"I'm Sorry,"..."Thank You,"...Polite Behavior or Heartfelt Epiphany!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

COMING NEXT WEEK!   PROCRASTINATION!

Another Dose of Yesterday!

3:30am. I'm painfully awake. My head is pounding with dehydration and demons. They're not the little red guys with horns and a trident tail. They jab at me though. They never stop.They are my demons, created by my fears and wrong choices. They were forged from broken hearts and failures, pains of my making, and agony handed to me by everyone's reality. They never sleep. Sometimes they let me catch a nap. Then they poke at me in my dreams. They must not sleep, because they are always there to wish me
hell-o daily. They are a constant in my life beyond the booze and misery.

I have to get up and shower. My terry cloth diaper didn't hold again. I'm drenched in my own urine. It has grown cold, and leaves me shivering to the bone. The maid must hate me. Cleaning my room must be the job for the new girl. The tiny transient motel I know as home is the litmus test for the intestinal fortitude of the new hires. I don't feel bad for them. The dozens of roaches that cover me at night, and shoot into secret corners when I turn on the lights, have dulled me into apathy. I don't hate them. They know it. They taunt me as I splatter them on the wall. I leave their guts there for the others to see. It doesn't matter they have legions to replace my wall mosaic.

I have become one of them, crawling from the darkness, feeding on the garbage people have left behind. Poison has no effect on my body. I ingest it nightly. I sometimes run my fingers through mythinning hair convinced that the tiny feelers are sprouting from my head. They are survivors. I am a survivor, if not a hanger on. They are immune to the barely lit room I inhabit. Light hurts my eyes and lightens up the darkness of my world too much for me to witness. They scurry about ignoring me. I am no threat to them. I am either drunk, working, passed out or too sick to care about their invasion.

I slip in my own vomit as I move to hose myself down. I don't remember being sick. I've blacked out again. Blackouts scare and delight me. I come to, day after day, with strange objects in my room, bruises on my body. Theres more or less money in my pockets than when I left the cave that night. I am grateful for not remembering, like my gratitude for a sale on vodka or cheap beer. Bloody knuckles usually mean I was shooting my mouth off the night before, or punished someone for shooting off theirs.

Sometimes I find a woman in my bed. I don't remember her name or where she's from. I don't care. I know why she's there. I hope her expectations weren't high when we stumbled back to my palace. I am useless as a lover when I'm drunk. I may have hurt her feelings by my impotency. I don't remeber. I would have made it perfectly clear when I picked her up at the bar that I only wanted sex. I do also find comfort in sharing a bed with someone as lost as I am. I dread it when they wake up. I hate morning conversation, especially with people whom I don't know what to call or where they are from. I usually kick them out before I pass out to prevent the uncomfortable morning chit chat.

I turn on the cold shower and rinse the piss and puke from my body. The freezing water dulls my headache and offers a brief taste of sobriety. I watch the roaches enjoying the mess I have left on the floor. I wash my self scrubbing and tearing at my flesh. No matter how hard I try I can't wash myself off of me. I shave with shakey hands and aching soul in the cold water. The cheap razor tugs at my face. When I feel the dirt of the day is gone I dry off. First my hair, then my back, then my front and legs. There is only one more thing to do, comb my hair. I squint through blood shot eyes like two piss holes in the snow. I neaten my thinning hair and look away. I don't like mirrors, and won't look at another one until morning. I hate what I see. I know what I am. I don't like seeing the reminders a mirror offers the onlooker. Today is just another dose of yesterday.