Unwanted in Life

Let me share a story I know about this guy and you can be the one to judge whether his story is sad or not.

I met him in Cape Cod. He’s around my size, enjoys the same music, loves the same sport teams, works construction. Part of why we connected. He also loves heroin. I mean he loves it. Fortunately though, he hasn’t stuck a needle in his arm or ingested any opiates in 5 1/2 yrs; an amazing feat by any account.

Those are some good things about him and his life. He tries his hardest to help another addict or human being who’s having it rough in life or struggling with any form of addiction and mental health problems. But that’s what he shows, acts upon, and uses as a cover up- a disguise masking who he really is.

Like myself, his mother passed away and he hasn’t spoken to his family since, not because he chooses not too talk but because they’ve refused his many attempts of reaching out and building something that was never really there in the first place: a relationship.

He understands the strength and importance of both of the words, love and hate, and those two words only circumvent the same two people in his life. He hates himself because he was never available during his mother’s last days on earth and he hates himself because he lost an ex girlfriend and isn’t good enough to ever get her back. Sometimes he can’t look at himself in the mirror or pursue interested flames because he is drowning in worthlessness and self doubt. My heart hurts when writing about this pain and regret because I know it’s real.

What he can’t shake is that those two people were also the only people who’ve ever loved him unconditionally, and when it was too late, he realized that he- too- can now love them unconditionally as well. But, it’s too late for that. His mother is never coming back and his ex may as well never come back also.

He sabotages every single thing that’s good for him in his life. He doesn’t believe he deserves better. He claims, if there’s a heaven or an afterlife, that he’s not welcome. He doesn’t try nor think about ways to end his misery but you can almost see- upon his straight grin and melancholy eyes- that he prays that he doesn’t wake up the next morning and instead put an infinite end to his existence.

His heart is bigger then I’ve ever seen. His decision making is who he is, always suffering from the backfire from helping another human, a suffering that’s wound him in hospitals, jails, and even the shelter in which he now calls home, located here in Hyannis. He’s not wanted by old or new friends. His family stopped acknowledging his presence years ago and wouldn’t give him a chance regardless of what he’s done to improve himself or others. He feels and sees hatred daily within himself which in return reflects his place on this planet.

And, too, I understand.


The Aftermath of My Drug Addiction

I was swimming that night; my bed was like a pool of water- an ocean even, and my sheets were the waves. My pillow barely acted as a life preserver, moving back and forth from below my head and then thrown to the floor and picked back up again; repeating this action over and over throughout the night. My hands sliding back and forth- tossing the pillow around to gripping the sheets. My legs moving about, trying it’s hardest to keep my body afloat, never stopping and never tiring. I can’t sleep. I feel like I’m dying; painful and slow and when I’m not thinking about how much I want this to be over with, I’m praying that something- anything- will kill me.

My days are torturous and my nights are even worse. I don’t stop yawning; tears filling my eyes and running down my face. I have sneezing attacks, maybe 10 or 12 sneezes in a row, and when I do it feels like my ribs are breaking and the air pockets are being torn from my lungs. My head explodes in pain. Not like a bad headache but more like someone is hammer drilling from the inside of my skull- directly behind my facial features- outwards, with the force of a hundred Clydesdale horses charging across a wide open pasture. I removed my hoodie because of how damp the cotton is around the neck and lower back from the sweat flowing out of my skins pores, like the pores themselves are being forced open by what’s left of my soul, which is only trying to break free from the mess of a human I became. But as wet as my sheets and clothes get, I’m attempting to warm myself by wrapping my arms around my torso. I swear that I’m now freezing to death although if I could think about anything else, other then detoxing cold turkey, I’d know my mother has set the houses temperature at a comfortable 68 degrees.

I know she is sleeping. Her pocketbook hidden underneath her side of the bed, away from my addiction and my hands. While I flop myself on my back and light a cigarette I can’t even enjoy, I begin convincing myself that I can easily sneak into my parents bedroom, crawl across the carpet at yhe foot of the bed and around its corner, quietly revealing what my mother thought was hidden and protected. A purse without cash was no longer a problem; I knew all my mother’s pin numbers to her debit cards and I could forge her signature with one of her checks. I actually practiced writing like her for hours one day while I was high so I’ve got her penmanship down to a T.

I can’t help but focus back to the physical pain and discomfort my hips and knees are in. Every angle- Every position, they stay restless, and I pictured how peaceful my night would be without my legs. I mean literally legless. Aw, how perfect that would be. Although I’d still have one problem remaining: I’m so weak and tired that my muscles don’t even work correctly. I’d be better off without them. I decide that my muscles are only weighing my body down and I just can’t remove myself from the puddle of sweat I’m squirming around in.

After turning onto my side; my legs moving like they’re riding a bike which isn’t there, I get a little jolt of anxiety and i snub my cigarette out that I just let burn down to the filter. I move my tongue around the roof of my dry mouth and taste blood, or maybe iron or mettle of some sort, and I remember my dad has to remove his hearing aides while he sleeps so he won’t hear a peep if I entered the bedroom. It’s only me against my sleeping mother and the silent of the night. I’m aware but not worried that both of my hands can not stop shaking. They may be my only nemesis in attempting this robbery. My fingers would be better off twitching upon the keys of a piano then inside of a bag, feeling their way towards my mom’s purse.

I get up and walk to the bathroom- this being my 10th time today peeing. I have no idea how my bladder holds this much urine, especially since I barely stomached the cranberry juice from this morning, but it does. I’m still constipated- I haven’t shit in about three weeks- and i dred the next couple days where I’ll basically be living in the bathroom- my ass not leaving the toilet seat.

I’ve made up my mind. I’m gonna take whatever is in my mother’s purse. If I dont get caught tonight, I’ll definitely be in hot water tomorrow, but at least I know she will never tell my dad what I have done.

In 24hrs I’ll feel ashamed and upset of what I did and although no one will ever believe me, my feelings are sincere. I hate myself so much because I can’t control this disease I have, that I’ve contemplated not only killing myself so my family no longer has to suffer but I’ve already slit my wrists and cried hysterically while gagging on the barrel of a pistol one of my drug dealers left behind after an intense night of smoking crack and shooting heroin. The fact that I hated myself so much because I couldn’t stop being this evil waste of a human, I wished and prayed and tried- by overdosing- to die every single day and it’s one of the most honest feelings I’ve ever had in my life. I was just too stupid or too much of a pussy, to actually carry through with this selfish act.

☆ This situation occurred so many times, I lost count. I stole, lied, munipulated, and hurt my family. My mother was held hostage for almost a decade because of my addiction; because of me. These actions and decisions I made- like this one- brought my entire family to hate upon me and to this day they refuse to forgive me or find a neutral ground on which I can prove myself to them.

My father and I haven’t spoke in almost 3 years, though I’ve reached out and attempted to make an amends with him like I was ablento- and succeeded- with my mother before she passed away. My brothers haven’t accepted me as family and we haven’t talked in about 4 years. And it’s also been about that long since any relatives on my mothers side of the family, last spoke to me, except my Aunt who told me i could not attend any of my mother’s ceremonies and remembrance activities when she died. That was almost 3 years ago when I was told I can not go to the wake, the spreading of her ashes, or the viewing of her body before cremation. I still remember- to this day- the things my mom asked me to remind everyone about when we celebrated her life.

My mother forgave me. For everything. But my family refuses to try. So, I could not see my mother off to heaven because the family turned on me. I was blamed for partial reason of her dying; I causing the cancer to come back so strong. I was accused of that. This is the thing though:

She died on my 17th month of sobriety. I was almost 1 1/2 years away from drugs. And my addiction was still punishing me.

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No One’s Son


I still haven’t figured out why I was such an angry, miserable boy; hurting everyone and everything that presented itself in my life. I’m told quite often to simply leave the past where it belongs- in the past- but trying effortlessly to learn why i was the person I was while growing up and how this boy who came from such a loving, supportive family, evolved into the raging drug addict throughout the majority of his adult life.  And who am I fooling? I’m still miserable most of the time. I’ve just about mastered disguising my feelings of lonliness and the on going depression I battle with, mostly igniting from resentments I hold against myself. I feel so horrible because I was a horrible child, teenager, young adult, and whatever you’d call me at the age of 32. I was evil- inflicting pain upon others because I didn’t want to suffer alone with the pain I felt inside.

This I know: my addiction is only a symptom of the way I think. I need to change my way of thinking- which will encourage healthier actions- and in return will lead to a happier life. But how? Therapy? The Twelve Steps? Smart Recovery? Meditation? Religion?

All of these?

I’m no one’s son today. When I was a child, I had my mother and father. I rarely got in trouble and though I felt comfortable to lie to my mom, I never once lied to my dad until one summer day at the age of 27. I rebelled as a preteen and by the time I was in high school, my parents stopped caring what I did as long as I continued playing baseball. At this time I was already years into experimenting with drugs but I didn’t have a full blown addiction. But at home I was a terror; depressed and angry and blaming my mother for everything. She became numb to my existence. There would be days prior to one of my explosions where I’d return home from school and the hole I punched in the wall was  fixed- the mud still drying- by my mother. She’d act as if nothing happened and would talk to me like I was an alter boy, innocent and sweet.

Then one day I stopped my outbursts. They never happened again. But the depression weighed me down and anxiety took over my senses and brain waves. I started seeing a therapist but I would look at it as a game; one which I could master my munipulating ways and it worked. Not the therapy but the munipulating. By not using the opportunity that was set in front of me, I can only say those sessions did nothing for me and they failed because I wouldn’t allow myself to cooperate. Again, I was hopeless and helpless and my thoughts of dying only seemed to make the most sense, though I never went through with any forms of suicide. (It would be years later, towards the end of my heroin use, that I tried killing myself by overdosing almost on a daily basis).


I always loved people; my friends, my girlfriends, complete strangers, my family, and more then anyone and anything, I loved my mother. But I hated myself. I hated how I looked. I hated how I talked. I hated how my sense of humor imitated my fathers. I hated everything about me and i prayed and i wished at 11:11 that I would just die. I don’t know if I couldn’t kill myself because I was too much of a pussy to do it or if I was too smart, but for whatever reason I just couldn’t do it. I remember telling my mother one day that I wanted to die. She sat on the floor against the cabinet under the sink and she cried. That moment, I felt worse then I ever had before, only adding another reason I shouldn’t live, to the equation.

Until my mother’s last breathe I had parents and I was there son. Once she pasted away, my father made a collage in his head of all the suffering I have put my family through over these years of my addiction and my belief I was worthless, and shunned me from his life all together. So did everyone else on my mother’s side of the family. I’ve been accused of causing my mother to die, from cancer, through the mouths of my Uncle and one of my brothers. I’m no one’s son. Holidays and birthdays spent alone without a greeting or a well wish. There’s maybe 7 billion people on this planet and still, I’m alone. But what gets me the most- what hits home the hardest- is the second my mom passes away I become no one’s son. That easily. It’s one of the most difficult things in my life in which I can’t seem to get over.

Though accepting this moral ideology is sometimes painful and hard, caused by the past I’ve created, I have learned to stop feeling or thinking about my regrets and resentments using my mind, instead igniting that fire within and practice using my heart; by allowing it to lead the way with my feelings and thoughts. By doing this more and more, I have also come to understand what the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous teaches through the 12 Steps and the individual work that must fully be done in order to change for the better. 

That hole I had- where emptiness could be found and the pity of being no one’s son- I’ve been able to fill with the presence of my Higher Power and in return gives me the ability to be Somebody’s Son. 

It is my nonreligious- purely spiritual- relationship with my HP where I find the answers to my questions, confidence to challenge my fears, and ability to improve myself daily, all awhile proving too and happily impressing a power greater than myself- which is exactly the pedastool I held some of my family high upon for all these years…

As alone as I can feel at times and when emptiness tries invading my space, I consciously depend on my Higher Power and my life feels better each time I do. 

I Know it’s Real…


I never expected to fall in love. I mean, do we at all expect love to fall into our lap? And because I never expected it, I was ignorant about it- clueless even, and as simple as turning a light on, one day that feeling hit me and i knew I was in love with her.

How could you not see what I saw? Maybe the average person looked into her eyes and thought they looked as brown as the beer bottle she held loosely in her hand. To me, they resembled something like copper against honey. They were warm and sweet like milk chocolate; the soft warmness of them wrapping around me like a blanket that made me instantly feel at home. They shined- a glossy kind of shine- and i knew that when they water,. they glow the same shade as nature after it rains. Her black eyebrows arched low on her clear, tan forehead- thin like the bridge of her nose- which guided me to her lips. Pierced together as if she just finished fighting off a smile, they were the color of roses and i wondered to myself whether kissing them would feel as comfortable as resting my head upon a soft pillow after a long day at work.  Her hair- simple and straight, was dark mahogany- and as she turned her head beneath the dropped ceiling light fixtures, I swear I could see speckles of gold in its strands that stopped short of her shoulder. 

She approached me, I didn’t approach her. I was working my security job at a popular night club and i was scanning the crowd looking for trouble. I remember her and the group of people she was with when they entered the club, but I watch all kinds of pretty women every night at work, so her appearance wasn’t unusual for this kind of atmosphere.

She spoke first and I noticed her confidence relay through her voice. “Give me your phone.” she said. I smiled and lightly laughed, not quite sure what she was getting at. “Why would I just give you my phone?” I asked, giving her my full attention away from my job. “Because I’m gonna put my number it in”, she assuredly said, never taking her eyes off of mine. I was taken back. I’ve had women flirt with me, ask me to grab breakfast afterwards with them, and even have them ask me back to their place before, but this was a new advance I’d never expected, and one that interested me. Still, I wanted to make sure it was honest and sincere. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to just hook up with someone since getting out of a serious relationship I was just in. So, I told her I’d think about it, now knowing her attentions and being able to watch how she acted for the rest of the night. She smiled and turned away her character, simply saying “ok” as she walked back to her group of friends who were dancing in the middle of the dance floor and was oblivious to what she just did.

I let her put my number in my phone. I literally unlocked it, set up my contacts, and allowed her to type her name and number into it, then watched her press the save button. It took me 3 days to call but I did and a week later she drove to my apartment where we watched a movie and got to know each other. She worked at a hospital and went to college for nursing. She knew where I worked and i told her I was hoping to get into the Union. But something I can’t- and won’t- ever forget was how accepting and understanding she was when I made the decision and informed her of my past; my addiction, my arrests, my mother, my life, and she never judged me once. Not once. And later, when we’d argue over ridiculous stuff, she never ever held anything against me. 

The love wasn’t there in the beginning. Sure, I was attracted like hell to her but I was battling emotions within myself that I wasn’t capable of making any logical decisions over. I was stuck. But No matter how distant I acted at times, she hung around, and it wasn’t in a creepy- won’t leave me alone type of way- but because when I did open up and relax with her, she saw who I really was and that’s who she was getting feelings for.

A trip she took to Miami was the breaking point. Two days into it I sent her a text that I meant more than ever. “I miss you” is what I said and almost as fast as I typed those words, she responded with “I miss you too”. When she returned from her vacation we made plans for her to spend the night at my place. That very second I saw her I just knew she was the woman I wanted to be with. Though it wasn’t until months later that I proclaimed my feelings of love towards her, it still didn’t mean I wasn’t beginning to feel it sporadically. That night, at my place, she was more beautiful then I’ve ever seen. Maybe her south Florida tan assisted with me thinking that but it was more and that more was unexplainable. All I remember is laying beside her in my bed and that beauty of hers- staring me right in my eyes- overwhelmed me. It made me stop breathing. Again, I knew I wanted to be with this woman.

I wound up asking her out- while eating dinner at the Cheesecake Factory- and she glowed like a star in the midnight sky. It was wonderful to witness and be a part of. But I never told her I loved her because those feelings I was still sorting out through my heart. I just knew I needed to be with her.

I learned through this relationship that love is screwed up. It’s confusing. It’s questionable at times and it can be hard. But I also learned it’s priceless. It’s large- so large it can consume every second of your life. It turns a frown into a smile and it chases your chaos away and fills that void with comfort and meaning. I have rarely loved before and I’ve never loved like this, but one thing is for certain; this love I have, for this woman, I do not regret, and I carry with me every second of everyday. Nothing can be as beautiful as real love.

Not An Addict by K’s Choice


These lyrics are dead on. So grateful to be clean today. Great song…

Breathe it in and breathe it out
And pass it on, it’s almost out
We’re so creative, so much more
We’re high above but on the floor

It’s not a habit, it’s cool, I feel alive
If you don’t have it you’re on the other side

The deeper you stick it in your vein
The deeper the thoughts, there’s no more pain
I’m in heaven, I’m a god
I’m everywhere, I feel so hot

It’s not a habit, it’s cool, I feel alive
If you don’t have it you’re on the other side
I’m not an addict (maybe that’s a lie)

It’s over now, I’m cold, alone
I’m just a person on my own
Nothing means a thing to me
(Nothing means a thing to me)

It’s not a habit, it’s cool, I feel alive
If you don’t have it you’re on the other side
I’m not an addict (maybe that’s a lie)

Free me, leave me
Watch me as I’m going down
Free me, see me
Look at me, I’m falling and I’m falling.

It is not a habit, it is cool I feel alive I feel…
It is not a habit, it is cool I feel alive

It’s not a habit, it’s cool, I feel alive
If you don’t have it you’re on the other side
I’m not an addict (maybe that’s a lie)
I’m not an addict..

Your Not Alone


Have you ever wanted to die because you were stuck in the depths of addiction? You wake up in the morning, getting high is the first and only thing on your mind, and you just wished you never woke up- that you died in your sleep. Your a prisoner of this disease and your living a life of hell. All you want to do is die. More then anything. You pray everytime you use that it’ll kill you; so you no longer have to suffer and your family can finally be at ease.

Speaking of family, has your family ever had enough of your lying, stealing, and manipulating? They no longer want you around. They shun you. Tell you to get better- as if it was that easy.

Now your cheating everybody you come in contact with. You tell them your fine but really your looking to see if there’s anything you can steal? Your mind is still controlled by your addiction.

Have you ever wrote checks in your own name and cashed them but it wasn’t your check to begin with? You are fully aware of the consequences but you’re not in control so you do it anyways. Have you ever tried selling your jewelry, your tv, your game box, your cd’s? Your bank account is empty because you used that money years ago. Have you ever sold your car so you could get high? Have you ever sold your body so you could just get off Empty?

Have you ever walked 5 miles- in a blizzard, with somebody else’s money- only for a fix? You don’t answer your phone and days later you make up a story that you were robbed by the dealer.

Have you ever robbed a drug dealer yourself? Even if it was a close friend. You pull out a knife you stole from a restaurant and put it to his balls. Fill a small dunkin donuts cup with gasoline and throw it on the floor of his car. You pull your Zippo out and threaten to burn his car til it’s unrecognizable. Or you fill a needle with blood and threaten to stick him with your AIDS infected blood.

Have you ever held your family hostage with your disease? Harassing your mother at home, at her work, at your Aunts house, at the oncologists office while she was receiving chemotherapy.  You tell her you won’t leave until you have money. That your sick. That you’ll rob a bank or a store. That the little old lady who left her pocketbook unattended in the shopping cart is going to be taken. You beg and cry for the money and manipulate until you get your way.

Have you ever felt so lonely that you want to die? You realize you have no friends left or family. They refuse contact. You look in the mirror and hate what you see; yourself. You scroll through your phone and find that none of those people will answer. You become overwhelmed and depressed as you log onto Facebook and see everyone’s pictures of success; owning houses, having careers, getting married, raising children,  and you know that you haven’t done a single thing in the last fourteen years except avoid society and be irresponsible. Nothing would please you more then dying but first you need to get high.

Have you ever surrendered,  hitting your bottom and not knowing what to do? Your desperate, sad, depressed, angry, confused, and lost.

There are hundreds of thousands- if not millions- of people that can help you, if you only ask. There is a way out of the hell that’s been your life and we can help. Reach out to any one of us. We’re your teachers, your firefighters, your doctor’s and your nurses. We’re you construction workers, and your cooks. We’re even your priests. We’re everywhere, living a life second to none and you can too. You can be saved. You can love yourself; it’s possible. You just have to WANT it and put in the hard work.

Do you WANT it?