Learning to Live: Unbelievable

Learning to Live: Unbelievable: Unbelievable When I was young I was told I can be anything I want when I grow up. All my dreams would come true if I just believe...

Unbelievable

Unbelievable

When I was young I was told I can be anything I want when I grow up.

All my dreams would come true if I just believed enough.

The sky is the limit,

I was told.

But the people telling me to shoot for the stars,

The people telling me to dream big,

Well, they’re all grounded in reality.

Mom had dreams of being on T.V.

She wanted to give the news, which was news to me.

Instead she took the safety of a comfortable job.

And, she’s been instilling finger painting knowledge to future something-or-other’s ever since.

And, ever since she’s been coming home and marking off the days until retirement.

Coming home and saying, “Guess what Suzy did today?”

And, “These damn kids can’t sit still.”

And, “It’s like their heads are in the clouds.”

And Pops, he just watches baseball and nods.

Pops is busy is busy retracing the footsteps of his past.

Running that diamond in his mind.

Touching home plate, and waving to the crowd.

But there is no curtain call.

Pops was a star.

He was way up in those clouds.

A major league baseball team gave him a contract and some confidence right out of high school.

Pops was the next big name shortstop.

But his dream was stopped short.

His dream had a time limit.

And, he had to get on with a stable job, and a stable life.

And now it’s, “Baseball players today,” this,

And, “They just don’t play for the love of the game,” that.

Well, if you love something set it free.

I guess.

Pops has been living part of that major league life, though.

He’s been getting passed around and passed on ever since.

Stable jobs need stable legs,

Need a stable back.

Who knew the stable life was so unstable?

As for me,

I’m told I can be anything I want.

Hold on to my dreams and don’t let go,

I’m told.

So, I dreamed big like all kids do.

I let my mind wander in the stars.

But, dreams don’t pay the bills.

You can’t build a house up in those clouds;

It’s too unstable.

And so I wrote off my dreams of becoming writer,

And left the film career on the cutting room floor.

And as for the acting aspirations,

Well, I guess I’ve been playing the part ever since.

…?

            What you have just read is a portion of an unfinished poem I have been working on for almost 2 years now. It sounds strange to say that I have been working on anything for almost two years, let alone a poem. Yet, at the same time it feels very fitting to the new direction of my life. You see, a little over two years ago I made the terrifying decision to leave an old identity behind, and begin the process of shaping an entirely different, entirely unpredictable and entirely new identity. As the fog of self-abuse began to lift from my brain it became suddenly clear to me that I had no idea who I was. I had no substance or character to my life, and I had developed a diluted and fearful view of the world. My life was lacking passion, and I had left it somewhere along the road to life’s current position. “Unbelievable” is an unraveling of how life experiences we hardly notice, experiences that embed deep in our subconscious, actually shape the people we become.

            I think I experienced a major existential crisis at an early age, and the first few stanzas are my not so subtle way of pointing this out. Straight out of the womb we are told that we can be anything we want in this life. For the first few years, dreaming is promoted by everyone around us. Parents, teachers and strangers help to cultivate our sense of curiosity and actively praise us as we walk down the street dressed as Spider-Man. It’s almost certain a handful of these adults still long to wear blue and red spandex to the grocery store, as well. However, the majority of adults have succumbed to reality, and know that their little day dreamers will one day “grow out of it.” They know what we, as children, have yet to comprehend; using your imagination hardly pays the bills.

            I was a sponge, as most children are, and while I’m sure I heard the words, “Shoot for the stars,” the actions of the people speaking these words presented a different reality. As we grow, our subconscious is constantly absorbing the world around us, and even though we don’t notice this, it is slowly formulating opinions that bubble up to the surface. The next few stanzas represent, metaphorically speaking, this process. (I feel the need at this time to point out that my parents are wonderfully caring and hardworking people. Although this poem is based on my life, it is a very condensed version of a complicated process.)

            Growing up I was always told that my dad had at one time had a shot at becoming a professional athlete, and I was also all too aware that, because of a time limit he place on this dream, he had not succeeded. I was not aware, however, that my mom had ever wanted to be anything but a kindergarten teacher. It was a shock to me when I later found out she had gone to college to become a news anchor. So, these few stanzas play out this reality. The reader witnesses, as did I, my mom taking an immediate job that was going to pay the bills, and my father shortly following her lead. Both mom and dad had lofty goals originally, and from a combination of not following through and life’s unexpected curveballs these dreams never became reality. I’m sure neither hated the work they were performing, but both had also never wanted to do what they were now doing. Eventually, when nine to five is just a means to survive, it begins to show in the form of exhaustion, stress and anger. This makes an impression on a young child, as it did me. I also toy with this notion when I make the transition from me being told that the sky is the limit, to my mom coming home and not being able to understand why the children can’t sit still. I try to point out that my parents are not making the connection that they were once little kids with huge dreams, and even though theirs did not become a reality, they are now in a position to cultivate the dreams of others.

            The next stanza about stability, or lack there of, says a lot in a few short sentences. First, I’m pointing out the irony in this misperceived notion of stability. After leaving what was seen as an unstable profession, my father, not for lack of effort, proceeded to land one unstable job after the next. This decision has also served as a constant “what if” that has loomed over his head. This is where I began to formulate my world view that life was meaningless. I could not comprehend a world in which we slaved away our whole lives in order to simply get by. I couldn’t understand why my parents wanted me to waste my time in school when it would only serve the purpose of landing me a slightly higher paying job that I would loath. After all, my mother had gone to college and it didn’t seem to have paid off for her. After wrestling with these thoughts, I dropped out of school, and decided to get busy working. The last line poses a glimmer of hope, however. I present the notion that if there is no guaranteed stability in any of life’s choices, the answer might lie in following the path that brings the most joy. I didn’t understand this logic until recently, though.

            So, the notions of responsibility and financial stability took the place of my dreams. I wanted a career where my creativity and vivid imagination were my biggest assets, but jobs like that seemed more of a figment of said imagination than an actuality. When I was in school I studied business because, well, businessmen make money. After I had dropped out of school I was not succeeding in making any money, and I was still just as unhappy. Eventually, I found something that enabled me to not have to think or feel: alcohol. Alcohol allowed the days to blend into one so that the meaningless time I spent on this planet would be bearable. But, with the temporary sense of comfort alcohol gave me, it also brought a very real sense of terror. I eventually had to weigh my options; continue killing myself or find a new way to make this world worth living for.

            Thankfully, I chose the latter, and this is where the poem leaves off, but my life begins. I have countless journals filled with scribbles of the process of learning how to live again. In the pages of some of these journals are the lessons I’ve learned that will make up the next few lines of this poem. For example, I now see that while my parents’ lives may have turned out differently than they expected, they never gave up. They especially never gave up on me. In fact, they gave everything to me, even a second chance at life. It is from this second chance at life that I have finally realized that life can be whatever you want it to be. Everyday we actively shape the world around us through a filter of previous life experience, and that filter can build us up or break us down. However, sometimes it’s from the bottom that we have the best view. It was at the bottom that I learned to remove my filter, and look at life as a blank slate, or a blank piece of paper as it were. This poem, in its entirety, serves to show that I have chosen to follow my dreams and write again, and that I am the author of my life. I chose to title this “Unbelievable” because, after all, life can be whatever we want it to be, but the hardest part is believing that statement to be true.

A letter to a friend

Here's where I'm going to get philosophical... ready. (I'm sure you have thought about this stuff to an extent. You're very smart. Doesn't hurt to hear it again. Honestly, a lot of this has been picked up here and there a long the way, and I have chosen to own it.)

You truly become your thoughts. Your thoughts become actions, and your actions create the reality that you live in. I thought the world was a very horrible place for a long time because I was a negative piece of shit. I criticized everything and had to prove everyone wrong (I still do this, but I do it when it's stuff I'm interested in and I want to talk about it. People just think I'm being a know it all, but I'm just super excited to talk about sciency stuff. Ass!) I increasingly started to become more and more miserable, and it started to show in my attitude, my physical appearance and overall life in general.

If you change the way you look at things, what you look at changes. This is the hardest thing in the world to to. You have to start spotting your faulty beliefs, then tell yourself not to think those things, even though it's the only way you have ever thought. You have to fucking battle your own mind. It's very strange to try and tell yourself that YOU are lying to YOU, and not listen. But, this is what you have to do. Spot the faulty thinking, and don't listen to yourself. Ever. Even when you seem right. You are your own worst enemy. (Although, eventually you will become right. Right?)

How do you do this? I don't know. You start learning how to look, I guess. In every situation you have infinite choices and endless points of view. None of which are wrong.

You see the same shit the same way every single day. We start to forget that there are infinite ways of approaching and looking at life. We think, because we are very egotistical, that our way is the only way. We don't make a conscious connection to this, but trust me this is how we, as humans, work. The only metaphor I can give you to help you see how to switch your perspective is this: Have you ever driven in the passenger seat of your own car? Probably not in a while. (Seriously have someone drive you around in your car sometime this week.) It is so fucking weird. Everything is exactly the same, but completely different. That's how you need to start looking at life. You need to move over and sit in the passenger seat of life. It opens up a whole new world. Your vision isn't just focused on what is directly in front of you. You can look around, relax and enjoy yourself, all from the same vehicle.

When you start to fix the thinking, your whole world changes. It doesn't come over night, so you just have to accept this. Make a decision right now to start living and thinking differently, and believe with all your heart that in time you will change; physically and mentally. You won't really notice it happening, but others around you will. You just focus your energy on being a good person. On being the best person you can be to yourself, and to others. The rest will fall into place with time. Time is not your enemy! It is on your side! If you expect to make a lasting change in yourself, you have to invest serious time. If you believe with all your heart, and have faith in yourself, that you can change, you can actually start living that life right now. If you know you're going to be a truly happy, stress free person six months from now... start living that way in your head today. Live the present like it's tomorrow. (I know there's all this hype about living in the now, but if your present moment is miserable, live like it's tomorrow.)

I'm living proof of this! How the hell do you think I have made it this far? I was riddled with anxiety, couldn't sit still, scared that my whole life was changing, afraid, sad, lonely... but I knew with all my heart that if I kept working my ass off I would come out of this okay. I have never seen the light at the end of the tunnel. I have been scared from day one! But I keep faith that each day will get better than the last, even when I feel that there is no way it will. And, every time things are at their worst, and I feel like I want to die, I push harder!! And, even when there seems no fucking end to that, I push harder still!! And, every time... every single time I have felt at my lowest, I break out of it and think, God Damn! This life is amazing!

Life is amazing! So, start living today as if it is... even if you don't necessarily believe it yet. ;)

This is your Brain on Drugs

Addiction

            It is estimated that worldwide 76.3 million people suffer from alcohol dependence, a shocking statistic that doesn’t account for the millions of people addicted to illegal and legal drugs, food, sex, gambling, pornography, etc (Muller, Sturm, Voges, Heinze, Galazky, Heldmann, Scheich & Bogerts, 2009). Addiction is a condition that results when a person ingests a substance, or takes part in an activity that is pleasurable, and after continued use can cause behavior that leads to interference with the normal responsibilities of daily life. Cravings and compulsions are terms often used to describe an addict’s desire to use the substance or participate in said activity. A key characteristic of addiction is marked by repeated attempts to resist the urges caused by these cravings and compulsions, with little to no success. Attempts to stop the use of addictive substances are also accompanied by withdrawal symptoms such as irritability, anxiety, shakes and nausea. And, often times the friends and family of the addict will be well aware of the growing problem long before the addict himself (Psychology Today, 2011). However, these are only the outward, visible signs of addiction, and it’s now being discovered that far more is occurring in the addict’s brain, below the surface, than once thought.

            After a four year process involving more than 80 experts, the American Society of Addiction Medicine (ASAM) released a new definition of addiction as a chronic brain disorder.  Ever growing advancements in the field of neuroscience helped to convince the ASAM officials that addiction should be redefined by the processes taking place in the brain (Live Science, 2011).

            There are multiple theories of the exact processes, and brain regions, involved in addiction. However, one of the most prominent of these theories involves a disruption of the reward pathway. The ventral tegmental area, located at the center of the brain, plays a central role in the reward pathway. The VTA is essential for determining how well various fundamental human needs are being met, and it passes this information on to other brain areas via the brain’s chemical messengers (Dubuc, 2002). People feel pleasure when neurons in this reward pathway release a neurotransmitter called dopamine into areas of the brain such as the nucleus accumbens, the amygdala, and the prefrontal cortex. When dopamine is released into the synapse, it crosses over to the next neuron and binds to it, providing an increase in pleasure. Excess dopamine is then taken back up by the releasing neuron, in a process called reuptake, and GABA (an inhibitory neurotransmitter) works to prevent over stimulation of the receptor neuron. Simply put, addictive substances disrupt these processes and increase the amount of dopamine in the synapse, giving the user a heightened feeling of pleasure. Repeated use of drugs and alcohol disrupt the normal balance of brain circuits that control reward, memory and cognition, and ultimately addiction occurs (TIME, 2011).

            Another theory involves dysfunction of the dopaminergic transmission to the prefrontal cortex and the anterior cingulate gyrus. Dysfunction in these areas leads to problems with inhibitory control and decision making, which would help to explain inability to resist abusive behavior even though the addict knows the negative consequences (Van den Broek, 2008). 

Case Study

            This case study focused on three individuals that had all struggled with alcoholism for much of their lives. All three patients were chosen based on their severity of struggles with alcoholism, their lack of success with long-term inpatient therapy, and their having an education level of at least nine years. The patients were all administered the same deep brain stimulation (of varying frequencies) technique, in which the nucleus accumbens was targeted. Also, after deep brain stimulation, the patients received no additional psychotherapy or anti-craving medication besides routine assessment (Muller et al., 2009).

            Deep brain stimulation (DBS) is a safe surgical procedure that has been used successfully in neurology for over 15 years in the treatment of diseases such as Parkinson’s. The process involves the implanting of electrodes within specified regions of the brain. After implantation, electrical currents are transmitted through the electrodes which affect brain cells and chemicals. The amount of stimulation is controlled by a pacemaker-like device that is implanted under the skin of the patient above the collar bone. A wire then connects the device to the electrodes in the brain (Mayo Foundation for Medical Education and Research, 2011).

            Patient one is a 36-year-old male who started drinking at the age of 12. He averaged about two liters of alcohol a day, and throughout his struggles he has been admitted to numerous inpatient detoxifications and long-term inpatient therapies (LTIT). Even with all the help, his longest period remaining abstinent from alcohol, prior to DBS, was only six months. After implantation and initiation of the DBS, the patient has remained abstinent from alcohol for 18 months. He reports that he feels no cravings for alcohol, enjoys normal daily life activities and did not experience any adverse physiological symptoms from the implantation.

            Patient two is a 37-year-old male who started drinking at the age of 11. His mother, father and the majority of his first degree relatives are all alcoholics. He received his first inpatient detoxification at the age of 15, and has participated in, and finished, three LTITs. After his first LTIT he remained sober for three years, but described massive alcohol cravings whenever faced with the slightest cue stimuli. He states that he spent much of his time and effort avoiding being exposed to these alcohol related stimuli. After initiation of DBS he has remained abstinent from alcohol since January 2008 (at time of publication). During the first two weeks after implantation, he developed a hypomanic period that subsided after adjustment of the stimulation. He reports that cravings have completely disappeared, and his nicotine consumption has gone down from 40 to 15 cigarettes a day.

Patient three is a 40-year-old male who began drinking in his early teens. By the time he was 30 he was drinking up to three liters of alcohol a day. The patient has only participated in one LTIT of seven weeks, and states that he cannot remember being sober for more a few months during his struggles with alcoholism. During this time the patient has had several troubles with the law, and even served two years of a three year sentence in a forensic psychiatric hospital. After initiation of DBS the patient has had four relapses, all of which he was able to stop at his own will. Even with the relapses, the patient has put together 12 months of sobriety, and recalls that he had not been able to do this in the 10 years prior to DBS. In his own opinion, DBS has changed his life (Muller et al., 2009).

Discussion

            Although it is hard to find this study being replicated anywhere, just yet, I believe it is only the beginning in a new direction for addiction related treatments. Even though DBS is not practical, being that it requires surgery and can cost upwards of $30,000 dollars, it has provided a new way to look at addiction other than it being a behavioral or spiritual problem. I sincerely believe that this is the beginning of a paradigm shift in the way addiction is treated and even viewed by the public. 

Happy 4th!

   I wrote this last 4th of July after downing my third cup of coffee and anxiously awaiting my first alcohol free Independence Day since, well, I don't know.  You can tell I was still a little bitter about not being "allowed" to drink. I quote that to emphasize the sarcasm in the statement. Be safe and take a moment to appreciate the people you spend this day with.


       Oh, the Fourth of July. America's Independence Day. A time for all red-blooded Americans to come together over their good ol' Webber grills and celebrate our nation's freedom. A time to reflect back on generations before us and a time to huddle with our future generations to watch the sky ignite in a rainbow of fire. It's a time where for at least just one moment we can remember, We all make up one nation under God.
       It's also a time to say, "Fuck it!" And drink 'till you forget who you are. It's a time to remember that the only thing in your stomach is good 'ol American Budwiser, and force yourself to eat the last cold and blackened, sand encrusted wiener from the Webber. It's a time to embrace your freedom while you're floating on a raft, drinking your Pabst just outside the reach of the long arm of the law. It's a time to blow up a watermelon with a stick of dynamite.
       So, as you ride off into the night on a bike you just found, under the red, white and blue explosions in the sky, remind yourself, We are one nation under God, therefore, "This bike is my bike, too!"
                                                                   Happy 4th

It rained the other day

            The other day I washed my car and it rained right afterward. This isn’t an unusual occurrence, or for that matter a common occurrence, except for the fact that I didn’t notice it happened.

            Let me back up. So, a couple of days back I decided to wash my car because, well, it seems I have nothing better to do on a gorgeous, sunny afternoon. After driving around town letting the car drip dry, and checking several Redboxes for “Monsters vs. Aliens,” I headed home. As I stepped out of my car and looked out towards the bay, not only could I see the rain approaching, but I could smell it and feel it in the air. The sky had an ominous red tone, and the air actually had a noticeable weight to it. I took a deep breath, smiled and enjoyed the view for a moment. I decided to go in when I realized it probably looked strange that I was standing in the middle of the road sniffing the atmosphere. The fact that I had just washed my car had escaped me. I welcomed the rain.

            Later, while sitting on the couch reading, I began to hear heavy rain drops hitting the tile of the entryway to my building. I opened my blinds and cracked the window to fully experience this sudden spring rain. The thought crossed my mind how strange it was that it had been such a beautiful day and now it was raining, but never once did I connect those thoughts to having just washed my car.

            The next day, as I walked out of my building, I noticed my neighbors black car covered in little craters of dirt where it had been repeatedly hit by those heavy drops from the previous night. I looked at my car, parked in front of hers, and it was spotless. I still didn’t really make the connection, the connection I’m referring to, at this point. I just sort of acknowledged the fact that my car was cleaner because I had washed it the day before and got in and drove away.

            It wasn’t until later, when I was sitting in Balboa Park, that I had this strange realization. It had rained right after I washed my car and I hadn’t even noticed. I few weeks back when I washed my car and it didn’t rain, I surely noticed.

            This was big. Now, I know it’s bizarre that I’m noticing the thoughts that I’m not noticing, but those thoughts let you appreciate, even more, all the other mindless thinking. It’s hard to step back and take in the whole picture of anything, especially life. But, but only when we do can we notice or create change.

            For much of my adult life I have felt the world is out to get me, but due to a random rain shower I had the opportunity to notice that for once, the world had nothing to do with my internal state of being. It rained because it rained. That’s it. Not because I had just washed my car, and it always rains after I wash my car. Not because that’s how my luck works, or because that’s my lot in life. It rained because it rained. I had the perfect opportunity to turn this into a negative thought, and I didn’t. Furthermore, it became and even more positive thought with the realization that I’m changing. I’ve put incredible effort into improving my life, and I’m noticing and appreciating the rewards.

            It would seem, if even for today, the world is not out to get me anymore. My luck isn’t changing for the better or worse on a day-to-day basis. For that matter, there really are no good or bad days; there are just days, and I, a good person, exist within them.

What's the point?

So, I've decided to change my blog. I know my two followers will be devastated, but that was then and this is now. It's time to move forward.

The old deal was supposed to be about learning to live life, and at that time it seemed my life was all about sobriety. But, that's not me. I mean, I am sober, but sobriety does not define who I am. Other than the fact that I have to monitor it every second of every day for the rest of my life, I rarely think about being sober. It's not like I'm planning to make a career out of it... Oh, wait. Well, I can cross that bridge when I get there.

For now, however, there is the other me that is running around like a fucking chicken with my head cut off, trying to make sense of this seemingly meaningless world and the people in it. Yeah, I said meaningless. That's how I feel. I mean, I didn't ask to be born into this world, and yet, here I am with a list of rules to follow. And, these are the type of rules that tell you what you can't do, not what you're supposed to do. I feel just as lost as when I was 13 and had a face full of acne and a constant boner. Except now, I don't have someone holding my hand and saying, "Belt tuck that erection, son. It's time to get to your next class." I've got to figure this shit out all on my own, and it's scary as hell.

Now, I understand that I'm 31 and I should have this shit figured out by now, but you have to remember, I've been in an alcohol induced coma for the past 10 years. (I don't think anyone will ever understand how unbelievably bad it got.) Plus, I don't think anyone ever really figures this out. And, that's got to be beauty of it all, right? The meaning behind this? Everyday, when we make the choice to get up and face this scary fucking world, we are making something out of nothing. We are creating art with every breath.

I want to share my art with you.

So, sometimes I'm going to feel like saying cheesy shit like, "I want to share my art with you." And, sometimes I'm going to want to say, "Fuckity fuck fuck!!" Other times, I might feel like expressing my disdain for Asians with blond hair, and in the same breath might talk about the beautiful baby hummingbird I saw yesterday. I might even share the story of the time I fell over, but ass naked, and landed ass first on a plate containing a mountain of Sriracha and a scalding hot Hot Pocket. I don't even know where I'm going with this right now...

...Okay, I blacked out there for a second. I'm back! Literally and figuratively. And, in honor of this new direction I'm going, I made today a "day of firsts". I shaved my beard into a mustache fit for porn, signed up for Twitter, and ate my first Big Mac ever. And, I'll be the first to say, my life is like an Amish porn, Twitter is kinda lame (after attacking it like Charlie Sheen all day), and the Big Mac left my body quicker than it went in.

I wish I had some way to finish up this nonsense...

Back in school...

Well, school has been back in session for four weeks and this is the first thing I have had to turn in. So much has happened in my life in the past month (passing my year mark on sobriety, my 31st birthday, buying the first new car I've ever owned... etc, etc.) and yet, I chose to post this. It goes to show that I only write well under pressure. This is due in eight hours. I guess I'm getting better at not procrastinating.

So anyway, if you know someone that's an alcoholic or a drug addict refer 'em to this. It helped me to write it, hopefully it will help someone to read it.

This is for a psychology class and the topic was something like this: "Think about your hopes and plans for your future. State your hopes plans...yada, yada... then use our three part framework (Biological, Behavioral/Learning, Cognitive) to discuss the career demands in each area..."

I might not have completely followed the directions.

My Brilliant Future

I had originally gone to school, around 10 years ago, to become a business major, but dropped out and spent the next several years in an alcohol/drug induced stupor. Before I completely hit bottom, and subsequently checked myself into the hospital, I somehow managed to apply and get accepted to CSUSM. It was in rehab I got my first real experience with professional therapy and decided to switch my major and pursue a career as a drug/alcohol counselor. More recently I’ve decided not to stop at just “counselor”, and pursue my academia as far as possible.

Biological

            I would have to say that my genetic make up needs to be looked at with a “glass is half-full” attitude. My father is an exceptional athlete who, at the age of 17, was drafted straight from high school to play professional baseball for the Cardinals (He never went pro). While I inherited much of his athletic ability, I also inherited asthma. I’ve since out grown the asthma, and even though I played sports throughout most of my childhood, I believe the asthma held me back from reaching my full athletic potential. From my father I also received a knack for art. However, we differ in the fact that my dad has the amazing ability to draw anything he sees, whereas I have the natural ability to paint a picture with words. I believe that my ability to articulate myself so well will be a major asset in the field of therapy.

            With all narcissism aside, I am very intelligent. I’m not saying my pops isn’t smart, but I am pretty sure my intelligence has been passed down from my mother’s side of the family. My mom is a college graduate, a fact that sometimes eludes me because she has spent the past 30 plus years teaching kindergarteners. Because my mother’s father died when she was 12 I never met him, however both of my uncles are brilliant. One graduated from UCLA and went on to become a lawyer, and the other, well, he navigated a ship to Australia in the 60’s (having absolutely no knowledge of how to navigate a boat) and now works for the Australian magistrate. Like my uncles, I have a very analytic mind and have spent much of my new sober life analyzing the recovery process; perhaps a bit too much.

            Unfortunately, I was also passed down the alcoholic gene from my father’s father. During much of my adult years alcoholism had full control of my life. However, now sober, and with a “glass half-full” (oh the irony) outlook on life, I see this as the greatest blessing ever. Not only has it given me the opportunity to see life from a whole new perspective, which I will discuss later, but it has given me the distinct advantage of knowing and feeling exactly what an alcoholic has suffered through.

            Lastly, my temperament can simply be described as neurotic. I am very high in emotionality. Anyone that knows me would tell you the exact opposite though, which puts me somewhere in the vicinity of the shyest extrovert ever. I am extremely insecure, fearful, and introverted, yet once I feel comfortable I am the exact opposite. Being so polar opposite is probably one of the reasons I chose to numb myself to the world for so long. I feel this neuroticism, mixed with my intelligence, has made for a great cocktail. I am hypersensitive to my feelings now, yet am infatuated with the processes that lead up to those feelings. Knowing what makes me tick, what makes me feel better, and what keeps me sober and happy is my number one asset I can bring with me into the field of addiction.

Behaviorist

            Throughout my struggles with alcoholism I developed a very dysfunctional system of rewards and punishments. When I would feel anxious, depressed or fearful I would “reward” myself with a drink because I knew it would make me feel better. Alcohol became my go to solution to fix any situation in my life. However, my system of “rewards” was horribly punishing me, and yet, I wasn’t making the association. I was associating alcohol with feeling good instead of the downward spiral of my life. At this stage of my life classical conditioning and operant conditioning were working hand-in-hand to shape my life, yet only in negative ways because of my inability to learn from the “punishments”.

            I truly believe I am an alcoholic with all of my being, and alcoholism would have found its way into my life one way or another over the years, but no doubt my environment and the people I was associating with helped speed up the process. Working in the restaurant industry for the past ten years was probably not the best job for me. It’s analogous to a person that is allergic to bees working as a bee keeper; it’s only a matter of time. Working in a restaurant is like being a part of one big dysfunctional family, and everyone plays off everyone else’s dysfunctional behavior. This is a perfect example of Bandura’s social learning theory.

            However, now that I am sober I have learned healthier ways of coping with life and have removed myself from the toxic environment I was in. Now the classical and operant theories are working together in only positive ways. I am slowly learning that I don’t have to be terrified of the world and the people in it. By placing myself in situations that I am fearful of, and having to actually feel that fear for the first time, all while being conscience of the fact that I come out the other side unscathed, I am learning there is never anything to fear in the first place. I am learning to make the association that situations I once felt were life threatening are actually enjoyable. It goes without saying that having to work through these problems myself will surely aid me in helping others work out their problems.

Cognitive

            The single most important thing that has helped me thus far in this process of recovery is faith. I’m not necessarily referring to the religious or spiritual type of faith (although I see its importance), but just simply a belief that is not based on proof. My entire perception of this world from recent memory, as foggy as it is, is negative. In my mind all of the events of my past have ended in pain. Experience only tells me that all future events in my life will end in pain. Yet, I am cognizant enough of my mental situation to know this as a completely false belief. Thus, as much as my mind tries to tell me that something is going to end in disaster, I constantly have to take that leap of faith into the unknown relying on the fact that it won’t. The more I put myself in situations to experience positive results, the more I will come to believe the world is an incredible place.

            The world is an incredible place, and so are the people in it. Unfortunately, for a large portion of my life, I thought I was the only one that mattered in it. I retained the core values and manners that my parents instilled in me to superficially interact with the people around me, however if a person’s presence didn’t immediately benefit me, I couldn’t have cared less about them. Thankfully, as the layers of the onion are starting to peel away my true self is starting to return. And, my true self is a grateful, humble and loving self that wants nothing more than to help others learn to find the freedom I have found.

            Throughout this process I have felt, at times, like someone that has come out of coma only to find they have amnesia. I found I had absolutely no identity. Over the years I had developed the ability to play many different roles to fit many different situations without ever truly knowing who I was. Though it has only been a year I have discovered so much about myself that I never knew existed; or possibly never tried to find. When I was first entering the recovery process I was so afraid I was going to change and people weren’t going to like me anymore. I clung so tightly to this person I thought people wanted me to be, and yet I didn’t even know who I wanted to be. Thankfully I learned rather quickly that people actually didn’t like the person I had become, and the ultimate reality of it all was that person was killing me. Why wouldn’t I be willing to throw it all away and start over? And that’s exactly what I have done. I have built myself back up from the ground up (with copious amounts of help from family, friends and groups like AA), and as a result I have an amazing new outlook on life. I have goals for the first time ever, and they are centered on helping others learn to find a new love for life as well.

             

             

           

           

Black and White

There was this kid I knew in high school, he was a couple of years younger than me, and he was a real piece of work. A "grade A" fuck up. He was always latching on to us at parties, trying to hang with the big boys. So we took advantage of him. We tortured him.

We would always get him hammered and make him do ridiculous things. Once, while he was so drunk he could hardly stand, we made him run his head into a fence in the backyard of the house we were at. He didn’t do this once, he did it multiple times. He would run full speed at the fence, smash head first into it, and fall into a pile on the ground. What a pile of shit. We would scream and cheer, then pick him up, dust him off, and make him do it again. We just stood around drinking, watching this moron smash his face into a fence. I don’t know how long we stood there watching, but he was half dead by the time he was done.

So, finally, after watching this idiot kill himself had lost all comedic appeal, we took him inside and sat him down on the piano bench in the living room. He could barely keep his eyes open he was so drunk and, most likely, concussed from getting beat up by the fence.He just sat there in a daze staring off in to space, while we drank and praised ourselves for what we had just made this imbecile do.

After some time of just sitting there in a stupor, he clumsily turned and placed his fingers gently on the black and white keys of the piano. This was going to be good. This genius was about to play us a tune. We all gathered around, drinks in hand, ready to watch this half dead, half-whit serenade us. He was amazing.

It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. He was incredible. He sat there, eyes closed, covered in dirt and grass, drunk out of his mind, and played us a masterpiece. I don’t think he even missed note as he sat there and quietly told us to fuck off.

Trash men and Dinosaurs

Danny-

Yup, got pretty bad. It was hard for anyone to see because I was still holding down a job and semi-functioning. But, I was dying. Literally dying. A lot of people knew and tried to say stuff, and a lot of people got tired of saying stuff. People drifted away, but that's what people do. That's what I would probably have done.

As for me and you drifting apart, I'll shoulder the blame for that. I became an extremely selfish person over the last several years of my life, and only looked out for my own interests. Unfortunately there was nothing I could take from you at the time, so there was no need to be around you (Sorry if that sounds harsh. That's not how I feel, but that's the reality of it. I'm also trying to be dramatic). I could never figure out what I wanted, but I knew I needed more of whatever it was. Nobody could have helped me but me.

I've always felt that we will always be friends, though. I've always known that when and where our paths cross, our friendship will still be there. And, I will do everything I can to make sure our paths cross on your wedding day. I am around alcohol and drunk people all the time, so no big there. All of the people I enjoy hanging out with are alcoholics. That's why I'm back in school now, and on the path to one day becoming an addiction counselor. Maybe specialist. I like specialist.

Drinking and druging doesn't work for me. Not one bit. Some people can handle it and continue on with their lives, but it became my life. I'm in a good place with it now. Once I stopped thinking about it, it all became easy. It's like playing a game of tic-tac-toe with your mind. I kept thinking about ways I could win, ways I could beat this, and I kept on getting cat's game after cat's game. The key is just not to play. (I shit you not this all came to me after watching "War Games" with Mathew Broderick. That's how they stop the computer from nuking the whole world: Tic-tac-toe. I just stopped my brain from nuking my body.) It’s not that easy, and it is.

My other analogy is this, if I was allergic to peanuts, if I would die from eating peanuts, I wouldn't fucking eat peanuts. I wouldn't spend all my time and energy trying to figure out how I can manage my peanut intake. I wouldn't be trying to have just one peanut a day, or only have peanuts after 5. I wouldn't eat fucking peanuts. They kill me. So goes with alcohol... and cocaine for that matter.

Life is great, and I'm so happy to know things are going so well for you. I have the magazine you had the cover of, and I've been keeping up with your new stuff online. I would love to be able to have you explain all of them to me. We showed some stuff to grandma Shirley and she was very impressed. Especially with the rabbit eating grapes out of that dude's ass. You are so unbelievably talented. I'm in awe.

So I've got an idea for a painting. Hahaha. Nice transition. I was imagining this story while taking a shower:

There's a place that exists where all our future selves are patiently waiting for us to one day grow into. These future selves are the image of what the child dreams it will be. There are a bunch of trash men and baseball players, astronauts and firemen, and dinosaurs, things kids want to be when they grow up, all sitting around waiting to be grown into. They are waiting to be the fulfillment of these children's dreams.

There is one future self, though, that is always changing what he is. Sometimes he's a movie star for a few days, and sometimes he just works at a nine to five job. A lot of the times he is the exact copy of another person's future self. He can't make up his mind, so he let's others do it for him.

But, the majority of the future selves start disappearing one by one as the children grow up and face reality. The dinosaurs and trash men first, followed by the astronauts. Some actually become firemen. Some become baseball players, but give up on their dreams too early. They all get stuck in "what-if" for eternity.

One day the future self that could never be happy with whatever costume he wore, comes to meet up with all the others wearing absolutely nothing. Everyone laughs and points, they all call him names, but he just smiles from ear to ear and keeps on walking by. He is finally comfortable in his own skin.

And, the child smiles and keeps on walking too. He's done searching for the right fit. He's done trying to fit into a costume. Just being is the right fit. He nods to the other children who point and laugh, and smiles from ear to ear, and keeps on walking by.

So the painting, as I see it, is a bunch of children staring at a bunch of firemen, dinosaurs, astronauts, and trash men. All of them look nervous, but one is smiling, and his opposite is smiling too. And naked.

But, hey, painting is your thing, not mine.

Sorry this is the longest email ever, but I have really been enjoying myself.

Hello my name is...

Hello, my name is Jay, and I’m an alcoholic.

This is probably one of the truest statements about myself that I can make. It’s the one aspect of my life I know to be 100 percent real. It’s the one part of my personality, or image, or psyche, or whatever the hell you want to call it, that I haven’t fabricated over the years. The alcoholic in me helped to create all of those things, though. It helped to shape me into the person that I’m not, not the person I’m supposed to be. The alcoholic made me believe things I don’t believe. It helped me to make tough decisions in situations where there should have been only one choice. The alcoholic beat me down like a drill sergeant. It left me an empty shell, or rather, a bottomless pit. The alcoholic made me sink to new lows, only to find I could go lower still. This is because the alcoholic is extremely smart; smarter than I’ll ever be. It outwitted me time and time again. It’s patiently waiting to con me into a drink right now. It’s waiting until the one day my guard is down, and it can convince me that I ended up in rehab by accident. The alcoholic wants me to believe things just got a little out of control last time. It would have me believe I just lost my grip, but things won’t get that bad again. It’s trying to convince me, right now, that I was just going through a phase, a rough patch, and that I couldn’t really have a problem because I’m doing so well now. It has been relatively easy to stay alcohol free and get my life back on track in these past several months, and this is probably all part of the alcoholic’s plan to convince me I never needed to stop drinking in the first place. The alcoholic is probably helping me learn to live again. It is probably holding my hand every step of the way, as I grow to love life more and more. It is very smart, the alcoholic. Very good at what it does. And, if I slip up for one second, it will have me right back where I was, choosing death over life.

Hello, my name is Jay, and I’m an addict.

This aspect of myself I know to be 100 percent true, but at times I don’t believe to be 100 percent true. If that makes any sense to you, check yourself into rehab, you’re probably an addict. If it sounds completely insane to you, that’s because it is completely insane. The addict in me has me believe I’m not an addict, I just really like cocaine. The addict in me has me believe that I don’t pop pills addictively; they just don’t work as well on me as they do on the average person. The addict has me believe that doing any type of drug, even if it is just on occasion, is completely normal.

Doing any type of drug is not normal, no matter how you try to justify it, and I don’t just do drugs on occasion. This doesn’t mean I don’t think you shouldn’t do drugs. By all means do whatever you like. Shit, I love drugs. But, I can’t stop once I start, so I can’t start. If you, on the other hand can go to Vegas for your best friend’s bachelor party and do enough cocaine to make Tony Montana think you have a problem, but can come home and jump right back into the stream of life, you probably are not an addict. If, even though you’re a little tired, you can get up Monday morning, go to your place of employment, and put together a semi-productive day of work, you’re probably not an addict. You probably just like to have a good time. However, if you’re the person that supplied that other person with the mountain of cocaine, and yet, you had your own personal Mount Everest hidden in your pocket, you’re probably an addict. If you come home from a vomit inducing weekend, and the first thing you do is hunt down anyone you may know that might be out having a couple drinks on a Sunday night, you might want to take a long hard look at yourself. If Monday morning rolls around and you have vodka and cocaine for breakfast, and the only reason you call it breakfast is because you’re consuming it at the same time as the people who have gone to sleep the night before are now eating their eggs and bacon, you’re with out a doubt an addict. You are an addict.

That’s the beauty of the addict. It is one manipulative, crafty motherfucker. The addict instinctively knows how to take the guilt off of me, and gently place it on you. It helps me point out all of your faults, so I don’t have to look at mine. The addict will help me make you feel miserable about your life, and then slip in with a helping hand. The addict has the solution to all your problems. It will make everything all better. But, the addict will give you one, and take two for itself. It only pretends to care about you. The addict doesn’t give a shit about you and how you feel. It is looking out for its own ass, and it doesn’t care who it takes down with it. The addict really just doesn’t like to be alone.
In my case the addict never had to be alone, because the alcoholic was always there feeling sorry for itself.

         Admittedly, when I first got out of rehab, the only reason I was going to stay sober was because I had to. My parents had just shelled out a lot of money and they would be pretty pissed off if my ass didn’t stay sober. That’s putting it nicely. They had to cancel a trip to Cancun they had been planning for over a year. However, by throwing down the plastic for my hospital stay, they earned enough points on their credit card to take a nice trip to lovely Palm Springs. There’s really no comparison there, but that’s how my dad explained it to me, trying to make the very best out of the very worst situation.

I guess now, it should be viewed as making the best out of the best situation. That foregone trip to Cancun saved my life. It’s interesting how certain situations can take on a whole new life as time goes by. All the crying and worrying and anxiety, all the what-ifs, all the imagining of scenarios that may never happen, all for not. Everything has been going smoothly since. Everything is calm and serene now. And, if it wasn’t, it would have all still been a waste of time. We can’t predict the out come of the events in our lives, and all the worrying and crying and imagining in the world is not going to change them. I’m learning to live my life this way today, and I’m really learning to enjoy the unpredictable.

I hope that trip to Palm Springs was the best trip to the desert they have ever had. In hindsight, it should have been a celebration of a new life about to begin. A celebration for giving life to me for a second time, and giving life to themselves in the process. For a long time, my actions had kept them locked up like prison bars.

I plan on trying to celebrate everyday like this. I plan on celebrating in advance.

Slaughterhouse 5

I wrote this about Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five for a class:

While sitting on the toilet the other day I sent a text to a friend I’ve known since the second grade. It read: “I’m beginning work on my masterpiece about Vonnegut’s masterpiece about Dresden. If all goes well it should be a failure like his.” To which he beautifully replied, “One can only hope…” I didn’t start working. I went and moved the wet clothes from the washer to the dryer.

For as long as I can remember I always seem to look at the clock at 2:22. I probably look at the clock at 7:43 and 12:49 and 4:15 as well, but I always notice 2:22. More recently it’s started popping up in places other than just on the face of a clock.

If I would have had the foresight to know what a masterpiece I wanted this to be I would have started reading Slaughterhouse Five first and started drafting this paper around week two. But, now in hindsight, all I can say is, “Should have given yourself more time to reread the book.” Although, if I started it then I most likely wouldn’t be where I am now, having come up with this bizarre concept, and not enough time to properly explain it. It’s possible I can’t explain the emotions and the feelings this book brought about in me. Maybe Mr. Vonnegut wasn’t writing fiction when he created a story about a man who would just “bob up-and-down, up-and-down” through life with the knowledge that he has no free will. Perhaps Kurt Vonnegut is a time traveler like Billy Pilgrim, and has seen his life and death and everything in between many times over. Maybe you and I are right where we are supposed to be at this exact moment in time.

I guess that’s where I’ll start to try and make sense of, in a few short pages, the work of a man that took almost a lifetime to write. When I say start, though, no doubt I am already finished. I figure it doesn’t really matter where it begins or ends, and this is probably why Vonnegut begins his book by telling us just that.

Mine will end: “Poo-tee-weet?”

A few nights back I was ripped from a pleasant dream state by the sound of my phone ringing next to my bed. Normally I would shout obscenities at the person on the other line for calling at such an inappropriate time, but the caller ID read: Ian, so I calmly answered, “Hello?”

Ian was strangely pleased to discover he had awakened me, and told me to go back to bed and he’d talk to me tomorrow. It wasn’t until my brain had caught up with my body in the present moment that I fully realized what had gone on. Ian had been making sure that I wasn’t in his front yard yelling at my girlfriend for ruining my birthday. He was making sure I didn’t have “breath like mustard gas and roses.”

The clock on my phone brightly glowed 2:22 as I hung up. This did not surprise me.

Life seems to keep happening to Billy Pilgrim no matter how hard he tries to get out of the way. The first time Billy time travels he is taken back to a time when his father is about to throw him into the deep end of the Y.M.C.A. pool. “Billy was going to learn to swim by the method of sink-or-swim.” He sinks, but to his dismay he is rescued. When Billy is shaken back to reality after the pool incident he is staring face to face with Ronald Weary, the man who had just moments before saved Billy’s life, and would continue to several more times. Billy Pilgrim keeps getting saved because Billy Pilgrim isn’t supposed to die yet. Life is involuntary. Vonnegut keeps metaphorically throwing Billy Pilgrim into the deep end of life to “bob up-and-down, up-and-down”, and people keep saving him.

Vonnegut carries this theme of free will, or lack there of, throughout the book in several ways.  Another way he does this is by use of the story of Cinderella. Cinderella has and will always have a destiny to live happily ever after. Billy Pilgrim survives a massacre, gets married and has children, and becomes a very successful optometrist; he becomes rich. Who’s to say Mr. Pilgrim didn’t step into Cinderella’s fairytale life when he stepped into her silver spray painted boots.  As Vonnegut points out, “Billy Pilgrim was Cinderella, and Cinderella was Billy Pilgrim.” Kurt Vonnegut and I are Cinderella.

Ian is a heroin addict. I met Ian rehab. I am an alcoholic with an affinity for cocaine. Often times Ian will say he doesn’t understand how I can put that poison in my body. There isn’t a hint of irony when he says this; he means it. And, it makes sense, too. My liver was failing, not his. Still, we were both killing ourselves on one way or another, and our families were standing nearby with their shovels. We were too “doped up” and “glassy-eyed” to notice.

Both Billy Pilgrim and Edgar Derby have seen the exact way in which they die. The only difference is that Edgar Derby was buried after he saw his death, and Billy Pilgrim continues to springboard through time.

From the beginning of the novel Vonnegut presents the idea that he will have “the execution of poor old Edgar Derby” be the climax of the book. It’s hard to say if he ever really achieves this, though, considering the book doesn’t really follow the linear path one is accustomed to. However, right in the middle of the book, where climaxes often come, and where Billy Pilgrim is on his honeymoon, arguably the climax of any relationship, and not too long after Billy himself has climaxed, Billy comes to a startling truth while talking about “the execution of poor old Edgar Derby”.  The realization that “Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt” seems to resolve some ongoing mental conflict for Billy. Creating a character to express this realization seems to have resolved some on going mental conflict for Kurt Vonnegut.

You don’t have a lot of free time when you’re living in a hospital; every minute of the day is structured for you. On those times, though, when you are structured to have free time, you try to do things that make you feel normal. Ian and I would often play dominoes, and laugh.  It occurs to me now “what a Tralfamadorian adventure with death that had been, to be dead and to” play dominoes at the same time.

With Vonnegut’s novel, as is in life as well, the small little details seem to make no sense on an individual level, but when seen as a whole everything becomes clear. Vonnegut structures his novel in the exact way the Tralfamadorians structure theirs; “in brief clumps of symbols separated by stars”. I can’t explain something so complex any better than the Tralfamadorians explain it: “There isn’t any particular relationship between all the messages, except that the author has chosen them carefully, so that, when seen all at once, they produce an image of life that is beautiful and surprising and deep”. Kurt Vonnegut got as close to this as humanly possible.

While sitting in group therapy one afternoon my counselor, a short, pudgy black man, began reminiscing on his stay in rehab. He told us that some ten years ago he had stayed in the very hospital we were now patients in. His roommate at the time, Gil, a nearly seven foot tall, white as can be, Native-American, was now employed at the hospital as well. They had both remained sober from that time on.

“Room 222A,” he said. “A lot of good karma in that room.”

“Holy shit!” I yelled. “222A? That’s my room!”

I suppose if this book is an anti-war book, as some like to point out, then it is a failure like Vonnegut says. Wars and death will keep coming, “like glaciers”, no matter how “anti” people are.

It’s only fitting that Vonnegut ends his failed work the way he does, because after all, “everything is supposed to be quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds.

And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like    ‘Poo-tee-weet?’”

I got an A.

     I used to think blogs were for assholes; for people who honestly believe that everyone else is interested in their lives. I thought they were for people with an over-inflated sense of self worth. I thought they were for people with way too much time on their hands. So, why am I creating a blog?     
    Presumably there will one day be at least one follower of this blog (my mom), and they will no doubt respond , "Because you're an asshole?" No (mom). I'm creating this blog as a reminder of where I've been and how far I've come. I hope it will be a reminder to live life. I'm creating this because I need to tell this to someone. Most importantly, I'm creating this with the sincerest of hopes that at least one person will relate to what I write and find it helpful.
     You see, I'm an alcoholic and a drug addict. I just celebrated Halloween sober for the first time in probably 15 years. By celebrated, I mean I worked at the new job I started a couple of months ago. Prior to that I had been working at the same job for almost 10 years. I left work one day and drove myself straight to the hospital. I guess that's one way to quit. It wasn't a well thought out plan, it kind of came to life as I thought I was dying. I think I'll save that story for another time, though.
     Along with a new job, I live in a new apartment in a new city, I've just started going back to school after a ten year "break", and I almost never see any of my old friends. In nine months I've changed practically everything about my life and I rarely stop to think about it. Maybe that's the purpose of this blog. I need to stop and think about life.
     Today I heard someone use the always popular phrase, "Life's too short". No it isn't. Life can be to short, but it doesn't have to be. The way I was living, life was going to be too short. Even if I lived to be 110, life was going to be too short. I wasn't living, I was just existing. Oh, and I was slowly killing myself everyday. The main point is, I wasn't doing anything to make my time here worth while. I wasn't creating any memories, and I wasn't giving myself anything to look forward to.
     At this point in my life, I know I have a long road ahead of me, and I'm so excited to see where it takes me. However, I plan on taking my time getting there and creating memories each day along the way. Sobriety is a life long process. Before, the thought of never reaching the end of something would have stopped me from even attempting it, but now I hope it takes as long as possible...

...I coincidentally got this letter in the mail today:
     "Son, Since you have no memories... I have a memory from long ago when your sister told me that you said Dad and I never told you we were proud of you. It has always bothered me and now I can tell you that we couldn't be prouder. We are so happy with what you have accomplished in such a short period. I am thrilled that you are enjoying school. You are very smart and I am so happy that you are finding learning to be so enjoyable. I am also happy that you are learning and discovering yourself. I know you are proud of yourself and that is the most important. We are proud parents and love you to death. Love to you always. Mom and Dad. Xxo"

     I hope this reaches the people it's intended for one day.

Where to start... or where to end?

When the hell did it get so bad? When did it get so out of control? I don't remember.

I was really scared for a long time, but I buried that fear deep down under a swamp of alcohol, and kept telling myself tomorrow will be different. If everyday begins and ends in the exact same way, it's kind of hard to ever get to tomorrow. When the days started to begin with alcohol on a consistent basis, things started to go south faster.
I had been no stranger to drinking in the morning, that's for sure. I would always have more Bloody Mary's or mimosa's than everyone else when I was still being invited to breakfast. Or, maybe crack one too many beers while watching football with friends on a Sunday morning. But, this type of morning drinking was different. It was me, alone, with whatever I could find on hand at my parents house. It wasn't a social thing, it was a necessity to stop the anxiety, and to stop the shaking. It was to help cover up the years of lies I had told, and to numb me from the abuse I had inflicted on myself. I would tell myself I would just have one sip to calm myself down, and before I knew it I would have finished half the bottle of whiskey, or tequila, or rum, or whatever it was I could find at seven or eight-o'-clock  in the morning. After a couple of sips the world seemed perfectly at peace and the pain was gone. I don't know exactly when this started, but when it did, it followed a pattern like that first sip. Just once. Just this one time, slowly became everyday.
I cried a lot. I was scared.

Evicted!

When I was in rehab, towards the end of the 28 day stay we all had to write "Goodbye" letters to our drug of choice. I decided to write and "Eviction" notice. It was the first thing (besides countless journal entries) that I had written in years. The first bit of creative writing. I must have wrote 15 drafts trying to get this one page letter right. It seems so ridiculous now. I didn't have to turn it in. I wasn't going to fail out of rehab. I did have to read it to a room full of people though, and god forbid if a bunch of drug addicts didn't like my little story:

Evicted

Booze-

This is your final eviction notice. Time's up! I've tried to be cordial about it and give you 30 days notice, but enough is enough. You've pushed me too far this time. The last party you threw completely destroyed my place. Oh, and don't think I don't know about the drug use going on. When, I saw the damage to my property I almost had a heart attack. I literally checked myself into the emergency room and had to be monitored all night. But, while I was there I came to the realization that it's time to make some changes to the old place. I'm only going to change one thing, however: Everything. You see, I like this property, so I'm not going anywhere. I've enlisted some "higher-ups" to come tear the place down, preferably with you in it. I'm not even going to look at the plans, I know this team is going to do a great job. The only drawback is that these union workers like to take their time. I've got all the time in the world, though. You, my friend, do not.

So, if I haven't made myself clear...

Get the fuck out!

Thank you,

Your landlord

Even now, while typing that, I wanted to re-word all of it...

This was a journal entry I had to write for class. We were discussing what would make up a perfect world for us and who we would let in and keep out. I don't think I really answered the question though.

"The whole topic of a perfect world relates to me very much. However, I don't think I've ever really sat around thinking about the types of people that I would want in a perfect world, but more about how I would fit into that world. I've never really felt like I fit in this world. I'm a recovering alcoholic/addict, so until just over 9 months ago I didn't think about anything, but numbing myself to this world I feel so out of place in. However, I'm learning to enjoy the world for what it is and realize I don't need to fit in. In the meetings that I try to get to when I have a free second, you come across all ages, sex, gender, race, religion, etc... and they are all brought together on one common bond; a defect. (Or several, depending on how you look at it.) The sole purpose of these people coming together is to help one another. There is no money made and no real authority. It's the very definition of altruism, and it's run completely by screw-ups. The outcasts of society are running their own little perfect society.
Do I think that model would make a perfect world? No. Do I want to live there? No. But, I do frequent that part of town to make me a better, more useful member of the world I do live in."

     After I wrote the first post, someone I had the pleasure of briefly spending time with died.
     His life was cut short, most will say. His wife and child most definitely will say this was too soon. His family will no doubt struggle to find to find an explanation as to why he was taken so young. And, his thousands upon thousands of adoring fans will never get to witness his next great achievement.
     Everyone dies, most never live.
     While this person was only here for a short time, he accomplished more than most ever will. Thousands of people looked up to and idolized him. He had a family, beyond just blood, that loved and adored him. He married and created a child with a woman he loved. He made his mark on this world.
     No matter when or how someone dies there are usually two things that will be said at some point:

"Life's to short."

or

"They lived a full life."