people say they were alcoholic long before they picked up the first drink. That statement confounded me for awhile, but I embrace it now. As far as I am concerned, I had alcoholic tendencies before that summer in ’79. I didn't like myself very much, but I was all I ever thought about! I thought the world revolved around me or it should. If I was happy, everyone should be happy. If I was sad, I wanted you in the dumps at my side.

I thought I was one of a kind. I was either above you or below you. I never met someone and thought to myself, he's just like me. If I walked into a room full of strangers, and they halted their conversation as I strolled past, I was certain they were talking about me. They definitely didn't like me! I tried to fit in with every group, but isolated whenever possible. The sad part was that I hated being alone, but found comfort in not being with the crowd. I was a simple person with complex thinking.

I hung out with the jocks because I played baseball and basketball. I hung out with the stoners because they liked rock-n-roll and punk. I hung out with the geeks because I felt they were misunderstood. I hung out with all the cliques, but was never "in" any of them. It was easier to make a guest appearance in one and move into the next before they got too close. I was not about to share my true feelings to them and let them see the real me!

 I didn't know who or what the real me was, and I was going to figure it out on my own. That need to “figure things out on my own” kept me drinking and using longer. As soon as I discovered booze and drugs I was okay with me and that set me off for the next 28 years. My alcoholic mind had the strange notion that asking for help is a sign of weakness or stupidity. I was afraid if I asked, people for help they would think something was wrong with me. I didn't need any help beating me up. I did it all day, everyday, for 28 years, and sometimes I still do.

Lord! Please Don't Let Me Wake Up Tomorrow....Ghosts of XMAS PAST!

On that Christmas in 1998, I was three months from entering rehab at Hinsdale Hospital, with a guest appearance in the "Nutty Bin." I started drinking by about seven that morning. I had stocked up on Christmas Eve because the stores would be closed for the holiday. My Christmas meal consisted of Jim Beam, cheap beer, cheaper vodka, some chips and a pack of lunchmeat to keep all the medicine down. As a seasoned drunk I knew the right combination of booze and food to keep the numb going. It was enough not to kill the buzz and just enough to keep me on my feet.

I hadn't talked to my family in months. I imagined what they were doing as I sat alone in the darkness with curtains drawn. My mom was probably scurrying around the kitchen making a shrimp platter or some kind of cheese ball with nuts. My sister and brother-in-law were knee-high in shredded wrapping paper, the torn-up remains from the wonderful gifts my niece and nephew were giggling amongst and dancing between. My dad and second family were just rising preparing for a feast later in the day. They were only a few miles away in La Grange, but they were done with me.

I hated them for not calling. They had tried many times to get me sober, yet whenever I saw them, I only wanted money or help out of my latest jam. When family or friends did invite me over, I got drunk and funny, then wasted and wicked. The calls, then the relationships ended. I had no consideration for other peoples' lives or their problems. My addiction only had room for thoughts of me and my next high. I was nearly dead already. My body was beat. My emotions were spent.  My soul was on empty.

I drank more and ate less. My mind was slowing down. The rage was subsiding. Sadness and self-pity were now crying out. Why did life always deal me the bad hand? Gulp! Why did everyone hate me so much? Slurp! Where did all my dreams go? Swig! I wasn't afraid of dying at that point. A couple more beers, and I would pass out. A couple more hours, and my family would sit down to a delicious feast.

I came to, head pounding and stomach fighting back. I squinted through the slits of my eyes and made out that it was five o’clock. I didn't know if it was p.m. or a.m.! I stumbled out of bed and saw it was dark outside. Being December, the darkness lent no clue as to whether it was night or morning. My worst fears were realized when I turned on the TV. A Christmas show danced on the screen. I had not slept Christmas away.

By now, my family had finished up the food and treats and was enjoying a belly-stuffed nap or the drive back home with boxes and bags of Christmas cheer. I rang the front desk to see if anyone had left a message for me. But how could they? Nobody knew where I was. I still had seven hours until the blessed holiday would finally be over for another year. Enough!I took a slug from the freshly cracked bottle of vodka, dropped a cigarette into it, and tossed it in the tiny plastic trash can. I swore off drinking forever..again.

Seven hours to go until midnight. My stash was gone. My snacks were eaten, and my nerves were shot. I was like the cat in the cartoon where the mouse nails the furniture to the ceiling, and the cat wakes up thinking he's sleeping on the ceiling. Frantically, he jumps up and down to reach the floor. He runs to the medicine cabinet and promptly downs a bottle of nerve tonic. He jumps to the "floor" holding on with his nails and every bit of his strength only to fall again in futility.

I staggered to the dresser, grabbed a sock, then rinsed the empty bottle from the whiskey. I placed the sock over the lip of the bottle and carefully poured the tainted tonic into the fresh bottle mindful not to spill a drop. It caught the ash and butt. The tar and toxins had turned the once clear liquid a vile shade of brown. Cigarette vodka was the brand of choice for my holiday night cap.

I knocked back the ashtray cocktail and chased it with a soda. I got drunk enough to sleep and numb enough to dismiss the realizations of the depths I had reached to keep the buzz going. I wept, as I collapsed onto the filthy bed. I wrapped myself in the sheet to ward off the roach parade that would march over me as soon as the TV went black. Then I prayed. It was a real prayer, one of desperation and sincerity. It was a prayer I felt to the pit that was my soul. Between the tears and self-loathing I mumbled to the heavens: “LORD!... Please don't let me wake up tomorrow.”....

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.

When I Lose My Balance...Everyone falls....Today I get Back Up!

When you have a condition you learn to live with it or in denial of it. For years I lived in denial that I was an alcoholic or, more specifically, that I had some underlying depression issues that were impacting my life. Part of the reason I used was to slow my racing mind down to a level so that I could sit comfortably in my own skin. Most addicts and alcoholics don't realize they are self-medicating to relieve the underlying condition. I know I didn't.

Being a funny guy, I knew I sometimes had the "blues" and other times got a little too wound up. I really didn't think that I had an actual neurological condition or malfunctioning mind. The round pegs were trying to slam themselves into square holes in my melon and I did what I had to do to relieve myself of the discomfort. That was to seek distraction through a variety of addictions some chemical, others human, pornographic, culinary, animated. The list goes on ad infinitum. All of them were to relieve the chaos of my thinking mind with different chaos.

Being a well read, fairly intelligent guy the proposal that there was somehow something "not right" with my "thinker" was horrifying. I was diagnosed as having some manic characteristics and depression in 1999. I was prescribed Lithium which made me angry. I wasn't drinking, but smoking pot and the depression was soon replaced with irritation and short temperateness. The fact that I wasn't drinking allowed me to overlook the horrible side effects that the medication had on me. It never dawned on me that not all medications work on all people, or react differently in each patient. When the discomfort became too much I eliminated the drug and I added booze into the mix with my weed and speed.

On Father's Day I woke up anxious. It was my first without my dad. I was off to a racing start emotionally. Squeaky, Hem and I went to the flea market and it was crowded. I was doing my best to please them both. People pleasing is another part of my personality profile. I was quick with the tongue, sharp with the wit, some of it stinging. I was in a mildly manic state, plain and simple.

The confusing paradox of mania is that it can be quite useful at some times. At moments, when managed and organized, I can get quite a bit done. It is also difficult at times for me to recognize it because I am a high functioning person. I am not classic manic. I am actually 2 levels below that. I have more depression issues than manic ones. I have never had a true manic episode. However, I have had full blown depression. That I think is in the family bloodline.

I tended to the girls and scurried about and was quiet or short in my responses. I cooked on the grill and rambled at dinner. I was taken aback when I went up to kiss my wife and tell her that I was going to a recovery meeting that she snapped and said I had been a f***ing pr**k all day. I was genuinely blind sided by her comment. Being in an irritable state I got pouty and left for the meeting, tail firmly lodged between my legs, bemoaning my father's death and nurturing the martyrdom of MY Father's Day being ruined by her comments.

The meeting made me feel better and I thought about my behavior and that of the days prior. Had I been short tempered? Aloof? Isolating? A victim? Critical? Selfish? The honest answer was yes. I have enough sobriety and insight into my disease, healthy and unhealthy behaviors to assess my actions and go from there. I returned home and my daughter said, "Daddy, you were a bit manic today." Those words were much more productive and useful for me to work with than my wife's but I held no grudge. She is recovering from surgery and was venting.

I called my doctor in the morning and we reviewed my prior day's behavior and medication regiment. I had missed my last appointment and we had moved to a new med since our meeting 4 months prior. I didn't realize that the medication was meant to be slowly increased to reach the optimal therapeutic level. I was just glad that my depression was gone and I was active again. The meds were adjusted and one was removed permanently. I felt better. The family felt better and today I feel great. I feel like me.

I have come to realize that I am not nuts, just a little wacky. I am cool with that. I prefer it actually. That is my gift and my identity. God made me this way. The round pegs are going in the round holes. I do need to stay on top of my moods and behaviors. Medications lose their effectiveness after awhile. That is an unfortunate reality of my condition. I plead with you to educate yourself on depression and mental disorders.

Aside from the heart, the brain does the most work but gets such little respect. A friend of mine who suffers from depression said a person recently asked him if he heard voices. That is funny and sad at the same time. The way our society looks at a person with a brain that is not dialed right as defective baffles me.

Here are a few folks you may know who suffered or suffer from Manic Depression. Would you call them Nuts? The list includes Mozart, Winston Churchill, Ted Turner, Jim Carrey, Tom Waits, Isaac Newton, Walt Whitman, Cary Grant, Abe Lincoln, Vincent Van Gogh, Francis Ford Coppola, Drew Carey, Mark Twain, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Ralph Waldo Emerson, T.S. Elliot, Robert E. Lee. I'll hang with that crowd any day.

We fear what we do not understand. Educate yourself and free yourself from fear. God Bless.

"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.

The Sit Down...Partly Sunny With Patches of Fog and Tweeking!

Sometimes people ask me why I write so openly about my trials and tales of alcoholism and addiction. It is usually something a family tries very hard to cover up. My readership has gone from 100 readers a day to 100 readers a week. The stories are getting old to you. My point has been to bring functional addiction out into the open. I have shared my story to help you think about whether you have a problem. Maybe it's your husband, or wife or child. My feeling has been that if I have helped one person stop, or gain insight into this deadly reality, my years of pain were not lived in vain.

This is my 100th post. I told myself I would stop at 100, reassess the reach and impact the blog had, and go from there. The decline in reads tells me the facts. People are uncomfortable with my uneasy subjects. My wife has spoken about living with an addict, I have told you about my own lost years through alcoholism and chemical abuse, and now you have heard some of what we are facing with our daughter.

I am glad that autism and chemical imbalance have come into the light. I do have a problem with the marketing of quick fix pills that relieve symptoms but don't address the causes. You can watch any of these commercials and self-diagnose yourself between commercial breaks. I have watched commercials about menopause pills and felt I had at least four of the symptoms. These drugs are marketed like spaghetti sauce. Uncle Phil passes the bowl to his nephew knowing he's not going to wet his pants. Sleeping pill ads are filled with butterflies and well rested actors. Kids don't need to got to the street to score anymore, they can just reach into the medicine cabinet.

The availability of drugs is a huge problem that's growing by the minute. There are as many, or more, drugs available in your "cute" suburban neighborhood than the Northside, Southside or Westside of Chicago. It's not just weed like "back in the day." It is now crack, coke, meth, heroin, painkillers, Ecstasy, and the latest craze "Cloud nine," a mixture of cocaine and Egyptian bath crystals. The drugs are man made, cheap to produce and quick to destroy. The Internet has given our kids an unending resource for finding the latest get high craze, or "how to make it yourself" recipes.

In our desire to "keep up with the Jones'" mentality, and not wanting to appear dysfunctional to the world outside, we enable and embolden our kids. Addiction is the new "pink elephant" in the room. We deny or just don't know how to face the issues our kids deal with daily. It is new to us. We never had so much information and avenues to get high when we were growing up. It is only going to get worse. Money is the root of all evil, and death can be purchased for just a few bucks.

Being in recovery gives me some insight into what makes an addict tick or the signs to look for. That doesn't insulate my loved ones from the poison that's available at anytime, in anyplace. My wife and family have a new challenge with our daughter. She said all the right things and layed out the drama. She couldn't look us in the eye (a huge red flag). She is scared and remorseful. She is feeling all of the emotions that come with crashing or being caught.

She is being drug tested at school. She has agreed to go to recovery meetings. She understands that the next stop is rehab. The wounds are raw and the pain is fresh. The real test will come over the weekend. Quitting dope or booze is achieved by many. Staying stopped is achieved by few. We are not kidding ourselves. Addiction is stronger than love. It is an inside job. It constantly gnaws at the addict, begging us to give in to "feel better". It does make you feel better temporarily. Then comes the crash, the remorse, the shame, the self-loathing and all the pain comes again. This time with a little extra discomfort.

The cycle of scoring, using, crashing, feeling like hell and wanting it to go away becomes a vicious circle and dead end. Addicts are on a human hamster wheel, always running but only going around in circles. Words and threats mean nothing to an addict. When using, we are tuned into the "get high" channel 24/7. It is a lonely existence that few truly understand. I am in recovery but I still have to do things on a daily basis to "stay stopped." I talk to others in recovery. I have a mentor. I read about my disease. I help others with theirs. It is a lifelong commitment. I will always be an addict. I have just got it locked in a rusty cage inside my mind.

It is still working up in my noodle, trying to find ways to get out. Active participation is essential to my continuing sobriety. If I begin to isolate, and cut myself off from those addicts just like me, the time will come when my addiction says just the right thing to get me to pick up. My sick mind doesn't always give me sane advice. I need to share my feelings with people like me. If you are not an addict but a loved one with a problem says that you don't understand, you really don't understand, no matter how many times you have watched Dr. Phil or Dr. Oz. I know what it is like to have a baby, but I will never know what it's like to have a baby.

Our daughter is making some good decisions on addressing her problem. The follow through is up to her and our family. The only person who can get an addict clean is the addict, with the help of God and other addicts. Our hearts may be broken. There me be lost ground. There may be lies and broken promises. We are ready for all of these possibilities. We pray, we love, we support and we hope that she will make her way back onto the path of sobriety. There are no guarantees. We know that also. All we can do is our best. It is in God's hands. I hope I have helped you in some way. Keep the faith. Remember EVERY DAY IS A GIFT! GOD BLESS YOU!