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Friday, January 17, 2020

the year turnaround.

The day started out just like any other. *Yawn* Wake up and fumble out of bed… morning routine. I grabbed my coffee and drove to work. I listened to the current book, Bounce Forward, and let my mind wander. Today was just a little bit different. And aside from the dense fog, I did not know why yet. I did not remember what today was. What had happened and came to pass just one year ago.

Or perhaps, I should exclaim “wow a year has gone by!” Unsure. But what I can say is that everything appears impossible… everything appears to be out of reach, when you are at the bottom trying to look up. When you are deep within the hole, quicksand seems to be more likely than a ladder. Over a year ago, I was deep within the hole. And while there I had decided to pour some water in with me. “Since I am here…” might as well wallow in it for awhile. Not a mud bath sort of wallow. I mean cover yourself in sand at the beach sort of wallow. How pig-like could I become? “I will enjoy this” wallowing, so I thought. No end. No problem. Then I was determined to shake it off. Nah – f*@# it, I would wallow some more. I could not fathom that life would be what it is presently.

Even today, in the present, finishing this lingers on a bit. I have spent over a day just thinking about what this will say. Yet, I cannot seem to see the end. I am truly uncertain as to the end result. I am determined ponder. Yet, it claws at me to escape. Light. Day. The air. No particular purpose other than to be outside. Not lingering around in thought patterns or unspoken words. Not intended to be some profound lesson that I have learned and want to share with the world. Alive, to then rest.

December, 2018. I had just relapsed, but January changed everything… After the separation, I met someone on Tinder. Nothing intended beyond companionship. (Yes, not the place to find that… so I have heard.) The holiday seasons were hard at first. Quiet halls, once filled with little laughter turn to echoes like ghosts in an imagined story. The same startle though. The relationship was a friendship at first that had mild intimacy. Being new to the dating world, I had not much experience. 15 years of marriage and nearly a year of some form of isolation left me curious, cautious but open. Thanksgiving came to pass and things were settling so I thought. December 06, 2018, I received a call while at work. I was needed at the courthouse promptly. I was already late.

The day had come, and I was unaware what day it was. I had not read the email. Or seen the text. Or perhaps opened the letter. I cannot tell which for certain. Today was the divorce hearing and I was not aware. My disorganized state at the time started becoming clearer. Though, it would not be crystal until much much later. I reached the courthouse in Madison, WI around 45 minutes late. Scattered more than ever but feeling aware of how unaware I actually was. The proceeding commenced. And after an undeterminable amount of time it was over. The end. I got in my car, picked up my phone and had to talk to someone. I called my girlfriend. Was she that? Girl…friend? The call was short, and by the end of the day, I learned that it was not going to work out between her and me. The condo felt so empty once again. There was nothing to worry about settling.

The month of December is still a blur. I do not remember the relapse, or should I say when it actually started. I do not remember missing a date with my kids only that I did, and made some lame excuse of being sick. Obvious to anyone. I remember opening the letter from the U.S. Gov’t saying that I had back taxes. Child support and alimony kicked in already (which let me be clear – I know goes to a good place). The taxes were being garnished as well. With my first paycheck, with all the deductions, I barely had enough to get a hotel room. I continued to relapse. I hallucinated. I… cannot… remember… details. Only notes that I left myself. The texts made no sense. Who sent those? When-why-how? The notes only made sense in a fictitious story telling mode sort of way. Reality was a moment between swallows. And a voice at the other end of a phone call to get help. After 15 years of marriage she knew me and the spiral was not going to get any better. St. Joseph was where change would happen. She had called and my best friend was willing to help. I managed to send an email to work resigning. December 31, 2018.

I cannot count how many hours were spent behind the N, we know as Netflix. The autoplay feature, while handy, doesn’t really make clean breaks. Entire seasons and titles finished. Yet, considering the state, I have not seen many of them yet. The only reminders were “Watch it again…” No car, I lost the keys. (No real phone, lost that too. I wandered around for miles in the snow once near the end.) So I managed to get a prepaid phone. No job. No money. I continued this cycle for weeks. The world did not exist outside of the condo or a walk to Wal-Mart to restock. The countdown was set into motion and there was nothing that could change that now. The only thoughts that I had surrounded a fridge, how many were left, or wondering when the landlord would force me to vacate. I managed to stay for just long enough though.

January 13th, 2019, a former friend from church arrived to pick me up at the condo I lived in. My ex had purchased a one-way ticket for help; my only outlet that seemed viable to whatever logical mind was left. Moving consisted of 2 packed duffel bags and a carry on. A couple clothing sets, a dress shirt, extra socks and unders, my journals, computer and things I did not think I could go on without. The rest would be left behind. About a jam packed van full of a life, left behind the door and locked to be forgotten. It was cold outside and I realized that I smelled terrible. Looks were not even on the radar. I remember the sounds of the bags slamming on the stairs as I dragged them along side my wobble. I barely had energy to stand. I did not sleep the prior night, having started self detox.

Awkwardly, I got into the car. I cannot remember what music was playing but it was comforting over silence. Several hours into sobering up, I was hungry and two McDonalds breakfast burritos, orange juice and an extra hash brown he did not want were devoured gorging into my gut. The liquid diet with ramen had taken its toll. The new food was nauseatingly nourishing. Small talk was attempted, but what can you say really? What meaningful conversation can be had with someone inside out, and leaving everything behind? We did end up making small talk as we waited in the sub-zero degree weather for the Greyhound. Since we shared similar music interests we found ourselves discussing bands, genres, and lots of “have you heard…” Finally, the bus came. It was time.

Weakly stumbling with the overstuffed bags to the side of the bus, the cold pierced through me. I didn’t realize that I had started to sweat inside the car. One…two… the bags were slammed into the side of the bus. Mixed in with others’ lives. All heading somewhere else. Still not thinking very clearly, I said goodbye, and found a seat on the bus. The bus was not full and I was nervously bobble-heading. Some from the sobering. Mostly from the fact I have never done this before. None of it. I had flown many, many times, so I proceeded in the same way. Once the doors closed and I was sure no one was sitting beside me I placed my leather messenger bag beside me. The tiny duffel bag that I slugged on was tossed to in the seat beside me. I am not sure what drivers of busses check, but it took about as long as an airplane. I sat attentive and listened to the sounds of airbrakes and under-storage bins shifting. The cold outside was fleeting with the cabin body heat. Windows began to blur with condensation and crackles came overhead. The driver sped through a garbled safety message with only fragments understandable. Most passengers appeared to be regulars as well. Just like an airplane, no one else was listening. The message finished with “… Milwaukee.”

Madison to Milwaukee. Though there were several small stops along the way, the route ended there, which is also where I would grab bus number two. We started to move. Goodbye Madison. The trees and building moved along the windows while I observed and watched the driver get on the highway. I loaded the map on my $13 smartphone and prepaid month from Verizon. I was not sure what to do or feel so I just didn’t. I thumbed through my bag. Computer. Books. Kindle. Unknown envelope from my kids. I settled on another Netflix show and sat back for leg one. A couple random texts to people I knew. I had a couple hours to pass and I was not quite ready to ponder…

The ride would continue for the next 26 hours. A play by play would be ridiculously long and probably about as exciting as watching paint dry. The paint was colorful though. I spent lots of time texting, watching Netflix shows, and letting pondering happen from time to time. Sleeping was not an option really. While incredibly tired, my heart would race through detox. The hunger started to kick in and the amazing ham sandwich packed by my kids, go-gurt and raw vegetables only went so far. I drifted off in thought. Moments of giddiness about something new followed by sheer terror and a new depth of depression about what reality was. Texting here and there to verify this was still real life and was really happening. Outside of GPS, I had lost where I was at in the blackness of the winters night.

actual photo of a seat.

I stopped at three different bus stations. Each time, my incredibly weak body lugged hundreds of pounds into the station. Each time I had to find my way. Find the bathroom. The water fountain. A seat. Seats were a surprisingly rare commodity. Finding a seat was worse than finding the only USB plug or power outlet in an airport. When one person moved, there was another ready to collapse into the spot. By the 3rd station I had it figured out. That, of course, was a good thing considering the application that was labeled as seating. Metal grated benches with concrete walls behind were able to be fashioned into recliners. And after many hours of sitting, a coat or bag became delightful cushions. Though they never cut through all of the metal framework hardness.

Since everything I owned was in a bag, I couldn’t leave it while I used the bathroom. So I ended up moving seats every so often. I am sure it would have been fine but was paranoid. With three bags to my name and alone, I could not chance it. Charge the phone. Stare into the general population. Study the curiously strange people that came together in the petri dish of travelers. Repeat. The worst part of the journey was a stay outside of Kansas City. The picture above, was my KC seating arrangement. A 5 hour layover after 20 hours of bumps, jolts, and lights lightly strobing as they passed on the streets. I ended up being so angry yet so anxious. My destination was only an hours drive. Watching the clock. Growls in my stomach. Only a couple mins passed. Then finally it was time to board.

The arrival in St. Joseph, MO took a much longer than the ticket stated. Not by ticks on a clock but the other dimension of time. The white pickup door opened and my best friend got out. Without judgement, he wrapped his arms around me. Offered me a piece of candy and we grabbed a McChicken. I borrowed $10 and also bought the cheapest juice at the vape store. He, despite having so many responsibilities of his own, offered everything in his world to me. So much love and so many lessons that I would not understand until later. The friendship laid the foundations of the life to come and like curing cement, secured a path.

Against his advice, and my better judgement, I swiped through Tinder. No, no, left, left… view… left… view… read… right. There were a couple profiles of interest. And on a whim I drafted a message in the app. The witty words on her profile seemed to shine. And despite what logic stated I received a notification. A reply. The message pinged and eventually we moved to text. A real person on the other end. A person with depth. I shared my story, and I am sure with much caution, she listened. Something was different. And not in a way that we say when we are convincing ourselves despite a different reality. We continued to talk and evolve a curious friendship.

I lived with my friend for several months. Sober. And one day I wasn’t. The new wore off. The friendship was challenged and like all good things, I had to realize the truth. This was not a vacation. This was not a getaway where I met someone casually to talk to with your friend in the other room. Lives were impacted and opened to me, not with endless amounts of freedom. I slept for days and nearly lost the job that I had secured. The livelihood for my children. I was not above a rock bottom. Apparently my head just surfaced above ground for a moment. She did not let go…

I moved out of my best friend’s home shortly thereafter. We established an understanding – and his friendship, while strained, did not waver. I had an apartment. My own place – space – rules. Medicated. I put barriers up so that slipping again would not happen. While I was sure that I was not going to… I had thought that many times before and could not chance it. She, would later be named Q, came into my life over the next several months. And there is so much more to this story. More than either of us, you, the reader, and me, the writer can bear right now. In fact, The Red Book, our adventure journal, or diary if you prefer, documents the tales quite nicely. The next parts happened as life does. Q and I grew closer and due to changes with my employment late spring, I moved to Lawrence, KS. She lives in Lawrence, KS. My new career is in the area. I received a call from my former landlord from Wisconsin telling me almost all of the things I abandoned were saved and after a quick trip there – I am reunited. And life continues. Lessons continue.

Over the last year I have started a new chapter… scratch that. Book. The characters, like in a series, have familiar faces. And the lessons abound… Part of the inspiration for the words put to a white Mac screen. What you have been reading. You see, things are funny like that. I did not and would not have planned this life. The non-traditional family. Far away from loved ones. Losing myself to a bottle. Yet I did. The reality is that I did. And now I have climbed out of the bottom of rocks and walk around on the surface. The valleys are there. The mountains can be seen at times. Appreciation of events can be real. Unconditional love can be had. I wish everyone could learn, not how I did, but what I have.

The world is full of hits. Viral videos and cute puppies and memes full of snarky sarcasm. A posting society living a facebook life (prior blog entry) where things are very one sided. The labor of love should be called the labor of life. Life is not rainbows and unicorns. Dark days still loom and carry a fog afterward. Yet, there is something different. A reframed approach. Hope. This story is not a about painting some picture for sorrow. It was more for me than for you. Therapeutic to lift the veil. To shine light on the shadow… To name, the unnamed. And the post a couple days ago really summed it up. I am not proud of my past. Only that I survived. Proud to be where I am today. None of this was done alone. From the phone calls that were the lifeline I desperately needed, best friend who laid a foundation and to the partner that has stood beside me. For faith, lost and found, but like Footprints from a poem, carried me through.

You have got this. Slay your dragon. I am done chasing mine.



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