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My Glass House

 I could divide my 36 years up by parts. When I look back at my life I can see it almost as a timeline but it isn't the stock timeline that starts and ends on one straight line. My timeline in my mind is compartmentalized in clear glass boxes. Each box holds one "segment" of my life. That whole era held within the glass walls; the joy, the fear, the sadness, the specific events themselves....all trapped in these individual boxes. I can just "grab a box", open it, and relive that segment all over again within my mind. Sometimes I do this on a visceral level. I can bring myself back into these moments by lighting up my senses; music, smells, photos, etc. I can get so stuck in memories of my past, that everything and everyone around me just fade away. My body is left there, but I am not present. I cannot recall anything that happened, anything anyone said, even more frightening- anything I said. How am I speaking when my consciousness is literally elsewhere? the su...
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I Got Clean, Not Perfect.

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 Just a little reminder to both the public as well as myself. I kill myself daily as a perfectionist. It's been studied to death- the link between perfectionism & addiction. While reading about it I've decided it's the story of the chicken or the egg all over again.  One can be a natural born perfectionist (like myself) & it will drive you to the point of using drugs to quiet the negative chatter in your mind. On the other hand one can be driven to addiction for a multitude of other reasons as an escape, but once an addict gets clean they seem to feel a constant struggle to feel "normal" or most importantly- good enough.  The negative chatter that plays through my mind daily is crippling. It's like when you go shopping or out to eat somewhere. You can always hear everyone around you speaking or you can be involved in conversation yourself, but you always have that background music playing. Sometimes you stop and realize that you didn't even not...
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RIP My Buddy

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Fredo-  When I heard the news my heart sunk to my toes. I was praying that it wasn't true. I searched and searched the internet and there it was. Your family's posts. Heartbroken to have lost their son, brother, cousin, husband, father... I cannot even begin to fathom that you're really gone. You and I had it out pretty badly right before I left your place and got clean but it was all drug fueled. Everything in our lives at that point were. I wish so badly you could have gotten out. I wish so badly you could have found the worth in your life. You were an amazing person. You saved me 100x over from so many different scary, life threatening situations. There was a reason I called you Papa Fredo. You took me under your wing and made damn sure no one fucked with me. Being 15 years older than me, more experienced, and had seen and been through it all I'm thankful that, even under the circumstances, we met. You have been freed from these demons that kept you struggling, ...
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just another day back then...

It was like any other morning. We woke up, fought til we got our fix and I got into the shower to get ready for work.  When I got out my left leg almost buckled at the knee in excruciating pain. "What the fuck?" I thought to myself. I looked down and saw a bit of redness and swelling that equated to maybe the size of a bug bite. I walked into our bedroom. "It seriously feels like I got kicked in the leg by a damn Sumo wrestler. I can barely walk on it without pain." "Oh you're just trying to change the subject because you know I'm right about this!" At this point, I forgot what the fuck we were even arguing about." "Okay Michael, you're right. I'm lying. Never mind." I got dressed and headed out for my 16 hour day of work. When I got there I hobbled through the door and showed the older woman I was relieving because I was truly stumped. I whipped down my pants without thought because it hurt so badly I figured maybe she...
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