Love Is Not Enough To Save A Dying Friend

The pain and despair that comes with addiction is excruciating. Every morning you wake up feeling like hell and you know that 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.

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 thinking about getting high, 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 22 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 control of my mouth, 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. 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 alcoholics and addicts 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.

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.

Silly Putty and Ramen Noodles

I am grateful to GOD for giving me a sense of humor. I am more grateful that HE has one too. As an actor, comic and writer, part of the gift of that humor is that I verbalize the things that people are thinking but don't have the nerve or need to spit out. That's great because it keeps guys like me, philosophers, pundits and poets in business. Tom Dreesen told me that Carl Reiner advice to him early in his career was to "show people your pain." I have always done that in my act. I poke a lot of fun at myself. People identify with the daily mishaps of just trying to get by.

The distance between the frontal lobe (MY MELON) and the voice box (MY BIG FAT MOUTH) is only a few inches. I have seen many pictures of the brain. It looks to me like chubby Ramen Noodles mixed with Silly Putty all smushed together and placed in an airtight bonehead container. It's quite a fascinating looking machine. When I am told that we use less than 10% of it I am appalled. What the hell is flying around in the other 90% of the noodles that we don't use?! The few I am trying to get a rise out of are driving me and everybody around nuts!

I need to call the people who design filters for water or furnaces because I have a bit of a problem. In my personal life those same skills that make me a funny comic or good improv actor sometimes make me a poor communicator. That's PC talk for sometimes I say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time and I can't help it! I want a filter between the Ramen Noodles, The Silly Putty and my pie hole!

As a recovering alcoholic/addict the problem is doubled because we learn to use words as weapons of mass destruction like fists, knives and passive aggressive napalm! We find our loved ones' tender spots in passionate moments of weakness, trust or sweet confession and BAM! If we get pushed the wrong way we will pull that sweet secret you never told a soul and spit it in your face like rattle snake venom. 

In recovery that doesn't just disappear. It slowly goes away but I still have my moments. I'm not beating myself up right now. Don't worry I'll do that when I get to my rant about procrastination somewhere down the line. I am just becoming more self aware of some of my character flaws. Some of the time I am hilarious. Yet other times I can be critical and hurtful and not even realize I am doing it.

The power of a word is more damaging than a fist in my estimation. Both are violent. A sore chin will heal. The wounding of the mind through criticism and demeaning can be crippling. A perfect example is that there were many times my wife called me an alcoholic and every swear word her Berwyn upbringing could conjure up, and they meant nothing to me. The day she called me PATHETIC was the day I took my last drink. Why THAT was the word that pushed my "get sober" button GOD only knows. 

The point is that a few simple letters put in a prearranged form said at the right time, under the right conditions had a life changing impact on me. The biggest argument my wife and I EVER had was about...wrapping paper! Yes you heard it...WRAPPING PAPER. Left to it's own proper use wrapping paper is associated with joy and gift giving. In the context of the argument it was connected to my ex-wife and it was a hot button for Squeaky. We were screaming. There were attorneys involved in the uproar. She shouted that I was an "Oedipus Complex!" I spat back that she was an "unclean female dog." It really got ugly. By the time we got home we had pulled over and stopped to laugh at the fact we were going to divorce court over...Wrapping Paper.

The most frequently mentioned subject in the Bible is our words and how we use them. The second is fear. Usually the two go hand in hand. I have a tendency of shooting my mouth off when I am scared of losing something, someone getting hurt or someone hurting another person I love. At that point the Ramen Noodle-Silly Putty-Tongue is connected. That is dangerous for me and something that I am working on. The quick wit and snarky comment work great on stage and for hecklers. Not so for family and friends.

I am trying to incorporate a few new rules into my personal behavior for rules of engagement. These help me with human relations and how comfortably I live with myself. They are as follows and are not all my creations. Most of them were taught to me:

1. I do not have to be right nor have an opinion on everything. 
2. It's okay to say "I don't know."
3. I refuse to have arguments with people unless they are actually there!
4. The phrase "hold your tongue"... can actually be done.
5. When I am unsure of what to do, phone a friend is good. 
6. When I react emotionally so do other people!
7. Doing NOTHING when I am unsure is acceptable.
8. I do not have to jump into every conversation I meet.
9. Whatever dress I want my wife to wear... pick the opposite one so she wears the one I like.
10. Turn to GOD more often Tom. When you lean on his words you need less of your own...


SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is available on AMAZON and Kindle. Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, mental health and homeless facilities....

" Sweet Release, I love how you use me." - Morriso-

I love Van Morrison. Most people associate him as the singer/songwriter who penned, Gloria, Domino and Brown Eyed Girl. I agree with those who call him the Irish Bob Dylan. I see them both as poets who use songs as their medium.

I am a lyrics guy. Some folks dig a song for the tune. I tune in for the message. When I can't seem to cobble my words together effectively, I'll ask the person I'm trying to communicate with to listen to a song that better conveys what I am trying to express.That thing hanging in the back of my throat seems to change my wonderful thoughts into misunderstood ramblings.

The book release party for Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself was July 28, 2012. It was a week after the second anniversary of my father's death. I thought it was fitting to have the release around that date. He had an impact on my life more than anyone. He was usually around for me, when I was no where to be found.

Writing the book was an emotional journey. The baring of my soul on paper was liberating. It was also painful and difficult at times. Recounting the things that I regret, and am ashamed of from my past, was a closet most folks would spend a lifetime trying to keep closed. For the most part this blog was the source of the books content. "Every Day Is A Gift," reached 19,000 reads today. That is truly humbling. The fact that I've only been writing it for nineteen months makes it mind blowing.

As an author, when you present your work to the world, you're hopeful that it will be gobbled up by the masses. I was certain that friends, family, and most importantly people trying to overcome obstacles, would have it flying off the shelves. As of this writing, seventy one copies have been sold. That is far out!

So far the reviews have been positive. That is truly satisfying. A few have said it has given them hope. I hope all who read it find that it is about overcoming our past and reaching for our future, not just about my addictions.  You can plug in any word for what is holding you back into the spaces that read alcohol or drugs. We are all paralyzed by fears and obstacles that prevent us from reaching for our dreams.

The party was surreal. There were many friends and strangers on hand to enjoy the dinner and show. It is hard to grasp that people would want my signature in a pile of paper. The last time anyone asked for my autograph was when I performed at Stateville Prison. The night was a bookmark in coming full circle on my journey. I was in a dream.

As the multi-gifted Charmane Ward started the festivities with her songs of passion and faith, I was comforted by her angelic voice.The dinner was great. People were laughing. That always makes me smile. Squeaky was graciously greeting guests.Comediennes, M.J. Brown and Josie Dykas rocked the house with hilarious sets. The three ladies entertaining created a night to remember by all. Each of them are making a positive impact in their orbits.

Beyond the faithful friends who attended, I was moved by a few strangers who came out that night. A woman, whose son is fighting addiction and recovery, called to see if she could get tickets at the door. She thought the book would inspire him to stay in recovery. That young man made me realize that my work was making an impact. It reminded me that my sobriety is a gift. It helped me see that the writing of Soul Parole was never intended to be a book. It is meant to be a message. It will never be a best seller. It is not a recovery handbook. That one has been written.

Reality and the wreckage of my past hit me full in the face as well. Not a single one of my family attended. It left me feeling wounded. I see how much damage I have done over my twenty eight year run. My In-Laws came. I looked out over the many who attended and realized family goes beyond flesh and blood. That reinforced how close we have grown together. The hits didn't stop there.

Just as I had sat down to greet the people lining up to have the book signed, our alarm went off at the house. I have read about burglars breaking into homes when people post their vacation or travel plans on Facebook, or in other public forums. Our dogs yelping had set off the alarm once before. I thought that they were the source of the emergency call from the police. In fact, it was someone I know that had made an attempt to break in. That was devastating. It was mind numbing knowing that someone I loved would try such a terrible thing.

I feel a deep sense of accomplishment from fulfilling a life long dream of writing a book. You can catch your dreams as well, if you overcome your FEAR that they are possible. That doesn't mean that there won't be hurddles. It does not mean that realities won't impede your journey.

The signing was a personal success. WE raised two hundred and fifty dollars for an area recovery club. The emotions created in me from the attempted break in, and the fact that none of my family attended leveled the playing field. God keeps my feet on the ground. I still have a long journey in trying to amend my past. Some relationships seem broken beyond repair. Time will tell. As long as I keep my side of the street clean, I can live free of guilt. I am responsible for one half of a hundred percent of the relationships I have in this world.

My favorite Van Morrison Album is The Philosopher Stone. I can listen to it endlessly. One song in particular, I Have Finally Come to Realize, rocks me to my core. In the lyrics Morrison sings," I have finally come to realize, a child don't do what I have done. Cut my nose to spite my face. I'm just one tiny, tiny grain of sand. Oh, sweet release, I love how you soothe me, and when I let go, I love how you use me...It's in the doing that we find, a certain way we can live our lives, and obtain some peace of mind."

The book release showed me where I stand in the world. It also pointed me on my continuing journey to spread some hope. Happiness is a choice. No one can make it for us. No one can steal it from us, unless we let them. Others share emotions that enhance our happiness. Sometimes they inflict some pain. We all do. It's the human condition. My attitude toward adversity and treasuring life, can not be touched by anyone. I choose life. I want to make people smile. It makes me smile. I have wonderful friends. I am blessed, and rich  beyond my wildest dreams.

God is always working in my life whether I'm tuned in or not. Every once in a while he throws me a curve. Sometimes I hit a home run. Sometimes I strike out. I will always step up to the plate. I'm grateful to have others on my team. I am glad to be a messenger. As Van would say, "It's in the doing that we find...."


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

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

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....

"Listen To What The Man Said" - McCartney

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. I extend those well wishes to the mothers, who have to wear both hats, due to circumstance or happenstance. This past Father's Day was one filled with mixed emotions for me. If the tone of this entry seems rife with self pity, it is not. I am grateful for where I am at on my journey.

Over the last few years, Squeaky and I have made it a tradition to visit Montana Charlie's on Father's Day. Charlie's could be called a flea market. It is different than most, because there are more new items for sale, than used.

Steamy weather has made our visits a tradition as well. Over the last couple of years it has been scorching hot as we walk the aisles of the fair grounds. We search out our favorite spots, haggle over a few items all the while wilting away. Soon after, one of us calls it quits. Then we high tail it to the car for the chilled  breeze of  the air conditioned car.

I started the day burdened by a melancholy that hung around my neck like an albatross. It is the second Father's Day without my Pop. It wasn't easier than last year. My feelings of loss and longing for his company sets itself deeper within me on each passing day.

I was taken back to Father's Day 2010. It was 6 weeks before his death. On that day, as we visited, I knew it was going to be our last together. He would enter hospice just a few weeks later. I don't know if the sudden loss of someone you care about hurts worse than knowing that the end is imminent. It was my  second sober holiday, and the clarity of the situation was hard to process. I was, and am, grateful that I felt all of it. Going to any length to avoid feelings was my M.O. for years.

While we scanned the aisles of Charlie's for spices and jewelry I had another moment of clarity. A couple of years earlier we ran into my Dad, and my Second Mom. He was decked out in a Bears shirt with goofy shorts, and white tube socks that went halfway up to his knees. My Pop was not a fashionista. I guess I'm not either.

On that particular day we weren't talking on a regular basis. We had a disagreement a few months earlier and he had put the freeze on me. My dad was always right, even when he wasn't. He never let the facts get in the way of his opinions. We made small talk, for a moment or two, and went our separate ways. I remember vividly looking down the aisles for him as we worked our way through the maze of people.

I had forgotten about that until yesterday. It fell on me like bricks. The heat of the sun mixed with the flashback sent me reeling with anxiety. Squeaky looked at me as if she was reading my mind. She held me as tears dripped from my burning eyes.

When I sprinkled part of his ashes at Soldier Field shortly after his death, I bought a Bears hat from the 1963 Championship Team. I told Squeaky it was to be my last Bears hat. I never wanted her to buy another one for me again. It sits in my office next to the two Bears hats my dad wore the most.

Squeaky knows me like no one else ever has. I suppose it's because I let her in to my heart. She can read me like flashcards for a third grader. We are connected. As we broke our embrace I looked left and spotted a Chicago Bears mug, not less than five feet away. We gave each other the look and I bought it on the spot. We dispensed of the ritual haggling and simply bought the mug. It was to remember my pop.

Being a step dad on Father's Day is an experience in itself. Even though I live with Bro, see Sunny often and hear from Hemingway regularly I am not DAD. Throughout the day I waited for them to call or text. I reflected on their younger days when I was an angry insecure jerk. I wished I could take every moment back and have a "do over," like when we were kids playing baseball in the school yard.

I tried to shake the darkness from me on such a bright day but it clung to me like plastic wrap on a bologna sandwich. As I pulled free from one side, the other flipped back to cling on again. I knew I had to think my way out of the situation. My feelings were getting the best of me. I took my mug and we headed for home.

When I returned home and switched on my computer there was a message from Hemingway. She said she loved me and I fell apart like a two dollar watch. Out of all the kids, I wish I could have the years of her late teens back to give it another approach. I was unbearable. She is an amazing woman. Later in the day I got texts from Bro and Sunny. My day was almost complete.

Mouse, my youngest daughter, is still AWOL from my life. She is twelve. I am not sure where her mother has taken her to. I have to be patient. I know in GOD'S time it will work out. Maybe it won't. I will endure whatever outcome I face sober. I am ready to take her back into my arms in a minute. My years of alcohol abuse has left her mother angry and I'm sure few positive remarks are made about me to her.

In recovery I have encountered many people trying to repair the damage of their past. I am troubled by those who say, "I will NEVER apologize or FORGIVE them!" Those are hard words to swallow after being so easily spit out. I would pay a million bucks to have my dad repeat all the things I ignored as a kid. I long for his laughter. I miss his stories that he repeated ad infinitum.

Life is short. Wounds can be difficult to heal. Scars remain. I plan on leaving this earth with a few scars and no open wounds. Anger and resentment is too overwhelming. Being right doesn't have to be the end game. I have said it a million times, like my dad would. Don't leave any regrets on the table. Swallowing your pride is easier than choking on your tears. I have learned that facing problems is easier than living with the ones you'll never have the chance to fix....

Soul Parole: Making Peace With My Mind, GOD And Myself, with Foreword by Tom Dreesen and Epilogue by David Brenner, will be available July 7, 2012. Look for it on Amazon, Amazon Europe and Kindle. Personalized copies will be available at soulparole.com.


         Proceeds will benefit Chicago Area Addiction, Homeless and Mental Health facilities

FEAR-Face Everything As Real

Fear is a powerful foe. We all have it. I think, it is the second strongest four letter word after love. When I was drinking and using, for 28 years, it ruled my life. Sometimes, it still tries to. Fear stood for "F" Everything And Run! I was afraid of success. I was obsessed with failure. I was paralyzed from reaching out to find sobriety and pursue my passions. It seemed safer to deal with my notions, than knowing the realities.

Before I got out of bed I was gripped with the FEAR of something. Was I gonna get fired? Does my wife love me? Do I love her too much? When am I going to die? Is it gonna hurt? I could conjure up fear over things that were ten years down the road, or ten years past. I was terrified of change. That is, change that I didn't like.

Facing my fears was out of the question. When I didn't feel right, I was sure I was dying. If I saw a person talking, and they looked at me, I was positive that I was the subject of their conversation. They were looking at all my faults. They could see right through me.

When I got sober and accepted the fact that my depression and racing thoughts had to be addressed, I was at a crossroads. I had dealt with it for my entire life. I did so by not dealing with it. I was convinced that if I sought treatment I would be labeled a fruit loop and tossed into the loony bin. There was no way I was going to be called a nut, even though I was going nuts.

When I finally went to see a professional, a funny thing happened. I was told I had a chemical imbalance that could be treated with a mood stabilizer. I wasn't crazy. I just had a condition that required medication, like high blood pressure. I learned that it is quite common.

After I overcame that hurdle I was convinced that my heart, liver and kidneys were shot. My grandfather died of a heart attack at age thirty nine. If I experienced a thump or pain in my chest I was positive that I was going to drop right on the spot. I was better at self diagnosing myself than any specialist in the western world! I chewed on it, day after day, hour after hour. The fear of the unknown kept me from finding out the truth. I almost died of terror at the thought of the visit!

What would Squeaky do without me? I obsessed about the POSSIBILITIES instead of seeking CERTAINTIES. It finally got to the point that SHE couldn't bare my Fred Sanford mentality any longer. "You hear that Gram? I'm coming to join you honey! I got a bum ticker from drinkin liquor!" I made the appointment and scans and tests were scheduled for enzyme analysis and a stress test. The enzyme test was just a blood test. The heart check was an ultrasound and a jog on a treadmill.

All of the tests came back clean as a whistle. After twenty eight years of self destruction I was surprised that I didn't have any battle wounds. I think blessed is more like it. I was healthy as a horse. It didn't hurt. I didn't have the Grim Reaper standing over me with a sickle. My fear was all for nothing. All those years of obsession and discomfort of wondering were pointless. Even if I had found out something was wrong, at least I WOULD KNOW!

My mother hates to go to the doctor as well. She darn near has to be stricken with the plague before she'll even consider the trip. She was diagnosed with cataracts recently. For over a year she was suffering from blurred vision, and said nothing. When she relented and sought a doctor's opinion the news was mixed. He said she would need surgery and clear vision would return. He also said if she would have waited another few months she would have lost her sight for good. She is doing great. She said colors are more vivid than she ever remembered.

We all have fears. Some are real, others are trivial. All of them can be devastating. It seems to me that our fear of knowing the truth is harder to face than the reality. I can look at my life now and realize, that in most cases, my mental picture is 100 times worse than the facts when I eventually face the problem. I am amazed at how much pain I put myself through from my thoughts!

There is another acronym for FEAR. It is Facing Everything As Real. I like that. If I would have continued down the path I was on, FEAR would have driven me to the grave! That's not living! It is being a prisoner in our own melons! Do me a favor. If you hurt somewhere go to the doctor. If you need to fix a damaged relationship, pick up the phone and fix it! If you need help ask for it! Don't be a hostage. Remember, nothing changes...if nothing changes. The only thing you have to lose is your mind!

When All That's Left is Laughing or Crying....

It seems like the words just flow sometimes, other times I can't spit out a two word sentence. When you're a wind bag like me you can't let that stuff get bottled up. It's like that old joke about the monkey, the pig and the cork. It can get very messy inside and out if I keep the cork in too long.

I used to let life get bottled up inside me until I unplugged the bottle and sought liquid or chemical relief from my worries, fears and emotions I couldn't process. Booze was like letting the air out of the tire that was me. The more I drank the less pressure I felt until I felt nothing at all, was left flat and was of no use to anyone. I've always felt that God put nerve endings on the outside of me and that left an empty spot inside. I feel everything to the nth degree. Emotion is palpable to me whether their yours or mine.

When you get sober, you are faced with feelings and situations that the normal thinking mind takes for granted in its dealings. My addicted mind is baffled and amazed sometimes at new feelings I have never bared to face. Sometimes it's euphoric like that of a baby's first taste of ice cream. At other times it seems like a portal from my past is thrown open to a memory and feeling so oppressive I am paralyzed like that same child's first experience that leaves them frozen in their booties.

I now face what I spent years so desperately trying to escape from. I am grateful that my kids came out bright, polite and out of sight. I owe most of that to my wife. When they remind me of some logical piece of advice I gave them while they were growing up, I attribute it to God. I was always great at giving advice. If I listened to any of it that I dished out, I wouldn't be writing an addiction recovery book today. That is until lately.

My eldest daughter Hemi is in from Germany. She is madly in love with her husband. They truly are best friends. The culture shock of living in another country is far beyond what she imagined it would be. If you read my earlier chapters I drove her away at age 18 when I had stopped drinking and took up the pot cure for alcoholism. Being natural, endorsed by Native Americans and being part Cherokee myself this made perfect sense at the time.

Now we are in a good spot. Then, although I was not drinking, I just switched from booze to drugs to "prove" to myself I wasn't an alcoholic. I wasn't treating the source of my addiction. That problem was my inability to deal with life logically, "on life's terms" only emotionally. I was a dry drunk by recovery terms.

We are great friends now. We are daddy and daughter in the true sense of the definition and I admire her greatly. I see a lot of me in her. The artist, the adventurer, the in your face, ready to grab life by the short hair mentality that I instilled in her as a teenager is vibrant today. When it comes to advice on her situation with marriage and what to do about the whole thing, I tell her to talk to her husband and the father...leave daddy out of it. It's not because I don't care. It's because I don't know. I am mature enough to say I don't know now.

For years I felt the need to be right or have an answer or opinion on every subject. I felt compelled to take a side in all arguments even before I had all the facts. It was a part of my insecurity with myself. I didn't want to appear dumb. I also thought I knew what was right for everybody in the universe. I am comfortable with the words, "I don't know" spilling from my lips now. I am at ease with keeping my pie hole shut also. I will always support my children and will go to the ends of the earth to help them when they sincerely call for it. I will not call the plays and control their situations. I created a lot of resentment and made some wrong calls doing that for Hemi and lost her for a while. I will not do it again.

I did tell her that marriage is tough no matter where you're at. The first year can be the worst. There is no such thing as 50-50. One person is always giving in more or taking more. Balance is the key. The question I ask myself with Squeaky is "How important is it to me to fight this battle right now?" Do I want to ruin my day or hers? Is it that I truly disagree or just wish to disagree? Is it better to endure a little discomfort to make her happy, or give both of us a lot of discomfort by going against the grain? Things work out one way or the other.

Sunny is still out there doing things I did for all those years. It kills me. The drugs of choice today for young adults are legal and can be bought at age 18 from many cigarette or cigar stores. She thinks the world is against her, that no one knows pain like hers and she is running with some troubled people. At 18 there is little I can do. She lives with her donor father. That leaves me even more powerless. He seems to be oblivious. We pray, we call, we love. She makes up stories ad infinitum. I wonder if this is the come around from my go around.

You may think me cold for letting her go right now, like we do not care. It is quite the opposite my friend. I let her go because I do. I can no longer enable her to control my life and that of the rest of this family. She needs to hit her bottom. Then I will be there like the calvary, with arms wide open. Until then I pray and trust that God is looking after her. She is an adult. It was not until I lost everything that I reached my hand out for another to help me. It was not until I begged God for mercy, instead of a favor, that I found freedom from addiction.

I am at the point where I am stuck between a giggle and a sob. There is so much going on in that three and a half inches behind my eyes and my mouth. I am glad that I have a God who hears my prayers and angels earthly and ethereal who guide me and look out for her. I am grateful to feel everything even though at times I think I might explode. That empty spot is filled with love and faith, hope and growth, laughing and crying. I lost so many years to addiction and depression. My darkest day of sobriety is better than my sunniest day drunk. When Sunny comes back I'll be there to listen.

A Beer with My Dad a Lesson for Me....

There are certain concepts that I, as a recovering addict, have to keep at the forefront of my thinking if I am to maintain my sobriety. The most important one is to remember at all times that I am just one drink or drug away from the hell I went through for nearly 28 years. When I wake up in the morning I ask God to get into my head before I do because if I get in first it can be a very long and difficult day.

It doesn't mean that I am going to drink or take a drug. It does mean that addiction is a thinking problem. More specifically it is an over thinking problem. At least for me it is. If I wake up and get my melon into overdrive before my first tinkle, the day is likely to be filled with worry, anxiety, frustration, fear, anger, resentment and all the negative emotions that drove my addiction and depression for years.

I used to escape me, not you. Although I don't use any longer I still find myself following me wherever I go. I have had to forge a new relationship with me based on the things I have learned in recovery. My life is for the most part exactly what I want it to be. I am grateful to be alive and thriving in the acting and comedy world, something that was impossible while using. More importantly, I am a trusted friend, husband, father and son. I also try to help others find their way to the gift of sobriety that I have been given so freely.

That being said, I love days when I am just about to crawl under my Scooby Doo sheets and I realize that I went the whole day NOT realizing I was an addict, alcoholic or depression sufferer. In other words, I made it through the day like an earthling! How cool is that?! It doesn't mean that I take my disease for granted. It means I am getting stronger in my sobriety. I spent 28 years using. It will take the rest of my life untwisting the mess inside my head and those I tried to rewire along the way.

Yesterday was the paradox of that feeling. If you watched the video I posted above, Squeaky and I went to Abraham Lincoln National Cemetery yesterday to "have a beer with my Dad." I stopped at the liquor store and was thrilled that the one I visited allowed for the purchase of just one. It has been two and a half years since I have purchased alcohol and it really had no effect on me. I was on a mission to get my dad a beer. My family knows I am McGyver-like in my focus when there is a mission at hand.

The funny side note to that was I stopped at the local corner store to try to get a can earlier in the morning, having forgotten the Sunday selling restrictions, and the store owner looked at me cockeyed when I asked what time they were open for liquor sales. I quickly said it was for my Dad. I am surprised they stayed in business after I quit the stuff. I know their profits went way down for sure!

The memorial was beautiful. It stopped raining long enough for us to toast Pops. The birds were singing and he has a great view of the forest and a pavilion where they honor the latest Vet to be interred there. In an ironic twist he is right next to a soldier named Jones, my wife's maiden name. That soldier was only 46 years old.

As I spilled the frothy beer into the gravel, the earth seemed to gulp it down with vigor. The soldiers all had a sip along with my dad. As I said my goodbyes I could smell the beer on my hands and it brought memories flooding into my mind; some good, many bad. The good ones were of the many laughs I had with my dad over a few cold ones at many a Bear game and when I worked for him. The bad was for the months, and at one time years, I missed in my alcoholic fog that we didn't speak because he couldn't bare to see me self-destruct.

There was no sadness in the time with him. I spent many hours with him at the end of his life making up for those lost years. I am at peace with my past mainly because I can not change it. I have learned from it and know what not to do so I don't have to live it again. I always like to point out in my blog that I am not anti-alcohol or anti-anything. It's just not for me because I can't stop once I get rolling. One is too many and a thousand isn't enough.

Squeaky chuckled as I wiped my hands in the grass to get the smell off my hands. It was like I was trying to wipe bird poop off my hands. My few moments of discomfort were worth the symbolic enjoyment I am sure my dad got out of that beer. He was probably laughing at me with his unit in heaven while I squished my nose at my skunky, beer soaked hands.

I know how he must have felt during those lost years when he didn't know where I was but knew I was hurting and slowly destroying myself. My middle daughter hasn't been around in a week. She dropped our son off today and didn't even stop in to say hi. She had a hangover. She is lost, but she's an adult. There is little I can do. I can be grateful for my sobriety, pray and have the confidence and faith that I will be of clear mind to help her when she's ready for it. My dad was there when I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I'll be there for her too.

Doors Open...Windows Close...Sometimes on My Fingers!

In addiction recovery the focus is to live your life in the moment from day to day. Yesterdays' are filled with loss and regret. Tomorrows littered with uncertainty and anxiety. When I first got sober I thought it was a silly concept. Now I find it perfectly delightful. Whether you're an addict or an earthling you really don't know when the great lotto ball caller is gonna pick your number. Staying in the now makes me enjoy the simplicity of existence, the beauty of just being a part of the landscape, something I savor.

My life is just like those Gobstoppers. When I am grateful for the blessings that come my way and realize how truly good I have it, I've got it made. It's when I analyze and try to control that the world becomes purple, yellow and red, distorted by my forcing myself upon the universe and what I WANT that things get crazy and I get crazy along with them. God made such a beautiful world and saved me a million times from destroying myself but every once in a while I seem to feel the need to jump up and try to adjust the picture for Him. He opens doors and closes windows. I sometimes leave my fingers in the sill when the pane comes crashing down. That's His way of reminding me that He's doing just fine without me.

I auditioned for a movie last week called "Altered." It is a horror/thriller and I was up for a role as a cop. Most of you know that I have a look about me that is, let's say "not nurturing." What the hell! I look like I'm pissed off a lot. That comes from 28 years of addiction, living in the street and running with some rough crowds. It is what it is. As a result I get cast as bad guys, mafia types, angry guys, etc. I don't know why that bothers me. Jack Palance, Robert Englund and Vincent Price did pretty well at being dark figures. In my recovery, just a part of me wants to be the good guy, the hero, the one everybody is happy to see.

Well, the audition went horribly! I tried to act like the character instead of me being the character. That is how I have had success in the past. Let's face it. I was an addict and alcoholic for 28 dark years. Who am I going to portray more accurately? Richie Cunningham or Otis the Drunk? Facts are facts. I did get to work with Kely McClung from Vampire Diaries and Blood Ties. His direction was good. My acting was bad. Barney Rubble could do Hamlet compared to me that day. Oh well!

Wait, it gets worse! I emailed Imoto Harney, the producer and assistant director, to say I could come back in and audition for the junkie, homeless guy and street freak that were being cast in the film. Yep! I went back to the old comfort zone. I was taking that Gobstopper out and by golly I was gonna find a way into that movie! Well, they never called back. Imagine that. I made a fool of myself, something I am quite good at both personally and professionally.

I was heartbroken and in mourning over the loss of a friend. I was going to make life happen. His had been cut so short. Saturday I got a call from a casting director in California checking my availability for filming a week out there for a series. That week falls in the same time frame as the film I tried to force my way into. The California show also has a great message and I will get to help people with my message. God does my casting.

On top of that I met a new friend, Darren Marlar, a Christian comic who went for the same role as me and killed it! Funny how things go. I hope he gets the part. He can bring a positive message to a whole new demographic. Look him up on Facebook or Google his name. He is a fine man.

I am an alpha personality. I know you didn't have any idea of that, but I am. Most of the time it is great! That is when I am doing things the right way for the right reasons and with pure motives. When I get out there and try to "MAKE IT HAPPEN!" I get the windows of life slammed on my fingers. It will happen again. I learn from pain more than pleasure. I will continue to try too hard and fail occasionally when I over Tomify things. I heard a preacher say "You can fail miserably with God or succeed more miserably without him." I understand that now and agree completely.

I am who I am - Popeye 1:3. That's just the way it is. I am grateful to be a part of the business of film and TV. I actually had an agent contact me from England. I hope it's not for day work! What a drive! As long as I am growing I'm doing fine. As long as I see my mistakes and fallibilities I'm fine...when the day comes that I think I'm fine.

What would you do for YOUR Kids Knowing What Your Dad has Done for you?

God says I should be writing and I need to do more. I will. So often I pray for something and when it is given to me I ignore it or dismiss it as not having the time or being so surprised that I have been granted it that I figure HE must have made a mistake. Well He obviously doesn't make mistakes. He let's us handle that. I have been struggling a lot with that lately. That is, when am I doing the will of God and certain of it and when am I forcing my will upon the world and hoping God is okay with it?

I hope this video makes it to all the countries who read this blog. This is a documentary video, not an artistic piece. A director friend of mine, Eddie Garcia (mentioned in my last blog), made a version of this on his own. I find this to say so much about life itself. It makes me ask myself questions about me and my faith and my convictions as a human being.

AFTER WATCHING.......HIT REPLAY.......

HAVE A DAY!

"This is the Radio Clash on Pirate Satellite..."....The Clash........My Crash!

I hope that title got your toe tapping a bit. I love that song by Joe Strummer and the boys. But sadly it was also when they started to edge towards the mainstream and away from the politically fueled anthems that made them the force they were in the early to mid 70's. I can relate to the song and it's significance to the band. At that time pirate radio was huge in Europe as enterprising "stations" set up anywhere they could, including the middle of the ocean, to be free from the restrictions of censorship that the Motherland was imposing on their musical content.

Today I began "Every Day is a Gift NOW!, the radio brother of this book. It was a smashing bowl of "uh's," "uhm's," and dead air. I learned a lot from the experience about the world of talk radio and myself. I am glad I did it. That is why I took the chance and made the leap into something new. I'm also glad that it didn't go swimmingly because it showed that it is easier to sit in front of a keyboard and gather my thoughts as I put them to paper or cyber print. Dead air doesn't play well on radio. It also showed me that the same amount of preparation that I put into developing a character for a film or commercial part has to be done for radio. I can't ad lib everything.

The two most important things it taught it me was that "it's not as easy as it look," and that falling on your ass can be the best thing for you sometimes. I have done radio and newspaper interviews about my "Story" before and have been a DJ on a 50, 000 watt radio station when I was 21. You can "hem and haw" during a newspaper interview and the reporter omits those leaving behind a nicely quaffed puff piece. When I had a radio show in mid-80's on WAUR I had music to drive the show and only needed bits of banter to sprinkle in between the Herman's Hermits and Buckingham's. During radio interviews there are breaks and half the time is covered by the host, so your 50 % covered right? The focus and direction is covered for you.

I don't know how many times I've sat and watched athletes and young actors or entertainers give an interview filled with "um's," "ya' knows," "uh's," and other silly talk and thought. 'Boy, you'd think these kids could learn to talk and think of something more intelligent to say.' Open mouth insert microphone here Tommy boy! The only thing that I didn't do at the end of the show was thank God for giving me the strength to win the game. I always find that fascinating in post game interviews. Like God has time to take out of His extremely busy day to pick an over and under in a football or basketball game.

I thought my "gift of gab" and my prior radio experience, combined with my knowledge of my own story would make doing my first talk show a huge success automatically. It didn't and doesn't work that way. God sent me a wonderful message today. Be prepared at all times. Don't take yourself so serious kid and have a plan B & C if plan A isn't going as you would like it to. He also humbled me a bit, a good thing for all of us from time to time.

I will be more prepared for my next show. No, I am not giving it up. It wasn't a catastrophe. It was still genuine and heartfelt. It was still me with the right motive and message. I just need to game plan better. I am looking for a sponsor of the program. I don't make a dime. It goes to Blogtalkradio. The cost is $360 for the entire year. It includes banners and impressions and lots of mentions by me. It will allow me to have up to 5, 2 hour shows per week, toll free numbers and up to 50 callers on line at once. I can't afford to upgrade the show. What I like most about the package is that it will allow me to pre-record shows and upload them to a schedule so they can be played at a predetermined time as to not interfere with the jobs I am soon to be getting.

When I was getting back into comedy and wrestling with whether I was going to include my addiction and depression history as part of my back story, I was talking a lot to two of comedy's big hitters, Tom Dreesen and David Brenner. Mr. Dreesen said, "Show them your pain," a piece of advice given to him by Carl Reiner. David Brenner told me that, "A groan is just as important as a laugh. Why? because it's a reaction." Both men have been very gracious to me and I am thankful for their support.

Today I definitely showed some pain and felt some. There were some groans on my side of the microphone and your side of the Internet dial. That's okay though. If everything went smooth all the time I would freak out. I learn more from pain and adversity than success. Today was a bump in the road. Now we get back up, realize all is well and continue on from here. Thanks for the support. I will have a new show scheduled by Wednesday. Talking about my struggles and the great city of Chicago is going to be fun. I can talk about walking some of the cleanest streets in America and sleeping on a few of them as well. God Bless! If you missed the show go to www.blogtalkradio.com/tommyconnolly The show is archived there. Everyday is a Gift! Be well!

"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.

April 18th... Birth, Death, New Hopes and Old Fears...

Simply waking up I was glad to be alive. The two week run of "Meet My Husbands" was over and I was going to miss Grant Griswold in some strange way. Even more so, I was going to miss the incredible group of actors that taught me so much over the 6 weeks we worked on the production. We put a lot of work into the Fred Michael creation and judging by the crowd reaction, the Director's vision translated nicely through our interpretation on stage. A few of the players, I am sure, will become long time friends. Some I am hopeful to run into on other stages in other places. After the production wrapped we struck the set and I stayed for a Stage Combat Workshop offered by the guild with fellow actors Sean Nordsell and Devon Ford.

April 18th is the date of my departed grandmother's birthday. You may remember from my earlier chapters that she was like a mother to me, while my mom worked, and that she passed in my presence. Monday, April 18, 2011 was also the day that I was going to be attending the memorial service for my aunt Kay. She was my grandmother's niece. The morning was cold. The sun was out and I was exhausted and hadn't even gotten out of bed.

My feelings were drawn to what my cousin Johnny must be feeling. Aunt Kay had passed a few months earlier in hospice care, like my father. She went home with dignity and grace, surrounded by loved ones and never felt sorry for herself once. My aunt loved the color black and could give Johnny Cash a run for his money when it came to the color. From clothes to napkins, furniture to dishes, Aunt Kay had the "black market" covered. Johnny was stoic and hid behind smiles as we arrived at the memorial in Evergreen Park. I drove up there with my sister and mother. It was a nice trip, reminiscing and talking about Aunt Kay and singing theme songs from old shows like "The Magic Door" and "HR Puffnstuff."

My sister Chris said I was still grieving over the death of my father. I was confused. She pointed out that I was frequently posting pictures of him at Bear games and uploading "deep" songs from YouTube. I shrugged it off, but didn't disagree. When Johnny brought in the urn and photo of his mom and dad it all came rushing back to me. I was right back to my dad's service and standing in Johnny's shoes. I felt my heart race and my skin get clammy. Tears welled up in my eyes and I wanted to burst out of the chapel and run, to where I don't know. The service was beautiful. Family and friends told stories about Aunt Kay and we laughed and cried. I saw her smiling in heaven and chuckling a bit. She always snorted at the end of her laugh. It was priceless.

We returned to Aunt Kay's and Johnny's place for the post memorial party and everyone began to eat, drink and be merry. I ate and decided that as emotionally fragile as I was feeling, I had better go or I might decide to have "just one." If I took a drink there would definitely be more, that I was certain of. I said my goodbyes, hugged Johnny and began the journey back to Plainfield. A nap was sure to relax me and get me back on a level plane.

My phone rang. It was a Chicago number. I had been waiting for a call to do a film being shot this weekend called "Lo Stronzo" and was certain that was who was calling. I pulled the car over and called back the number. To my surprise and amazement it wasn't a call for "Lo Stronzo" but a "rush" call for a new TV series being shot in the city. They wanted me in the city immediately to audition. The day was getting crazier by the second. I flew home, changed clothes, prepaid for gas, forgot to put the gas in and made it up to the city for the audition. I think it went well. I did my best. I met a lovely group of people and the rest is up to casting and directors.

Inching my way through rush hour traffic I couldn't help but think of what a bizarre day it was. I was glad it was coming to an end. I arrived home to 3 pee filled psychotic dogs. As I checked my emails I saw that I had gotten the role in "Lo Stronzo." Being unemployed, a callback from the TV series would have made the day perfect but God had a different curve ball to toss at me that night. My happiness at landing the film was replaced by fear, anger, sadness and helplessness.

My son was making lots of calls on his cell and was angry. I stopped him and made him sit and talk with me. Sunny, my middle daughter, who was just coming up on 6 weeks of clean times was with some
"friends" that weren't a great influence on her. My first instinct was to go grab my Louisville Slugger and try some "Walking Tall" justice on these guys, but that only works in the movies. I told my son to cool down and wait for Mom to get home. We would go get her together. I was talking like a big boy. Wow, what a concept.

Of course I played the conversations over and over in my head. The "why?" and "how could you's?" flew through me. I knew why; because she has a problem. Yelling wasn't going to make it better or go away. It was going to make her shut down or run. I've been there and I've done that. We picked her up and took her home. We talked about her withdrawing from recovery meetings and people in recovery and that she was setting herself up for that day long before it got there. I gave her my infamous "Show me your friends and I'll show you your future speech." This time she understood. I didn't rush her to rehab and scream at the moon. Yes, there are some consequences and rules she must now follow by our demand, not suggestion. When a duck acts like a duck I have learned not to be surprised. We set ourselves up for unrealistic expectations when we expect the duck to become a swan, especially in such a short time.

That night, as I lay in bed, I truly felt as if I had spent an entire lifetime that day. There was birth, death and reliving the loss of my father in July and my aunt in December. There was the hope and excitement of a film landed and a possible long term job on a TV series. I felt the temptation and urge of taking the first drink after the memorial service and saw my daughter slip into a temporary set back. It was one heck of a day and I made it through sober.

No where in the bible or spiritual book does it promise that life is going to be easy. It doesn't promise that we will always get what we want or that people will do as we wish. It says nothing about our hearts not being broken a thousand times. They all lived happily ever after is for fairy tales. These books do say though that we can make it through life reasonably sane and happy on faith and love and that we are not alone. That is the key. We have each other to laugh, cry, fight and love with. I am truly grateful that I am not alone any more. God Bless....

A Handsome Prince, The Love of the Lyons and Beautiful Queen Misty!

At midnight, my son Scott turned 16. I call him Bro, he calls me Da. He has a father named Bill and a Da named Tommy. I am very proud of him. That sentence is really pretty stupid! It's like saying a rainbow is pretty. My son is funny, good to his mom and sisters, respectful and a laundry list of the things that make a man a good man. Happy Birthday Bro. I love you. One of the most humbling and gratifying moments of my early sobriety was on my first 
anniversary when my SON took me to the side and said he was proud of me. The world says that speech is supposed to go the other way around, but I'll take it.

Lately, my passion has been reduced to a pilot light, due to life and the things life does to all of us. All along I have stated that there are no coincidences, as far as I'm concerned. We are all a part of a grand chess match that the great creator plays out daily in our lives using events and people to create our next move in the game. My passion was rekindled today.
I've always said that if I help one person avoid or get through the agony of self destruction, self abuse and self hate I went through for 20 plus years, it wasn't a life lived in vain. Today I found out it wasn't lived in vain. One down and I hope many more to go. A friend reached out to me in a message saying I gave her strength through my honesty. She gave me passion to write again and tears of joy flowed with inspiration from hearing her story. Don't you see the chess game? God moved her pawn in front of my rook today just when I needed it. I cried. It felt good letting off some of the steam of being me. She gave me permission to share this story. It is true but not told in her words.

In Mokena there were jocks, rockers and geeks. I was all three because I had 3 parties to go to, but was kind of a straight. Kerry Lyons was a rocker. We were friends. I remember her most starting freshman year of high school. She had great teeth, an amazing smile and a quick sense of humor. We didn't hang out but were always comfortable together when we were around each other. I know I hit on her because she was a "fox" in 80's lingo, but she just laughed at me. I pretty much hit on the whole town of Mokena that was female! She was always in a great mood and I really liked her, like a friend.

After high school Kerry got a job in the family business and got a party pad with Kim Martin, another old Mokena friend, and life was starting out pretty good. The work was steady, she was with the family. It was party hearty on the weekend. I was away at college getting arrested and doing LSD thinking I was going to write the next Tolkien series. Soon Kerry met prince charming. He was handsome, well respected, had a great gig and it seemed like they were on the road to the "American Dream." By now Kerry had begun working with kids with disabilities and other mental challenges. Between the two of them they were doing life right.

They bought a cottage in Wisconsin, so it was work, work, work all week and then shoot up to the summer digs in cheese land on the weekends. A little booze and beer, some weed, nothing too crazy. Then it was back to work 
Monday to start all over again. The marriage was great. They had friendship, love, comfort and it seemed like God had dealt them straight aces. But it's not cards, it's chess remember?

On a weekend, 8 days before their 2nd wedding anniversary, Kerry's husband was killed on the way home from the Wisconsin summer home. She had decided to stay home and do laundry. God changed the game for both of them and one more forever that weekend, not counting the many more lives he had touched.

More than 2000 people attended Kerry's husband's funeral. Hundreds of motorcycles and police escorted him to his final resting place, a reflection of what a truly respected and decent man he was to those who knew him or knew of him. Family, friends and loved ones comforted Kerry for a month, then came the crushing sound of silence and isolation. Being a hard working responsible man, her husband left behind a tidy sum of money to keep Kerry going. It wasn't long before she was REALLY going! Anyone who has been drunk does it for the instant relaxation, the freedom from fear and the escape from reality. In a healthy environment and clear state of mind, that is a fun and a common release. In a time of guilt, loss, emptiness and self-loathing it can set up a time bomb.

Soon Ms. K was downing a fifth of brandy a day to even out the copious amounts of cocaine that fueled the nightly parties. Big payouts bring out the zombies and hangers-on that stay around as long as there is a party, some booze, or dope or money to keep things going. When those things go, so do they. Kerry was spinning out of control and didn't know where to turn. She spent her nights trying to get high enough to finish the job permanently and join her prince and dreading the mornings waking up to see that she hadn't completed her mission. She had faith in God, but with the loss of her husband, the questions of why were pounding in her mind and soul.

Kerry continued to party, but less so, and some friends who were involved in Easter Seals introduced her to a young princess named Misty. She visited the fair princess who was the product of the fostering system on a few occasions. She was still hurting but drawn to this beautiful girl who suffered from serious learning and physical disabilities. Why did she keep going to see her? She couldn't answer the question herself. God was moving in for check mate.

After several visits Kerry decided to take the beautiful Princess Misty home with her. She was still struggling with her own demons. Misty was 2. Her mother gave birth to her drunk and high on angel dust. She was an IV Heroin user. Sweet Misty was born a Junkie. While Misty struggled with her new life, and physical and special needs learning challenges, Kerry began to see things differently in the chess game God laid before her. One night, while the now Queen Misty slept, Kerry questioned her ability as a mother, but knew she would not be an addict like Misty's birth mother. In recovery we call this a "spiritual experience."

Kerry weened off the poisons she was killing herself with an inch at a time, WITH THE HELP OF A FRIEND. She reached out for help and it was there. She worked it a day at a time as both mother and sober person. Queen Misty was soon reevaluated as "normal" and moved to regular classes. She went from the short bus to the long one. Kerry began to work with others in need of help in recovery and assist with special needs children. The love of this mother Lyons was fierce in her pride.

Through the love of a kind, patient, sober mother and gracious God and a fearless hard working daughter, Queen Misty graduated Valedictorian of her grammar school, graduated from Providence Catholic in New Lenox and now attends Illinois State University. She is studying to be a speech pathologist. The death of Kerry's husband is impossible for me to comprehend. To endure that and then turn around and take on the responsibilities of motherhood are mind blowing. She could have fallen apart and given into addiction and just melted into nothingness. She could have just shuffled through life in a fog. But she didn't. She jumped back in and did so with two feet and fists flying. She saved a child and a child saved her. Throw in the fact that the child was severely challenged, mentally and physically, seems like a storybook.

The happy ending to this story is not a fairy tale. It all came true and Queen Misty is passing on more of God's grace to those in need through her career choice in speech pathology. I cried when Kerry told me this story today. I am proud to call her my friend. I hope to meet Queen Misty soon. I have never met royalty. The problem with life is when we try to figure out God. It's like trying to measure the sky with our thumb and our pointer finger. It can't be done. Kerry, you are full of Lyons! Misty, you are a queen! I am honored to be court jester in such a noble kingdom. Thank you for sharing your story and making this world a better place for all of us. Every day is a gift!

I Used To Play God, Sometimes I Still Have to...

When you are caught in the grasp of active addiction the addiction or "drug of choice" becomes your God. It is what has the most power over you and the first thing you turn to when you don't feel the way you want to feel. The God of Heaven is there to be filled in on our plans. He is wonderful when things go our way. He is heartless when he doesn't give us what we want. While I was using I forced my way through life kicking ass and taking names while leaving a huge swath of destruction in my wake. Although it was personal to the victims and hostages I took, it wasn't personal to me. I did what I had to do to survive in my parallel universe.

It always amazed me that I could perform so many tasks with self-control and success in my life, but when it came to alcohol a 12 ounce can of beer was stronger than me. I am absolutely powerless over mind altering chemicals. I have kissed the Blarney Stone in Ireland and driven carefree across that beautiful country. I graduated from college. I have seen success is earthly and spiritual growth is eternal. I have found a new God, or a new perception of Him. He is not there. He is everywhere. He gives us the choice to do as we wish. He is there to pick up the pieces. I know Him by His first name which is love.

My 2nd oldest dog Cooter is having glandular problems again. She cries so much and grunts when she lays down. I look into her eyes and I see the pain deep within. Her wagging tail gets slower by the wiggle. She is almost 12, half blind, half deaf and living in the whole of my heart. I am taking her to the Vet Thursday. I am grateful to be sober and spiritually fit for whatever he tells me that day. I wish Ole Coot could tell me if she's ready to go or wants to hang around. I have been in this spot before and the tears are coming already. I know that God will give me direction. I know I'll do the right thing even if it's the thing I dread most.

Whoever says "they're just pets" doesn't truly understand that these amazing creatures are from God. I would be a liar if I didn't confess that I like animals more than people on most days. It is that love that guides me, even when I don't feel very loving, that I must turn to. It is the love that my FAMILY of animals gives me and my love for them that makes that moment of having to play God so difficult. I'm grateful I'm not God because the decisions He makes make mine seem like child's play. Sometimes the truest gift of love is being able to let go, let God and trust that you did the right thing. I wish above all that our pets could talk just one time, and that one time be when they're ready to head to paradise.

Sometimes....

Sometimes I feel trapped, between a whisper and a scream,
my pant leg snagged in the chain of my life.
If I force my way forward with the pedal in MY hand.
I hear my heart tearing like cloth and lurch back.
But if I call out for some help from above,
I'll make it home dirty but covered in love.

God Bless us All!

Saying I Look Angry......Really Makes Me Mad!

I would like to welcome Hungary to the family as well as multiple check-ins from China. I have yet to reach Australia and Antarctica. Sorry about the re-posts lately. My blogge would not link to Facebook. Of course I am always thinking it's Big Brother out to censor. It's more likely the conspiracy theorist that I am. My theories on conspiracies are best left to Jessie Ventura. I wonder what the world would be like if we knew all the facts about the world we live in. I do know anarchy!

The blogs I have pasted have been on the down side lately. It's a part of living with depression and recovery. A lot of it has to do with my daughter, economy, politics, no jobs and all the other things dragging everyone down lately. I am feeling much better now that the sun is out. I know spring brings 
movie and TV filming in Chicago. I will be better prepared for next winter. Boredom is excruciating to me. Being a Type A personality, I like things fast and furious. When they are on cruise I just can't sit still.

The theatre gig I landed in "My Two Husbands" as Grant Griswold has been a positive experience. I play a smarmy flim-flam man and the cast doesn't seem to like me. When I asked the director why I was getting a chilly reception he quipped 'that I do play the role rather convincingly.' It is a strange paradox that my roles are all shady, dark or brooding. I got offered the roll of "Dad" in the upcoming film "Sidetracked" but as of now I have to turn it down because I have committed to a film in Indiana during August. "Sidetracked" has a 4 month shoot schedule. I have reached out to the director and producer to see if we can work something out to get my scenes done before August. I would be playing a controlling, abusive dad. For the film being shot in August I play an angry, vengeful, macabre character. In the Firestone commercial I played the "Angry Guy".

Do you see a trend here? In the play I am cast as "The guy you love to hate". It is a comedy and I play the part over the top. It's bizarre to me that I am a comic by trade and am cast as unsavory or unreedeeming characters. Anyone who knows me says I always look 'pissed off.' Maybe that is why. Jay, my director friend, says lots of guys have had a helluva career being a bad guy. I am grateful for any role that helps support my family and further my career.

Being the obsessive over-thinking addict and depression sufferer that I am, I try to analyze it. After a great deal of thinking over several cups of Dunkin Donuts coffee I think I have an answer. Those dark figures are a part of my past. When I was homeless I was living like an animal at night and working    9-5 during the day. My depression allows me to see deeper into the shallowness of the character, (insert laugh here).  There are a lot of different method acting devices and character acting tricks that can be employed. I need real life experience and pain or joy to come off as convincing in a part.

I led a dark life ridden with pain, isolation, darkness and selfishness for 20 years. Those characters live in me. I have just arrested them and don't give them access to my outer self unless it's on a stage or set. I am thankful to have the comedy to offset the dark side that keeps finding me in film and commercials. I am realistic that I don't have the looks to play a leading man in a romantic comedy. Maybe in the Phantom of the Opera but I can't sing and can't stand masks! Maybe my ultimate acting role will be as a Disney character at the theme park. On the outside I could be funny, fuzzy and warm and kick the little brats in the shins when they don't listen to their parents!

For those of you who are stereotyped, I feel ya. The important thing is that you don't have to buy into what people think about you. Who you are is between you and God. I hate the stigma that comes with depression and the disdain for the recovering addict. But I don't let those things hold me down. Ignorance is bliss! We all have our issues and people pick on the inhabitants of the "Island of Misfit Toys". It is easier to judge others than to take a hard look at ourselves. I know I did it through addiction. Being human, I still judge others. I try to work on it though. I am not a "drunk"! I AM a recovering alcoholic! I am not a "Dope Fiend"! I AM a recovering addict! I am not "crazy"! I have clinical depression.

Remember "Rudolph"? All the toys from the misfit island find homes. Be yourself. Accept who you are. Change what you can. Know the difference between the two. I am not an angry guy. I am a confident, often cocky, nice guy. I have lots to work on within myself. The work is never done. I can be anyone I want to. You can too! When I used to demand that God should give me what I deserve, I am grateful He didn't take me up on it. I am grateful that I get work as an angry guy and can be fun to work with. All I want at this point in my life is to add something positive to this dark world whenever I have the chance. Sometimes I buy into the chaos. Sometimes I ignore my chance. Sometimes I do just the right thing. I'm okay with being a "Charlie in the box."

An Apology from the Author...I'm Still Me!

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to vent and whine about my blog and if I should continue it or not. I was basing my decision to stop or go based on the amount of readers that I had and commented that readers had fallen from 100 a day to 100 a week. That is the worst thing that I have ever said in this blog and I apologize for it. When I started the blog I made it clear that if I helped one person my years of alcoholism were not spent in vain. Maybe one of those hundred people who checked in to my blog this week got a little shot of hope. My rant violated the basic tenets of recovery assistance. My motives were selfish, not pure.

In alcohol recovery we say the alcohol is removed but the "ism" is always there. I have heard this as an acronym of "I'm Still Me." I am in recovery but the character flaws that drove my addiction are still in me. The drunk in me is always going to live in me. I just have the upper hand and have arrested its' development. These flaws get better, or less powerful in my personality, but it will be a lifetime of repair. There are terms that are taken from recovery literature that fit me to the letter. I am an "Ego-maniac with low self esteem." I suffer from "terminal uniqueness." I also still seek approval and want everyone to love me. It is okay for me not to love or approve of everyone, but I want everyone to think I am the swellest guy. What a great guy!

There are pure and selfish motives. Until a few days ago my blog was written with pure motives. My request to vote on the blog was an attempt to seek approval for my work. It was a selfish motive. My dear friend Linda got me to reassess my motives in writing the blog. I have shared the messy details of my life and from the comments and emails I know my work is useful to some. That's all that is important. It is also important to me to review and repair the wrongs I have done to society, friends and loved ones. Ultimately I am baring my soul to rid myself of the baggage I have carried for so long.

I have written about how addiction is an equal opportunity killer. I have droned on about how the disease doesn't care about money,class or race. When we found out about our daughter's struggles I felt like I failed her, my wife and myself. At the root of addiction is low self esteem or self-criticism. In a drunken rage or high an addict verbalizes and criticizes those around them. It's nothing like the number we do on ourselves. The thought that I did not see the "signs" of addiction in my daughter made me question a lot of things about myself. I reached out to you to pat me on the back and lighten my load of feeling like a failure.

It's easy for me to share the pain that I have endured and relate how I alienated my wife and family. When the subject turned to my daughter I had to see her from the view of a daddy and an addict. Both crushed me. Seeing my wife endure another possible addiction roller coaster was my first chance to see the look in her eyes that I created hundreds of times. I felt it to the depth of my soul. It was a moment of clarity in seeing the years of pain I put her through. As a blackout drinker I don't remember most of the horrible things I said to her and others. She remembers every mean, cutting remark I made. In the last few days I am on the other side of the addiction coin. I feel her pain. It is not only the pain and uncertainty of our daughter's situation but a sobering reminder of my past. Now I feel her pain.

At this point our baby is doing all the right things. I am an optimist cloaked in a realist. I know that I am powerless over other people's actions. That's the bitch of the matter! I have redoubled my recovery maintenance and am going to be starting on a new road with my life. I have blogged about the loved ones of addicts and now I am one. There are many recovery groups for the family members of addicts or the children of addict parents. My wife and I will now be attending these meetings together. She is also going to venture out on her own and work on her own recovery. Since addiction is a family disease it is also a family recovery.

I don't know why addiction picked our family. It doesn't really matter. Asking why, how come or where did I go wrong is of no value. The answer is in solutions, not reviewing the problems. It doesn't matter why. It is what it is. Obviously I won't be sharing intimate details of my daughter's recovery. That's for the family only. However I will share my feelings and experiences on the new journey we are taking with her as a part of family recovery. God works in strange ways. I have stopped questioning him. I stand by my premise that there are no coincidences.

If you are suffering with an addict or are enabling or co-dependent there is help out there. If God wanted us to handle life alone He would have stopped at Adam. There is strength in numbers. Sharing our experience, strength, hope, good and bad is how healing begins. It's also the reason recovery groups continue to exist and grow. My intentions are pure. My motives are right. I want to thank you for letting me share my life, my soul, darkness and light with you. I will continue on with my blog until God has another assignment for me.

Life with a Drunk or Addict Makes You Feel Like Damaged Goods!

I have spent a lot of time sharing stories about my experiences with the destruction that I created while drinking and using. I grew up in an environment where alcohol was always in the picture so I see things from both perspectives. I have only briefly touched on my wife's feelings trying to deal with my self-destruction and the personal hell that loved ones go through living with addicted people. Yesterday I learned a lot more about her turmoil and frustrations that I was responsible for creating. Two incidents that occurred during the day gave me a direct line into what she was thinking and how she felt during my "lost moments." She has also promised to write a blog aimed directly at those who suffer along with the active user.

I spent my tender years with 3 heavy drinkers. Whether they were alcoholic is not for me to determine. That condition has to be determined by the user themselves. I do remember that I felt like I was always dealing with multiple personalities. I was never sure what "mood" the drinkers in my life would be in and had to be ready to morph into whatever character would upset them the least. I spent my time walking on egg shells and felt deep dread when I stood at the door wondering which personality would be waiting on the other side.

For some strange cosmic reason people who grow up around substance abuse, or over use, are attracted to friends and lovers who suffer from the same conditions. You would think that we would run away from people like me. Before I became an active alcoholic and addict I knew that I was drawn to troubled people. I felt as though I could save them. I felt helpless around my loved ones who "relaxed" too much. So I made it my personal goal to find someone I could "fix." I wanted to save every man, woman, child, dog and a few cats from having to deal with people like the one I became. I inevitably found myself with people who were emotionally unavailable and treated me like crap. Feeling like crap was normal to me and somewhere along the line I concluded that this is what I deserved.

 I was also drawn to the seemingly healthy minded so that I could seek out their flaws and exploit them through criticism and hurtful words. The thought of someone living in a well-adjusted, healthy world was impossible for me to grasp. They had to be faking it. I took the time to find something wrong and point out where the defects were. It made me feel somehow vindicated to tear down people to my level of pain. Even if I had to manufacture it. I sought out healthy people because I was jealous of their well adjusted behavior and felt the need to show them what "real life" was like, that dysfunction was the norm and the apparently well-adjusted were hiding something.

Yesterday Squeaky and I went to a recovery meeting that focuses on relationships. The people who attend are couples that have one person with addiction issues and their significant other. There are also husbands and wives of alcoholics and addicts who were enablers or caught in the cross hairs of the wrath an addict spews at the innocent while they're under the influence. It is the bringing together of the perpetrators and the victims to discuss recovery. Those who love us addicts and alcoholics need and have their own place to heal and vent and get well. I am glad they have these places.

I was a blackout drinker and don't remember many of the things I said or did under the influence. My wife has it worse because she remembers it all. The unreachability, indifference, anguish, helplessness and insecurity of living with an active user creates severe damage to the spectators who have to sit and watch their loved one self-destruct and possibly take them down with them. My wife and some other spouses of alcoholic addicts spoke up about their feelings and accounts of life with an addict. It really opened my eyes. Later in the evening my eyes were opened even more.

I had never considered many of the daily experiences and work that goes into living with an active addict. As a proud Italian, my wife was standing by her man. While I was unraveling she was following behind me rolling up the string of damage I was creating. She was the actor, not me. She had to put her game face on when I didn't show up for family functions or concoct stories to cover for the fact that I was home in bed with yet another brutal hangover. Anger and the discomfort of wondering"What would the the neighbors think?" or "What am I gonna tell Ma this week?" were always facing her. There was the reassurance to the kids that everything would be alright. It was a grand charade that required constant attention, planning, lies, stories and cover-ups on a colossal stage.

She made the comment of feeling like "damaged goods." Her remark hit me like a right hook. While I was going crazy the dedication to our marriage was a constant burden and made her begin to feel as if she was going crazy too. She felt like something was wrong with her, realizing she found herself in a second relationship where alcohol issues were prominent. When I stopped drinking a whole new set of emotional landmines went off around her.

How could a bunch of drunks and junkies keep me sober and she couldn't? There was resentment that I spent so much time with people in recovery after leaving her feeling abandoned for so long. What had she done wrong? The answer is nothing. Addicted people need the help of those who are recovering from addiction. The spouses of the addict need to spend their time with other spouses of addicts. They are both vital to the recovery of the family. If you are an addict and you say you're not hurting anyone but yourself, you're not fooling anybody but yourself. My sickness made everyone sick. My recovery is helping every one recover.

I have recounted times when I wet the bed after drinking too much. My wife endured every painful moment of those disturbing incidents. Trapped in my addiction I was able to justify it and just fixed it by scrubbing the bed. I never realized that our bed wasn't covered with fancy pillows and comforters for a reason. There was. My wife didn't want me to ruin such beautiful things with my late night loss of bladder control.

On the anniversary of my 6th month of sobriety my wife was going to let me buy a drum set, a passion I had in high school. She was glad to have her husband back and eager for me to find new habits to replace the old ones. On the way to the drum store we passed a mattress shop. My selfish side left me at just the right moment and God steered me to the mattresses, not the drums. She picked out the bed she wanted. I could see the happiness in her eyes and relief that the old mattress could be erased from our lives forever. We got our new mattress and today it has pretty pillows and comforters. It is amazing that since I have stopped drinking my bladder control problems have disappeared. It must be the new bed.

A few weeks ago we got our fourth dog. Her name is Fiona Apple Schmutzy Connolly. She is a puppy and full of life. That is a nice way of saying she is a typical puppy and out of her mind. We have been allowing her to sleep on the bed with us and Gracie, our other Pekingese-Chin dog. We enjoy having them up there with us and it keeps "The Schmutz" out of trouble while we sleep. We had settled into bed with our canine companions and I went down stairs for something to drink.

My wife gets mad but usually not loud. As I sipped some Kool-Aid I heard some very bad words coming from upstairs and a teeth gritted command for Fiona to flee the area for her own safety and well being. I flew up the stairs and found Fiona, head down, knowing she had done something wrong and my wife bundling up the pretty bedding. Right between our two pillows was a wet spot. Schmutzy had peed the bed. I yelled at the puppy and took her outside. We do not believe in corporal punishment for our kids or animals. My tone let Fiona know she had made the pack leaders very unhappy. I am the Irish "Dog Whisperer."

At that instant I felt what my wife had felt so many times after dealing with me when I was doing the Fiona-act. She felt angry, violated, inconvenienced and pissed that her beautiful bed had been soiled. I quietly helped unmake and remake our bed and comforted my wife. I expressed to her that I now knew what it must have felt like dealing with that from a grown man. I told her I would do the laundry in the morning and relax. She put her head back down on her pillow and I stroked her hair. She really likes that. Today the sheets are clean and Fiona seems to have learned a lesson, but then again she is a puppy.

What I learned is that all the lying, manipulating, controlling and covering that I did when using, planning on using, or recovering from using is not exclusive to the drunk or addict. Our loved ones have their own hell to face and games to play. I am grateful that my wife didn't leave me. I see her strength and it makes me love her more. I know the I'm sorry's I spit out like sunflower seed shells while drunk won't cut it anymore. I show my sorrow by being a good husband, friend and father daily to the best of my ability. I won't do it perfectly but I will try my best. I drank for 20 years. I won't fix everything I broke in 2 years. It is a daily repair job, like staying sober a day at a time.

For those of you who suffer with an addict or alcoholic, thanks for all you do and endure. We don't mean to hurt you and the sickness of addiction doesn't afford us the ability to see the destruction we leave in our wake. There are lots of support groups out there. Find one for yourself and your sanity. I am not telling you to stay with or leave a person who is in the grips of addiction. That is a difficult decision each person must face. The one thing I want all spouses, loved ones and friends to know about addiction is that it's NOT YOUR FAULT WE ARE DRUNKS OR ADDICTS! Understanding that is your first step to recovering you.