At the moment, I am no place and yet I am everywhere else but here. Safe to say that I understand what it means to not be present. And I say this to you, knowing both full and well that I am right here. Always.
I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Or at least, so I have been told.
I have been told that no matter where you go or where you run to or hide; there you are.
There is no escape and there is no getting away from the truth and nor can we hide from the outcomes of everyday life.
I know this.
But I have run away ore as an adult than when I was a kid.
I’ve hid more as a grown man than when I was young and playing hide-and-go-seek.
I have also been told that you can see someone every day, and you can interact with them, you can sit and eat with them and break bread, and you can talk to someone all the time and find out that they had something deep inside that you knew nothing about.
The world is full of surprises
and so are people.
Mom found this out, firsthand.
Mom had a lawyer who was working on a case for her. The lawyer was going to save Mom from bankruptcy and help Mom regain all she had lost after my Father died.
Mom spoke with the lawyer every day.
I remember coming home one day and Mom was upset.
I asked what happened, —it turns out the lawyer died.
The lawyer had cancer and no one knew, including Mom.
Mom said the lawyer thought they could beat cancer.
It turns out, the lawyer was wrong.
Mom filed for bankruptcy.
All of what The Old Man built and left behind for his family was stolen in a bad business deal.
Mom never really recovered.
She never recovered from the loss of their business.
She never recovered from the loss of the money.
More than anything, Mom never recovered from the loss of her husband.
I have had money and I have lost money.
I have lived both rich and poor. I have had excess and I have had times when I opened up an empty fridge with contents that never changed no matter how often I opened the door.
I have had times when I never had to look at my bank account.
And, too, I have had bouts that were so bad, I had to gather quarters and change to see if I could put gas in my car.
I can say that I have eaten in some of the best restaurants in New York City and in Los Angeles too, —and equally, there were times in my life where I had to either scrounge or save up to buy something from the value menu at a nearby fast-food joint.
But would you know this if you saw me?
I once stood at a counter by a coffee machine in a corporate panty.
This was before going live and doing a presentation about mental health that was internally broadcasted around the world.
This was not my first time and whether I was comfortable or not, I was well received and liked by most of the people at the company.
A young man who claimed his own challenges approached me. He asked how I was doing and rather than give him my best answer, I was honest.
I told him the truth.
I told him that I was nervous and that I was scared.
And I was.
My previous panic attack led me to one of the executive bathrooms so that I could vomit for a while.
“You get scared?”
Absolutely, I explained.
“I would have never thought that,” he said.
I told the young man about the times when I would have to drive to the jail on Sunday mornings for a program I created called Breakfast with Benny. I told him about the panic attacks I’d have before going into the homeless shelter for the same program.
I told him about the fears and the thoughts that ran through my head.
I told him about my sensitivity and my expectation for rejection and hate.
See, my first and natural thought is that everyone hates me.
Second, I assume people applaud for me because they cheer the same as someone would cheer for a toddler whe they learn to use the bathroom or tie their shoes.
I told the young man that I am terrified,.
He told me, “I would never think that.”
I told the young man that I am petrified of public speaking.
“But they hired you to speak here every week.”
I explained how this does not mean that I am not petrified.
I am always scared.
By the way, this man lives with Autism. He struggles to shake hands or touch other people.
He has difficulty reaching out and making social connections, —and so, he pushes himself to do something different on a daily basis.
He introduces himself to a new person each day.
This does not change nor cure his challenges.
But this does make him brave and strong and to me; this makes him heroic enough to do something he once assumed he would never do.
Someone at work told me that I am scary.
This was recent.
She said that I frighten people and that I am intimidating.
She said people are afraid when I walk in the room
I disagree
She says that I am a teddy bear at heart and that people see this once they get to know me.
But at first glance, she told me that I do not appear gentle or friendly.
I look mean and she told me I have an MMF face
(Mean Mother Fucker)
I used to want to look tough.
I used to want to pull off a look like this; like I was some kind of bad ass or gangster.
I am not
I put that life away a long time ago—and I get it; I have an accent.
I do not speak the way I write and nor do I speak in poetic terms.
I am not softspoken.
My speech is my speech, but yes, I have a New Yorker’s pronunciation.
I often hear people tease me for the way I say words like “things” which sound ore like “tings.”
Sandwich is another funny word for me.
And I don’t know why I say it this way, but sandwich sounds ore like “sangwhich”
Words like mother or father sound closer to “muddah” or “faddah”
I spoke at an event I the basement of a library.
This was years ago.
There were people from an old folk’s home that showed up to the event.
This was like a night out for them.
A little old woman walked up to me.
She admitted that at first, all she noticed was the way I spoke. All she noticed was the way I looked at how my arms were sleeved with tattoos.
“But then you turned it on,” she told me.
“You came out and spoke in a way that I never expected,” she told me.
Then she said, “You may not want to hear this from anyone, but I can assure that your Mother is very proud.”
I hope so . . .
Did I ever tell you about the time I spoke at a local anti-bullying rally?
This was mixed with anti-bullying and a drug (and opiate) awareness gathering.
The gathering was somewhat of a letdown because people from the town loved to complain, but no one likes to show up when it’s time to fight back.
They had a special event planned for this. I think there was a cooking contest.
Maybe this was chicken wings or ribs.
Some of the local politicians chose me to be the keynote speaker.
I addressed the parents in the room first.
I wore camouflaged pants, boots, and I wore a black t-shirt.
I am not too sure, but my head might have been completely shaved at the time.
I was at war.
yes. I was.
Maybe I looked angry.
Maybe I seemed outraged.
Or –
maybe I was tired of being deployed to emergency rooms in hospitals after someone overdosed and died from heroin.
Maybe I was tired of being sent to homes and listening to young kids talk about their life as if it needed to end.
Maybe I was tired of people thinking that addiction is this “new thing” or suicide is new too, or that stories like mass shootings or vengeance killings are new.
Just an FYI:
We have always been a crazy society.
We have all seen our share of bad things.
Life and times do change and yes, we do evolve, but mental illness is far from new.
Believe me
I stood in front of a packed room at a local park.
I pled my case and I said my share, both loudly and firmly.
I growled at the mayor of the town before taking enter stage, I told him “WATCH THIS!” and then I let it go.
I let the abuse come to light.
I showed my invisible scars.
I let my embarrassing truths be seen.
I let the bullied kid inside of me have his moment.
And I let the survivor’s guilt speak out.
No one expected me to cry.
But I did,
I made all the younger kids and teenagers come to the front to of the room.
I addressed them the way that I wished someone would have addressed me.
“NO ONE HERE IS MORE IMPORTANT TO ME THAN YOU RIGHT NOW!”
I cried.
They cried.
The mayor was blown away.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said to me.
I stole a line from my good friend “Guido Scaminacci” and answered back, “You think you’re playing with kids?”
“Not at all,” said the mayor.
He wished my Father was there to see what I did.
I said, “Me too.”
There was a teacher from the nearby middle school in attendance.
She disagreed with my approach.
She went to tell me this and she offered her opinion and prefaced by saying, “You made the kids cry!”
I said, “I’d rather we all cry here together than their parents finding out too late and crying over their dead body in the hospital.”
The teacher realized I would not listen to her or her criticism.
She walked away.
A mother was close by.
She approached and said, “Me too,” and then she told me how her daughter committed suicide.
She was bullied.
I told the woman my name.
I told her I am really easy to find and easier to get in touch with.
The mother made me promise that I would never stop.
“Never stop what you are doing.”
But I did stop.
I stopped a while ago.
My friend Rob called me.
he had some news for me and wanted to help me with a job offer.
This was like a gift.
We had a good talk.
Rob told me about how he appreciated me.
I didn’t know this was Rob’s way of saying goodbye.
He ended his own life a few days later in ways that I cannot expose.
and I knew something was up.
There was something nice, and yet, there was something off about this too.
I have been high and low, and I have been well and hurt and sick and healthy.
I am not where I want to be at the moment.
Yet, at the moment, I am everywhere but here, which is exactly where I am supposed to be.
(Right?)
No one knows what’s deep in the heart of someone else.
At least not really.
And sometimes, I swear, I wonder if I know what’s in my own heart.
Who am I?
What have I done?
Why do I find myself here (again)?
I don’t know.
But the summer will be here soon.
The winds are warming up.
The flowers are blooming and life is still living around me.
Maybe I should learn to live too.
Know what I mean?
The Written Addiction 