Day One, or "Scraped off the bottom of a shoe."

<long deep sigh>  Well, this is it.   This is the end of the road of ruination and selfish ways, God willing.  The end of a longstanding and habitual dependence on illicit substance to "soothe" my ills, hide my booboos and run headlong into oblivion.

I will not make a promise of "never again" or "I'm done" anymore; how many times, how many people, how many broken bonds and friends' and family's trust laying a shambled heap?  My words have rung emptier with each passing lie.

This is a hard thing to do.

Today I have returned home from nearly seven days "aflight"...  Truth.

Today I have heard truths from my beautiful family that have shaken me to the core.  I have been protected from hearing and seeing how my selfishness affects the others around me.  Today I was shown point blank.

Others can attest that I do not know much about recovery.  About "recommended" or "suggested" methods to recover.  I will be reaching out in the hopes of becoming expert.

I need to bare my soul to do this.  To do this right out in the open.  Nearly 600 Facebook friends, and only a few know the sordid truth.  The ones closest to me know the truth.  Know how my decisions have affected my family, my kids, my life and their lives.

All my life I have been a performer.  Singing for quarters at 3 years old:  "The liquor was spilt on the barroom floor, the bar was closed for the night,  Out of the darkness came a little white mouse, and he gazed and he gazed at the sight,  He licked up the liquor on the barroom floor, and back on his haunches he sat,  All night long you could hear him roar:  "Bring on the Goddamn cat!"  (God bless you Ralph Debock, whereever you are!)

So much of what I've done, about what motivates me, comes from the unwavering eye of the audience.  Ever the performer, ever the "people pleaser", "approval seeker":  Get a few pats on the head, and I start thinking I'm loved.

Little knowing all my life, that love emanates from within, not from without.  I look in the mirror and do not love what I see.  And then I perpetuate that self loathing by continuing to use, continuing to disappear down the darkened alley, wondering why I do not grow in love, do not grow in spiritual connection or fulfillment.

The world/God/Universe steers me to the right path;  God does smile down on drunks and fools and has kept my alive thus far, despite my best attempts to undermine Him.  In fact, he guided me to two different ceremonies this past week, and got me stuck in both places - mired my truck in the mud to keep me there.  Maybe hoping I would smarten up, get out of the truck and go pick up a drum and sing to Him.  I fought tooth and nail.  And whether it was a tractor or four drunk Hutterite boys in a big diesel and vehicle trailer pulling me out, away I went, carrying on as though I knew what I was doing.

I was led to the truth of my actions today.  With work, my home, and with the children who depend on my for love, guidance and the odd greenback.  This is not a pretty thing.  No amount of charming smile or smooth and witty wisecrack will heal the pain I've caused.  No amount of guitar picking songster or deft kitchen touch studmuffin can bring back those nights, those special days that I missed;  that I made about me instead of the people who deserved them.

There is only one way to get through this: One day at a time, sometimes one minute at a time.  Maybe even seconds.  The difference between a thought and an action is measured in nanoseconds.  Sometimes it can feel like a lifetime there in that gap.  My actions have become habitual, decisions shaped by years of use and abuse - be it food, sex, drugs, booze, gambling...  You name it.

I joked the first time I went to treatment in 2001, the first time I had to introduce myself in a fellowship meeting, "my name is Sheldon and I'm an alcho-crack-o-sex-o-pot-aholic gambler."  Add food to that mix too.

My last sober year was about 1981.  I was ten.  I haven't had a sober year since.  I believe in my heart that I need you, the reader (or even an imaginary one!) in order to keep on keepin' on.  I believe I'm fucked up just enough to need an audience for even the most sacred of tasks.  Rather than risk another meltdown and losing the family that needs me, or the job that feeds us, I will go this route:  1) Appeal to God, 2) Seek out some help and guidance from other recovering folk, and 3) Bare my soul and brandish my moldy old shame and self-loathing like some secret talisman, airing it here in the light of your eyes.  I do this because I can't follow the directions that are simply laid out before me by my helpful fellowship guides.

And, as some kind of celestial pat on the shoulder to guide me in this direction, is the reinforcement from Shaw video on demand...

I was thinking this during the week:  Thinking about what it would take to keep me accountable, to keep me honest and walking the path during those times when it was toughest.  How even my beautiful twins, or sons or daughters can not "keep me clean"... How even my most amazing wife Theresa, Saint and stalwart guardian, holder of hands, driver of dancers, band-aider of even the most painful scrape, can not keep me here when the urge beats at my temple like some prehistoric drum, telling me I need street dope like I need lunch or a drink of water.

I need it like I need a hole in my head.

So many tears.  So many long, endless roads... alone.  Drug addled.  Paranoid, delusional.  So far away from all that is real and true.

I was thinking that a daily journal, here with you.  Perhaps that would work.  Fearing another commitment that I will break.  But secretly wanting to heal here in the open.  Needing my time to pontificate and ramble.  Maybe thinking that I can't hold it to 5 minutes.  I thought today that I would start it tonight, but still wondering if it might not be a tad Narcissistic.  Then I sat with my honey and picked "Julie and Julia" while we ate a late lunch/early supper.  Did I mention I love food?

My late grandmother always reminded me of Julia Child... She was and remains a vision of home and hearth; of uncompromising and unwavering and unconditional love.  Oh I miss her so.  How she would feel about her sweet Sheldon acting in this manner, I don't know.

I don't know if the movie is a testament to blogging or speaks against it, it's too early and we had to stop it. (I don't know how it ends yet, as T. had to ditch to go do some preparatory shopping for Our Little Beauty Queen but it matters not:  The concept of working through some of my personal development and finding innovative ways to cope with my affliction with inability-to-complete-anything-itis, (brought to me courtesy of ADD) was too much for me to handle.

What is also funny is that I gained a whole bevy of fans/friends/contacts during my early PF* days, when I used to write the odd self revealing tome on Hi-5.  Some of them are still my friends. I used to write when I was "coming back"  from a few days on the run...

I will work to write daily.  To "check in" with my own self, let fly with the ol' "where I'm at" today biznatch.  I will find some way, to carve up some time and to blog.  Perhaps I will not have internet access wherever I may be.  In that case, I will write a series of days and upload them at some point.

It is my sincere hope that my June 24, 2012, providing we are all still here, I will have amassed my first full 365-day collection of sober days since I rode a BMX and wanted to kiss Maureen Wasson under the spruce trees.

Maybe nobody reads it.  That's ok.  Although all these helpful links and cool videos and shtuff will go to waste.  I will write to share my burdens and write to bear witness to the growth of myself personally; to see what happens when the shift from selfishness to selflessness commences....

"Selfishness.  Self centredness.  That, we think, is the root of our troubles..."

I love my family.  Although there are those who would contest this.  I have missed more holidays and special occasions in the last four years (and longer) than I care to admit.  But I love them deeply and without judgement.

It is myself, perhaps, that I don't love.  That I don't believe deserves happiness and fulfillment.

If you can relate, or if you can't;  If you are an addict, or if you're not;  If you love or if you hate - stay with me a while.

Walk with me towards the light.

Enough for now.

S.

*PF refers to "pre-Facebook"...  ; )