"Friends"

I may be in the minority here, and I guess I'm okay with that. I know deep down that I'm a good person. Am I perfect? Far from it. I have my flaws. I can be an asshole at certain times, I can be standoffish at others, but if I consider you a friend of mine, there isn't much I wouldn't do for you. There's one issue that I have come to realize over time, and it's becoming more and more evident as I age:

I'm an afterthought in most people's minds. 

Now, I'm not looking for pity. Not in the least. Hell, by all accounts you probably won't even be able to tell who wrote this. However, if reading this gets you to take that "friend" who's an afterthought, reach out to them and go to a sporting event, movie, dinner or even make a good old phone conversation, then this is worth every second I spent writing it. 

It's not like I'm sitting at home waiting for someone to call me. I have a life that consumes much of my time. I am successful in my chosen career, I have a family with children that keep me busy, and other things that keep my attention. But with what very little free time that I may have, it seems like whenever I try to make plans, the excuse train comes barreling by.

Now granted, I understand that sometimes last minute plans cannot happen, but the law of averages would make you believe that if you called ten people to do something in a single night, at least ONE of them would say yes. You can guess how successful my stats were: 

One out of ten.

I conducted a little test for myself over the last week just to see if I was overthinking this whole thing. In the time I didn't reach out to anyone other than family or business matters and I don't recall one person reaching out. Not via phone, text, Facebook, Twitter. Nothing. Not. A. Soul. 

What am I supposed to think? Is this Karma for all the shitty things that I've done in the past? Some kind of retribution from a higher power? 

I don't really know. For all I know, I just have a really shitty core group of people in my life, yet they still talk to each other. Either way, it's a dejecting feeling knowing that the people you hold in close regard clearly don't care enough about you to make the slightest of efforts. One of few things can come of this. I accept the fact that I'm obviously not the person I thought I was: 

The kind, caring, funny person that everyone wants to be around.

I find new people to surround myself with who actually give a shit about me. I could do nothing, still be the guy reaches out to everyone, getting shot down every time I lay out an idea to do something, but I will always accept an offer when it's given to me.  Or could it all change? Who knows?

I'm sure some of you that read this would know me if I actually put my name in the submission and think:

"Oh Jesus, I had no idea so and so felt like this."

But then, I would always think that anytime someone DID call, it was out of pity and that's worse than not calling at all. 

At the end of the day, I know for a fact that I'll be okay. I've overcome a lot worse than this, believe me! This post may seem sad to some and a cry for help to others, but I just wanted to vent, say my piece and get everyone to think about how they act in their lives. 

I truly do love my life, I have a ton of things to be grateful for, so do not take this for anything more than me letting my thoughts and feelings flow into tangible words. My kids make me happy, my significant other makes me happy and I truly do enjoy spending every second that I am able to with them. 

They are my heart and my world! 

But it would be nice to go see that new action movie, comedy show or U.F.C. fight with a buddy once in a while. I'd say I'll hold my breath, but if the experiment I ran is any indication, I'd need CPR before that happened.

 Anonymous

It's Not Okay

When a loved one dies, it's not okay but you will be.

When your loved one is sick, it's not okay but you both will be.

When a lover breaks your heart, it's not okay but you will be.

When a friend disappoints you, it's not okay but you will be.

When someone you love doesn't support you, it's not okay but you will be.

When you're in physical pain, it's not okay but you will be.

When worry keeps you up at night, it's not okay but you will be.

When you feel alone and scared, it's not okay but you will be.

When someone violates your mind, spirit, body or all three, it's not okay but you will be.

When defending yourself becomes moot, it's not okay but you will be.

When you lose the ability to do something you once loved, it's not okay but you will be.

When you feel money issues will cripple you, it's not okay but you will be.

When injury or illness literally cripples you, it's not okay but you will be.

When neighbors and fellow Americans senselessly hurting each other seems like too much bare, it's not okay but you will be.

When war all over the world makes you feel helpless, it's not okay but you will be.

When any or all of these things happen, it's not okay but you have the power to make yourself be.

Anonymous

Bottled Up

I've spent my entire life trying to recover from YOUR disease.

I've spent my entire adulthood trying to no longer be affected by YOUR selfishness.

I've spent the last 12 + years sheltering my children from YOUR wrath of painful words.

I've allowed YOUR problems to infiltrate my marriage.

I watched YOUR behavior ruin EVERY milestone moment in my life.

I spent years in therapy mourning an earth shattering loss only to find out what I was mourning was YOUR lack of love and nurturing in a time when I needed it most.

I've given everything I can to try and repair this relationship with you to no avail.

Your sense of entitlement to things that I have worked hard for is mind boggling.

Your inability to be accountable for the path of destruction that you laid before me for so long physically hurts my heart.

I used to wonder why I have no photo albums of my childhood, no memory books of my first words or school pictures but it's so vividly clear now...you were too busy entertaining your demons to be a parent.

I cringe when I hear others tell you how proud you should be of me, what a great job you did "raising" me and how proud they are of you for getting rid of your demon.

I got where I am today, not because of you, but in spite of you. However, you got sober thanks to me, because unlike you, I didn't give up on you...and it was the hardest thing I ever had to do...but YOUR disease was killing me.

I see snip-its from time to time of your potential to be a good parent, grandparent, etc. but, they are few and far between. And again I'm mourning. I'm mourning the fact that YOU'RE going to miss out on two wonderful gifts that you were blessed with because you feel that I owe you something for doing what's right.

What scares me most is that I see snip-its of you in me. I too dance with the same demon far too often and find myself yelling too loud and too much...but its not my voice I hear coming out, it's YOURS.  

The difference is, I'm going to take steps to change my path NOW and not be a burden to my children. I will repair the whole me, mind, body and spirit.  I will continue to be a positive influence, a nurturer, a provider and a safe spot for them.  I've seen what happens to a child when they are without all of those things.  It's by the grace of god I made it out alive.  

I wish I didn't have to be anonymous.  I wish that I could say these words to you in a way that wouldn't immediately bring you to become defensive but that's not possible. So, for now, I will hide behind my anonymity but no longer behind the bottle.

Anonymous

Ladybugs: Part V "The Fight"

When you find yourself so broken that death seems like a viable option; it changes you. 

I wish I could pinpoint how it changes you but I can't. I can only tell you it simply does. 

I was broken and damaged, the only thing keeping me among the living was a thread. Even though there had to have been a part of me that wanted to live, I continued to test my thread's strength:

...by swallowing too many sleeping pills which ended with me intubated.
...by overdosing and being hit with narcan more times than I can count.
...by shooting heroin and cocaine for almost two weeks until ending up in Somerville Hospital.  To this day I am still unsure of how I got there.

As selfish as this may sound I was like a cockroach: I just couldn't die. 

The last and final time I “actively” tried to take my own life was in the back of my busted up car that I was living in. I drank half a bottle of windshield washer fluid. 

You might be asking yourself “what's up with the windshield fluid?”.  And I can honestly say that I have no idea. I'm sure I could've attempted to harm myself in another way, however, it was just there at that moment, an option at that time. 

Of course, there were multiple detoxes, halfway homes and psych wards. All with no success. My final count of detox units is between 15-20. I completed approximately half of those; ending up in a long-term setting (like a halfway house).  However, no matter the setting or the facility I just could NOT keep myself clean. 

Out of everything that I have been through it is this part of my story that I find the scariest. But not for the reason you might be thinking. This part frightens me the most because once you look at death in a positive light (ie: to end your pain and to stop from hurting) you seem to never let that go. It just gets buried deep down where no one can ever see it. Almost like a dormant gene or something. 

So, even years later, when you think you have life figured out and your shit is all together: BAM! The demons in your head begin to taunt you and you must remind yourself over and over again… 

“I must fight. I must keep fighting."

Anonymous

Please read the complete Ladybug series by clicking on the following:

Ladybugs - Part I  

Ladybugs Part II

Ladybugs - Part III

Ladybugs - Part IV

Ladybug: The Lottery of Life

As odd as it may sound, some days I want to quit.  I want to throw up my white flag and just surrender…go be a drifter or even a hobo; taking train to train, beach to beach.

See, the older I get the more things hit me. They hit me like a ton of bricks to the stomach. I feel everything deeper as time goes by and that feeling of uncertainty becomes a more frequent affair. 

When you come from where I have come from and been where I have been - simple things like scrolling my Facebook feed can mean the difference of a tragic day or not. 

It's almost daily I see things like “RIP” or "I can't believe it; I just saw them yesterday…”. Because that's just how it is when you come from a city like Somerville where overdoses happen all too often. 

Amidst the death and sadness, though, is a sense of camaraderie. Where everyone knows everyone and, regardless of what park you spent your summers at, in the end we all came from the same exact places…homes with secrets and struggles. 

Most of us with our reduced and free lunches, free after school programs and even free field trips.  We all had the same set of values: we stuck by each other through it all. 

We come from a certain type of community that if you didn't grow up in it - you wouldn't understand it. That's why when a fellow kid from "The Ville" passes it's not that everyone "comes out of the woodwork”, I think it's more than that. I think it's something deep inside of us thinking exactly what I'm thinking at this moment…"Why them and not me forcing us to come together as one?".

I'm sure you're thinking "what the f*ck is this girl babbling about?". And frankly, I am not even sure I know. However, what I do know is that sometimes I feel better when I write. Writing helps me cope with the tragedy and sadness I see so often. It helps me cope with the guilt. Because, in all honesty, I do feel guilty.  

I feel guilty that somehow I have had the winning numbers in the lottery of life. While others, who were no different than myself, succumbed to their illness. What made them different than me? How did I manage to do the impossible (to get and STAY sober)? I know it was not for lack of effort. Because I know my fallen brothers and sisters suffered just as I had. And God did they suffer; longer, harder, and truer. 

Which is why, for me, I have to wonder who really wins the lottery of life?

Submitted Anonymously by the widely celebrated author of the Ladybug series.

Uneasy Conversations

It's never an easy conversation to have, to let someone know you have a mental illness. I often wonder, do I have a mental illness, am I living with a mental illness or do I suffer from a mental illness? And what will people think of me if I tell them? Or worse, how will they treat me? Will they treat me differently? Will they treat me like I'm CRAZY???

Because, contrary to popular belief, I don't feel that because someone has a mental illness, they are crazy. It's just something, another thing, I have in my life that I have to deal with. I deal with it on an everyday, pretty much every moment, basis.

There may be times when I have stress in my life that I handle it a certain way and immediately, in the back of my mind, I question if I'm getting sick. Maybe it's the way I react to something or if I'm being overly emotional about something. It sucks that I have to second guess my emotions and wonder if I'm getting manic.

Those around you make it difficult too. Either they know nothing about the subject and think you're harmful and don't want to let their kids play with yours or they are your loved ones, who think they can read all the signs and diagnose you as sick when, in reality, you may just be excited about something.

STIGMA. That's a powerful word. And it's so true. I wish I could live in a world where I could just randomly talk about having bipolar disorder and not be judged and to not have people compare me to psychopaths.

Do I sometimes get sick? Yes. But I'm responsible about it. I immediately tell my doctor, tell the people around me or if it comes down to it, go to the hospital. Not everyone with a mental illness is a psychopathic criminal.

I have 4 children who I love with all my heart. I would never, ever harm any of them or anyone else's. Yet, I can't tell other parents about my illness in fear that they won't let my children play with theirs. It also hurts, sometimes, when people think that, because they can't see my physical scars, it's just something you have to work harder to get through or that it's not even a real disease. When you manage it so well your loved ones sometimes forget you have it to begin with, when you speak without thinking or are moody or go from one extreme to the next, they get annoyed with you.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is, it's hard enough to have bipolar disorder and it sucks more having everyone else around you making you feel worse for having it.

-Anonymous

Ladybugs - Part II

Part 2: Something changed in me that night. It made me cold, angry, and bitter. Even as I write this I struggle with my “coldness” and ability to not show my “feelings” even if it's all I want to do. I struggle with not being able to control my thoughts, actions, and words... The hour or so following ladybug (which is how I refer to that night) is a blur. I vaguely remember stumbling home - partly because of the trauma and partly because I was fucked up in the head space. I remember getting home in the early hours of that morning and climbing through my window as I always did; so as not to wake up my mother. I remember showering, as most do who have been through a similar experience. From there, I climbed into the safety and warmth of my bed.

I wish I could say that I told someone, anyone what happened. But I didn't. Instead, the light in my life grew darker and darker and I only had one mission: to numb the pain and forget. Soon my life switched directions from potential to potent. I quickly realized I loved being anywhere but where I was. A timeout from my mind and a stop to my thoughts was what I craved. The more I got it, the more I wanted it. It was a vicious cycle and I knew it. But I didn't want to stop even though I knew that I was self destructing. My descent into drug addiction was alarmingly quick. By my junior year of high school I was fully addicted to OxyContin. I had gone from a straight A honor student to a “"problem student” - tardiness, truancy, suspension, and failing all my classes. It was then that my addiction took complete control over my life. I started to do things that I still regret to this day. My morals and self-respect were a distant memory. Things came full circle November of my senior year when I walked out of high school for the last time. It was only a short time later that I fell in love.
I fell in love with the needle and started a tumultuous love affair with heroin…

Anonymous

To revisit "Ladybugs - Part I"

Ladybugs - Part I

Ladybugs. Most people don't put too much thought into ladybugs except when they see one; up close and personal. It is then that a person gets to see the details: With their red backs and black dots - even having one land on you is supposed to be good luck. 
I fucking hate ladybugs. Ladybugs can take me from 0 - 100 - and just like that I'm brought back to my world as a 16 year old when everything was beautiful and I had not a care in the world. I even thought my life was beautiful; getting good grades, cheerleading in high school and coaching pop warner. I was on the high school swim team and played freshman softball. As adults would always say to me: you have so much promise…

Except I had no such thing. It was taken from me. It was stolen right out from underneath me. It was Halloween and I was 16. The possibilities as a high school kid were endless. This particular year, Halloween fell on a Friday. One of the coaches for my Pop Warner team was having a costume party and asked me if I wanted to go. "Of course! Hell yes I wanted to go." I knew there would be alcohol and mostly everyone was going to be way older than me. But I didn't care. I had always gotten along so much easier with older people. Of course, I wasn't worried about any of that crap. My biggest concern was what costume I would wear and it wasn't until a few days later while doing our Saturday shopping ritual, that I saw it. The 'not too sexy but showed enough skin to make me feel sexy' ladybug costume was a one piece with the spots, bug headband and everything. The costume itself was on the short side, so I threw on shorts and called it good. The party was so fun - nothing but laughs and smiles. Even though I was underage, I had a few wine cooler type drinks but didn't go crazy. At the end of the night I was tired (and lazy) so I decided to crash on N's couch for the night. The party wrapped up and just like that everyone had left. She left her dog at her fathers house; so before bed went over to check on him. Not that I minded because I was already half asleep on the couch anyways. Details are so trivial sometimes. I won't describe how my heart dropped to the floor when he walked into the living room; startling me. I won't describe the helplessness I felt, the weakness under his weight. I won't mention that I had my virginity stolen from me by a monster that was "friends" with a women whom I had known for years. Only a monster with no soul could do what he did. Only a monster could finish taking the innocence of a 16 year old and stroll out like it was no big deal. I remember I sat stunned; frozen. I knew I needed to get out of there. I knew I needed to just get outside and feel the chilled October air on my face. I needed an escape; I needed to escape that place, those feelings, those thoughts, and all the racing images that started to flood my mind. I wish I could say I eventually recovered from such a tragedy. I wish I could tell you that I told someone and got the counseling that was necessary. I wish I could tell you that I learned skills to deal with everything that results from a sexual assault. But the only thing I can tell you with any honesty is that to this day almost 15 years later...I still fucking hate ladybugs.

Anonymous