25. Starting Over

Tigger paused for a second. “I hate this,” he said.  “I have to start from scratch.  I lost everything in the fire.” He had been living in a warehouse where he parked his car, kept all his stuff, and worked on his various inventions.  Coke, Adderall, and cigarettes kept him going right up until he got careless with a welding torch. 

“People rarely start over from scratch,” I said.  “You lost a lot, but you have a lot more to build on. You’re here, which tells me you still have survival skills. You have experiences good and bad to guide your decision making.  Despite all the chemical insults you’ve delivered to your brain, you can still think.  You’re like one of those bombed out cities after WWII. They didn’t start over from scratch. Within the piles were whole bricks they could re-use.  They had skills.  They had history.  They rebuilt from complete devastation, and so will you.”

Today I’ll be grateful I don’t ever have to start over from scratch.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

 (Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

24. I want to believe it

“What’s your drug of choice?” I asked Tigger.  He told me he loved cocaine.  We talked a long time about his history with the drug.  Finally he asked me why I thought he kept using a drug he knew was tearing up his life.

“The obvious reason is you remember how much you liked coke the first time you tried it.  The not so obvious reason is you’re clinging to the idea you’re only manic because of the coke.  It gives you the illusion of being in control.  Part of you says ‘I can stop being manic by stopping the coke,’ but part of you knows that’s not really true.”

Tigger said, “If I half know it’s b.s., why do I sorta believe coke is my only real problem?”

“Because nothing is more believable than something you want to believe.”

Today I will beware of believing what I want to believe.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

 (Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

23. No Offense Taken

It took me five seconds to understand why the new guy was nicknamed “Tigger.” He bounced into my office at 7:45 a.m. Group didn’t start until 9:00.  Sticking out his hand, he said I must be the writer guy, did I write Hauling it to the Curb, he liked the book, but thought it needed more sex and violence.  Before I could respond, he snatched a picture of my kids from my desk, said my teenage daughter was really, really pretty, she must have a lot of boyfriends, I should keep an eye on her. According to Tigger my son didn’t look like me, not at all, nope.  He asked me how much money I made, and suggested I get some of the gray taken out of my hair.  He told me how much he enjoyed Hauling.  He hoped I would write a follow-up, but instead of describing a normal couple in recovery, I should make the main characters vampires.

It was then I realized he meant no harm, and he had no intention of annoying me.  He was just someone a little manic with no filters.  I shook his hand and said, “Thanks, I’ll run the ‘vampires in recovery’ idea by The Boss, see what she thinks.”

Today I won’t take offense if no offense was meant.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

 (Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

22. Lightening the Load

“What does burden you?” Blondie asked.  “Other than the shame of being Brat Boy’s father.”  

My son snorted.  “Raise your hand if your team won the summer league championship,” my son said, raising his hand. “What? Just me?  I’m the only one who gave his poor father something to be proud of?  Wow, the burden of raising a non-championship-winning daughter.  That’s gotta weigh heavy, huh Dad?”

“Ignore him,” Blondie said.  “What does weigh you down?”

I told her how not accepting certain things added to my burden.  “I hate getting older. 

Political shenanigans.  Heroin dirt cheap and easily accessible.  Docs handing out painkillers like they were jelly beans. The sorry state of the media.  There’s no such thing as an Oreo and buttered popcorn diet, to name a few.”  I added,  “The good news is that to ease my burden, all I have to do is let it all go. I just need to do what I can, and accept what I must.”

Today I will ease my burden, I will let go.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

 (Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

21. Responsibilities That Aren’t Burdens

When I got home my son and daughter were talking about a girl they knew. She had dumped her boyfriend, fed up with his childish and selfish behavior.  Blondie asked me what could be wrong with that boy.  I told her I could only guess, but some of his problem was likely immaturity.  Maybe a little insecurity. 

I wondered aloud if his father hadn’t set a good example.   I added, “Your grandfather told me the way I treat your mother will affect how you expect to be treated.  It will shape the way your brother treats women.   I have a responsibility to show you both the right way.  I’m lucky. Because I love your mother, it’s easy to be kind to her. It’s easy to be respectful because I admire her so much.   My responsibility to set a good example doesn’t burden me at all.”

Today I will be grateful for responsibilities that aren’t burdens.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

 (Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Another Round of Monotony, Please

When Mick left my office, I looked at my ‘to do’ list.  The top two items would take concentration and effort. They needed to be done soon and done right. I felt a little anxious.    The third task was to print, laminate, and trim posters to give away at an upcoming training.  A reasonably intelligent chimp could do it, but PETA would protest torturing the animal with such  mind-numbing monotony.  I got out the laminator.

I asked myself why I was choosing to do something mind-numbing and less important. And why did I have that vaguely uneasy feeling I used to get right before I started drinking in the middle of a busy work week?

I knew the answer. Picking the monotonous task was a little like getting drunk by myself.  I drank alone to numb my fears and drift away from reality.    Likewise, while I made posters, my mind would eventually go numb with boredom, and my thoughts would drift.  I put the laminator away.

Today I will tackle important tasks first, not hiding in monotony.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

 (Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

19. Courage and Painful Truths

“I have one more ‘if’ that worries me,” Mick said.  “I don’t know if my boyfriend is the father. If he isn’t, I’m screwed.”  She explained her boyfriend of five years was a wonderful human being who supported her getting sober, and who’d make an excellent father.  She described the other candidate as a ‘smoking hot coke dealer’ she slept with because she was really, really drunk.  She feared his rich and powerful family.

“My plan,” Mick said, “is to not tell my boyfriend he might not be the dad until a year after the baby is born.   That way he’ll have bonded with the baby, and won’t want to leave me no matter what the paternity test says.”

I started to tell her why I didn’t like her plan, but her expression told me she already knew.  I said, “We live in a culture striving to make life as convenient and pain-free as possible. Artificially so - everything is OK, everybody gets a trophy.  I know I sound preachy, but sometimes we have to find the courage to face painful truths. Sometimes we have to be truthful with people we don’t want to hurt.” She nodded her head. I thought how often finding that courage was so much harder than lying to oneself, or hiding the truth from someone else. 

If I must, I hope today to have the courage to face painful truths.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

 (Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

18. Iff’d  Up

“I’m sorry,” I said. I didn’t catch your name.”

“I love my parents, but they’re idiots,” the blond girl said.  “They named me Glinda Belle.  Insisted on calling me Glinny.  No wonder I became a raging alcoholic.”

“What name do you go by?” I asked. 

“In school they called me Mick, short for Michelob. I wore that name like a badge of honor. I still go by Mick, not sure I like it anymore.”  She paused, looked around, shuffled her feet, and stuck her hands in her pocket.  “What if I become a binge drinker like Phil?  What if I can go a while without getting drunk, but always get toasted eventually?  What if, after my baby’s born, a judge takes away my rights? What if I end up like Sam with no visitation?”  She said she’d be f’d then, only she didn’t say ‘f’d’.

“You’ll be iff’d if you keep worrying about what might be.  Right now you and your baby are sober. You’re getting the care you need.  Don’t torture yourself with ifs, they ruin the moment. Ifs become might-as-wells and might-as-wells become relapses. That’d be truly iff’d up.”

Today I won’t if up the moment.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

 (Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

17.  Better Instincts

I walked into the break room to get a cup of coffee.  A young blonde woman in shorts and an oversized t-shirt was standing beside the coffee pot, with her back to the counter where the coffee maker sat.  She knew who I was, and asked if I had craved alcohol early in my recovery.  Before I could answer, she said, “I want a drink.  Just a drink.  No Oxys, no Xanny bars, nothing I can smoke. Just one really, really strong drink.  That’s all I want.”

I told her there was something keeping her from drinking, or we wouldn’t have been having that conversation.  She told me she was two months pregnant, but only two weeks clean. Worrying she might have already harmed her baby kept her up at night.  We both laughed as she told me about punching a drunk, male friend.  He had insisted on rubbing her belly after she told him she was pregnant.  “I didn’t girlie slap him,” she said. “I punched right in the mouth.  He had a fat lip.  Why are you smiling?”

“Every day I hear about good people doing bad things. Instinctively they know what’s right, but because they need drugs, or maybe they’ve just been street for so long, or they just don’t care anymore, they do wrong.  It’s so nice to see someone follow her better instincts.  Kiddo, you’ve got a strong protective mother instinct.  That may be best of the better instincts.”

Today I will be grateful for people who follow their better instincts.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

16. Getting Around to Being Stupid

Phil’s phone rang.  He looked at his message and chuckled.  “My wife,” he said, “with a list of things I promised to do this weekend. I am such a procrastinator. I don’t know why she puts up with me.”

I told him I had written my masters thesis on procrastination.  “We share a hidden strength,” I said.  He looked puzzled. “The ability to put off doing things. You can use it to put off doing stupid things.   I try to put off saying stupid things when I’m angry.  I put off buying stupid things I can’t afford, and probably don’t need.  I’m working on putting off the mindless grazing I do between meals. I’ve put off getting drunk for 9,786 days in a row.  Believe me, I’ve avoided a lot of stupid that way.”

Today I will put off being stupid.   

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

15. Dogs Chase, Humans Cherish

The next day at work I struck up a conversation with Phil, a new client with a history of cocaine, sex, gambling, and alcohol binges.  He had struggled to admit he needed help because he could go so long between runs. I asked him what finally made him seek treatment.

He said, “I realized I’m like a dog on a really long chain attached to a dog house.  Mostly I’m happy to hang out in front of my house, play with my toys, and soak up the sun.  Life will be good for a while.  I’ll forget I’m on the chain.  Something I like will catch my eye.  By the time I remember the chain, I’ve almost broken my neck and I’m lying on my back gasping for air.”

He told me about his last binge.  For almost a year he had avoided alcohol.  He ran into an old friend who invited him to party.   Phil went on a ten day bender that almost cost him his job and his marriage.

“The dog house is like reality,” he said. “The chain is whatever enables me chase booze or coke, gambling or girls.  Most times the chain is money.  Sometimes it’s stored up vacation days, or my wife’s faith that I’m really away on business.  When the chain runs out, I’m jerked back to reality.  I’m in the dog house.” He asked me how he could stay out of the dog house.

“You need to stop acting like a dog, chasing what you don’t need,” I said.   “You need to remember you’re human, and cherish what you have.”

Today I will cherish what I have.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

14. Reject Regret

That afternoon my wife and I took Blondie to visit my alma mater. The campus was beautiful.  Blondie was impressed with the people she met, starting with our guide and ending with the admissions officer.  She loved the new dorms.  I was thrilled for her, but a dark cloud followed me around the school.

I had enjoyed my time there, but away from my parents, drinking had quickly become my main hobby.  The depressing accountant in my head started adding up all the wasted time, wasted money, and wasted opportunities of my college years.

There’s a passage in the “Big Book” of AA that says we don’t regret the past and we don’t shut the door on it.  Today people would say ‘it is what it is.’   Not wanting to repeat the past had helped me get sober, but regretting it that day served no purpose.  It could only take away from the pride and joy of seeing my daughter succeed.

Today I will waste no time on regret.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

13. When Milestones Become Stumbling Blocks

I told Sam I was glad he was getting clean and sober early in his life.  He told me he was afraid of following in his grandfather’s footsteps. His grandfather had made a fortune despite being a raging alcoholic.

Sam said, “Grandpa was a good a man.  He knew he needed to spend more time with my dad, but there was always one more thing he had to do.  He knew he had a drinking problem, but there was always one more milestone he had to get past. He was going to be a better dad after the next big deal.  He was going to get sober after one more summer."

“Did he ever get sober?” I asked. 

Sam told me his grandfather got sober one year before he died.  “He had a great year, but he knew he’d missed out.  The milestones he passed that year were bittersweet.”

Today I will be careful not to let milestones become stumbling blocks.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

12. The Critics Say

Tears started to roll down Sam’s cheeks. “My folks are paying for me to be here.  They think I’ll discover I miss the drugs and coming running home.  My mother said I’m too artistic to be sober, whatever that means.  Dad said I don’t have the determination to stay clean, and I should be thankful for that.”

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I have no idea what to think.  I been high my whole life.  Don’t know what I can do, or what I can’t do.  I know this sounds mean, but I want to succeed just to prove them wrong. Them and all my friends who say I’ll never stay sober.  Is that a bad reason to be here?”

“I never think it’s a bad idea to prove your critics wrong.  Especially when you’re doing the right thing.  Let me know if there’s anything at all I can do.”

Today I will prove my critics were wrong.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Trouble

“Have your parents ever gotten in trouble?” I asked Sam.  “They gave underage kids booze and drugs.”

Sam snorted. “Money gets you out of a lot of trouble. My dad can’t see he has a problem ‘cause he’s never been in serious trouble.  Someday he’s gonna hit a wall.  My mom too.  They’re already starting to have health problems, their memories suck, and you can’t help but notice the mood swings.”  Sam shook his head, and wiped away a tear.  “No money buys you out of those troubles.”

Today I will remember, money may get me out of trouble but it won’t stop what’s troubling me.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

10. Are We There Yet

The next morning Sam stuck his head in my office to ask when he’d be better.  “What do you mean by ‘better?” I asked.

“You know, no cravings, no mood swings, sleeping, just all around happy,” he said.  “I gotta tell you Ken I thought I’d be feelin’ better than this by now.”  I pointed out he’d tested negative for the first time the day before.  He’d been using drugs for ten solid years.  Feeling normal might take a while.  He wasn’t happy with my answer as he headed off for group.

At 10:30 the group took a break.  As he walked from the group room past my office he asked me if I thought he’d be better in two weeks.  I told him I didn’t know.  He went out for a smoke. On his way back in he asked if he’d be better in a month. Again, I told him I didn’t know.

On his way to lunch he asked how long it had taken me to feel better. “I don’t know,” I said.  “I kept asking people when I’d feel better.  They told me I’d feel better when I felt better.  I wanted to punch them.  They wanted to punch me because I sounded like the little kid in the back of the car, asking every five minutes ‘are we there yet?’ They told me to get busy, distract myself with something positive, and one day I’d realize I was there, I was better.  I couldn’t tell you when it happened, just that one day I noticed life was much better.  By the way, as soon as you think you’re there, life presents a new destination.”

Today I won’t ask ‘are we there yet?’

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

9. Wired
When I got home, Blondie was studying in her room.  As always, the TV and radio were on.  She was typing on her laptop, and talking into the house phone while monitoring texts on her cell phone.  I asked her how she could concentrate with all the distractions.  She shrugged, typed another sentence, and asked me how I could write in the quiet ‘tomb’ of our basement.  I thought how differently our brains had been wired.  She had grown up with distractions and her mind was trained to focus on many things at once. Where she heard a band, I heard noise from too many instruments.

Blondie reminded me how my wife and I were wired differently when it came to alcohol. Where she might enjoy a single glass of relaxation, I wanted a can of more.  More volume, more chaos, more than was good for me. And I always wanted more. 

Just as I couldn’t think the way my daughter did, I couldn’t drink the way my wife did. I just wasn’t wired for it.  

Today I will accept I’m wired the way I’m wired.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

8. The Big Picture

The rest of the day passed without incident.  In some parts of the world that would be unheard of. According to the online alarmists, doomsayers, and conspiracy theorists, such days would soon be a distant memory in this country.  I doubted they were right, but counted myself lucky to live in a stable democracy.  Being grateful for the little things was important, but so too was seeing the good in the big picture.

Today I will be grateful for the ‘big picture.’

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

7. Enemy Lines

Sam had said his mother had almost loved his sister Gloria to death. I asked him how.

“Gloria’s boyfriend was driving us to the mall.  She was in the front passenger seat.  I was getting high, sitting behind her in the back seat.  A drunk driver swerved into our lane and plowed into us.  Her boyfriend was killed.  Gloria hit her head on window and got pretty banged up.  I didn’t get a scratch.  Neither did the drunk.  Still feel wrong about that.  Anyway, later, when Gloria was in the hospital, she was having a tough time.  Crying, shaking, just not pulling herself back together.  My mother gave her some Valium, said she loved my sister too much to watch her suffer.  My sister went flat line and they had to shock her back to life.

“My mother loves Gloria and me, but she doesn’t understand us.  We’re both addicts. She’s gonna kill us trying to make us happy.”

“There’s a line I like from an old book, Catch 22 written by a guy named Heller.  Yossarian, a World War II bomber pilot, says it doesn’t matter what side he’s on, the enemy is anybody who could get you killed.  Your mother almost killed your sister. If you relapse you could die, if only a little at a time.  I wouldn’t want you to hate your mother like a real enemy, but you should know right now she’s no friend to your recovery.”

“The enemy is anybody who's going to get you killed, no matter which side he is on.”

Joseph Heller, Catch-22

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

6. Here Comes the Sun

“Let me give you some advice,” I said. “Follow the sun, follow your son, but don’t stare into the sun.”

“I musta smoked too much, because I have no idea what you’re saying,” Sam said, staring at me with a blank expression.

“Following the sun means knowing what direction you’re going and knowing what’s going on around you. Staring at the sun is not seeing anything but the goal.  Someone following the sun builds a successful business, and spends time with her family.  She still sees the world around her.  Someone staring at the sun focuses solely on expanding his business empire, not really aware his fourth marriage is crumbling.  You can’t stare at the sun, or soon you won’t be able to see anything else.  You’ll be blinded to the joys of life, and you’ll miss signs of trouble.  Work toward reconnecting with your son, stay connected with life around you.”

Today I will follow the sun.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

5. Burned Bridges

“I have a son,” Sam told me.  “He’s in foster care. I’m not allowed to see him.  I begged for visitation.  I did, I really, really did.  The lady judge said I’d burned that bridge.”  

Sam told me that after he lost visitation rights, he drove around aimlessly until he passed between the abutments of an old bridge.  The bridge was no longer in service and the sun shone through where the road surface had been removed. He thought the county could have replaced the bridge deck easily if the abutments were sound. 

“It made me think about what the judge had said. I imagined my son was on the far bank of a wide river.  The bridge had burned down. It was foggy and I couldn’t see the other side.  I hoped they were fixing up the abutment on the opposite bank.  Even if they weren’t, I had to do something to stay sane.  I’d have to fix up the abutment on my side.” He shook his head, smiled, and added, “I’m fixing me.  If I wanna rebuild that bridge, my side has to be strong.”

Today I will look to repair bridges, starting on my side.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

4. A different kind of trust fund

Sam asked about my father.  I told him my dad had wished he could have provided more material things, without realizing what he had given us.

I said, “He set up this trust fund of fatherly wisdom for me.  When I was too young to really appreciate it, I got a little bit of wisdom at a time. Mostly I ignored it while I was drinking.  One day, when I reached a certain level of maturity, I got a lump sum.  It was right before I got sober. Looking around, I realized I wasn’t going to be anything like him if I didn’t change my ways. After my daughter was born, the example he had set, the things he’d told me, were suddenly priceless.  I can’t say I always followed his example or his advice, but things turned out well when I did.”  

“Do you have a son?” Sam asked.

“I do. I’m trying to set up the same kind of trust fund for him and his sister. By the way, every time someone sees you doing the right thing, every sound piece of advice you give, goes into someone’s trust fund.”

Today I will start a different kind of trust fund for someone.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)