Father of Mine.....

When I was five years old, I was awakened one night to hear my mother crying hysterically. After the initial shock of what had woke me, I started paying attention to the words my mother was screaming. “Please don’t leave us! Please don’t leave us! Don’t do this, please!” I didn’t know what it was about but the next day I could tell that things were different. Around 4:30 the next afternoon, I grabbed my baby blanket (yes, I still carried it everywhere at 5 years of age), and took my usual position on the bench in the kitchen where my mother was preparing dinner and we would wait together for my father to come home. Dinner came and went and he never showed up. The next afternoon, I waited in the usual place with the same result. This continued for weeks and weeks. Mom and I would wait and he would never come home until one day, the bench was gone. It turns out the two things he wanted in the divorce was the telephone and that bench, but I doubt he would have wanted it if he knew its real significance.

My mother was the daughter of an impossible, hateful woman that made it her goal in life to make her husband and daughters more miserable than she was, which was quite a task since she was quite possibly the most miserable person on the face of this large planet. Two things to mention about my mother and my two aunts; they grew up dirt poor and that bombardment of bitterness and hatred that they endured as children would haunt them every day for the rest of their lives. When my father left, my mother had accumulated 1 semester of college credit, no savings, no income, and no self confidence to speak of. Because of these circumstances and her desire for me to have the family that she never did, we moved around a lot. My mother remarried three more times after my father and each of them offered me a different hard lesson of how NOT to be a man. There was the “drunken Irishman,” who coincidently didn’t drink, wasn’t Irish, but was an abusive son of a bitch. There was the “difficult one,” who didn’t need to hit because he was 6 foot 4, three hundred some pounds who ruled over a woman and a child that were victims of physical abuse. After the “difficult one” was the “crazy one,” but we’re not going to talk about that one because he might be internet savvy enough to find my blog so let’s not burn our bridges just yet!

In all of these different living experiences and during the times when my mother and I lived alone, all I could think of was the family that I was going to have someday. On the nights that “drunken Irishman” was at his worst, I would hide under my bed, pray for deliverance, and ease myself to sleep with the thoughts of how I was going to be as a father. As my mother would cry at night trying to figure out where the rent was going to come from, I would think about how my family would never have to endure this pain. As my mother and I were trying to make the decision of whether to move to Arkansas with “the difficult one” or stay at home with our social network and “watch our spending” I would think about how my family would never be in this position. And when I found “the crazy one” passed out on the floor in a drug induced coma…… well, that just goes without saying. As mistake after mistake began accumulating in my young adult life, the thing that was so hard was coming to grips with the notion that maybe a family just wasn’t for me. I was getting to nearly 500 pounds and my unsuccessful battles with emotional disorders led me to believe that the world would be better off if I didn’t reproduce and then that made the “bottom of the barrel,” so to speak, even harder to take.

Today, I am much lighter, much healthier, and in the situation of my dreams. “My queen” is the love of my life and she has a daughter, “my princess” that is an absolute joy. The problem is that she is seven and “my queen” and I have been dating for seven months now so you do the math. Because of previous bad influences of both of our lives, I don’t think I’ll ever have the official title of step-father, but even now I know I’m part of the team and that’s a monumental responsibility. I don’t know anything about kids. Pathetic as it may be, but I only learned how to properly take care of MYSELF a year ago and here I am, an active participant in the task of molding this young woman’s life and all I can think about is all of these bad examples of how not to behave and that I have no examples of how to act. I love being a part of a family, but I do have to admit that the idea of this being a full-time job adds a lot of pressure and some days I just don’t feel strong enough to handle it.

I’m sure that all fathers go through that, but I don’t know if I qualify because I’m not a father. She already has one of those. So, where do I fit in? What is my responsibility? In my life, I’ve yet to see a man that was an adequate husband, boyfriend, or father. So, the question is:

HOW CAN I BE A MAN THAT I DON’T REALLY KNOW EXISTS?

How many bad apples do you see in a batch before you just assume that maybe they’re all bad apples and look for something else? One lesson that I’ve learned the hard way is to have realistic expectations for yourself. With that said, defining the bottom parameter just isn’t good enough. As history looks back on this situation, the credit or blame for the future of “my princess” will be given to her mother and her father and I will surely be overlooked, but that doesn’t make me any less responsible. I think what worries me is that I share the responsibility without the natural, instinctive motivation to help my offspring thrive and survive. Granted, there are parents all over the world that have that instinct and end up teaching by bad example.

One final aspect is that my girlfriend, “my queen” is a breast cancer survivor. Though that gives her an incredible perspective on life and the world we live in and an optimism that is restoring my faith and love in humanity, as somebody put It recently, “she has had chemotherapy and is unsure that she can ever again become pregnant.” It’s clear to me, without a doubt, that having not only a partner, but this partner is the best way to compliment my life. My girlfriend and my lover is also my best friend and closest companion. She and “my princess” are the two special keys to doors I never thought would be opened and I had started to pile storage and refuse in front of them. What I am afraid of is that my never having a child of my own will have an adverse affect on the upbringing of this bright little light in my life. I just want to be the best figure that I can be in this young woman’s life no matter what it takes.

On a positive note, if I’m worried this much about it, I must be doing a pretty good job!!!

“Now I’m a grown man, with a child of my own….. I swear I’m not gonna let him know, all the pain I have known….” Everclear

Announcement! Announcement!

I own a guitar! I'm sure I'll be playing "Stairway to Heaven" in just a week or two tops!!!! I'm so excited to start playing. I've strummed on it a time or two and had fun at that. This is going to be awesome!

The Random Wednesday of Greatness: Resolution

Today was an absolute success! I hurt so badly as I got started, but I managed to suck it up and the world around me is completely different. I proved to myself that I am good enough for great things and that anything is possible if I'm willing to put forward the effort that is required.

In the words of Johnny Drama from the series Entourage, "VICTORY!"

The Random Wednesday of Greatness: Prologue

It amazes me that as this journey is becoming more commonplace that it still isn’t getting any easier. I’ve been on this life improvement train for almost 13 months now and it is just as difficult, if not more now, than it has ever been. Previously, I referred to getting to my highest weight as filling my size 62 pants with one million mistakes and that to lose the weight I’ve got to fix, reverse these mistakes. I figured as I managed to untangle this bad wiring that it would be easier to get to the more complicated issues. I feel like I’m working harder now than I was 12 to 13 months ago.

When I got started, I was so fat, that exercise really just had to include movement and I would lose weight. At 507 pounds, walking around the block could be considered cardio because my heart rate was getting up to 145 beats/minute pretty easy. My weight has plateau-ed for about 5 months now so I started working out with a personal trainer. I’m on a fantastic workout, but I thought getting out of bed before was a struggle. I have to brace myself to get myself on and off the toilet because my legs burn so badly. I’m even getting lightheaded from the pain. I’ve got to do that workout on my own tomorrow and I don’t know how I’m going to summon the strength to do it!

Not to have one of those TMI (too much information) moments, but there is a correlation between my weight plateau-ing and having regular bowel movements. I know that isn’t something one wants to talk about, but it’s been such a struggle and it’s made me so miserable. I’ve tried various daily amounts of fiber and other supplements with no improvement. At one time, I was taking two ex-lax a night before I went to bed, just to help with the discomfort. I’ve talked with different nutritionists and doctors with conflicting opinions. It turns out that I needed more pro-biotics in my diet. I’ve been taking a daily dose with my breakfast for the past few days and my excretory issues are over! As I’m losing this weight, my body chemistry is getting all out of sorts. It’s so frustrating to think that I’m improving my body and screwing it up at the same time.

Now that I’m having multiple, daily trips to the restroom, my weight is surely going to start dropping rapidly. My problem is that now I have an excuse to stop the mega-workout. In just a week, I’m going to see incredible results, but I don’t know if I have it in me. 13 months ago, I had to lose weight. I was unhealthy, sick, and lonely. I had to lose weight or my life was quickly going to end. Now, I’m in excellent shape medically. I have a girlfriend, a family, a great sex life, zero physical limitations and all I had to do was make a commitment to a passive effort. I never really had to push myself that hard, I just had to show up every day and stick to my menu plan 95 percent of the time. Pushing past the pain in an attempt at bettering myself, even further, is actually an active attempt at greatness and I don’t know that I’ve ever done that in the 27 years of my life. Not to “toot my own horn,” but I’m a pretty smart young man so school has never been a struggle. Because I wasn’t taking care of my body, life has previously been a breeze. I have my fair share of mental and emotional daemons, but the antidepressants that I’m on, and my lifetime commitment to stay on them, makes dealing with these emotions much easier.

One of my favorite monologues is from the movie Any Given Sunday. Al Pacino gives this speech before the big game and he talks about how “life is this game of inches” and how fighting for the next inch is what life is all about. I’ll kill myself for the next inch, but trying to make this leap absolutely terrifies me. I get so inspired by this line from the movie Varsity Blues that goes, “We have our entire lives to be mediocre, but we have the opportunity to play like gods for the next half of football.” So many great dramas revolve around the idea of the protagonist rallying against insurmountable odds to succeed at this moment of greatness (like a big game, battle, trial, moment of truth). You see, that sort of thing is sexy. It’s damn right heroic! I can get inspired for that moment of truth. I can push myself for the big game, but who wants to summon that courage and strength for a hard, painful workout on some random Wednesday?

There are very few people that rise to greatness for the purpose of personal accomplishment and not for the glory. I don’t have the self esteem to want this for myself so what possible motivation do I have to struggle through this pain? I do believe that tomorrow is one of those forks in the road that will dictate the rest of my life. It is clear that tomorrow will be one of those defining moments. I think the underlying issue here is that I’m 27 and I’m still learning who am I and what I have the “stones” for. I could talk for another two pages on that, but I don’t know that we ever really know who we really are. I think that is what makes life so exciting and why no two days are ever alike. So what will tomorrow bring?

I AM Obama!!!

After this election cycle, I’m so tired of the word, CHANGE. It seemed like every politician that was running from President of the United States to county dog catcher used those six letters in every sentence they put out for consumption….

“I’m for change.”
“I’m an instrument of change.”
“I promise to bring about sweeping changes.”
“We’re going to change America for the better.”
“America, it’s time for change.”

I’m so damn tired of that word that I can hardly stand it. Most people who read this would probably assume that I like things the way they are. They probably think I’m set in my ways and opposed to change. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I can’t believe I’m this self-absorbed, but my problem is for everything I’ve done to improve my life in the past 13 months, it drives me crazy for the word to be used as a cliché.

My problem is that I don’t know how to make improvements. I only know change. I live life to the best of my abilities and as problems start, my life develops this downward spiral and I don’t seem to react until I’ve hit the bottom. By the time I’ve hit the bottom, I’ve abandoned my friends, I’ve lied to my family, and I’m just moments from losing my mind altogether. At that point, I start seeing a therapist again, get back on antidepressants, and then start my life all over again. You see, I have a family history of mental illness which means that I should be on antidepressants for the rest of my life. My problem is that when things start to go wrong in life, it is hard to feel sorry for myself, self-soothe (abuse things that give immediate gratification), and quit trying when you’re properly medicated so I stop taking the medicine, become unbalanced, and then ride the spiral all the way down to the bottom. Why would anybody do this? Because when you don’t have anything to live for, the bottom is the most comfortable place to be. When you’re life conditions match your perceived life prospects (i.e. when you feel you don’t deserve anything and you don’t have anything), then you are responsibility free. You know you’re a piece of shit, but you could care less….

People tell me what incredible job I’ve done in the past 13 months. They tell me that the weight loss is incredible and always tell me I’m looking better every time I see them. Some people tell me they’re jealous that I’ve gotten a chance to start over with life figured out and an idea of what I want for my future. Though I appreciate their words, it is my belief that there is a difference between improving one’s life and changing one’s life. It’s easier to build a new house as oppose to remodeling one. It is easier to start with a clean slate than to take conditions as they are and develop your life, for the better, around those conditions. Though I’m very proud I’ve made it this far, I’ll be more proud of myself in 5 years if I’ve kept the weight off of continued to enhance my life.

If this line of thinking is foreign to you, don’t feel bad. I’ve learned over the years that I don’t see the world the way most people do. If a politician campaigned that “change is the slackers way and instead of overhauling everything, we’re going to make little improvements on the system we’ve got in place,” I might be the only person that didn’t snicker and sneer him/her out of town. In our society, it is easier to try to change the people around you than to make improvements to your own life. It is easier to enforce your standards on others than to find a situation that is more comfortable to you. The more that I improve my life, the more I get frustrated with people that are unwilling, unable, or resistant to change. It’s gotten to the point to where I’ll “raise the bar,” or set the standard, and people continue to live their lives and interact around me as usual. If I set the standard higher, and the people around me don’t rise to it, how do they not feel like even more of a piece of shit? My girlfriend gets it and seems genuinely up to the challenge. My “raising the bar” has shown her that she has this incredible opportunity to do whatever she wants and that her divorce isn’t the end of anything, but the start of an incredibly journey. She is going to do great things and seeing life change in action has done wonders for her.

A big thorn in my ass is people that are with partners they don’t deserve or make a minimal effort for. Are these people so self-aware that they know that they don’t have to improve their lives to increase their happiness? Is it self-aware or is it self-absorbed? Does this come down to the idea that some people are givers and some people are takers? Do givers change while takers stay the same? Then, that begs the question do givers change for the sake of takers? Can a giver change with disregard to the takers in their lives? Can a giver live independently? Why do givers need takers? Can two givers coexist in the absence of takers?

If I’m making such great improvements in my life, why would I take the time to worry about such things and be angry about those that are so resistant to change? It’s because I’m afraid on a daily basis that I’m heading in the right direction (for now), but on the wrong road. What if I’m on a road that goes east, for now, but ends up going west? I’m a giver and I despise takers/users with every ounce of hatred I have. It isn’t so much because I’m angry for being lured in by so many only to be discarded, used up, and worse for wear, but I think it’s because I’m afraid that I am a taker after all. Is the difference between being a giver and a taker confidence? I’m afraid that as I continue to improve my life and the inadequacy disappears, that I’ll end up living like the people that I despise.

In the end, I don’t believe that our destinies are set, so I can live out my life the way I want. I can be with whom I want and I can love anyone that I choose. Even though the takers just drive me bananas, ultimately, I should only worry/be upset about the things that I have any influence on and “raising the bar” just isn’t influence. Those people that won’t change aren’t my problem and in the end they’re going to be left behind if they don’t conform to the standard around them. It’s too bad, but it’s not my job to carry them through, it’s my job to keep setting the standard. So how am I going to deal with these folks that upset me so much? One of the things on my list of things to do before I’m 30 is to learn to play “Stairway to Heaven” on guitar, so today I’m going to start looking for a cheap guitar and start taking lessons on the internet. That Michael Jackson was one crazy son of a bitch, but he was right on when he sang,
“If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make the change…..”

I should only worry about the things that I can control; my life and my decisions. There isn’t one right road through life. I can blaze my own path in any direction I choose. Finally, I am aware and in control of my life and that is all I can ever do. Maybe change isn’t such a bad word after all! We should always be changing and improving our lives, but we shouldn’t look to Washington DC, or our local state capitals to make our lives better. Instead we need to look inward, at our own hearts and our own lives, and that is where we can make the most good in this society. President-elect Obama is going to have as much fortune changing the direction of a planet of nearly 6 billion people as I am getting angry because there are worthless people out there. I just have a hard time with patience and tolerance because the reward for these virtues just takes so damn long! I guess thats why they’re so rare in this fast paced, immediate gratification society. Nobody plans for tomorrow anymore, it seems they just concentrate what they can take today. Patience and tolerance is the absolute key for my success. If those virtues are rare, then that must make me rich!

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve has always been a very special time in my life. For the majority of my youth, it was just me and my mother. My father moved out when I was just five and even though my mother remarried, for all intents and purposes, it was just the two of us. During a particularly rough time when I was young, I wanted to do something special for my mother for Christmas. I didn’t have but a few dollars and nobody to take me shopping, so I decided to cook dinner on Christmas Eve. My cooking knowledge was limited and we didn’t have a lot around the house so I treated my mother to the most elaborate spaghetti and meatball dinner that a seven year old could put together. At the time, I didn’t really understand the pressure that she was under, but I could tell that my efforts had meant the world to her and with that, a family tradition was born.

Throughout all of my struggles, missteps, and issues in my young life, I’ve always kept this tradition alive. If my mom and I are together Christmas Eve, we’ll enjoy our Italian delight, but if we’re apart, no matter what I’m doing, I make time to have a salad, spaghetti, and meatballs on Christmas Eve. A few nights ago, I had the pleasure of sharing my December 24th tradition with my new family, “rock star” and “princess.” We have had the most hectic time since the beginning of October and the few days leading up to Christmas were really passively guided chaos, but for dinner on Christmas Eve, I drove to Fazoli’s, picked up a family order of spaghetti and meatballs, and we sat and enjoyed my traditional meal.

You see, December 24th was the one year anniversary of the “first day of the rest of my life,” as it were. It was on the 23rd that I came to the realization that I had to make some changes in my life. On the morning of the 24th, I weighed myself, for the first time in 7 years and was shocked to find out that I weighed in at 507 pounds! It was such a shock, because I had been too depressed to even look at myself in the mirror for the last five years, so I really had no clue what I looked like or how fat I really was. After that moment of truth, I’ll admit that not even trying was my favorite option by far. I was in such pain and I knew that I was getting closer and closer to the end. Why not just ride this misery train to its last stop and give up? In a very overdramatic fashion, I wasn’t, couldn’t really, give up and I decided that I was going to live my life the way I always wanted. I had known my calling in life from a very early age, but I always lacked the backbone and initiative to tell the people close to me what I wanted out of MY LIFE. I announced to the world, even though nobody was around, that on this day, December 24, 2007, that I was taking ownership of my life and that rolling around on the bottom of the barrel was officially over. It was time to put on my “big-boy pants” and make the necessary changes in my life.

So, one year later, I’m 172 pounds lighter and having the time of my life. Even though that is a milestone, it still isn’t what makes the 24th so special. Because of the way I grew up, it’s always been clear to me that I would never leave my family like my father did. As the years after high school have passed and my mom has moved to Florida, I’ve had the opportunity to get to know my father a lot better and we actually have a pretty solid relationship. He has helped me through some very tough times and I owe him a great deal. I’d even come to the point where I’d forgiven him for leaving and justifying it by saying that understanding yourself is hard work and he just hadn’t had the opportunity to figure himself out in time to save our family.

With that idea fresh in my mind, I ventured into this relationship (with “rock star”) where I got the opportunity to see “how the sausage was made” and I was shocked to say the least. She is in the process of getting divorced. It is such an ugly situation where a mother is pit against the man she loves in an attempt to provide for her child. What a nightmare and absolutely unfair/inappropriate situation. My girlfriend’s ability to persevere through this situation while encouraging her child to have a happy, healthy, fun, and loving relationship with the man who walked out on them is a trait that I admire so much. Through all of that, plus all of the other struggles in her life, my girlfriend is still one of the nicest people I’ve ever know and she still sees the best in others even though she has a plethora of reasons not to.

Finally, watching this divorce unfold has reinforced such an appreciation that I have for my mother. Even though I cooked on Christmas Eve, she managed to put food on the table for the remaining 364 and a half days of the year. Even to this day, through all of the evil she has seen in her lifetime, she continues to touch peoples’ lives and show them the potential that they have within themselves. She is an administrator at a nursing home in Florida, but the word administrator doesn’t do her efforts justice. Her employees would probably refer to her as a “staff mother” before a boss. On many occasions, I’ve seen her talking to people making minimum wage emptying bed pans and encouraging them to get their G.E.D. and helping them find options to pay for it. She treats everybody equally and possibly better than she treats herself.

Even though December 24th now marks a date of personal accomplishment in my life, my traditional dinner will always be an honor to the women in my life have persevered over so much and still held true to their belief that good really does win over evil. These “superheroes” are champions of the human spirit and a great example of how not to sacrifice your principles no matter what the circumstances. These women have earned my admiration and respect 1,000 times over and I feel that a spaghetti dinner on Christmas Eve is the least I can do to show them how amazing they really are. Hopefully, and maybe with a little help from this essay, they can see themselves in the light that they deserve.

I consider myself fortunate to have one woman like this in my life. I have no excuse to be anything less with two in my life. They are the single greatest motivator in my life and I celebrate this tradition in their honor. Every day that I venture to live like my queen and my mother puts me one day closer to godliness (whatever religion or creed you subscribe). The world would be a better place with more people like these two; my life sure is.

"Objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are..."

My life has been plagued with bad relationships. Until recently, I lacked the confidence to demand that I be treated properly so it allowed women to walk all over me. I never thought I was good enough for the relationships that I was in and they used it to their advantage.

The other day, my girlfriend and I were eating dinner and she asked me how much of my thinking and behavior is affected by previous relationships. I struggled to come up with the first one, but since then I realize that I'm a fucking mess with all sorts of baggage clogging my way of thinking. It amazes me that I expect the worst from an absolutely incredible woman because every other woman I dated treated me like garbage. I'm a smart, level-headed man, but when it comes to relationships I'm neurotic bordering on insanity.

I've been conditioned to expect my partner to do and think the exact opposite of what I think and feel and when I find a woman that I match up with so well, I'm nervous that it's just some elaborate ruse. I know in my mind the truth about her, but these ne-jerk reactions are a tremendous inconvenience and could potentially ruin a really healthy relationship. It's been so long that I can hardly see their faces anymore, but the affects of those bad relationships still remain.

Meat Loaf once wrote, "I hear that ugly, coarse, and battered voice and he's right behind me now and he's gaining ground.... But it was long ago and it was far away, oh god, it seems so very far; and if life is just a highway, then the soul is just a car...."

I was scared to make improvements in my life because I knew that the daemons from my past would haunt me wherever I ventured and that they would cause me to fall further the higher I got in life. Because it isn't where you end up that is painful; it's how far you fall. That's the problem with life. "Objects in the rear view mirror appear closer than they are." If I'm not careful, I'll be so focused on the pain in the rear-view and I'll crash into something catastrophic. Every day is new. Every day is different. Addicts in recovery say that "today is the first day of the rest of my life." I need to pay better attention to those words.

My past sucks, but today was one of the best days of my life. Nothing really special happened except I worked on improving my life, I woke up and will go to sleep next to the woman of my dreams, and I got to cook for my family. I've spent my whole life looking backwards and missed the joy right in front of my face. Life will be so much different without starring at that rear-view mirror. I think I'll figure it out though. Besides, most cars in Indiana don't have rear-view windows anyway..... ;)