Comatose

Sometimes I drift off into sick thoughts of:

Sticking my fork in the light socket.

Cranking the steering wheel of my vehicle all the way left

Traveling into the back country during avalanche season & scream into a megaphone.

Having some good ol' unprotected sex.

Shooting up  speed-balls, or just speed ( turns out my dopamine receptors don't like Heroin)

Sometimes I don't wear my seat belt. I know that I should & I do the 98.9999% of the time... but other times I just don't see the point. Or maybe I just have the urge to be reckless every once in awhile? Now that I've been "Living Right" for the most part. I still need to watch out for the other hundred ways my head is trying to kill me.

Then there are times I am wearing my seat belt, traveling down the freeway in my 4 door sedan (always when I'm alone) & find myself day dreaming of being involved in a collision out of my control, of veering underneath the trailer tires of an 18 wheeler. I don't want to die & I don't expect that I would, but I visualize that being in a naturally or medically induced coma would be a nice change of pace from the monotony. Nothing permanent,  just a little break, time to relax while not thinking or worrying or obsessing. Hit the restart button.. 

I didn't believe that depression was ever a thing. Suicide was for selfish people trying to seek out the ultimate attention of those they perceived were ignoring them. I believed people just needed to get out of bed, get out of the house & do something. To just be better.. or maybe just try harder? They could choose to stop being sad.. especially if your'e a goddamn man. Go jump a dirt bike, ford a river, chop down a tree, climb a mountain. There are a million other things to do in this world than to be fuckin sad.

And if those natural highs don't work for you, there are always other stimulants in the dopamine well.

Until I was the one who was fuckin sad. I was the flop who wouldn't get out of bed, not even to ride my dirt bike. Until I let my own business consume me with stress after crushing stress. Until I was alone all of those late nights, Until I was the one that decided that I needed a drink or a drug to help me deal & cope. Until I was clinically depressed, until I saw absolutely no other way out of my addiction cycle merry-go-round. 

Except to jump off into oblivion. I couldn't fathom the thought of riding it out, to have the merry-go-round slow down on it's own timeline. I can't bear the "come off" of it all, with the overwhelming dizziness. That sick feeling of nausea, inevitable vomiting till I'm dry heaving emptiness. I was just empty at that point, running off of fumes of previous nights n' days, blurred together as one last binge.

Free Range

I have always pondered why my addiction or my alcoholism took a sharp turn for the worst when I tried to control it through my own will power.

When others close to me finally said I should think about stopping, or that they would leave me if I didn't, while also threatening to take really cool stuff n' things away with them when they did. I would just drink or use more at their perceived threats... even when that really cool thing was my own flesh & blood. I really don't deal well with conditional or tough love. I believe it has something to do with one or more of my trauma wounds, fear of abandonment, or just plain not being good enough. I break down at that point and see no way out. I'm sensitive, I have paper thin feelings, & if they are damaged or torn, my pain will spill out all over the surrounding environment like the Exxon Valdez.

At the time I could of never realized the scope of these tragic, knee-jerk reactions. Or that I would be the one dealing with the punishment of forging my own weapon. Just like an oil spill the aftermath of how deep the damages run are never really known until years & decades later.

The epiphany I just had was that I always believed I was a free range type of addict. I thought I was like the breeze. Sailing the seven seas, out in the great wide open, mostly minding my own business, not negatively affecting others. After all, I drank n' drugged to calm the storm raging inside of me, not to purposely meaning to hurt anyone else in my proximity.

Some how in my twisted thought process, I rationalized that fitting into a certain mold or box would save me from getting worse or prevent me from hitting absolute rock bottom. I just could not wiggle or writhe my way into one that fit me right... but I jumped right in anyhow.

 Whether it was a change in geographical location in the mountains, desert, or beach. Pursuing a new & exciting dating option. Maybe thinking it was time to finally settle down into something more serious, or perhaps trying no relationship at all would suit me better. Not till I realized no matter where I found myself, there I was. Up against the wall, backed into a corner, always trying to dig my way out... I had barbed wire sickness. I was claustrophobic, I was trapped,  I was NOT fucking free anymore. That's when my addict mind turned on me & everyone else it told me it never would..

Addiction always seems to bite the hand that feeds..

Addiction is the only prison where the locks are on the inside.

This Hungry Ghost ....

self portrait

does not fall by the wayside from the absence of sustenance, from being avoided or ignored. This hungry ghost paces along side of me in synchronicity, outstretched limbs, wearily grasping in it's ethereal existence. Casting a long shadow over the spanning echo of my being. This is my ghost, I have to take responsibility of its residency, just as it has taken possessor-ship of its human. It's a daily conflict of whom owns whom.

Do you recall the good ol' boy drinking joke? Goes something like this: "She said I had a drinkin' problem. I said, yes I do, I've got two hands to hold liquor & only one mouth to drink it from!"

Low brow to be sure, but not far off from the description of the far East's philosophy of the hungry ghosts who crave & hunger for substances they cannot digest. These ghosts suffer from tiny mouths, scrawny necks, though contradicted by having exaggeratedly large, bottomless stomachs to match their insatiable appetites, making it impossible to ever get the feeling of satifaction.

Is it an issue of morality? My egoic pride? Do I not have the adequate conscience, soul, or discipline? Am I uncouth? Unintelligent? Or is there a Mariana trench like chasm so vast inside of me that every positive attribute is also just a drop in the bucket? 

Sound familiar? For myself it is a hollowness deep inside that is an aching hunger, an unquenchable thirst. Not only is it never being satisfied, but also lacking the ability to just be with myself & " just feel okay" or to ease the aching for more... that hopeful grasp that something outside of yourself will make up what is deficient inside of self. 

 Trauma. Addiction. Therapy. Recovery. Relapse. Trauma... 

If some event outside of you happened, putting the trauma inside of you, then why is it that addicts are seen as crazy for thinking something outside of them could also take the trauma that causes addiction away?

Opened Letter

I feel so defeated & ashamed to be writing this, as I feel like I'm drowning & there is no way out. This is the end, you're better off without me....

Countless numbers of unsent letters are ripped up & thrown in the trash everyday around the globe.  Ones that never  get to be opened or read until its much to late. This statistic is not how I'd like my story to end, I suppose I would rather have you read this letter than to read my eulogy.

I haven’t felt at peace. I haven’t felt security, Not since you’ve known me.
Something is wrong & I've almost always felt it.. more concussions than I can count on both hands, trauma / ptsd, a predisposition to drugs & alcohol? I have had fleeting thoughts of taking the easy way out to escape this life. A life that feels blanketed by anxiety, pain, & depression. While I don’t consider my self suicidal in the conventional sense, I am a threat to myself caught in the addictive cycle of  guilt, shame, remorse, relapse & repeat which is in fact, committing slow suicide.

The people that I’ve let close to me are privy to the state of  things around me, but not so much inside of me, never knowing if today will be Dr. Jekyl or Mr. Hyde. Many others know that something just isn’t right with me, as most of the battles I fight are just beneath the surface. My insides do not match my outsides & recovery is an inside job. Just like I can’t work on my business while I’m constantly working in my business, I cannot work on my head space while I’m always in my head.

.....but hey, isn't  posting anything about how you really feel against social media policy?  For an anti-social person like myself, I tend to be alone in a room (pretend)ing) to portray the wins, the laughs, the smiles, the beautiful faces, & the good times. There are those to be sure, as I’ve experienced tremendous heights and opportunities in life, but something is very wrong when I contemplated working at McDonalds when they were demanding $15.00 an hour (not that there is anything wrong with working at McDonalds) because I've let a business suck my soul dry.

It seems I only know how to operate in the extreme ends of the spectrum, dwelling on the lowest of lows. Because of this I isolate, Because of this I don’t go out much or leave my work, because of this it’s hard for me to trust  people or the system (especially the health care system) because of this I find it difficult to feel that I have true close friends & only limited connections. I feel I've never stopped to smell the roses, I've always put my career & building my business reputation highest on the totem pole, neglecting my health & other responsibilities at the cost of having personal time with my loved ones. Someday thinking that I'll get ahead of the 8 ball, then I'll have the time and resources to live happily ever after. If weighed out, I'd say it's a very high price to pay vs. low reward.

I have been aware & have seen this coming for some time, thinking that if I just work harder, train more employees, that I'll eventually, have the time to focus on my health,  my relationships, my recovery.. but in my quest for greatness I've become severely burnt out. I’ve experienced sums of time and chunks of physical sobriety in recovery over the last 5 years, but mentally I feel it’s time that I get honest and consent to a rehab / treatment facility that specializes in dual diagnosis for my behavioral & mental health. I have to do this for myself first & foremost so I can be present for my daughter / best friend, my loving partner, my family & friends. (maybe even fall back in love with my dirt bike again!)

 I feel guilt and shame for letting so many people down. This is a very hard decision to make as it feels like I'm abandoning my life's work, my pride n' joy, my baby.. I sincerely appreciate everyone who has ever walked through my doors & supported my dreams of having a cool dirt bike shop.
I know I've pushed good people away, lost some customers & by posting this I risk losing more. I have a lot of wrongs to make right with people & feel this is the direction I need to go in order to do that.

I am dedicated to be able to continue, as my best days are yet to come. This is not the end as it will be a new beginning once these issues are sorted out.