Every Day Is A Gift!

Love Is Not Enough To Save A Dying Friend

2015-08-29T08:07:00.001-05:00

The pain and despair that comes with addiction is excruciating. Every morning you wake up feeling like hell and you know that you are going to do the same thing that day. It's like there's a guy with a sledge hammer standing behind a door, and even though you know he's there, you choose to open the door any way. The power of addiction is merciless, deceitful and doesn't care who you are. It just wants you to submit to it's every command - and you do.

Part of my recovery is trying to help others to recover and make it to the other side. As a recovering addict I have done the lying, cheating, stealing and manipulation that makes addiction possible. Being an alcoholic or addict is a 24 hour job. You are either thinking about getting high, trying to get high, getting high or suffering from the last high. The paradox of addiction is that it convinces you that you are not an addict. It also twists your mind into thinking that your family and the world are against you. It reassures you that giving in and getting high is your only path to peace.

There is a person very dear to me who I see slipping into the jaws of addiction. She is a daughter to me. Knowing the signs and games an addict plays is both a blessing and a curse. It's like you know the fastball is coming and you still strike out. The person I am speaking of is a beautiful girl. She is bright and intelligent and only 22 years old. She is completely lost.

When I used, "checking out" of myself was required. I had no choice. For over 20 years I continuously opened the door and let the guy with the sledgehammer beat my brains in. I lost everything from control of my mouth, my self respect to my family. Those losses just added fuel to the fire and more power to the addiction's constant reminder that it was my only friend. It wasn't until I truly thought I was losing my mind and going to die that I got help. Friends, family, strangers and God Almighty can't help an addict until they get tired of the guy with the sledgehammer beating them to death. I was thrown life preserver after life preserver and my denial let me drown for years.

It is so sad for me to look at her and see the patterns I am so familiar with. There have been threats, sob stories, broken promises and I'm sorries. The patterns are all the same. Only the faces and places change. I see the pain in her eyes and the self hate she has for herself. Self hate is the ultimate master of destruction and obsession for an addict. As life gets more chaotic, the greater the drive is to escape. It is hell on earth.

As a loved one you can make threats, try tough love, beg, spoil and play every game you can think of to get an addict to see reality just for that one second. Sometimes it works. Other times it doesn't. Alcoholism and addiction are the only diseases that tell you you're not sick, that you can quit at anytime. An addict thinks they know all the answers and everyone else is full of shite! Prayers are important. Setting a good example is right thinking. Loving the addict who is suffering is vital.

The reality check is that all of the solutions, combinations of them, love, anger, compassion and punishment, may or may not work. It's a crap shoot. Some times you roll a 7. Sometimes you roll box cars. There is no perfect solution. All alcoholics and addicts suffer from terminal uniqueness. You can do your best and keep the faith. That is all.

I am going to see this lovely girl tomorrow night. I can share with her my love, experience, strength and hope. I can pray for her. I can tell her the stories of living on the street or having cockroaches crawling all over my body. Maybe something will stick. Maybe it won't. We can control our actions but we have no control over the outcomes. When she walks out the door she will be left with my love and words of support and the knowledge that I will always be there for her. Once she hits the streets it's just her and her addiction. Until the scale tilts from misery to recovery I must accept I can only do so much. I must also face the fact that her life is out of my control. Sometimes love is not enough to save a friend.

When she walks out that door I will say "Sunny, I love you and I'm here for you."

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Please visit tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page.

Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

NO WIRE HANGERS!

2014-12-11T05:37:00.001-06:00

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself

Amazon-Kindle-soulparole.com MARCH-2012

Step Parent? Stepson? There Are NO Steps, Only Parents and kids...

Sometimes I think there should be a recovery program for being a stepparent, or the child of one. I am both. It has been both the most difficult and rewarding experience of my life, more so than my battle with addiction and recovery.

The word "STEP" in front of “parent” or ‘child’ is as ridiculous as the term "holy war," or "amicable divorce,” because it implies a barrier between the parent and child and sets up a preconceived notion of separation between the two. When someone mentions, “stepmother,” I remember poor Cinderella being run ragged by hers. As for "stepfather,” I think of those horror movies where the guy is all cheesecake and smiles when his wife is in the room and pure evil when he's alone with her child.

My first experiences with a "stepparent" happened when I was six. I thought my father’s new wife was pretty and polite, but she brought along three daughters. I was the only boy, so I was either the lucky one or the odd man out. There were feelings of envy and jealousy at the thought of sharing my father, but I think that is pretty normal for a little kid. I also had a "stepfather," for a short time, and he would be a good candidate for the nasty character I described earlier in this posting.

After enduring the loss of two children to miscarriage in my previously failed marriages, I was angry with God for not giving me kids of my own. I prayed over and over, but the answer was always, “No,” or so I thought at the time. Little did I know He had a plan for my life, and when he didn't follow "my" plan, I thought I was getting a raw deal. My father never called his new wife's daughters "step," just daughters. I noted that early on, and it made a lasting impression on me.

When I moved in with Squeaky, I became "instafather." The position has advantages and definite disadvantages. When things were great it was, "I love you DA!" When things weren't so good, the ever popular, "You aren't my Dad!" flew like death darts. I would be less than honest if I didn't point out I pulled the same trump card early in our marriage with comments like, "YOUR Daughter “and “YOUR Son...."

As a parent to my kids, I have made lots of mistakes, both when I was drunk and when I was sober, and I always will because I am human. However, there were benefits from my “dad once removed, DNA-free relationship with my kids.” When they were small, I told them they had a father, and I wasn't trying to replace him. They adopted an affectionate nickname the Irish use, “DA,” instead of the American "Pa.” I told them they could talk to me as a friend, rather than their dad, but that I wanted their respect as the man of the house and their mother's husband.

I have different relationships and memories with each of them. I was there for Bro's first day of school. I will never forget his adorable look of excitement mixed with a touch of terror as I left him behind on that first day of kindergarten. Bro has referred to me as his DA and stepdad, depending on his entourage, and I am comfortable with either title. I know he loves me.

My middle daughter, Sunny was, and is, close to her father. Once, when Sunny and I were at a doctor's office, a man commented that she "looked just like me." We smiled and thanked him for his kind words, then laughed our butts off in the car at the congenital comparison. We had many challenges during our years of growing up together. Now we are the best of friends.

Hemingway, my oldest, calls me, “Dad,” and that makes me feel good. I was proud to take Hemi to the "Daddy/Daughter" dance her senior year. Her father has little interest in her, but I hope that changes some day. I will be happy to share her with him, but she will always be “Daddy's little girl” to me.

Growing up, my relationship with my "stepmother" was up and down. She was patient and always cordial to me, but I could sense her frustration because I always ran to Daddy when I was in a pinch or needed money. She was the “tough love” type, so I’m sure my frequent requests caused disagreements between Dad and her. I am grateful my father assisted me, yet, in my addictive manipulation, I often took advantage of his willingness to help.

During my father's illness (He was in the hospital nine times during the last two years of his life), my second mom and I grew very close. We spoke freely of my addictions and the challenging personality my father brought to their relationship. She loved him, and I could see why he spent his life with her. Today we are close friends, and I love her deeply.

If you are a "stepparent" I feel ya! If you are not, please don't judge us until you have walked a block in our shoes. I do not see my biological daughter as much as I would like to, but that is a story for another day. That will work itself out in God's time. I have two mothers, four sisters and four kids. There are no "steps" between us.

God often gives us what we want; it's just not the way "we" want it. I am blessed to be a second father to my wife's kids, and I have adopted my father's policy of no "steps" when I speak of them. Dad, thanks for the life lesson. I miss you! God, thanks for giving me the children. I have given up on trying to figure you out, but am grateful you understand me….

Depression Makes Me LAUGH!

2014-12-10T13:08:00.000-06:00

Depression makes me laugh. What? You thought I was gonna say it makes me sad. Right? It does sometimes. There are times it makes me cry, get obsessive-compulsive, angry or giddy. On other occasions it makes me isolate or dread being alone. I dislike the word depression "sufferer." There are few moments that I suffer from my depression. There are trying times. Every so often I have a difficult day or two.

I usually speak about the triumphs and tribulations of sobriety, addiction and recovery. I don't speak enough about the world of depression. I'm not an expert on it. I live with it, and in it. A friend of mine, who's a county politician, messaged me this morning troubled with how stigmatized addiction and depression is in our society. I told her I was going to be addressing that very thing today.

I was first diagnosed bi-polar in March of 1999 when I checked myself into Hinsdale Hospital for rehab. I have since been rediagnosed as having an anxiety and panic disorder with bi-polar tendencies. My work in recovery and with a therapist has been effective in helping me MANAGE my CONDITION. I have a chemical imbalance that requires medication to stabilize my mood. I am grateful to say that over the last three years I have gone from four pills a day, to two at bedtime. I hope I get to a point when I need no medication at all. The chemical imbalance is a part of life as ME. It's kinda like the fact that I'm left handed in a right handed world. I have learned to MANAGE and ADAPT.

Bi-Polar used to be called Manic Depressive. That's a beauty! To define what I have is difficult. Simply stated I am attracted to both male and female Arctic people. Traditionally defined, I have really high-highs and really low-lows emotionally. Most folks spend their time in the emotional middle and spike up or down. I tend to be at one of the polar extremes and have to work towards the emotional middle. My chemical receptors and plugs have a problem lining up just right. It's a bit like a car that needs a new set of wires. The car runs but it misfires. A lot of addicts use because they have some form of depression or chemical imbalance. We self medicate because we can't cope with racing thoughts, mood swings or can't process our feelings that aren't fitting the picture. This is me.

I often have the wrong emotional response for the situation that is occurring. The world sees my actions not my intentions. When my Aunt Dora died we drove down to Carlisle, Indiana for her funeral. I was about 15 or so. My grandfather was cracking jokes about her in the family lounge. I was laughing like George Carlin was sitting next to me. Tears were rolling down my face. I was clearly boisterous and obnoxious. I didn't KNOW HOW to cope with my feelings over the death. I vented through my laughter.

As White Sox announcer Ken " Hawk" Harrelson says, "right size, wrong shape." It was inappropriate behavior for a funeral. I was depressed and was in a high on my emotional meter. I was in a manic moment. Rightfully, my mother scolded me for my actions. I retreated into a corner feeling as if I had done something horribly wrong. It wasn't that my feelings were wrong. Our feelings are OUR FEELINGS, and are neither right or wrong. My actions were improper for a wake. I couldn't find the middle on how to react to my Aunt's death. When my HIGH reaction was inappropriate I slipped down to the low. Emotional Middle Earth was elusive for me.

I started to drink and use because I couldn't cope with my thoughts and feelings not aligning. I felt misunderstood all the time. Sometimes I still do. It's been said that addicts are overly sensitive people. It's not surprising to me when I see us dually diagnosed. It does sting a little when I hear people say addicts have no feelings. WE FEEL EVERYTHING! That is a large part of our problem. We feel compassion when a butterfly farts! When you mix a chemical imbalance into an addictive personality KABOOM! Catastrophe is down right inevitable. It is a perfect recipe for self-destruction. However, once we get armed with the facts about WHAT WE ARE and WHO WE ARE there's hope.

The key to SURVIVING addiction and depression is reaching out for help. As an addict and a person who has wondered if I was going out of my mind I know that is a bitter pill to swallow. The thought of approaching someone about being crazy is nuts! No it's not. It's your only hope. You have to have hope. Even when your sitting under that rock. You're not crazy! You're just a little nuts!

When I addressed my alcohol and addiction issues I was having multiple panic attacks daily. Once I found out my wires were crossed I felt better. I WAS NOT ALONE. Panic attacks suck! The ones' Tony Soprano had were a party! I felt like I was gonna DIE every day! DAY AFTER DAY! That's not living. That's existing until you're finally right!

I saw a couple of noodle professionals. I eventually found one I was comfortable with. This is not like picking out bagels! Take your time. DO RESEARCH. LEARN. EDUCATE YOURSELF. The more you learn about your melon the less you'll feel your losing your seeds! It isn't the end of the world. It opened me up to my life again. I have not had a full blown attack in over a year. I now recognize my symptoms and know I'm not going to die. To be safe I also don't let ducks raise their young in our backyard.

General public, earthlings and pundits, PLEASE don't judge what you do not understand. Chemical imbalance doesn't mean crazy. An addict doesn't have a morality problem. If it were as easy as "just stopping" ...we would. When it comes to depression, if it were as easy as, "just snapping out of it"...we'd do that too....

Parents Just Don't Understand

2014-12-07T06:44:00.001-06:00

I remember when I was growing up, and my parents did something wrong, I thought it was high treason punishable by death! If I did something wrong, it was just a mistake and should be forgotten. For some strange reason, I thought parents weren't human. No. Humans went in one column, parents went in another. They were held to a strict double standard.

They were to dismiss my wrongs. I licked up theirs like an all day sucker. I kept a mental diary of all of their faults. Some were hurtful actions and failings, others were just resentments I held against them for not seeing things MY WAY. They had no feelings! I wasn't to be held accountable or judged based on my behavior! I knew everything! My screw ups were different!

As parents we don't keep lists. We have been where our kids are. They think we were hatched, or beamed down from a distant galaxy... just before THEY were born. When we share our experiences with them they look at us as old fashioned, preachy and hypocritical. They say, "times are different now," and that "they just don't understand." Advice burns like hot pokers in their ears. I remember that those hot pokers burnt mine closed for years.

Parents see things from both sides of the fence. Sometimes we are the good cop, on other days the bad one. We too, reflect on things we wish we had handled differently during our kids tender years. We also see where we were wrong in our youth. Some incidents trouble us greatly. We wish we could have a mulligan. Time makes memories clearer when we take an honest look back at what we have said and done. There are regrets for actions taken, and those that were not.

Each of us has a mental time freeze on an age our parents never out grow. My parents were frozen at around thirty five. When they reached their sixties, I was shocked! I wondered what had happened to their calendars? Theirs didn't match mine! My God! They're old!

Sometime around thirty, I started seeing my folks as humans. I realized that much of the advice they offered was right. I began to see that my perceptions of their wrongful actions were based on their fear for my safety and guidance. They had not been hatched. They moved into the human column with a parental asterisk. They really did know a lot about life. They weren't clueless.

I understood that they really had already experienced the pains and tribulations of growing up. I had been a bit hypocritical in my assessment of them. They had parents! Grandma and Grandpa had a couple as well!

I did make mistakes as a kid and parent. I still do. Check that! As a human being, sometimes I fail. I know we each share common ground in our victories and failures. I know there is no double standard... we all try our best....

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe and Kindle. Personalized copies can be purchased at tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page.

Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

A Shameless Fan of William H. Macy

2014-11-21T10:19:00.001-06:00

Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself (Available NOW on AMAZON-KINDLE-soulparole.com . Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health services.

Shameless...William H. Macy, Me, and Addiction Flashbacks!

I was blessed to have the opportunity to work on an episode of the new Showtime series "Shameless," starring William H. Macy. I was cast as his neighbor and when the episode airs you will definitely see me. The show revolves around a father with alcohol issues trying to raise a brood of kids in the working neighborhoods of Chicago. It is well written and sure to be a hit.

It was an unseasonably warm November day for Chicago and the scene was taking place in the dead of winter. Temperatures got up into the 60's that day and we were dressed as if it were January. Snow trucks were brought in to create the winter scene, complete with a guy who had a spray can to dirty the snow on the street. I can not say what the episode was about specifically in respect and confidence to the Showtime Network and professional acting courtesy.

In both "Shameless" and "The Chicago Code," great pains are taken to make details and authenticity as accurate as possible. From regional dialect and slang, to the casting of locals in the neighborhood providing background, no detail is too small to overlook. When a shoot is in progress, lights, semis, cameras, wardrobe, trolley rails, productionassistants, actors and extras litter the street. Curious neighbors sit on their porch or on the sidelines taking in the magic and technical wizardry that makes Hollywood so cool.

If a civilian is brought into the production they must sign a waiver and are often paid for their appearance in it. On this particular day we were on the west side in one of the more blue collar, urban neighborhoods for the shoot. As we rehearsed our scenes and repeatedly returned to our marks for another take or camera angle change, a woman kept walking onto the set. After a few interruptions, one of the best production assistants I have ever worked with took her to the side and signed her up to be an official player for the shoot for that day.

The woman was haggard and seemed a bit nervous. She was in clothing that seemed worn for a few days in a row and was skittish and tweaky. She was obviously withdrawing and jonesing for whatever candy kept her going. An addict can pick out another in a stadium full of strangers. It is just a skill we pick up in case we need to commiserate or score. We are always scanning and defining the people around us. That one is uppity. That one is a push over. That one is full of themself. That one is weak. That one will buy my story and give me a few bucks. We move from character to character and are usually dead on in our predeterminations of our fellow man's weak spots.

I was lucky enough to play an integral part in a scene with William H. Macy. He is a consummate character actor and professional. I was in the middle of asking the director how she wanted me to play the scene and she walked away to put out a more important fire. Mr. Macy stopped over and answered my question as to how he felt my demeanor should be in reacting to his actions. He is not an ego guy. He is just a guy. He presented no pretension or condescension, only a desire in doing the scene as perfectly as possible. I thanked him and played my part as he suggested. I was surprised when he later joined the extras in the holding area for chit chat and a picture or two.

In the scene some money is thrown up in the air in celebration of a joyous event. Prop money was used for the rehearsal and actual cash when we were ready to print. Each of us were given a set denomination of moola and responsible for returning it at the wrap of the scene. I was drawn to the woman as after each scene was "cut" we would retrieve the amount we were given and prepare for the next "take." When the call came to "check the gate and print", the scene was over and we returned our money to the PA handling the bankroll. The amount of money distributed was less than what returned.

I returned my portion and looked around for the skittish woman but she was gone. I scanned the streets of the restricted area and saw her smiling ear to ear and shouting into her cell phone. She was a block away and through all the confusion and chaos that is business as usual on set, I could hear her pleas drifting to me from so far away. She waited by the corner and was picked up by a car that stopped just long enough for her to jump in as it lurched away.

My first urge was to tell the PA about the lady and be a hero and doer of good deeds. I didn't say a word though. As I returned my share, the old street code of not ratting out a fellow user came back to me as clear as the days when I was using. It was not my business and I was probably doing her a favor. There were a few more scenes that required my participation as camera angles were switched and slight changes to the scene printed, just in case they wanted to alter something later.

The woman returned shortly after she left on the 14 hour long shoot. She was a different person. Her speech was slower and clearer. She didn't twitch or itch and looked like she had found the medicine she needed to feel normal again. I felt for her. As I looked at her she smiled back, eyes glazed over and content. I knew how she felt. I had been there. I knew what it was like to go to any means necessary to get the chemical cure to what was ailing me. I said a prayer for her. I don't know if she took the money but I know what addicts are capable of. I thanked God for his grace that it wasn't me. I looked back once more at her euphoric grin and was grateful for another day of sobriety. But for the Grace of God there go I.

(The episode is #4 season 1-the baby kidnapping. Thank you Jon Kinnas for casting me in 3 of the 5 seasons! I love you man!)

Thank You! No! Thank You

2014-11-20T06:04:00.000-06:00

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.

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. 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 over the last few weeks. I know it's the meds. They know it's 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, 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!

Insert Fear HERE!

2014-11-13T16:45:00.001-06:00

FEAR is a four letter word. I believe it carries within it the same power as love and hate. It is usually the divider between the two. Sometimes they are intertwined and inextricably separable. FEAR is at the root of all hate. My fears of success and failure have left me paralyzed into doing nothing at all. For years, my fear of being hurt by loved ones made me a dark and demanding lover. My insecurities led me to dive into the bottle and a plethora of self destructive behavior.

When I speak about the isolation and insanity of alcoholism and depression, fear is at the center of my speech. You may not be an addict but I don't know of a single person who is fearless. If you say you are, you're probably afraid to talk about what's really eating you.

Some folks self-medicate with food, work, shopping, gambling or chaos. I know that chaos and drama were an essential part of my insane behaviors. When things are going along just ducky I like to toss a monkey wrench into the whole works and gum it up with some drama!

For some reason, when something good or bad happens to me I feel like I don't deserve it. Either the cosmos are dealing me a bad hand, or the big guy upstairs is rewarding the wrong fella. It's not exactly an emotional roller coaster. It's more like a hamster wheel! My mind is a switch hitter between the darkness and the light.

As I have grown in my sobriety over the last six years I've gotten much better. I don't beat my self to death with a Louisville slugger anymore. It's more of a NERF Bat. Old habits are hard to break. My 28 years of alcoholism and undiagnosed depression days were more than half of my life on this crazy spinning ball.

My fears led to isolation. Not solitude. The more time I spent alone, the bigger the fear grew and the farther I dug down into my own abyss. I can;t afford to do that these days. I need to surround myself with people who really know me. My wife can instantly see when my clock ain't ticking right. The more I educate myself about my conditions I can think my way through them instead of sulking in them or running away.

Whatever FEAR that is controlling you won't move out until you reach out and face it with a friend and your God. I'm still a hot mess, but I'm able to function without chemical courage. It really is a choice. Beyond Fight or Flight our fear instincts are self created. But I see now that conquering them is a team effort. Take it slow. Take it extra slow. But I hope you take the shot.

This is my first new blog in over a year. My fears had quieted me to mute. I'M BACK!

FAITH not fear!

The truth does set you free.

SOUL PAROLE: MAKING PEACE WITH MY MIND, GOD AND MYSELF

Dumpster Diving in an Armani Suit!

2014-11-13T11:46:00.001-06:00

The more time I spend in sobriety, the clearer my mind is becoming. My using days created huge blank spots that are starting to fill back in. I blacked out EVERY time I drank. That's the whole idea right? I have mentioned that I don't remember the early nineteen-nineties. I have little recollection of my first year and a half at Illinois State. I do remember being arrested twice and being placed on academic probation for all three semesters.

I also had a radio show on WZND, the campus radio station. In a bit of Irony the show was called "The Happy Hour." It opened with the Ramones, "Rock-n-Roll radio. I never did a show sober. Not one. After I split for Columbia Chicago, out of necessity, and a harsh warning from the judge in Bloomington, I graduated in 1992. I don't have a single photo from my days at Columbia. I do have the sheepskin. I guess that's all that really matters.

I loved that there were 2 bars next door to the college back then. I would drink or smoke between classes and made few friends. They didn't drink like me so I had no use for them. I was so desperate to get high that during renovation of the original Michigan Avenue campus, I would sneak up to the construction area and use. I would return to class out of my mind and only half conscious.

Not long after I graduated I got a job in the gaming industry. They had opened up the first casinos in Joliet. I conned and schmoozed my way into a position in group sales. My job was to go to bars and organize bus trips for gamers. I spent more time in the bar drinking than getting groups signed up.

The job was a suit and tie gig. I felt like a big shot. I was really gripped with fear and a hundred insecurities. The chemicals just dulled the self-loathing. As my production in the department faded I knew my days were numbered. As an alcoholic I always had another job, and woman, on back up if things didn't work out when they discovered I was an addict.

One of the memories that has returned was the first time I ate garbage. The casino sent me on a tourism road trip through Michigan and Ohio with a bus company that promoted tours. There were speakers from the other area casinos and attractions. During the days we would travel to a city hotel and do presentations on why groups should visit our area. I was always able to pull off a funny presentation with a massive hangover. Every moment that I was on the job I was either recovering from, obsessing about or using alcohol. It consumed me until I consumed it.

After we would wrap up our presentations the group would meet for dinner. I was on a tight budget. Purchasing alcohol was my priority. Food was optional. As dinner hour came I would have a few drinks with the group and dismiss myself stating that I wasn't very hungry. I was. It was for alcohol. I would high tail it to the nearest liquor store and slink back to my room.

As I made my way back to my room loaded with liquid courage I noticed all the room service trays that had been placed in the hallway. The thought dawned on me that this is where I could find food! Booze first! I only wanted a small amount of eats as not to kill the buzz. My disease created enough denial in me that the thought of eating someones leftover garbage was easily overcome. I thought I was a survivor.

I would move with stealth, from floor to floor carefully lifting the aluminum food covers from the delivered plates. I didn't want to be caught with the occupants left overs in my hand! I carried napkins or the tiny garbage can liners to carry my bounty. Rolls, a piece of uneaten chicken and crackers were major scores. Taking a potato peel that had its' delicious center devoured was not below my station. I took them.

I was careful not to be seen. I was wearing a suit. When a passerby sauntered by I would merely smile and continue back to my room. Once there I would eat my leftovers and gnawed on bounty with smug pride, proud that I had saved my money for more booze. As the next day dawned I would slip back into a suit and feel invigorated that I had eaten garbage while they dined like respectable people.

This week I auditioned for 2 casino commercials. One looks pretty promising. I think those experiences are what triggered my flashbacks. I have been to casinos with Squeaky. I enjoy our time together there. Gambling addiction is one of the few I didn't fall into.

Looking back at my past is important. It helps me to remember where I was, and where I pray not to return to. I learned a lot. It is just another chapter of the insanity that ruled my life for 28 years. It also helps jog my memory to anyone I may have wronged or harmed so I can seek them out and try to amend the situation. I learn from pain. It makes me stronger.

Today I am catching my dreams. It is only through the grace of GOD and those who helped me that I am sober today. I thanks the heavens for every day of living I am granted sober. Now I pass on my experiences to those who are fresh in recovery. That is how the circle works. I am grateful to share my story of pain to happiness to those newcomers. I see their pain and get further reinforcement that I don't wish to return to that misery.

I don't leave any regrets on the table now that I have been granted this new life. My motto is go for it. There are no such things as dreams, only unmet realities. I have to say goodbye because I have a recovery meeting now and there may be a newcomer who can relate to someone who has already fought the war. God Bless you all! Thanks for giving me a reason to live...sober. Every Day IS a Gift!

In The Navy and Outta My Mind!

2014-11-11T08:45:00.000-06:00

Shortly before turning 40 in 2004 I joined the United States Naval Reserves, based out of Great Lakes Naval Station, Great Lakes, Illinois. Assigned to command NPSTRU 1326, Unit 87740, I came in at a Rank of SA(SN). The unit is made up of men and women who did not serve in the NAVY or RESERVE. Once you are trained you are attached to a unit and the ships, bullets and wars are the same. I had almost joined the Army at 18 but my family convinced me to try college first. At forty the Navy was the only branch that took an enlisting man of my age. This has changed as the wars of Iraq and Afghanistan have stretched the regular troops and Guard thin.

I scored very high on my ASVAB test and rushed for entry. I was not attached to a specific job specialty as my test score was so high. I went in general classification. I was in the complete grip of my over indulgence for booze and depression and was hammered when I signed on the line for Uncle Sam. My recruiter was a good man. His job is to recruit sailors, not smell their breath. I answered his questions honestly about the many broken bones, mishaps and dark spots I had encountered along the way to that day. He helped me fill out the paperwork in an acceptably worded manner.

I was in no physical or psychological shape to be a sailor. My heart was! I was not pro-war. In fact I was anti-war and pro-freedom. I do love America! At that time I thought we were spending too much treasure on Iraq and not enough on Afghanistan. After all, that is where those responsible for the 911 attack had come from. I also knew that there was oil and strategic advantages to a war in Iraq. That is one of the sad facts of war. They are fought for ideals and additional contingencies. No matter what you think about it, we all like to drive cars and Iraq is right next to Iran, a genuine threat under the current regime. I was joining to help protect the freedom of my son's sons.

I reported and was thrown head first into military life. Most of the officers were younger than me. A few of them saluted me thinking I was an officer in my Civies. The base was like a self contained town. You didn't need to leave the gated area to find a pizza, bowling alley, bar or a bottle. I found a few of those. They put you up in hotel-like rooms instead of barracks for monthly training. I would drink enough to get my nerves satisfied but not too much that I couldn't handle PT or classroom study the next day.

Running was almost impossible. I have broken my right ankle 3 times and my left knee is shot from sports. My panic attacks were occurring regularly and I was realizing that although my patriotism was that of a 25 year old, my body was that of a 50 plus year old. That was due to the abuse I had put it through. I stuck it out for a year. At some point along the way I realized I could not handle it physically or emotionally. I also didn't want to put a brother sailor or soldier at risk because I wasn't up for the mission and was falling apart upstairs and downstairs.

I called my recruiter and explained that the ankle and physical ailments that plagued me were really taking a toll on me. The unit allowed for an administrative separation. It broke my heart. I am still technically under contract until April of 2012. This is the first time I have really spoken or wrote in detail about the experience. For a long time I felt like a failure, like I let my country down by not being able to cut it.

I know if I had been more forthright in my application they never would have taken me in the first place. To this day I am still uncertain if I am supposed to check off "veteran" or "military service" on applications. I have never tried to take advantage of any program the government offers veterans because I did not complete my contract. I left the service "honorably" by the paperwork but not by my "code book."

I am proud of that year now. I owe it to Fred Tormey, a high school friend, former U.S. Marine and current Arizona police officer. I still gave a year. I still gave it my best for that year. I took a risk that many will not or could not. My family thought I was nuts. My wife knows how I feel about this country now and forever. America is the greatest place on Earth. Our freedoms can lead us down some destructive paths but we are free. I can write this book. I can go where I please. I have the right to be me.

In my year I learned why guys re-up and go back for another tour in Hell after they just got out of it. They have left family there, dead and alive. When you are with your unit, your family becomes everyone in the units' family and vice-versa. You literally have each others backs. When one falls or leaves it creates a break in the chain that makes it feel strange or wrong for a while. I never saw action but I did see the brotherhood.

Do me a favor, not just this weekend. I do this every time I see a Vet. I don't care if you hate war. If you like your freedom, Starbucks and the right to say f**k the president, then follow my instructions. Pass this on to your kids. When you see a Vet, walk up to them no matter how young or old they are and say "Thank you for serving our country." That will mean a lot to them. Shake their hand and feel the rough grip of war. Look into the tired eyes of combat. Stop and realize that these fine young men and women are part of an all VOLUNTEER military. They are part of the greatest fighting force protecting the FREEDOM of not only the USA, but giving hope to millions around the world.

God Bless America and the World.

How are YOU?

2014-11-09T06:23:00.001-06:00

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 my thinning 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. There's 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 remember. 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 shaking 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.

The Stateville Gig and David Brenner

2014-03-26T07:24:00.000-05:00

This is a reprint from my book Soul Parole: Making Peace with my Mind, GOD and Myself (Available on Amazon and Kindle or click the link on the blog)

STATEVILLE! My First Invitation to Prison and I Didn't Want To Leave.....(original unedited copy 12/10)

Soul Parole:Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself (PREVIEW)

I was part of the "Comedy Faith Outreach" Ministry Tour that did a show at Stateville Prison. The program was conceived by comic, and spiritual leader George "Milkdud" Poe, and coordinated on Statesville's end by the unforgettable prison Chaplain Adamson. The Comedy/Faith Ministry has already visited Dwight Women's Correctional Institution and will be heading to Danville Prison a week from today. I was honored to be a part of that show. It changed the direction of my career dramatically and I hope it changed some young men's future choices as well. David Brenner told me that if I Could make these guys laugh, I WAS FUNNY!

I have been in a jail before. I have even spent a night in one or two before. No, it wasn't for a charity fundraiser but the jail did raise some funds from my personal overnight stays and the required fees for me to be released. PRISON is a different universe. Statesville Prison is another dimension. Let me put it this way. Stateville is an enigma wrapped in ah....whatever that thing Churchill talked about during the war, but just add some really heavy vibes, killers, thieves, murderers, rapists and some guys who made some really poor choices. It was an unforgettable day for me and I hope it was for them too. I was one of 7 comedians and a headliner, plus an emcee and Minister. Lets startfrom the beginning.

Pulling into Stateville, you are quickly deceived by the tranquil drive outside of the massive maximum security that stands a quarter mile from the perky entrance. I felt like I was heading down Forest Gump's driveway. The words Stateville are written out neatly in big stones. I wanted to grab a couple of the big fellers and put em' in my drawers because I realized trying to humor 300 inmates, who may never seefreedom again, was like having a mild stroke at a morticians convention. They would all just be staring at me, waiting for their moment. I pulled into the staff lot and could see the armed guards waving down at me. I wish it was with their teeth. My smile was much more disarming as I was unarmed.

I went into the visitor center and checked in with a sergeant who didn't know about the show. Government didn't work on the inside either. That gave me comfort in my choice to join the band of merry makers. Chaplain Bishop came out and greeted me along with Tom Dykstra, Ray Fisher and Salty Peters. Milkdud Poe, our emcee and minister for the show's end, wasn't there yet. We were waiting for Poe, Patrick Bagdon, Jay Washington and headliner Lady Lunchabell.

I really wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be. I had been in cuffs a few times, was comfortable around weapons and hung out with some bad guys back in the booze and dope days. The cool thing was that back then, I would spend the night hopped up and paranoid that I could get busted for an assortment of things that I was doing. I was clean the day of the show. I knew I was going home and I was eyeing up a couple of the weaker comics like we were gazelle in the Serengeti. If someone was going down it wasn't going to be me. I had been doing leg crunches all week and had a reverse chastity belt made for the gig. The only thing I feared was a skeleton key.

Chaplain Adamson was not what I pictured. I was the idiot picturing Spencer Tracy in a collar and whites. No. Adamson was part Jeff Bridges, part Chuck Norris and part Dennis Hopper, but with a theological bend instead of an existential one. He was cool, all the way from his pony tail to his snake skin boots. I wanted this guy on my side if I was dying or in a bar fight. After we left I saw why he needed all these characteristics to survive, and thrive, with a positive message in a pretty dark place. The chaplain also had a great sense of humor...I think. Being April Fool's Day he told the 300 inmates we were performing for that we were theologians from around the country, coming in for a round table discussion.

Our fearless leader George Poe, Patrick Bagdon and Jay Washington arrived and we began our walk to the gymnasium for the "theological symposium." The walk took about 4 days. I would have been thrilled with a "Green Mile." This was a "Red faced 2!" I walked the line and hummed the Johnny Cash song, keeping my head down. The chaplain kept us cool with funny stories and the guys we met were very respectful. I tried to act like I was just one of them. I was for a couple years as I recall. I was proud to be part of a show that was sending a positive message to these men and glad that I had the stones to commit to doing it. I will do it again. Milkdud, you have my word.

We entered the gymnasium to a largely minority group of males, who at first looked pissed that we weren't imams or monks or bishops. I thought I would piss myself but I didn't want to rust the chastity belt and create a possible weakness in one of the hinges. Adamson had a podium and 8 chairs sprawled out in front of our captive audience. He is a truly inspiring guy with the perfect demeanor for a difficult job.

As I sat and listened to the first few comics do their sets, I was people watching. I can't speak for other comics or actors but I literally could watch people for hours on end. My favorite part of air travel is the terminal, not the flight. Human behavior is fascinating. I saw these guys as men, not inmates. I wondered to myself what they had done to get there. Out of the 300 I saw, one young man was barely 20. I have belts that old. A haggard old gentleman of about 90 sat calm and chiseled with life experience. I also saw two people I recognized from recovery groups I had attended with in the past. I was floored. My life's troubles seemed like whining suddenly. I won't speak on the morality of the deeds the men did but they were paying their dues to society.

It EASILY could have been me sitting there and one of those guys telling jokes. I just didn't get caught. I got the breaks. I was leaving that night to have a nice dinner not mystery meat and beans-n-rice. You become very aware of how blessed you are after being in a prison. We were allowed to bring in a piece of paper and an I.D. That was it. No Tic-Tacs, Chapstick, Blackberry or bubble gum. We take for granted how we can just reach into our pocket for some Bazooka or an Atomic Fire Ball. These guys would love to have that just once in a while as a TREAT.

After Tom, Ray and Salty did funny, well received sets. Then it was my turn. A calm came over me. I opened with a bit about this being my first sold out gig and that after reviewing all the restrictions on material, I was left with only Knock, Knock jokes. I told a few more and went on to talk about my alcoholism at 17, homelessness at 32, 4 marriages and now an acting and comedy career starting to take off at age 45! I'm in "The Chicago Code" with "Flashdance" knock-out Jennifer Beals, blah, blah. The point being that I never gave up, even when I wanted to die.

Hell, I used to pray to die! Literally, as the roaches crawled on me. I told them to have faith in the goodness of their God because He saved my ass for some reason. I am nobody special but we all have our burdens to face each day and we have to keep our chins up and move forward. I didn't make light or try to intimate that I had a clue as to what they were facing, but I did tell them that we all are in prison within our hearts and minds. Some of us do it in jail. Some at Walmart. Some of us alone in our bed. Life is for living, no matter what your circumstances are. No man is better or worse than the next in God's eyes. We have all failed. We will all stand before Him and account for our actions individually.

Jay Washington came out and tore the house down. He is one of Chicago's hottest! Patrick Bagdon was feeling a little under the weather but I admire the fact that he showed up to the gig and kept his word. That's a pro. Of course, Lady Lunchchabell had them rolling in the aisles and I just soaked it all in. George "Milkdud" Poe wrapped up with his words of faith, surrender, hope and redemption. He hit all the good stuff. He has a gift for comedy but more importantly, faith. It was the most memorable show I have ever done. Then came the twist...

As we finished it seemed like, we/I shook hands with all 300 men who were in that sweaty gymnasium. I was not concerned about why they were there. I was glad I had made them laugh and given them a moment or two of hope. It might have been the high point of their day. As I said earlier, the restrictions on our material made me take a hard look at my set and write comedy that could play anywhere from a church to a nursing home and it felt good. It also taught me that we are all screw ups, some just get caught. Some of us are screwed up and live in a prison of our own, in our own private universes that we call our lives.

About half way through the hand shaking, a young man stopped by and said he was inspired by my message from addict to actor/comic, faith and hope and asked if I would give him my autograph. Any comic or actor remembers the first time someone asks for their autograph. At least I will. This was my first. It was not an ego feeding moment. He asked me to sign his bible where he had written some encouraging, sad, desperate and cheerful thoughts over the years for inspiration. There were a lot of notes. I was moved to a little tear, and certainly wasn't going to take that moment to scrawl in 2 inch letters, "GREAT TO MEET YOU MY MAN, ALL THE BEST TOMMY CONNOLLY", especially in a Bible. I took it as a message to keep my ego in check and that I can deliver a clean show and message that is funny and uplifting. God has a sense of humor. For the first autograph request in my career, I merely wrote next to his notes "Faith Not Fear." I printed it like it was for a 1st grade school paper. That's how humbled I was by the moment. I was proud that my words touched the young man. I was moved to humbly print in pencil a word of encouragement to him and pray that he finds a new path when he gets back on the other side of the wall - if he gets to the other side of the wall.

I was glad to be a human on this earth, trying to get along on this troubled ball of pain and confusion we know as Earth. God Bless. Never did I think, EVER, that my first request for my John Hancock would be in the words of God! I had a goal of reading the Bible cover to cover the first year of my sobriety. I had a Gideon's Bible from one of the crack hotels I lived in during the late 90's. Every night I would scribble a line or two about my feeling after reading a few pages. It became a sort of diary in the footnote of that Bible from my "Lost Years." I finished reading it from Genesis to Revelations that year and I have a journal of my first year of sobriety.

That young man saying I gave him inspiration and putting a few words of hope in his Bible made that whole thing come full circle. My pain wasn't wasted years fully realized in a moment. Good luck to all of you. Bishop Adamson, keep slinging the word and riding that white pony. You are a tribute to the profession, a great messenger and I am amazed you can walk around with a Bible in one hand and 50 pound cahones weighing you down all with a smile in your heart.

To Milkdud, The Bishop, Jay, Lady, Patrick, Salty, Tom, Ray and "The Comedy Faith Outreach" Tour and Ministry: thanks for letting me be a part of such an amazing day. I will never forget it. Amen.

The Sounds of Silence

2014-02-21T10:49:00.002-06:00

I LOVE YOU...Wonderful When Heard...Stinging When Withheld...

I love you. It is such a simple phrase. A powerful one at that. It can hold you together. It can make you fall apart. I say it every day to my Wife. I say it every day to my Children and my friends. I say it to the World and mean it. There are times it is said in passing like a tip of the hat. The times it can have the deepest impact are the times it's not said.

Growing up my Grandmother's rarely, if ever used these words. They were of a different generation I guess. Both were strong women from tough backgrounds and challenging lifes lived. I knew they loved me. To hear it spoken wasn't so. A scribble in a birthday card nestled next to a crisp five dollar bill was as close to the deed as they got.

In my drinking and using days I threw "I love you's" around like raindrops. They landed upon any young woman who was the object of my desire. I desperately wanted to feel love because I felt so badly about myself. I was a love junkie. I was always the first to say those three little words. I see now how empty and shallow it was. Those are sacred words. To me they are the definition of God himself.

As I have matured and grown in my sobriety I have noticed a terrible habit that I have picked up from some of my family members. That is the intentional omission of the words I love you. To me that is more harmful than a half hearted utterance of the phrase. After a disagreement with my wife when reaching a resolution to our conflict, upon her saying an "I love you" to me there have been times where I have replied, "luv ya," or "ditto." Most likely because I was pouting or things weren't resolved to MY satisfaction.

There have been times when ending a phone conversation she says, "I love you" as she utters her goodbye, and I merely say goodbye. This is truly a sad statement about my conduct and a reflection on what a big dumb baby I can be sometimes. I love my Wife to the center of my being. Why in the name of GOD would'nt I take every single opportunity to let her know that?

I know how bad it makes me feel when I tell someone I love them and they don't say it back to me. To do the same thing to others is just continuing a cycle that is fruitless and cold. Love is the most beautiful thing that we have in this world and should never be taken for granted. I would hate to walk away from someone knowing I held back those words in my selfishness and never see them again.

I know I can be corny. I know I can be a dork, but I really believe that the whole problem with this big ball we are spinning on is that we are moving away from hugging each other to getting wrapped up in ourselves. That "meism" might be our downfall. I have so much to learn about myself. I am glad that I can see where I am wrong and try to change things. I know I don't have to be the guy I was yesterday or an hour ago.

All You Need Is LOVE was such a simple Lennon song. Almost nursery rhyme like in its' structure the songs' simplicity is right on the Money. If all you need is love when someone gives me what I need I damn well owe it to them to give them what they need. Right?

Chasing Serenity, the Clouds and the Corn Row Runners...

Serenity is one of those words that has the feel of the word wrapped up in itself. Words like agitate make my tongue live the definition as it lurches uncomfortably through the three syllables. Caress soothes my mind and body as I utter the invitingly crafted letters. When I say the word serenity I feel the lightness of the elusive term just barely hovering on my lips tranquilly coaching me to comfort.

I have known moments of serenity. I enjoy them as much as anything I have ever experienced. The feeling of being completely at peace with myself, my creator and my universe is like nothing else. The paradox is that serenity is like a drug in itself. Now that I have had fleeting glimpses of it I want more. My whole problem with myself and my conflict with the real world is my desire for ME and MORE and NOW!

The harder I chase serenity, the farther it seems to be from me. I remember when I was a kid and I would be riding in the backseat of the car staring at the clouds. As the car would be going along I would pick out a cloud and wait for the car to catch it. No matter how fast we went, no matter how long I stared, the cloud always seemed to be just out of reach. Then suddenly we had passed it by.

I also raced the corn row runners. If you lived in corn country as a child you know the corn runners. When you drive by great spanses of cornfields and stare at the rows of corn they seem to come alive. The rows begin to take the shape of legs and begin to run. No matter how many fields you pass corn runners never tire. They just keep on going. They either are just in front of you or right along side of you. they can run all day and into the evening, as long as the shadows are just right.

I would compare it to taking a pad of paper and making an animation. You start on the first page. Draw a circle, turn the page. Draw the circle again slightly lower on the page. Continue page by page until the circle hits the bottom of the page and you reach the end of the pad of paper. Now flip the pages through your fingers and the ball magically becomes an animated bouncing ball. I used to do this for hours on end with clouds, corn runners and many pads of paper.

Serenity is defined by the American Heritage Dictionary as, "Clear," "Tranquil," "Unruffled" and "Unclouded." I was surprised by the definition when I read it. I though it would be much more mystical and Dali Lama like. That is how things tend to go for me when I "pre-decide" how outcomes should be. They rarely live up to the billing or grand notion my mind has erected. People and their lives, feelings, choices and reactions keep getting in the way of my big picture.

I have come to realize that serenity, for me, isn't a chosen, conscious feeling or experience. It happens when it happens. Usually when I go with the flow and let things be. What I shoot for now is "surrenderty." I can make that happen or end up with that agitation I mentioned way back at the top. I can choose to be happy to a point in life. People don't MAKE us happy we allow them to make us that way. The same can be said for unhappy, angry and all the rest of the positive or negative emotions that come with human interaction.

I know this for a fact because there are times when my wife has called me a co******er and it didn't phase me. I laughed in fact. On another occasion she called me a "Drama Queen" and I almost filed for divorce. It's all in how I decide to accept and surrender to the people and circumstances who are in my reality that are going to determine my serenity or lack of it. I look forward to when it comes again.

For now I am grateful to have moments of serenity and a philosophy of "surrenderty." I will still chase clouds and dreams. I will still watch the corn runners keeping pace alongside my car. I don't waste the paper I did drawing those bouncing balls in crude animation. I am lucky to be a part of real films and television. I know one thing for sure. If I think I can control outcomes, run other people's lives and worry my way to serenity, I'll never even catch a glimpse of it. Thanks God for giving me the wisdom to realize how little I know....and finally realizing I don't need to...

2014-02-18T09:08:00.001-06:00

Another preview from Soul Parole 2: I Was and I AM!

This is a first draft (like all my blogs)

We all have fears! Plug in your favorite....

BLUE......An Addict or Depression Sufferer's Favorite Color!

Just leave me alone! I just want to be alone. I need some time to myself. I'm just gonna chill tonight. I'm just tired today. I don't want to talk about it right now. There's nothing wrong, I just want to be by myself. All of these are favorites I use on family, friends and loved ones when I am in a depression rut. It is also a warning sign, or a cry for help, from someone suffering from depression or addiction and recovery.

"9 out of 10 Addicts and Depression Sufferers favorite color is BLUE! The last one's favorite is Dark Blue!" For the last week or so my favorite color has been BLUE. If I don't stop isolating, it will quickly turn to DARK BLUE! Then I am in the danger zone. There is quiet solitude, and there is also intentional isolation. Suffering from both depression and addiction, isolation is the first "friend" I turn to when I'm feeling BLUE.

Suffering from Depression really makes me sad sometimes. It is particularly frustrating when someone says, "Why are you so down," and I honestly don't have an answer for them. There is no answer because I don't know myself. A person with depression can be sitting on their own private island, with a winning lottery ticket and Beyonce rubbing their feet, and feel like crap. Depression is misunderstood by the sufferer and those around him.

Before I started writing this blog today I did some Internet research on "Famous" people who suffered from depression, or other forms of mental illness. I hate that phrase MENTAL ILLNESS! It implies that my brain has typhoid fever or malaria and I'm gonna spread it around the whole village, or go postal and wipe everyone out! No! I have a "Chemical Imbalance" in my noodle. The feel good chemicals up there just aren't produced as effectively in me as in "Normal" people. Can I stop and say that "Normal" people scare the hell out of me! I always think they're hiding something, like bodies under their "Family" room.

I always hear things like,"You're so funny, how can you be sad?" My favorite is,"How can you be a comic and suffer from depression." Those questions make me cringe, because my guess is as good as yours. Try these ones on for size. Jim Carrey suffers from Depression and Bi-Polar Disorder. Additional "funny people" who suffer from some form of depression are, Drew Cary, Robin Williams, Ben Stiller, Drew Barrymore, Tracy Ullman, Roseanne Barr, Spike Mulligan, Jonathon Winters and Louis Anderson. The Louis Anderson "Funny" reference is subject to reader interpretation.

"Funny People" aren't the only high profile people who suffer from these conditions. It has no prejudice or favorite "type" to grab on to. Beethoven, Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Edison, Teddy Roosevelt, Vincent Van Gogh and my favorite Beatle, John Lennon all suffered with depression issues. There were a total of 244 people listed on the celebrity menu of depression sufferers, that I am referencing from Google. Those folks seemed to get around it, and push forward. That is what we must do also. It does give me some comfort in knowing that there is a thin line between artistic genius and insanity. I'm not sure which side of that equation I fall. It just feels good knowing that I'm not alone.

"Alone!" "Now there's the rub!" When I am in a funk I want to be left alone. During those down times, while you see sunshine, I complain about the glare. Where you see a beautiful snow covered hill, I see the filthy slush on my street. While you see the wonders of the Chicago Skyline, I see the garbage in the alleys. The need to be alone occasionally, is important for anyone. To a person like me it can only be implemented for a short time or I will slip from "light blue," to "Dark Blue," to BLACK.

Nothing gets me out of a depression or funk better than forgetting about myself. Sitting alone listening to John Coltrane seems like a good idea but it leaves me alone with me! I have proven to myself over and over again that there are few things in this world that I can overcome ALONE. In recovery it means attending more recovery meetings and calling fellow addicts. It means turning off the Coltrane and turning up the Ramones! It means taking an interest in things outside of my mind intentionally. Sometimes I have to force it. I have to make myself engage with other people.

Knowledge is power, so I've heard, and by golly I believe it! As addicts and/or depression sufferers we tend to focus on the emotional side of our condition, and try to figure ourselves out. Emotions can lie or distort the facts. I have made it my mission to learn about my conditions from a medical and psychologically objective point of view. The more I know about why I tick the way I do, the easier it is to push past the funk. I used to analyze myself to death. Knowing the symptoms, triggers and SOLUTIONS to dealing effectively with my conditions, makes it easier to be me. I can experience negativity or downward depression and be confident that it is going to pass. I don't have to buy into the "whoa is me" mentality and go for the whole miserable depressive ride!

Surrender and acceptance of exactly who I am, is the start to making peace with my conditions. I am not a crazy drunken baby anymore. I am a person who suffers from a chemical imbalance, that I see a doctor for. I take medication to rebalance the chemicals in my melon. I go to places where there are other people just like me, who understand me and can help me through situations I can't handle alone. I have a family, loved ones and friends who I can share my feelings with. I have a God whom I can turn to at anytime and ask him to help me through whatever I am experiencing, and be confident that he will show me the way through it. Every obstacle and challenge I face no longer has to be a catastrophe as long as I am willing to reach out for help from someone else. My condition is reality. Suffering is an option....

Set the Date

2014-02-17T12:15:00.000-06:00

This is a chapter that was omitted from the final draft. Funny how we all set dates.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Resolution.....Shmezolution......Evolution a Revolution...Us Not Me

Welcome to 2011! If some of the experts, and talking heads are right, and the Mayans quite ahead of their time, we only have 2 years until the "End of Days." Scary stuff. If you believe that, stop paying into your 401k now. Why not spend the money? Spend the kids college fund and join a commune. I wish the days of Woodstock and Haight/Ashbury were here again. There was a sense of "US" not "ME". "Well it's one, two, three what are we fighting for...." Country Joe was darn near Nostradamus with that little ditty.

As an addict dates are an essential part of using and recovery. New Year's Eve is a particular favorite. "I'm gonna kick tomorrow...," as Perry Ferrell, of Jane's Addiction, cries in "Jane Says." On TV there are weight loss and exercise commercials every other ad. There is even a piece of exercise equipment available now that reminds me of nights alone in my bedroom with an "Easy Rider" magazine as a Teen. It is a yearly, defined moment for changing your life. You can change your life any day you want, not just once a year at midnight.

When I was trying to kick booze I always had to have a date of significance set as my "gonna quit on" day. I'm gonna quit on my birthday. I'm gonna quit on the Anniversary of Lennon's Death..or maybe his Birth? I am gonna quit in one month from today. It was always tomorrows, never today's. Never forget addicts live in the pain of the past and insecurity of the future. I always had to have a ceremonial date to look forward to, so that date would be seered into my melon as an eternal reminder of the great change in my life. When I would reach my predetermined end date, I would just conjure up a new one farther down the road.

A predetermined date of making the changes in my life aren't on a calendar. Goals are good. Manageable, realistic goals are even better. My end date for using was when I couldn't take one more moment living with my pain anymore. The booze, and whatever, had lost it's magic touch. It was a relentless, merciless master and I heeded it's demands like a mindless zombie. I was truly going insane. My wife called me pathetic, and instead of making me angry, I agreed with her completely.

If you have set yourself up in a resolution plan starting today, be realistic. If you weigh 600 pounds and think you are going to lose 500 by summer you're in for a let down. Try eating better today. If you want to do more for charity, don't join the Peace Corp, look in the paper or Internet for something that interests you. I am an all or nothing kinda guy. If I can't be the Dalai Lama, screw it! I'm a failure. If I can't write like Hemingway I won't write at all! That's the easier way out of taking risks, so I have used excuses not to try at all.

I don't ask for God to remove my anger, or grant me patience because invariably I end up with the shits in a traffic jam, behind an elderly lady who should have stopped driving 10 years earlier. I ask that I be the best me, I can be today. I ask that I be a little better than I was yesterday. I pray that I hear God when he talks to me, and he grants me the strength to follow his wishes through. I try to do a positive thing for a human everyday, not for approval or for being seen doing good, I do it just because...and it makes me feel better.

If you are trying to make a drastic life change starting today, remember these words. YOU CAN'T DO IT ALONE! Find a support group. There is true for every kind of lifestyle change you wish to tackle. Don't worry about next summer. Just worry about today. If you slip up don't say F-It! Reach out to friends. It takes a long time to form crazy habits and a long time to undo them. Keep things simple. I over complicate everything. That gives me an excuse for quitting once I have overwhelmed myself with too many details to be a success. I have stayed sober for two years by asking for help and not drinking today, after today, after today.

New Year's is great. Trying to better yourself is wonderful. If you need help ask for it. None of us can handle our problems on our own. When we try to, we explode or implode. Thanks for your support in reading my blog. I have over 2050 reads in 18 days. That is a miracle. Sharing with you may help you, and I know it helps me. Find a God you're not afraid to talk to. Just start with hello and forget about the grasshoppers and plagues. Find a friend to share your successes with and someone you can call when you're feeling overwhelmed. The me, me, me approach will fail everytime. The we, we, we, approach is sure to be a smashing success. Remember a man who conquers a city is great. A man who conquers himself is FREE!

The Dough, Ray and Me (Edgebrook Manor)

2014-02-07T06:25:00.002-06:00

WrittenWritten

Edgebrook Manor Home for the Elderly, was situated smack dab in the middle of an upscale residential street. It was stark and square, grey and gloomy. Built in the early 1900's it had once housed an orphanage. It had been a place for children forgotten, abandoned or simply tossed away in the streets, by parent's unable to care for their troubled child any longer. It was sold to the state in 1976, and turned into a long term care facility for the elderly whose memory and recall had left them vacant. They too, like the orphans, had been abandoned, forgotten or had become too much for a loving family to care for at home any longer.

It seemed so out of place amongst the rows of sturdy, grand Victorian homes and towering oak trees that lined the winding street. The facility looked like it had simply fallen from the sky, a weed grown from a seed strangling out all of the beauty of the flowers surrounding it. The residents who lived on the streets, that surrounded Edgebrook, hardly noticed the thorn in their rose garden like neighborhood. They had trained themselves to casually look away while passing by to dull the uneasy feelings the living mausoleum created.

The accuracy that the exterior of the building lent to the period of its' construction was equalled only by the doubly drab interior that Edgebrook welcomed visitors and guests with alike. Antiquated wallpaper and furnishings appeared to be originals. Classic standards, that were once the top hits of the day, crackled through an ancient sound system. It sounded as if an old hand cranked Victrola, stacked with thick 78's, had been placed in front of a microphone droning out tired muzak for exhausted minds.

Each corridor led to another, looking exactly the same as the previous one. New patients and their families walked back and forth down exacting hallways searching for room numbers that were nearly impossible to find. They could leave a trail of bread crumbs to mark their path, confident no one would sweep them up before they're exodus. Each room, a converted dormitory, provided its' tenant a bed, night table, a TV stand with a TV, if you provided your own, and a shared bathroom. There were no secrets between each room as the bathroom split the two like a bad hotel.

The residence that made up the permanent clientele of the ancient foreboding interior took on the characteristics of their surroundings. Some wandered the maze of endless hallways in search of a destination they never seemed to find. Still others sat stuck in corners, head down like they had been placed there for bad behavior or wanted to disappear into the drab walls that they stared at. Gurneys lined the walls with patients in various stages of sickness and impending death. Some cried out in agony at mysterious pains or called out into the cavernous hallways for loved ones long gone.

At the end of one of the corridors sunshine seemed to find it's way to one of the dorms. It was home to Benny a long time resident and a stark contradiction to those populating his ward, and the whole facility for that matter. Benny looked no more than 50. Even the nurse with the longest term of employment at Edgebrook couldn't tell you his age or how long he had been at the home. He was there since she was a nursing assistant some 16 years earlier and hadn't seemed to have aged a day. The institutionalization that conquered so many of the other residents had little effect on Benny.

Benny was a picture of serenity, or so it seemed. He wasn't prone to excitability like many of the other long term neighbors he shared his home with. He had no visitors, and never seemed to be bothered by it. He was courteous and helpful, and quick to lend a hand of strength or support to somebody in need. His salt-n-pepper hair was shoulder length but held back neatly by a ponytail. The lines in his face didn't appear carved from years of physical work or the stresses of life. They were just lines and wrinkles that seemed to make him all the more handsome. The complimentary etchings that mapped out his face were just an accent to his radiant skin. Benny was slightly browned like the dirty Irish or tribes of South America. In "PC" talk he would be labeled ethnically ambiguous.

While other residents talked of return trips home that would never arrive, Benny just nodded and smiled his support, lending hope for the unlikely trip back out of Edgebrook. His eyes burned blue and almost looked hand painted. They were eyes that saw all of you when speaking with him, and right through you when you weren't. Standing at only 5'7" his a

Reality is Real! Act 1

2014-01-25T08:03:00.002-06:00

Last week was my five year sobriety anniversary. Yeah. Yeah. I know it's something to be proud of. I'm grateful and do not want to diminish the accomplishment. Deep down at the core of my heart I know it's how I should have been living for the twenty-eight years I was drunk. The most important lessen I have learned in my sobriety is that the world doesn't revolve around me no matter how badly I want it to and when I live emotionally people react with theirs. We all need each other.

In all of my posts I try to keep it real. I bare my soul, warts and all, because it is easy to spin things as being rosy and bright. Behind the scenes of every TV show or film is much different than what ends up on the screen. Life is the same way. I laugh when I think back to times I was with the kids at a store yelling at them and morphing into Mr. Cleaver when an acquaintance came by. It's easy to wear a mask but if you keep it on too long you might suffocate.

I stopped writing for a while because my world was changing so fast and I lost my inner voice. As my moral compass started to get unstuck and point true north again I found myself torn in a million directions. Being bi-polar I tried to take it all on. I used to watch plate spinners on TV growing up. For the younger generation, plate spinners were entertainers like jugglers. A long row of metal rods were strewn across the stage while a performer would spin plates on each one and run back and forth to keep them from crashing to the ground. Some of the performances went perfectly. Yet, others ended in disaster as the dishes came crashing to the floor. My life became one of those less than perfect performances.

You can read about the various TV and comedy work I have done over the last 3 years and 3 months at the top of this page. I am not a SAG actor yet. Most of my film work has been as a background artist, driver or stand-in. Although I have performed comedy on some of the most familiar stages in the business my path has taken me down a road to sharing my story in Senior Communities and at fundraisers. I am not rich and famous. I'm just a guy with a cool job.

My wife Kris, better known as Squeaky, is my best friend. She has battled kidney cancer and a myriad of health problems over the last few years. She is doing great. Cancer, like sobriety, is a one day at a time battle. There have been some scares since her kidney was partially removed. She is the star of the house. She's got bigger stones than most guys I know. When she was sick I thought I was doing the best I could as a husband and friend. I was wrong.

If you have followed the blog you know that I try to keep a positive spin on every situation. That is born out of gratitude. It can also be blinding to the reality of that situation. I know this for a fact. My own blind ambition to "make it in the business," almost cost me our marriage.

As I started to work more and write less I became obsessed with MY dreams. Little did I know that I was leaving my best friend behind. I was thrilled that my message was being well received by the groups and audiences I shared my stories with. I twisted what I thought was what Squeaky wanted into what I actually wanted. She had given me signs of growing discontentment that I ignored. Italian women say more with the unspoken word than anything that could come out of their mouths. I love it.

My odyssey to Hollywood began on September 19, 2012. I had just finished appearing on the Steve Harvey Show and Hardcore Pawn Chicago. Friend and Actor Steven Eich had an apartment on Yucca Street right behind Highland Donuts just a block from Hollywood Blvd. He was moving out in a few months and lost a roommate. I jumped at the chance to catch my dream! Squeaky was scheduled for surgery the first week of November. I would make it home for that with SAG card in hand and a ticket to easy street.

Squeaky was slipping away. She was frustrated that I was so willing to help other people but so easily dismissed her cries to have me there for her dreams. I had become alienated, or more accurately self absorbed, by my own ambition. I wanted what I wanted...when I wanted it. Everyone else had to step to the rear of the bus. I was in LA for about three days when she announced that she wanted a divorce. She told me she had moved out and we were done. I had lost the one person who had accepted me for who I was. I hadn't considered that catching her dreams were as important as mine....

The Monkey and the Eagle

2014-01-24T11:40:00.003-06:00

SOUL PAROLE 2 Preview!
(Draft)

I have loved reading for as long as I can remember. As a kid my favorites were "Where The Wild Things Are," Encyclopedia Brown," and any book about baseball. I imagined I was the kid in the boat heading for Wild Thing island in his tiny sailboat. I helped Encyclopedia Brown solve the latest neighborhood caper. I read to escape the real world and disappeared between the pages. My love for reading has never left me.

I measured each book between my fingers. I carefully removed my hand as I stared at the gap between my pointer finger and thumb to review its thickness.I was fascinated that someone had cobbled all those words together. I felt a sense of achievement as the space grew between my digits. The bigger the book I consumed, the better I felt. When I zipped through "The Hobbit," it was ecstasy. I never let my buddies know I was a reading fanatic. Back then it meant you were a geek. I was one, but was not ready to lose my place in the cool club.

I decided I was going to become a writer when I grew up. It was going to be a fat book, with lots of words. People would gobble it up. They would measure it's girth with their fingers and be amazed at my work. I set out, at once, to achieve my goal of literary greatness.

My grandparents lived in the city. It was on the South Side of Chicago, on Karlov Avenue, just west of Harlem on 79th Street. I adored the predominantly Irish neighborhood they lived in. As kids we didn't ring the doorbell when we were seeking out a playmate. We stood on the porch and would call out, "Yo, Johnny can you come out and play?" Our singing pleas were droned endlessly until someone came to the door. If they didn't come, or their mom shooed you away, you moved on to another house replaying the same song with a new subject line.They didn't do that in Mokena where I lived. I thought it was the coolest.

In the summer time the ice cream man would cruise the streets in a white painted cube truck that blared out "Pop Goes The Weasel," to announce his presence. I thought that was the coolest too. My heart would race as the sounds of the droning song got closer and closer. Grandma would pull some change from her tiny clasped purse. I would barely have my hand clinched around the coins before I dashed out the door. We would sit on the curb licking away at bomb pops or the latest Good Humor treat.

Grandma had an old Smith-Corona typewriter in the basement. A ribbon was stretched between two spools. The top half was red. The bottom half was black. The red served as highlighting back then. When you got to the end of the spool, you simply rewound it back to the left and continued with the task at hand. I loved plunking away on the fat round keys. When you wanted to capitalize a letter you would hold down the caps key. The heavy rubber roller would rise up from the black machine as the keys hammered at the paper like piano hammers hitting the strings stretched taunt inside. When you released the key it would fall back into place with a thump. I worked feverishly as the slender arms slapped the ribbon to the page.

My first work was called "The Monkey and the Eagle." I was about seven. My mother still has it. It was a simple paragraph. The plot revolved around a monkey who steals an egg from an eagles' nest, then returns it after he realizes the mother eagle was sad. I went through pages of paper, and rewound the spools a few times, before I got the story just right. Inevitably I would near completion of my masterpiece and hit the wrong key. The spindle whizzed and whined as I ripped the botched up paper from the machine and replaced it with a fresh one.

I presented it to the world with glowing satisfaction. I was an author just like the ones' who pecked out my favorites. I wrote story after story. I was the hero of course. Sometimes I would type out a sad theme. In those works I tried to save a person or animal from doom. My heart fell to pieces when I couldn't. Now I see that people pleasing, and my desire to save the world, crossed into my reality.

I feel blessed and grateful that I reached my goal of becoming a published author. Writing SOUL PAROLE was a cathartic journey. As a kid I thought my works would be about safaris and daring rescues. I never thought I would pen the recounting of years of self destruction. I hope someone finds it as intriguing as Encyclopedia Brown.

When I got the first proof copy I stared at it for a few minutes. I flipped through the pages in disbelief that I had pecked out the words. I measured the book between my fingers. I slowly removed my hand, then stared at the gap between my pointer finger and thumb to review its thickness.I was fascinated that I had cobbled all those words together. I felt a sense of achievement as I carefully removed my fingers to keep my measurements true. I sat in awe, fixated on the space between the two. I was bathed in a sense of accomplishment. I have come a long way from "The Monkey and the Eagle." I know that the only thing that keeps us from catching our dreams is the FEAR that they are possible....

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Personalized copies can be purchased through PAYPAL at tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of this page.

Thanks God...for what you haven't given me

2013-11-29T09:31:00.003-06:00

Soul Parole 2 Preview....

"Soccer Moms' Please Drive Thru"...

As an addict I have a thing about taking on baggage. I love baggage big and small. I hoard it. The more emotionally painful the package the more I can obsess about it. The more rotten the deed done to another in my past the bigger the package grows in my mind. I caress it and beat myself to bits with it. From a passing comment probably not even meant for me to a second grade fist fight, I remember it all. I have a database of emotional unfinished business that used to make my life unbearable.

The pressure, guilt, remorse, shame and self-loathing created the need to try to escape myself for those many years through bottle and drug. Addicts live emotionally not intellectually or logically. Our emotions make our decisions in most cases. I reacted emotionally then would sort out the fallout from my behavior. We remember everything by our PERCEPTION of the emotional impact people and situations had on us or we had on them. That is why we create chaos in others lives. It is for the emotional insanity and drama. It is our ultimate drug. Chaos.

As our mind clears and we begin to work recovery strategies we try to reduce the baggage which in turn lessens the desire to use. We begin to feel comfortable in our own skins and minds. We try to go back through the rubbish pile that was our past and clean up the joint. The people we have hurt and lied, cheated and stolen from whether it be financially, emotionally or physically are met face to face and we come clean with a sincere desire to make things right. Sometimes it works out and there is a happy ending. Other times we get a dressing down. Still other times we are told that we had no impact at all.

All of the reactions are growing experiences and are important if long term sobriety is to be achieved. If a flower wants to grow it needs space in the pot or its' roots will rot and it will die. The same goes for drunks like me. I was going crazy from all the baggage. As I have cleared it away and made peace with my friends, family and self (to an extent) life gets better. God has given me the strength to stay clean and my mind is less packed with that crap. The worries, fears, pain and shame of who I was that paralyzed me is now setting me free by cleaning it up.

Now I am able to look at people in the eye with confidence and honesty. I can be a true friend. I can be of use not a user. I can sit with Tommy Connolly and not want to stab the guy in the eye with a fork! Wherever I run to I will always be there to meet me. That is a fact. It gets a little bit easier to hang with me the more I get right with God, man and me.

There are some people I can't make things right with. Some are dead. Some have new lives and I can't disrupt their happy harmony with my horror show rewind. Some I can't find but am ready to make things right if I find them. In these cases I try to be of service in other areas. On one occasion I stole something from a store that I could not go back to for fear of Shaw Shank Redemption. My mentor had me buy dog food in the amount of the item taken and had me take it to the humane society. Perfect! Karma square! I felt better that I was able to make the situation right. In a few years I will go back and make the situation right with the store. The point is that baggage was removed and I am a bit more okay with me because of the cleansing.

Yesterday I went with a friend to work at a food pantry here in Joliet. It is called the Family Outreach Food Pantry. I did not go there for any particular reason. My buddy called me at 6:10 am and asked if I wanted to volunteer at the food bank at 6:30. At first I was miffed because I hate to be late. Its' part of the new me. The only thing I was on time for in the past was beer sales and fresh bales. I said sure, and away we went. I can tell you now that God had my friend call me. There are no coincidences.

My vision of a food bank and food lines takes me back to my grade school history classes and the "Great Depression". You remember the old films and the market crash of 1929. There was the dust bowl and the people getting broth put into tin cups. I had a vision of homeless people coming up to the food bank and us handing little packages to the less fortunate. You know? It was going to be people in ratty cars and ripped clothes and winos and all the stereotypes I try so hard to fight when it comes to the labeling of alcoholics, addicts and those who suffer from mental disorders. I was doing the SAME thing before we got there.

We arrived at the tiny tavern parking lot where the food distribution point is and my friend was assigned to traffic control. WHAT? Traffic control at a food bank! He had the vest and the cool little flashlight with the pointy orange end on it and everything. I was jealous for a minute. I was assigned to fill orders. That was to put the boxes of food into the vehicles as they pulled up. This is where the story gets interesting, horrifying, eye opening and real folks. It was the real state of the STATES.

As the cars began to pull up I was taken aback. This can't be! There were a few beat up cars and a few homeless folks walked up whom I greeted with a grateful hello and a "God Bless you." The vast majority of the cars were "Soccer Moms." There were cars of all makes and models right up to a Tahoe with leather interior. The common denominator was all of these people "needed" food. There was no scam. Some folks looked down as I put on a smile and made a quick joke as to let them know it's a beautiful day as I slung the food into their back seats.

Single parents' pulled through with babies strapped in and we offered extra bread to those who wanted it. Every single family wanted it. Like alcoholism and addiction the people in the line to receive the food were a perfect cross section of Americana and it blew me away. Some folks looked as though they had stopped on break from work or were on the way to drop the kids at school. It was heartbreaking and gratifying at the same time. It is a day I won't forget.

In 90 minutes we handed out 300 boxes of food. When that ran out and we had only bread left people were happy and humbled to have a few loaves of that alone. I went home and sat silent for awhile. We are in trouble in this country. They have the food pantry every week and turn away more and more families.

I stood in front of my fridge and looked at the food and saw that our pantry was filled and it made me think of the times when I have said there is nothing to eat when in fact there was plenty. There just wasn't what I WANTED TO EAT in the fridge or pantry at that moment. I will be back to help again next Thursday at the pantry.

I remember not having food. I remember not wanting food because it would take up space my booze needed to fill. I also remember eating garbage when I wanted to eat and had to use my money to buy the booze. I've seen it from all sides. I think if there is anything that I can leave you with it is be thankful for what God has given you... and more thankful for what he hasn't...

God! I'm The Frog! (Soul Parole 2)

2013-11-19T15:50:00.000-06:00

This is a sneak peek at SOUL PAROLE 2: I Was and I AM....

My world seems to be running at a frenetic pace lately. As a person with bipolar issues it always is at differing degrees inside my mind. Add my addiction issues and how I am working my recovery program and my melon can become a fun house. Not an actual house of fun. More like something that Stephen King would conjure up including the clowns everyone knows I'm SO fond of. At times my mind is like the center lane of the Dan Ryan at about 7:30 am and everyone is running late.

Professionally I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams. Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, God and Myself is still on track to be released through Amazon/Kindle in mid November. I just finished a film called "Family" that is going to rock the festival world. "Chasing Hollywood," My first costarring film is premiering next week at the Naperville film festival. I have two films lined up back to back "The Fruit of Andersen Farm" shooting here in Chicago in October and "Beneath" Shooting in L.A. in November. As an actor I couldn't ask for more.

I have been speaking to civic groups about my story of addiction and depression and the list of appearance requests is growing. I am the Spokesman for this years "Rally Round Recovery 2011" in Will County taking place this weekend. All of my goals seem to be right on track. I feel I am doing the right things for the right reasons. I am grateful to be working with other people newly sober and facing depression and addiction issues. God is using me as a messenger. I am happy to be of service. I was a user, hostage taker, mind bender and scar tissue on this beautiful place we call earth for 28 years too long.

Squeaky whom I have put through the wringer emotionally, financially and everything else that ends with "LY" is facing surgery Monday. They will be removing half of her right kidney. There is a mass at the top that is unusual. They will biopsy it for disease on the operating table due to its' positioning in her body. I will sleep by her side while she is there and we will get through this season and trial, no matter what the outcome. The doctors have assured us that the long term prognosis is great but there is always concern for this type of major invasive procedure.

I haven't written about it because I have had more questions than answers about the whole thing. Quite a bit of it has left me speechless. I have been supportive and there for her and have tried not to "Fix" things. As a recovering "Fixer" that takes a lot of work to keep a cork in my big fat pie hole. I used to always have an answer or an insecure need to provide one to people even when it wasn't solicited. When she told me she was scared the most brilliant thing I could come up with was that I was scared too. It was an honest answer and I think It's the best bit of husbandry I've done in a while.

I've had to pull over and cry. There have been calls to friends weeping like a fool gibbering that I knew I was powerless and it was in God's hands that I was scared witless. Recovery has taught me how to use new coping skills.I have had to walk out of the room so that I didn't fall apart like a cheap watch. Treating my depression and bipolar symptoms with a professional helps me recognize my own mood swings and emotions and adjust accordingly. There have been times when I have held her and we have fallen apart together. We turn to God in those moments and ask for strength.

The thing that gets me is that I tried to destroy myself a drink or drug at a time, over and over daily for 28 years. On one occasion I tried to do it all in one garage swan song. My faith is strong. I would be a liar if I didn't tell you that I don't get mad at God. I still want things my way. I always will. I probably have spoken about this before. I will undoubtedly again. I don't have to like the way things are in life. I only have to accept them to be reasonably happy and sane. I tried to fight reality for 28 years and it still did it's own thing it's own way. I just got high along the way because it wasn't my way.

The projects, films, speeches, books, jokes and ME things are on hold as of Monday. I am grateful that I can be there for MY WIFE. For the 12 years we have been together I couldn't always say that. I am human and there will be days in the future when I will fall short again. Monday will not be one of those days. Her days of recovery won't be those days. I will be there clear minded and at FULL attention. Sobriety gives me that gift and opportunity. Drunk I would call her mother and have her deal with it. That is the sad truth.

As I grow I ask God WHY less. That is good. I still ask sometimes. I don't know why he does what he does. I will find out someday when I reach the Great Woodstock Festival in the sky. What I can do is the next right things NOW. Sorries don't cut it any more. I will SHOW my wife my love for her through my actions not my intentions. It is my turn to take care of her.

I'm pretty sure that is how friendship and marriage is supposed to go. It's not a 50-50. One is strong when the other is weak. Marriage is a complimenting of each others strengths and weaknesses. One dog has to take the lead of the sled team each day. That dog changes depending on the situation. Both dogs keep the team and sled on track. I ask that you keep her in your prayers. She will be fine. She is Italian and from Berwyn. She'll probably grow a new kidney by the time we get home...

When Love Is Not Enough!

2013-10-04T10:58:00.002-05:00

The pain and despair that comes with addiction is excruciating. Every day you wake up you feeling like hell and you know you are going to do the same thing that day. It's like there's a guy with a sledge hammer standing behind a door and even though you know he's there, you choose to open the door any way. The power of addiction is merciless, deceitful and doesn't care who you are. It just wants you to submit to it's every command - and you do.

Being through addiction, part of my recovery is trying to help others to recover and make it to the other side. As a recovering addict I have done the lying, cheating, stealing and manipulation that makes addiction possible. Being an alcoholic or addict is a 24 hour job. You are either trying to get high, getting high or suffering from the last high. The paradox of addiction is that it convinces you that you are not an addict. It also twists your mind into thinking that your family and the world are against you. It reassures you that giving in and getting high is your only path to peace.

There is a person very dear to me who I see slipping into the jaws of addiction. She is a daughter to me. Knowing the signs and games an addict plays is both a blessing and a curse. It's like you know the fastball is coming and you still strike out. The person I am speaking of is a beautiful girl. She is bright and intelligent and only 20 years old. She is completely lost.

When I used "checking out" of myself was required. I had no choice. For over 20 years I continuously opened the door and let the guy with the sledgehammer beat my brains in. I lost everything from my self respect to my family. Those losses just added fuel to the fire and more power to the addiction's constant reminder that it was my only friend. It wasn't until I truly thought I was losing my mind and going to die that I got help. Friends, family, strangers and God Almighty can't help an addict until they get tired of the guy with the sledgehammer beating them to death. I was thrown life preserver after life preserver and my denial let me drown for years.

It is so sad for me to look at her and see the patterns I am so familiar with. There have been threats, sob stories, broken promises and I'm sorries. The patterns are all the same. Only the faces and places change. I see the pain in her eyes and the self hate she has for herself. The self hate is the ultimate master of destruction and obsession for an addict. As life gets more chaotic, the greater the drive is to escape. It is hell on earth.

As a loved one you can make threats, try tough love, beg, spoil and play every game you can think of to get an addict to see reality just for that one second. Sometimes it works. Other times it doesn't. Alcoholism and addiction are the only diseases that tell you you're not sick, that you can quit at anytime. An addict thinks they know all the answers and everyone else is full of shite! Prayers are important. Setting a good example is right thinking. Loving the addict who is suffering is vital.

The reality check is that all of the solutions, combinations of them, love, anger, compassion and punishment, may or may not work. It's a crap shoot. Some times you roll a 7. Sometimes you roll box cars. There is no perfect solution. All of us suffer from terminal uniqueness. You can do your best and keep the faith. That is all.

I am going to see this lovely girl tomorrow night. I can share with her my love, experience, strength and hope. I can pray for her. I can tell her the stories of living on the street or having cockroaches crawling all over my body. Maybe something will stick. Maybe it won't. We can control our actions but we have no control over the outcomes. When she walks out the door she will be left with my love and words of support and the knowledge that I will always be there for her. Once she hits the streets it's just her and her addiction. Until the scale tilts from misery to recovery I must accept I can only do so much. I must also face the fact that her life is out of my control. Sometimes love is not enough to save a friend.
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When she walks out that door I will say "Sunny, I love you and I'm here for you."

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Please visit tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page.

Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

Devil Done Did it!

2013-05-13T11:28:00.003-05:00

I have a habit of telling people, "GOD BLESS YOU." No, not just when they sneeze, all the time. I like to add "MAY YOUR GOD BLESS YOU," as well. I am a Christian but feel faith is a personal issue. The key to spiritual contentment starts with a personal relationship with GOD.

Wishing blessings upon people is a beautiful thing. However, I think as Americans we are blessed beyond our wildest dreams. We take our freedom for granted. When I see rude angry people on the street I am puzzled by how they could think we have it so bad. Don't get me wrong, the economy and job market is horrible. I just can't see why everyone is so miffed. Spend a few days living in the streets and your outlook will change in a jiffy. On your next trip to the islands or Mexico have a guide take you outside the tourism district. You'll see people living in boxes...literally!

Why is it that when good things happen we say,"Thank God," but when something bad happens, we blame it on the devil? I don't know about you but I grow the most through pain. As a parent I can be a great guy for twenty-nine days of the month and be in a bad mood one day, and that's what the kids remember. GOD puts us through terrible things to change our direction and give us strength.

I believe in the devil. I just don't think he's the source of all the bad things that happen in our lives. GOD doesn't micromanage. I think GOD says "NO". HE says, "Not Yet," and "I have another plan." We have to keep our eyes out for dark forces, but freewill and, GOD's will need to be considered. When we don't know what his will is, doing the next right thing is usually a pretty good choice.

When my father died it devastated me. It still does. When he passed I was grateful to GOD for relieving him of his pain. His passing gave me the motivation to pursue my dreams of being a comic, actor and writer. This was a painful time that changed my perspective on living. I am more afraid of not living my life to the fullest, than I am of dying.

We can pray to do "GOD'S WILL." However, WE have to do things that are adding to the goodness here on earth...as it is in heaven. He won't parallel park my car in the city. He won't call me up with job opportunities. He will send messengers. We are to get it, then get it done. We do the footwork.

There are times I have thanked GOD for teaching me a lesson. Sometimes I need to be redirected to the path I think he wants me to travel. I can't do anything to impress him. I can do things that would please him. Mostly, I can do good things for others as a way of saying thanks for all that you do for me BIG GUY!

When I mess up unintentionally that is my humanity. When I act like a jerk because life isn't going MY WAY, I can't blame it on the devil! If I don't work at being good, and helping others, how can I be surprised when things turn bad? When tragedies happen I don't need to blame it on the devil. I'm not going to give him that much credit. Sometimes I have to look in the mirror and decide if the devil really made me do it...or not do it, or was it me. Sometimes I just have to keep the FAITH in knowing the answers will come. I just have to let them in....

Silly Putty and Ramen Noodles

2013-05-01T08:32:00.000-05:00

I am grateful to GOD for giving me a sense of humor. I am more grateful that HE has one too. As an actor, comic and writer, part of the gift of that humor is that I verbalize the things that people are thinking but don't have the nerve or need to spit out. That's great because it keeps guys like me, philosophers, pundits and poets in business. Tom Dreesen told me that Carl Reiner advice to him early in his career was to "show people your pain." I have always done that in my act. I poke a lot of fun at myself. People identify with the daily mishaps of just trying to get by.

The distance between the frontal lobe (MY MELON) and the voice box (MY BIG FAT MOUTH) is only a few inches. I have seen many pictures of the brain. It looks to me like chubby Ramen Noodles mixed with Silly Putty all smushed together and placed in an airtight bonehead container. It's quite a fascinating looking machine. When I am told that we use less than 10% of it I am appalled. What the hell is flying around in the other 90% of the noodles that we don't use?! The few I am trying to get a rise out of are driving me and everybody around nuts!

I need to call the people who design filters for water or furnaces because I have a bit of a problem. In my personal life those same skills that make me a funny comic or good improv actor sometimes make me a poor communicator. That's PC talk for sometimes I say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time and I can't help it! I want a filter between the Ramen Noodles, The Silly Putty and my pie hole!

As a recovering alcoholic/addict the problem is doubled because we learn to use words as weapons of mass destruction like fists, knives and passive aggressive napalm! We find our loved ones' tender spots in passionate moments of weakness, trust or sweet confession and BAM! If we get pushed the wrong way we will pull that sweet secret you never told a soul and spit it in your face like rattle snake venom.

In recovery that doesn't just disappear. It slowly goes away but I still have my moments. I'm not beating myself up right now. Don't worry I'll do that when I get to my rant about procrastination somewhere down the line. I am just becoming more self aware of some of my character flaws. Some of the time I am hilarious. Yet other times I can be critical and hurtful and not even realize I am doing it.

The power of a word is more damaging than a fist in my estimation. Both are violent. A sore chin will heal. The wounding of the mind through criticism and demeaning can be crippling. A perfect example is that there were many times my wife called me an alcoholic and every swear word her Berwyn upbringing could conjure up, and they meant nothing to me. The day she called me PATHETIC was the day I took my last drink. Why THAT was the word that pushed my "get sober" button GOD only knows.

The point is that a few simple letters put in a prearranged form said at the right time, under the right conditions had a life changing impact on me. The biggest argument my wife and I EVER had was about...wrapping paper! Yes you heard it...WRAPPING PAPER. Left to it's own proper use wrapping paper is associated with joy and gift giving. In the context of the argument it was connected to my ex-wife and it was a hot button for Squeaky. We were screaming. There were attorneys involved in the uproar. She shouted that I was an "Oedipus Complex!" I spat back that she was an "unclean female dog." It really got ugly. By the time we got home we had pulled over and stopped to laugh at the fact we were going to divorce court over...Wrapping Paper.

The most frequently mentioned subject in the Bible is our words and how we use them. The second is fear. Usually the two go hand in hand. I have a tendency of shooting my mouth off when I am scared of losing something, someone getting hurt or someone hurting another person I love. At that point the Ramen Noodle-Silly Putty-Tongue is connected. That is dangerous for me and something that I am working on. The quick wit and snarky comment work great on stage and for hecklers. Not so for family and friends.

I am trying to incorporate a few new rules into my personal behavior for rules of engagement. These help me with human relations and how comfortably I live with myself. They are as follows and are not all my creations. Most of them were taught to me:

1. I do not have to be right nor have an opinion on everything.
2. It's okay to say "I don't know."
3. I refuse to have arguments with people unless they are actually there!
4. The phrase "hold your tongue"... can actually be done.
5. When I am unsure of what to do, phone a friend is good.
6. When I react emotionally so do other people!
7. Doing NOTHING when I am unsure is acceptable.
8. I do not have to jump into every conversation I meet.
9. Whatever dress I want my wife to wear... pick the opposite one so she wears the one I like.
10. Turn to GOD more often Tom. When you lean on his words you need less of your own...

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is available on AMAZON and Kindle. Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, mental health and homeless facilities....

Christian Fishermen... Not Hunters

2013-04-02T09:06:00.000-05:00

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is available on Amazon.com and KINDLE. Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

I am a Christian. I will never back down from proclaiming that. This posting is not intended to imply that Christianity has all the answers. I don't. No man on Earth does. I read the Bible. I pray often. I serve in the community and I try to help other addicts find sobriety. I am happy to share my faith with those who wish to hear about the amazing things the LORD has done in my life. I do not think I am better than you or any man. The people who make me feel the most inadequate and demoralized about my faith are... CHRISTIANS.

I am a church going man. I serve on the baptism team. I am grateful to share my resources with my house of worship. I don't like war unless it is a means of last resort. I believe in helping the poor and sick. I am an Independent who tends to vote DEMOCRATIC. However, I don't vote a straight ticket. I vote based on what the man stands for, not if he's got an elephant or donkey on his lapel.

I have read the Bible cover to cover. I have my favorite verses. Psalms 40:1,2 are my life verses. I try to spend time daily in the words of GOD. Then I turn on the TV or go out in the world and am often shocked by the behavior of people who call themselves CHRISTIANS. They seem to talk from the mountain down on the foolish unenlightened SINNERS below. "If you don't love elephants you have no faith!" Donkeys are crazy, evil animals! Nothing could be farther from THE TRUTH. To say so is a sin. You don't know me. How can you judge me? Both animals have strengths and weaknesses. Faith can not be measured here.

I can't quote chapter and verse from the Bible very well. I can summarize the stories and paraphrase the content. There are actually 11 Commandments. The words JESUS left with the disciples before heading off to sit next to the FATHER were, "Love your GOD with all your heart, mind, soul and strength", and "Love your brother like I have loved you." It doesn't say, "sometimes," or "some of the folks." Those seem like pretty wise words to live by regardless of your faith. When Moses came down from the mountain with the TEN Commandments he did not call them the "Top 10 Commandments." Jesus goes on to say that ALL sin is EQUAL in the eyes of his FATHER.

I get confused when a political party or people in certain demographics call themselves the "Godly." Throwing your name in the ring with HIM is dangerous territory for any man. What gets me most is that people who claim to be the "GODLIEST," seem to pick and choose their favorite couple of commandments and chuck the rest out the window.

The sins of Adultry, Greed, Envy, Coveting, Lusting, Stealing, Judging and LYING are equal in the eyes of God. It says it in the book. Stretching the truth is a lie. Leaving out all the facts is deception. Taking things out of context is bearing false witness. I have been guilty of many of all of these sins. I will sin again and again as a MAN. I strive to be a better one everyday.

All who call Jesus, Lord, and follow him are Christians. I have seen the well dressed Christian man call his child stupid on the way into church. I have seen homeless people with the faith of David. I am amazed that the elite call people of their station with drug and alcohol problems as suffering with "chemical dependency" issues. Men with the same problem who don't subscribe to the same beliefs are "junkies." When the CHOSEN commit adultry it is a "Family Matter." The commoner is called a "CHEATER!" How can you question someones' faith? Jesus sees through our motives and into your heart. Yep, that's in THE BOOK too. What you think, is as bad as doing it. Motives are actions in the eyes of God.

I don't see how people misunderstand "ALL" and "BROTHER." How I LIVE and SERVE is what GOD is looking at. People who vote Democratic, Republican, Independent,or don't vote at all, can be CHRISTIANS. Helping the poor and feeding the sick are what JESUS did in the short time of his ministry on earth. Yet a man who wants to see the under served cared for is called a liberal. That's another word for generous. He is chastised for wasting taxpayer money. Weapons are good. Being a "Good Samaritan," and helping the elderly and sick is irresponsible. I seem to recall that helping the less fortunate was WHAT HE DID when he was here. How many barns do you build for YOUR grain?

The Bible says to "Give Ceasar what is his." Yet the well-to-do scream that they pay too much. Remember the woman with the two pennies who gave it to God? She did so with a glad heart. How much do you really NEED? Faith and works are the measuring stick in the kingdom. You can't buy your way into heaven. You can steal your way into hell. This kind of complaining is like a man relaxing on a beach complaining that the sun is too warm. Giving with a cheerful heart is great. Gratitude for your good fortune is humility.

Christianity is open to all who choose to receive it and HIM. It is not based on how I vote or look. If I vote to help the few and hurt the many, what have I done? It's time to show that we are one in the body. People turn away from religion or houses of worship because of OUR infighting and the intolerance towards each other! The hypocrisy is staggering. Goodness comes from the man, not the labels.

When I see GOD'S name thrown around and hijacked by one group of people I am saddened. All those who wish to drink from the cup are welcome. It doesn't matter what color you are. It means nothing if your hair is pink and your nose is pierced. If you are not a Christian, your faith is your faith. Who am I to judge? Faith is personal. Many men turn away those who wish to follow because they are made to feel as if they can't measure up. None of us can. So they walk away! Everyone is welcome at the table.

I am far from perfect. I sin. I pray for the day when as CHRISTIANS we unite in our faith. Politics is not the baseline for faith. There are Commandments. All of them are to be followed or he would not have included them. Not one or two. We are all God's creatures. I've heard he knows my name and the hairs on my head. That must mean he knows that stuff about all people. I am not gonna be the one to judge God's work.

A love and Faith in Christ is ALL INCLUSIVE. I hope we get to a place where we share that ideal with ALL men, not through gritted teeth but outstretched arms. We will all stand before our maker. He looks at our hearts. He is love. There is not a line. It is one-on-one. He won't look at how long my hair is, if I have a tattoo, and a pierced ear. He doesn't check voting cards. He looks at what I have done while on earth. I'm pretty certain he likes love more than hate...It's written right there in the handbook....

Every Day Is A Gift...STILL....

2013-03-30T15:43:00.000-05:00

More than six months have passed since I've taken time to share my thoughts on these pages. The keys are foreign to my touch. It wasn't so long ago that they seemed tethered to my heart and just moved my thoughts and emotions from vapor to paper. I feel as if I'm reaching out to an old friend with whom was always there through the pains and triumphs of each others lives. Then something happens and you slip away from each other. The longing turns from sadness to distance, then terrible longing and hesitance to reach out again.

I plunk along hoping I can plug back in to the stream that connected me to my innermost secrets. I tell aspiring writers to let GOD do the writing and just hold on to the pen. I hope he speak once again through me.

That last writing was in Mid-September of 2012. I was preparing to drive to Hollywood and somehow obtain my SAG card. I left Chicago on September 19th. I arrived in Los Angeles on the 21st. The journey has taken me through more seasons of change in the last six months, than in the last six years. My hair has thinned and grayed. Parts of my heart have died and new ones have been born. I lost so much and gained much more. I nearly died.

Today...I am a new creature...

I hope to talk again soon.

Tommy

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is Available on Amazon.com, KINDLE and Amazon Europe.

Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

A Beauty and a Beast

2012-09-14T08:35:00.000-05:00

A Sliver of Hope, a New Direction and a Genius Idea!

This blog is an updated version from September of 2011. It did not make it into SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself. It will definitely appear in SOUL PAROLE: I Was and I AM.

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is NOW available ON Amazon.com, KINDLE and Amazon Europe.

Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

NOTE to reader: I write about addiction, recovery and depression. Those are my challenges and issues. Please replace the word ADDICTION with the word that best suits you. Fear, insecurity, envy, jealousy and materialism are just a few. Facing the things that are holding us back from reaching our potential and finding peace within is my purpose...

My baseline thinking as an addict is usually me. I want the universe and all of its' atoms formed, or random, to revolve around my plans. Whoever came up with the expression "there is no ME in team" was not an addict. I can say that with almost complete certainty. It is not that we don't have feelings for others but that we are so focused on survival when we use it's a challenging mind set to overcome in recovery.

In my sobriety I have found that the biggest problem that fueled my years of self-destruction was the love-hate relationship I had with myself. I would wake up each day and hate myself more and more.Chemical escape enabled me to cope with my crushing self criticism My addiction LOVED it. The more I hated me, the more I would turn to chemicals and booze to try and escape MYSELF temporarily. The next day I would wake up with an extra helping of self hate and some physical pain, guilt and shame to throw into the party mix. Then the mental "rope-a-dope" would begin again for another 24 hours.

I realize now that I was using because I am wired wrong inside. It was my thinking. I had a twisted perception on reality. More precisely, I used because the people and atoms of the universe didn't act in a fashion that met with my satisfaction. As I grow in sobriety I have learned to like myself by letting the world do what it is supposed to do. I try to accept others as they are. Most importantly I try not to spend too much time alone in my head. I'm cool in a crowd, but when I'm alone a fight always breaks out.

Squeaky and I were going through a rough season leading up to the "Rally Round Recovery 2011." I was working on a film. I had just returned from California after a week shoot for an "Animal Planet" series. I am in final editing of my book Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, God and Myself. I am about to start 2 new films. I was working to promote the premier of "Chasing Hollywood." I was in hyper "ME" mode. This happens in sobriety and reality.

Squeaky's kidney surgery was scheduled for 2 days later. The doctors were not sure if they were going to take a portion of her right kidney or the whole thing. I cleared my schedule of EVERYTHING. I thank GOD for giving me the sense to do that. It was crystal clarity. I made arrangements to stay with her while she was in the hospital. They were very accommodating. It was one of the most fearful yet enlightening times.

As the time passed all I could think about was the stupid arguments leading up to that day. I questioned GOD about putting her through this instead of me. I was the idiot! After 28 years of trying to destroy myself an inch at a time, my health was perfect. My heart was shifting back to center. Why is it that we have to be in a big pile of shite with a loved one, or they're in an operating room or funeral parlor for us to look at how truly dear they are to us? It boggles my mind! We fight about wrapping paper and who ate my cereal? For the love of GOD who cares?!

The surgery went better than we could have imagined. They were able to use the Da Vinci robotic surgery method on her and as the doctor said, "if her kidney were a hamburger we only had to take two pickle slices." It was the greatest horrible analogy I have ever heard. It did make me a bit crazy that they assign patients numbers now during operations. They have a television you can check like an arrival board at the airport to see if they are "boarding," "on the runway," "ready for takeoff," "inflight," "on the tarmack" and "safely on the ground." Her flight was near perfect.

He said she would be staying for 2 nights. Whatever she needed I would be there. They would know if it was cancer later in the week. She was medicated. Her family was there to support her. It kept me calm. In post-op she smiled and spoke in tongues. She looked glorious. Every time she moved I jumped up, afraid she was in pain or going to fall out of bed. I was asking if she needed the nurse every time she winced. I contorted myself up in the tiny Hobbit like chair and slept with one eye open grateful that we had dodged a bullet.

Being the real alcoholic I am I spent the hours beating myself up. I also replayed my behaviors over and over. and realized I was not sharing enough of the projects I was involved in with my wife. I am proud she appeared with me in "Chasing Hollywood." My Squeaky is on IMDB as Pina Connor. That is the Cats Pajamas! But I used to read scripts to her. I used to read all my blogs to her. I used to consult her on every career move I was making, while I was making them. Her opinions play into my decisions on what road to take.

I can't tell you what we talked about during her 60 hour stay there. I honestly don't remember. We just talked and laughed like things were early in our relationship. We were focused on each other and I was in the NOW. I was right there and not so danged worried about the future. We laughed at stupid stuff. I fetched ice chips and cups of coffee. She's a java junkie. I can live with her addiction. It creates the jitters at worst. I started calling her sliver kidney. She chuckles at the nickname.

Everything I try to do is for the betterment of the family and marriage. When things are going wrong in my life, I need to look at myself first. The problem I often have is that I have a grand plan inside my head. It is carefully crafted. Sometimes I can't differentiate between what is best for me or us. That is an honest assessment of myself. She can't see my thoughts. She sees my head hunkered down in front of this laptop like a man possessed. Period. ACTIONS speak louder than thoughts. God calls the shots. I just show up for each DAYS game and try not to worry about making the playoffs.

We have some new challenges facing us now. We made it through one war, now there's another one shaping up on the battlefield. I know we can get through it if we keep our faith strong. I know that if I am sure that I'm doing the right thing, I do it. If I know it's a poor choice I don't make it. When I honestly don't know the road to take I sit back and wait. The answers will come when it's right, and I'm willing to listen to the messenger....