And looking up from the bottom always makes reaching for the top seem impossible..
At the bottom, the top look so high and so far from my reach.
I know . . .
One of my last drunken memories was from an afternoon that went sideways. I was in my little town at a park known as Prospect. This was a usual or frequent place for me. However, my bouts with different crowds and arguments with different groups left me with an in-between feeling as if to be unsure why I was there and who would care or cause a problem for me.
I was mainly a weakling. I could hardly stand, not to mention fight or defend myself.
What the hell was I doing at Prospect?
It was summertime.
I believe this was somewhere near the month of August. Or maybe this was earlier in the summer. Then again, memories are hazy from this time of my life.
So, my inaccuracies are common enough that I cannot confirm anything other than I was drunk at the time. I know that I was struggling to do basic things like, walk, or speak in a clear or understandable way.
I was never a good drinker.
I was never a good drunk either, if there is such a thing.
I never handed my liquor well and I always promised myself that I would stop before I reached the point of no return.
But mainly, I was usually unsuccessful when it came my throttle or when to stop or cut myself off.
I have this memory, however.
All of which are hazy and cloudy as ever but the memory remains just the same.
I was at a water fountain near the handball courts. I do not know why I was there and nor can I account for how I got there.
I am not sure what events took place beforehand and aside from the first can of beer, which seemed to begin innocently enough, I do not know how long I was holding on at the water fountain.
Either way, I was positioned and leaning over with my body laying over the top of the fountain which was slightly above waist-height and holding myself up against the brownish, concrete foundation.
I remember trying to drink water from the fountain, which was another unsuccessful event
I remember the water was hitting my face more than my mouth and then . . .
Then, I remember the loss of balance, which caused me to end up on the floor and looking upwards.
Man . . .
that sucked.
I swore this was unfair.
The concrete structure that housed the water basin and the fountain was so high that if I were to get up, it might as well have been the same as trying to climb The Empire State Building.
I had no idea how I could collect my balance, let alone regain my composure and get up.
I could hardly get to my knees, let alone my feet.
I remember looking up from my back and wondering how in the hell was I going to regain my position.
What do you do when you are humbled and weak?
Or worse, how do you get up when the drunk takes a turn and leaves you useless?
There is more to this story. And there are more details, like, for example; there was a group of girls who tried to help me up. And this was nice of them.
No, really. This was nice of them
But no good deed goes unpunished.
I remember the smell from their grape-smelling hairspray was awful and when they supported me against the fence that lined the handball courts beside the water fountain, my inability to speak clearly enough left them laughing at me in a curious way.
They laughed at me.
I tried to warn them but they couldn’t understand me.
I was trying to tell them to move
But all that I could say was “moo!”
They were laughing . . .
They laughed hard until vomit spit from my mouth and projected straight across from me, and yes, I’m sure that my 7-11 hotdogs with mustard, ketchup, and sauerkraut onto them as well.
And then . . .
Then, I found myself back where I was, but worse.
I was back on the on the ground and looking upwards at the water fountain and wondering how the hell am I going to get back up there . . .
The part that makes this worse is they left me on the ground, as they should have in the beginning, and now I was next to a shallow puddle of my vomit.
So, no.
This was not a good day for me.
Ah, the bliss of teenage drinking and the idea that “don’t you worry about me, Ma. I know what I’m doing!” is enough to make me look back and shake my head.
I had no clue
I had no idea what I was doing.
But either way, I was doing it!
At the same time, I use this comically but more I offer this as a gentle analogy,
I have fallen down and landed on the flat of my back, far more times sober than I ever did while I living in my drinking era.
And the same things apply.
Oftentimes, I have fallen down so hard and so far that the idea of regaining my position, standing back up, or climbing up from the hole to reach the top seems impossible, let alone, unthinkable.
I worked with a man who used to tell me not to rush my work.
he said this when I took on a project that was too big for me and too big for one person.
He said slow and steady wins the race.
Work smarter. Not harder.
This is what he told me
Consistency is key.
And, so, be consistent and be persistent.
Be unapologetic if the need be.
Do the next right thing
But by all means, there are times when the falls we take are hard and painful.
There are minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and even years when life seems unkind and unfair.
But keep going.
No matter what.
There are times when the trouble gains speed and the problems seem to be mounting.
Just keep going.
There are times when my results do not match my desires and the levels of intimidation trigger an internal laziness.
This is the voice that comes with the most common excuse that says, “What’s the use?” and “Why bother?”
But –
Quitting is never the fitting answer and yet, sometimes, you have to understand when to surrender to win.
Therefore accept what is.
Do what you can.
learn when to move on, reset, restart, and begin again.
Take the next best step.,
Do this
Accumulate your successes, no matter how small or tiny they may be.
I watched a report about a man who was told that he would never stand or walk again.
I remember the look on his face when he intentionally made his big toe move.
This was said to be impossible and the man explained, “I was told that everything is impossible, until it’s done.”
I know what loss is.
I know about hitting bottom.
I know what it means to lose it all, and yes, when I say lose it all; I mean to lose everything that had meaning to me.
Long ago, I was told that the best way to make fate and destiny laugh is to make plans . . .
I know all about this.
I know what it means to assume that people, places, and things will always remain or never leave; and equally, I know the emotional mixtures of fear, pain and anger when I found myself alone.
Or better, I know what it meant to me when fate and destiny laughed in my face.
To me, this was as if fate and destiny laughed and said, “Um, yeah. About those plans you had . . . sorry. Not gonna happen!”
I have dreams.
And perhaps I have executed the wrong plans to make them come true.
I had the best of intentions but I invested in the wrong attacks and the wrong executions.
I have lost it all more than once.
I have been stripped of wealth, my identity, and stripped of my hope.
And yet . . . I am still here.
I have been hurt,
I’ve been sick.
I’ve been down and out.
But no matter what, no one can tell me that I quit.
There was an afternoon in 1991 when I tried to quit.
There is nothing more final than this type of quitting.
I tied myself by the neck to a sprinkler line in the ceiling of a bathroom at a treatment facility.
I woke up on the floor because the knot around my neck slipped.
I woke up on the ground.
Alive. . .
Fate and destiny told me, “NO!”
“There’s something we need to show you.”
And what fate and destiny have shown me has not always been good.
but it has not always been bad either
I have not seen it yet. My dream, that is
And I have not accomplished my dream yet either.
But despite my position and the distance between my love and myself; I know you are out there.
I know that you care.
And yes, I know that one day
You will be with me, by my side, for life or longer and way after the hour of my death
(amen)
Blessed Father,
Hear me . . .
. . . I am nothing more than mortal
I am a man
flawed and all
scared too.
I am frightened that my window is closing and that my time left is too short.
But none of this is up to me
This is up to fate and destiny
So, for now –
Let me chop away
let me chop hard and let me not waste another minute
let me chop at this true, so-to speak,
and let the chips . . .
Fall where they may
The Written Addiction 