DesertDaddy

I'm a 59 year old, gay, single man...father of three grown kids and two grandsons. I'm living the retired good life here in Palm Springs

[lotuspositivity]

You don't have to force yourself to bounce back so quickly. I read something recently that said "when you come in from a rainstorm, you don't expect yourself to be dry and warm right away", and it really resonated with me. It's okay to take time to dry off and warm up. Take the time you need to process what happened to you.

[rickssoberjourney]

At times, I'm not sure of my motivation. I'm supposed to be writing this journal for myself. I'm supposed to be noting things in my life that I think are important or, fun. But, knowing that someone might read what I write colors my choices of what and how I write. I'm not sure what to do. I guess I'll just move ahead.

[desertdaddypsp]

https://y.yarn.co/673d3328-29c7-4d0b-8b6c-d6700635b2e1_text.gif

You win some...you lose some! Sundays are set aside as "sober" days for me. That means that on Sundays, I will not use crystal, G, or any other drug. I chose Sundays because I always run errands with my 90 year old mom on Mondays. I don't want to be messed up when I'm with her.

[desertdaddypsp]

https://y.yarn.co/673d3328-29c7-4d0b-8b6c-d6700635b2e1_text.gif

You win some...you lose some! Sundays are set aside as "sober" days for me. That means that on Sundays, I will not use crystal, G, or any other drug. I chose Sundays because I always run errands with my 90 year old mom on Mondays. I don't want to be messed up when I'm with her.

[desertdaddypsp]

What do you see in Bisuit's eyes?

I'll tell you what I see, but you have to understand that my interpretation of her gaze mirrors what is going on in my head right now.

Biscuit's blank stare says, "Really? Am I really important? I know that people feed me and pet me and take me for walks, but do they really love me? Is any of this real?

That has been my life over the last few weeks. Lost. Confused. Alone. Numb.

I've realized that over the last couple of days, I've been walking around in a fog...kind a dissociative state. I can't really describe it, but I feel fuzzy. Not the good "warm and fuzzy" kind of fuzzy, but the "I truly can't feel anything because there is this fuzz that envelopes me.

People touch me, but it doesn't feel genuine. I hear words, but they just sound like the teacher in the Peanut's cartoons. My affect is non-existent. I should be crying or depressed, but mostly I just feel nothing. I'm simply going through the motions.

I forget things. I'm clumbsy. I'm irritable and at the same time on the verge of tears for apparently no reason. At times, I feel like I'm outside myself, watching me do things but not really participating in my life. Maybe my life is just to hard in which to participate right now. Maybe I've simply checked out. In fact, that's exactly what I've done. Rick is gone.

Taylor Swift has a song a year or so ago called, "Look What You Made Me Do!" In it, she tells a caller that she can't talk to the old Taylor. The caller asks why. "Oh! Because....she'd dead!" That's the way I feel.

What's the genesis of some of this stuff? I think I have a clue. Sobriety and the rooms, money, and self-medication.

How about we talk about the 12-Step rooms first, shall we? First off, we're all addicts and were all fucked up to one degree or another. Some of us have it better together than others, but were all fucked up. We're not always nice to each other. We gossip. We break anonymity. Friendships come and go like water down the drain. Make a friend one day and the next, they don't even know your name or bother to greet you. Then, when you point it out, it's all MY fault and I get the, "I dont' want to be friends with you anymore!" Jeeze. Shades of the elementary school playground.

Now, at the risk of painting the entire room with one large brush, no every one is like that. The are those who are friendly on a consistent basis. The greet you with a smile and a hug no matter what. I wish I could concentrate on those people. But in my try co-dependent fashion, I tend to concentrate on what's wrong instead of what's right. Maybe someday I'll learn. Stick close to that Higher Power, Rick!

When I first came to the rooms, I got all kinds of business cards and offers to call people no matter what time, day or not, if I was tempted to use. Then two weeks later, those same people didn't even remember me. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn that they were all high when the passed me those business cards. Needless to say in the seven months in the rooms, my initial circle of friends is nowhere to be found. Othere have come to fill their places, but for the most part, they have moved on, or relapased, or decided that they wanted friends with "more sobriety" than I had...or they died. Yeah. That happened too.

Do I have a part in this. But, of course I do. I took a friend out to dinner who was just back from a relapse and the shared with me that his sponsor told him that while he like me, he, "Didn't trust me!" That didn't sit well because I knew the person who supposedly said it.

Now a couple of things crossed my mine: 1) the person telling me about the gossip about me was coming from a man who had recently relapsed. His brain probably wasn't firing on my chambers, so I should have taken his words with a grain of salt. (2) I knew that person who hade supposedly said that he didn't trust me and his behavior torward me would have given me no inclination that he distrusted me. I tried to chalk it up to, "What other people think of me is none of my buisness!" but that didn't work. It made me made.

When I get mad, I take action. So, even thougnh I vowed I wouldn't, I texted the violater and asked him if he had said that he didn't trust me. He said that he had no idea what I was talking about, but he knew who shared that Information with me and he was upset. The person who share it with me became upset with me and refuses to talk to me despite my making a sincere amends. Oh, well. Saying you're sorry doesn't always bring forgiveness, but I did the right things.

Now, the recovered relapser says that he won't go back to meetings befause he doesn't want to face his former sponsor. I hate to sound hard-hearted, but that's not my problem. If he deicdes to stay away out of guilt, no matter how much he blames me, he has to take responsibility for that decision to not go back to the rooms.

I'm not proud of myself in the slightest. I'm disappointed that I let my anger get the best of me and ruin a good friendship.

Anger.

Boy, I'm filled with it. Everyday, I become aware of the seething rage that is just below the surface of my smile when I have one. At a moment's notice, I'm ready to take off someone's head in the parking lot of Ralph's or make snide comments when the lady won't move her damned cart from the middle of the aisle as if she's the only one in the store.

How do I cope? Several ways. I've stopped going to meetings and probably won't go back anytime soon. I'm not sure if my sponsor will continue to work with me if I refuse to go to meetings. If I do, I'll seek out meetings where I'm a loner. I'll attend, sit there and keep my mouth shut, and leave. Get the input and run.

I told my sponsor that since working with him, I have seem glimpses of what a happy life can be and I'm not ready to walk away from that. After all, walk away from what toward what? Oblivion? Drinking? Sex? Relapsing? Not such good choices in my estimation and I'm the one making the decision.

But how do I cope? Not in good ways. In my zombie-like state, I have put the gay sex apps back on my phone and I'm a busy little beaver hunting down twinks, and otters, and bears, oh my! I've gone off the deep end with sex. Often it is with different partners sometime 3 times a day.

Why?

Self-medication. If I can get some guy to get me naked and have his way with me, then I get to feel wanted and valued for those few minutes. But, as the door closes, more often than not, I sob. I know that isn't what I want and yet it is compulsive. Take tonight for example.

I started the day of with a little sexual trick with an old friend. It was fun. I like him. But did that satisfy my needs? Hell no

[desertdaddypsp]

Sometimes, it takes an intelligent person like me an awfully long time to understand something that is plainly evident to someone of lesser intellect. That is the case with me with respect to my drug use.

I've always maintained that because I don't jones for it when I don't have it, I'm not an addict. But, that person...any person...couldn't look at my circumstances without wondering what this smart man doesn't get about it.

Using about once per month growing to using every day, sometimes multiple times per day; continuing to use in the face of extreme jitters, mouth sores, scorched inner cheeks, chapped and bleeding lips, days without sleep, contracting a variety of sexually transmitted diseases, the loss of feeling in the tips of my fingers and thumbs, bowel problems, mild paranoia and probably more...would convince a normal person to say, "Ok. I quit!" but this "reasonably intelligent person" continues to use. Only a stupid person does that, right? Maybe. But it might be more apt to say that only an addict continues to use in the face of such evidence and infirmities.

Ok. Maybe I'm addict. But where does that leave me? I don't really know. Do I really want to quit? Honestly, no. I want to keep the highs and all the sex that goes along with it. I have embraced my "bad boy" and I like him. In fact, I sort of think that I have killed the good boy in me. I enjoy the me that breaks the rules. I was such a damn good boy for 40 years. Never doing anything wrong more that breaking curfew a few times. I think that, had it had it to do over, I would have gotten into some trouble. I was such a goody-two-shoes! Remember that cartoon character, confronted with a moral decision? He had an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other? The angel giving good and moral advice to the guy while the devil is urging the guy to have fun and do what he really wants to do. Well, I listened to that angel my whole live and about six years ago, I stopped listening to that boring angel and embraced the devil in me. I started using drugs and I've enjoyed it.

I remember standing in the middle of a room with 18 men, all naked and in various stages of being high on crystal, doing exactly what one would assume a room full of naked, high, men would be doing. I stood there, high, looking at all of that flesh and I thought to myself, "I like myself better high!" With that attitude, which exposes a deeper illness...but that's another story, no wonder I don't want to stop using. Using bolsters ME. But I don't like that....but yes, I do! But, I don't...but, I do. and on and on.

[rickssoberjourney]

I Have the Capacity to be Just Like the Tasmanian Devil

A whirling mass of anger, wreaking havoc on the people around me. Sometimes, I feel just like that!

I've been doing a lot of thinking about this lately. I truly feel that my Higher Powert is leading me into this conversation with myself. By exposing my character defects, my HP is compelling me to examine my part in feeling unwanted.

I remember standing on the playground in 5th grade. I was looking at the girls playing foursquare and the boys playing softball. My thought? "I don't belong...I don't fit in. I felt like I was on the outside looking in."

That feeling follows me into the AA/CMA rooms. Even though many people do greet me when I walk in, there are those who (for some reasons of their own...I can't presume to know what is going on in their lives!) choose to ignore me. Sometimes, it is a person with whom I have talked, exchanged texts with, or am Facebook friends. When those people ignore me, I go right into Tazmainian Devil mode.

Now, I don't do it outright. That wouldn't do. No, I do it quietly...to myself. I wish I could say that I don't know where these feelings of not fitting in come from. I wish I could feign ignorance as to why I get so upset when people (especially in the rooms) don't greet me in the way that I think they should. I wish I could say those things, but I can't. I know exactly where it comes from...

My father.

At the risk of sounding like Southern California pop-psychology, I have "daddy issues." I'm an only child and I was raised to please my father. When I would do exactly what he wanted (being obedient, getting good grades, etc.), he would shower love and praise upon me. But, woe to me if I disappointed him! Once, I came home with a C on my report card and the didn't talk to me for a week. He would treat my mom the same way. So, I learned a powerful lesson that was reinforced day in and day out until the day I got married and moved out of his house. That was 24 years of "learning" that my happiness was dependent upon sources outside myself. If YOU like me and approvedof me, I feel great; if you don't like me, I'm shit.

Through my involvement with CoDA, I came to understand the dynamics of my daddy issues. Today, when I feel rejected because someone doesn't respond to me the way I want them to (in the rooms, in person at a bar or club, or even online), I immediately feel unlikeable and unworth. I wonder, "What's wrong with me? Why doesn't that person like me?" Then, as a defense, I resent that person.

Case in point. There is a handsome, muscular guy in one of my meetings. We exchanged phone numbers and texted a couple of times. Then, he sort of ignored me at meetings. If I started a conversation with him, seeking him out, he would talk to me but he never initiated contact with me.

One day, he walked across the room, greeted the guy sitting right next to me with a hug and conversation, and totally ignored me. His reasons? I have no idea. But, I jumped to the conclusion that he didn't like me and I started my downward spiral. This went on for meeting after meeting. And, what's worse, I began to feel that way about several other people in the room.

Nevermind the people who DID greet me! I was hurt and pissed that the people that I WANTED to greet me didn't. What a shithole of self-doubt and anger because they didn't give me what I wanted. I knew there was a problem, but I placed the blame mostly on them and not me, even though I knew the genesis of my feelings.

Last night, things came to a head. It's amazing how my HP will smack me in the head to get my attention. That is exactly what happened at the Speaker's Meeting last night.

A Facebook friend whom I had never met face to face was at the meeting. We greeted each other and then he said, "Do you know Greg D.?" I wasn't sure. "Well, he told me that you sent him a friend request and then blocked him a few days later when he didn't respond right away." I was embarrassed and tried to explain, but the meeting was starting and I had to go sit down. That was a long meeting!

My HP was working on me. I knew that I had done Greg wrong. I knew that by sending a "nasty" message and blocking him, I was being hypersensitive and that I was definitely in the wrong. Then, I sat there looking out over the large audience. Unconsciously thinking, "Oh, that person is not nice to me." "He knows me and has talked to me on several occasions and yet he walks right past me unless I say something. Well, fuck that! Why should I HAVE to be the one to reach out all the time?" That kind of thinking went on for a few minutes.

Then God-smacked...

Maybe it is not them. Maybe it's you! Maybe you behave that way to build walls so that no one can hurt you. Maybe you look for reasons to keep people out. Maybe you think, "I'll hurt them before they can hurt me!" All of those choices (although difficult to swallow!) were definite possibilities. I sat there realizing just how fucked up I really am.

Now, I've learned enough from my sponsor to question my thinking. I've learned to be gentle with myself and to not tell myself that I'm "fucked up!" But the thoughts came anyway. And, while I could have been gentler with myself, I had to face the fact that I was running headlong into who I really was.

None of this is THEIR problem; it's MY problem. Thank you HP for giving me that uncomfortable realization.

What do I do with this? At times, I simply don't know. I'm trying to concentrate on those kind people in the rooms that always greet me and ask how I'm doing. I try to get out of myself, making sure that I talk more about them than I do about me. But, there's still a rub.

Today, in the 8:30 meeting, I shared about what happend last night. I confessed that I didn't feel welcome in the rooms but that I realized that it was MY PROBLEM and I wasn't blaming them at all. I told them that by "coming clean" about my issues that maybe I could trust them enough to love me through it. I'm so glad I shared!

The next person to share was that guy that walked right past me, ignoring me in favor to greeting the man next to me. What he shared floored me.

"I do exactly what Rick does!" he said. He related a story about a burgeouning friendship with someone in the rooms. He talked about the interests that they shared...and then, how that guy simply stopped communicating with him.

Just like me, he started in on himself. "Why doesn't he like me anymore? What did I do? Must must be a pretty shitty person for someone to treat me like that!" My thinking pattern EXACTLY! Then, he shared something that his sponsor shared with him. It went something like this: "Expectations are resentments waiting to happen."

Bingo!

He and I have expectations of people and of how we want to be treated. Nevermind that they have lives and struggles of their own. "You need to make me feel good about myself but treating right, damn it! You aren't living up to MY expectations!"

Fuck...what a trap!

The only conclusion I can come to is that I need to take care of my side of the street. I need to be open to those who greet me warmly. I need greet others warmly. And, if they don't, rather than making it "all about me!" I can utter a silent prayer..."Peace be with you!" and move on with my life.

But what about situations where I want to make friend with someone. There is another young man that I have become friends with. He (so far!) has been very welcoming and open to conversation with me, both in the rooms and on Facebook. But, I find myself doing things that will engage him. I find myself playing "come and get me," saying and doing things on purpose that I know will elicit a response.

I do it all the time in almost every aspect of my life, wheher it is baking for people or blocking them on Facebook. In doing those things, I try to elicit a response...responses that will make me feel OK about myself. Doesn't always work, however. There are those expectations setting up resentments.

Ok. I get it!

My dilemma: how do I get to know this guy (and others in the rooms) without playing "come and get me" and without manipulating them to soothe my wounded ego? Is every overture to another person a veiled plea to validate me? How do I know? Do I keep to myself and only interract when someone approaces me? With this man, do I sit back at let him come to me instead of manipulating the situation? How do I navigate this without building walls, while at the same time being able to live with the very real possibility that my expecations might be wrong and that I might get my feelings hurt? I'm not sure I have the answers yet.

For now, sitting back and letting things happen naturally seems the course that I will take. I desperately want this guy to like me (not necessarily in a romantic way!) but I think that my need for approval from him just might drive him away. So, I sit back and wait on my HP. If I'm supposed to get to know him, I will. I don't have to orchestrate it. In fact, I need to get the hell outta the way and let my HP take care of things because when I take the helm, I'm sure to run aground!

[desertdaddypsp]

Why Do I Allow Men to Possess the Power to Make Me Feel Unworthy?

“You cannot control what happens to you, but you can control your attitude toward what happens to you, and in that, you will be mastering change rather than allowing it to master you.” – Brian Tracy

I'm learning this...slowly. Two steps forward and one step back. This is how it goes.

Being a gay man, I (like many other gay men) us apps on our phones to meet other gay men. Grindr, Adam4Adam, Sniffies, Growlr. They are all basically the same. Men are there for one reason: SEX! They get on line and post a profile consisting of a bit of a description about their lives, what they do, and what they seek. They also post pictures, some in various stages of undress. Private pictures that are not visible to the general public, will often be nude, sporting erections, showing muscles and working out at the gym (makes me yawn!), and sometimes even video of their sexual activities with other men. I am on a lot of these types of sites. I have different profiles for different situations. If the site where I post is a little more conservative and caters to a more educated, sophisticated group of men, my profile will tout my educational background, my eclectic love of music, and my passion for cooking and baking. In this type of profile, I will give a cursory view of my sexuality.

[desertdaddypsp]

"Rick, people are just no damned good!"

Those words were spoken by my very own father. He would say them many times over. I never believed him, but lately I'm beginning to believe him.

So many times recently, I have run into people who seem to be no damned good. Let's start at the top and work our way down, shall we? Our government is filled with these "no damned good" types. My current "favorite" group of politicians are the Christian Nationalists. These people think that The United States should be a theocracy, run by old white men who are straight and Christians (and I use the term "Christian" loosely!

These people believe that God himself, is responsible for inspiring our Constitution. Like George Washington ascended Mount Hamilton to receive the stone tables from on high and when he descended, that theocratic law became the law of the land, at least in Christian conservatives' minds. Do these religious zealots not remember the concept of The Separation of Church and State? Perhaps they need to go back to school and learn about the Constitution before they are allowed to run for any public office.

Next there are the idolaters of the Second Amendment. Come of folks! How many people and especially children need to die because you can't give up your kickbacks from the Gun Lobby? I guess to these politicians, money trumps (please forgive the pun!) the lives of Americans. My favorite (or most heinous) example of this is the family Christmas portraits taken by Marjorie Taylor Green and Laurne Bobert. Both families posed their children with them around the Christmas tree holding AR - 15's. What a lovely message of Christian love and forgiveness to send to the world that is supposed to be celebrating the birth of their Saviour, Jesus Christ. Makes me sick too my stomach. I could go on to include those politicians who support and espouse the Great Lie of Donald Trump that the election was rigged and stolen and that Biden is not actually the rightful president. Take that along with the politicians who fomented the violence around the Capitol on January 6th. They epitomize the fact that people are no damned good, especially a Republican. But enough about politics. Let's move onto society as a whole.

Gay men (in my experience!) are some of the worst offenders. First, many of them worship their own body images and if other suitors do not have the same chiseled bodies as they, well they are just cast aside. Then there are those gays who use dating apps like Growlr and Scruff. This is how it usually goes: an interested guy sends a greeting to another guy who has his pictures and profile posted. The guy may say something like, "Hey, I think you're cute! Could we chat for a bit?" Three things can happen: 1) the guy will respond kindly, even if to say that he is not interested, (2) he will receive a smart ass response like I have received, "You're so ugly I wouldn't touch you with a 10 foot pole" or (one of my all-time favorites), "You're so ugly that it would take me 10 years to wash your stink off of me!" and (3) no answer at all, not even a "thanks but no thanks." Totally rude. Dating in the gay world is not easy. It seems that there are far more assholes than good guys.

I've had it! I keep trying to look for a guy that will give me the passion that I need in a Friends with Benefits relationship, but 90% of the men I contact fall into the #2 and #3 categories. It is rare that I find a truly polite gay man.

So, what do I do with my anger? I don't honestly know. I just know that I have to do something different or I'll end up throwing myself off the Tallahatchie Bridge like Billie Jo McAlister. My seething anger has gotten the best of me. I'm constantly upset...all day for the last five days. Maybe the psychiatrist can prescribe some new drug that will help me over this rough patch. I don't know. All I know is that something has got to give or I'm going to blow a gasket.

Shall we pray?

[desertdaddypsp]

I'm Frustrated and I Really Don't Know Why

Sometimes I just want to either bang my head again a wall or just go sit alone in the dark where no one can bother me. Today, I basically did both.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Even before my feet hit the floor, I was cowering from the day ahead like a dog that has been beaten too much. I just didn't want to face the day! I let Biscuit out to go potty and as I did, I saw Bruce sitting on the living room couch. I felt my hackles rise. I didn't want to discuss anything with him but I decided to pour a bowl of cereal and sit down. I mentioned something to him about something on the TV and he didn't even look up from his damned phone. I waited. When he didn't respond I got up from the couch and went to my room. I didn't storm out...I simple walked out of the room.

A few minutes later, Bruce came in to ask what was wrong. I told him that lately he had been ignoring me what I said something to him and it annoyed me. He said it was because the sound from the phone and the TV is patched through his hearing aids. That pissed me off, Maybe it shouldn't have, but it did and I told him so. We argued. He finally said that he could take out his hearing aids and not hear me at all. At that point, I told him that it was MY problem to deal with and NOT HIS.

It seems like I'm in a constant of "pissy-ness!" Everything and almost everyone makes me angry. While cooking, I dropped a pizza FACE DOWN on the floor after it had baked. I screamed a string of expletives. I then apologized to Bruce for my outburst. This kind of stuff happens a lot lately. Little things like not being able to get a package of batteries open caused me to throw it across, using the same string of expletives.

I went to Vons the other day to get some things. I chose the wrong time of day for the high school students had just gotten out school and flooded into the store, clogging up the aisles with their unconsciousness of who else was in the store. A group of five students was blocking the aisle I needed to go down. I asked politely, "Could you move so that can get by, please?" Nothing. So, I raised my voice to aske again. Same words, but louder. Again, nothing. So, my ire rose and I said loudly, "Could you get the fuck outta my way!" That did it. They moved. One young man turned to me and, "Chill, old man!" Like that was supposed to hurt me? I, more than anyone know that I'm an old man!

I've come to realize that the news (mostly political news on MSNBC) is contributing to my depression and short-temperedness. All the news of Trump and his minions, the reports on stupid Congresspersons (Marjorie Taylor Green, Lauren Bobert, Jim Smith, Cruz, et. al) make my blood boil! How can supposedly intelligent (well, they did get themselves elected to Congress!) make such stupid and dangerous statements to the news media. Bobert telling FOX news that the Bible and Christian beliefs were meant to guide our government and not the other way around. Have you ever heard of the Separation of Church and State, honey? Go back to Civics 101 and learn the constitution! Hicks spouting that Biden didn't win the presidency and that Trump had the election stolen from him piss me off but more than that (after the events of January 6th!) they scare me. If Trump is able to rouse a gang that large to riot on the US Capitol, he is certainly capable of working them up into insurrectionary fervor over his possible trial for taking Top Secret documents to his place in Mar-a-Largo. I'm scared for our Democracy and our country!

See? The above diatribe is exactly what I am worried about. My mind is being taken over by anger due to these imbeciles and the worst part? I'm letting it happen!

I've had my Facebook account limited due to my political statements. Mind you, I never use threatening language and do not use expletives other than "crap" and maybe "bullshit" but none of the really bad words. So, I guess it's ok for those Right Wingnuts to espouse taking over the government and proposing civil war, but I can't criticize those groups for the unamerican stances? Give me a break!

I knew something that to be done so I deactivated my Facebook accounts so that I didn't have to subject myself to their drivel. I feel bettter already.

I need to take "chill pill" as the saying goes. Dropping out of Facebook is a good first step. I need to cook more. Cooking is my therapy. I need to learn to take deep breaths before I open my mouth. Maybe evening walks will do the trick or a cocktail on the patio in the cool of the evening will help me to keep things in perspective.

I don't know what will work, but I've got to do something.

God help me!

[desertdaddypsp]

I’m Unhappy. Let’s work this thing out!

Dear Bruce,

I’m writing this to you in the form of a letter for two reasons: one, I’m not ready to share this with you personally, and two, I feel that by writing this letter it will give me a chance to experiment with different ideas and how, ultimately, to share them with you.  So, here goes.

First, I love you, Bruce!  You are one of the warmest, most patient and accepting men that I have ever known. When my mom asked me why I chose you, I told her, “Mom, Bruce comforts me. When I am with him I feel like I am truly home and that makes me feel loved.”  All of that is true.

But, if I’m truly honest with myself and you, l have to tell you that I don’t think our relationship is passionate. Bruce, I need passion!

I felt passion when we shared our bed with Adrian.  You enjoyed him sexually and so did I.  That young, Latino was sexy. Our sex lives together were hot! Adrian was passionate in bed and I loved every single second of it. I was getting what I needed from him and it made me feel wanted and appreciated for my sexual prowess.  It boosted my self image.  

Do you remember the night that the Bears group wanted to go see Dune at the theater?  I asked you if you minded that Adrian came over while you were away. You said that you didn’t mind so I invited Adrian to spend the evening with me. I had to admire him because he wouldn’t agree to come over to see me without you being there unless  he made sure that I had run the idea past you and that you had consented. Only a truly good man would have done that!

That evening, Adrian complained that he was all sweaty from work and asked if he could take a shower.  I proposed that we shower together. OMG! That shower was the things that fantasies are made of.

As we let the warm water course over out naked bodies, we held each other close.  It felt so wonderful to be held in his arms!  We soaped each other up, rinsed off and began to kiss passionately. Nibbling on my ears almost made my knees buckle. Soon, he turned me around with my back to him and proceeded to enter me.  We made love in the shower.  Then he asked if we could try a Golden Shower. I as apprehensive but I agreed. I knelt and let Adrian’s hot urine flow over my body, even in my mouth. I had never done anything like that, but as I did I felt a warm emotion wash over me. I had just given myself over to Adrian.  I trusted him and that trust made a huge impression on me.

Later, he suggested that we move to the bed and we proceeded to kiss passionately. We did other sexual acts that led up to penetration. At first, slowly but them the rhythm intesified. We became loud and animalistic until he exploded. Afterwards, he held each other and fell asleep. My heart was swelliing with love and passion as I lay there holding this beautiful man who had just made love to me. I watched him sleep. I listened to his soft breathing going in and out. I was fulfilled. I had a very passionate evening and it was just what I needed.

As you know, Adrian finally left our sexual relationship in favor of his new boyfriend.  I was crushed! Today, I hardly have any contact with Adrian. It’s too painful for me.

What I’m trying to say, Bruce, is that I miss that passion in my life. I need that kind of passion in my life.  I have always wanted more from our sex life. While it was enjoyable, it never provided me with the passion and heat that I craved.  My point in all of this?  I need to find another Adrian.

Since your heart attack, you have told me that your interest in sex is nil and you, therefore, have encouraged me to find sex and passion outside of our relationship. That is hard for me because I feel that I am 1) betraying you, and (2) I’m afraid that you will think that because I could find someone with fire and passion, that I would want to leave you for that other man.  I wouldn’t want to leave you. You’re my home, my place of refuge...my place of understanding and encouragement.  In that way, we have something very special. But, Bruce, I need more and I hope you can understand my need and not feel threatened.

A couple of weeks ago, you know that I met a young man on Instagram. His name is Juan.  Our conversations, at first, revolved around him having his first sexual experience with a man in New York.  While he enjoyed the body of that man and seeminly knew all the right things to do to his body (even though he told me it was his first time with anyone, man or woman) he told me that he felt guilty afterwards and that he felt a great deal of judgement upon his shoulders.

I asked him where the guilt came from and he said, “God.  I want to please Him and I don’t think that gay sex is the way.” I began mentoring him at that moment, sharing what I knew from my education and from my experience as a gay man. I assured him that God created him as a sexual being and that if he’d let me, I could show him a different way of looking at the only six Scriptural passages in the entire Bible that supposedly spoke to the issue of homosexuality. He said the was interested. We agreed to FaceTime the next evening.

The next night we began exploring. He insisted that he wasn’t gay. I gave him this advice: “You have got to be brutally honest with yourself about who you REALLY are deep down inside. Not what you think you want to be (he said that he wanted to be straight) but who you truly are. Then, I told him, once you have looked deeply into your soul and have honestly come up with an answer, he needed to live that life as authentically as he could, be he straight, bisexual, gay, gender noncomforming, etc. The key was to take an honest inventory of what he truly wanted and what really reflected who he was and then have the courage to life his life with integrity and authentically. It made sense to him.

Bruce, over the next week, Juan and I fell in love. He was the fire that I needed. Intelligent, handsome, honest and sensitive about his feelings about his search of his true sexuality and how he felt about me.  He had no trouble confessing his love for me and he showed in many ways such as being concerned when I would get up and move from the bed. He would always tell me to be careful.  He loved me and the supported my soul. I was thirsty and he gave  me water. I found that missing passion in him.

One day, I told him that I thought that he was gay but that he was too afraid to admit it to himself. I told him that anyone who is preparing to come out of the closet is scared, and with good reason. One never knows how friend and relatives (and in Juan’s case) the Catholic Church will react to the news.

The next day, he told me that he had firmly decided that he was not gay and that he knew that he wanted a wife and children.  He told me how important those things were to him. I knew at that point we were finished.  We both cried but we let go of each other, planning to not communicate for a week. I broke that agreement because I just couldn’t stay away.

Bruce, Juan is gone so now I have to treat you with love and respect while at the same time asking you to understand that I need to find passion. I need another Adrian. I would like your blessing in the pursuit. My goal is not to find that person and then leave you. I have no intention of leaving you, but when I find my “Adrian” I will need you to understand when I spend time with him. Finally, if you like the man I find, maybe you and join us in bed like we shared Adrian.

I’m taking a big risk in telling you all of this. You might reject me, but I truly think that if we continue to communicate, not keeping secrets or fears and resentsments bottled up, we can navigate these waters successfully. I have to try, Bruce, but I hope we can solve this situation together. 

I love you Bruce and I always willl!

Your loving husband, 

Rick

[desertdaddypsp]

Knitting

I write to learn.

I spin my yarn and by the end of the story, that yarn has turned into a garment that I can wear...and it fits.  Through the writing process, I work out the details of a problem that I’m faced with and by the end, I typically come to an optimistic conclusion.  It’s my hope that will be my conclusion with this Tumblr entry. 

A bit of history first so that you get the picture.  In 2004, I admitted myself to Kaiser Hospital after my ex-wife said something very hurtful during a family counseling session.  When the therapist laid many of the family’s problems right at her feet, her response was, “It’s ok.  I never really loved Rick anyway.  I got what I wanted and that’s my three kids!”  I was devastated. 

When I got back home to San Francisco, I had my partner at the time take me to the ER.  I was told that I couldn’t be admitted unless I could say that I was a danger to others or to myself.  I just wanted to check out of the world, but I didn’t want to die.  So, I lied.  I told the ER doctor that I was suicidal. 

The next day, after less than 24 hours in the hospital, a psychiatrist diagnosed me as bipolar.  For about 5 years, I wore that heinous label.  After all, who does the news blame for most mass shootings?  A man who was bipolar.  The scapegoat of society.  It makes people afraid of the bipolar. 

Then, after moving back to San Diego, I started seeing a new psychiatrist who changed my diagnosis to Major Depressive Disorder with Anxiety.  She said that she saw no evidence of manic behavior.  I kind of agreed.  I liked losing that bipolar label.  Depressed was more socially acceptable. 

Fast forward to 2018.  I was living in Palm Springs.  For some reason, I decided to kick my “good boy” image.  I was sick of him.  Bored with him.  So, I began to experiment with drugs.  My drug of choice became crystal meth. 

At first, I only used about every six weeks. By the end, however, I was using every week.  I almost lost my job and my life was miserable.  I got into CMA (Crystal Meth Anonymous) and I kicked it.  Today, I have just shy of 250 days without Tina. 

In 2019, I moved back to San Diego and started seeing the same psychiatrist that changed my diagnosis from bipolar to depressive.  I looked forward to seeing her again after six years. 

She greeted me cordially, saying that she recognized my last name and wondered if it was me.  As we got reacquainted, I told her about my crystal use.  We talked about a lot of things, but she finally came to this conclusion: she wanted to change my diagnosis back to bipolar.

I protested, saying that I still didn’t display manic behavior like staying up for days on end, working of useless projects or believing that I could fly off of the tops of buildings and not get hurt.  She revisited my meth use and said that choosing to explore drugs at 60 years old was “impulsive”.  She explained that impulsivity is a hallmark of bipolar behavior. 

OK.  So, I’m bipolar.  She changed my medication to something that would address the bipolar disease but would also help me to sleep.  I left the office with my head spinning. 

That was 10 days ago.  In those days, I have come to believe that I truly am bipolar.  Why?  Let me explain. 

I have recognized impulsive behavior in my sex life.  I never really thought that much about it.  But, after being reunited with my psychiatrist and with the change of meds, I have seen a patter.

I am sexually compulsive.  There are times that I will cruise the gay sex apps and have anonymous sex with sometimes two or three different men in one day.  I’m not using crystal but I had starting using poppers about 18 months ago.  I would get all poppered up, have wild sex, and escort the guy to the door all the time thinking about how I can find another guy that will come over.

Impulsive.  Compulsive.  Bipolar.  I have been doing this a lot over the ten days since the psychiatrist changed my meds.  I have been burning the candle at both ends. 

Thursday night a young man that I know came over and we played.  He stayed until midnight.  I knew there was going to be hell to pay when the alarm went off at 6 am the next morning. 

I was a mess.  I got through the day on Friday, but when I got home, I started trolling the apps for sex.  It took me awhile to find someone.  He finally got to my apartment at 1 am.  It was a quickie so he was gone by 1:30 am. 

This morning, a young guy that I’ve been chatting with (a crystal meth user - I’m dancing too close to the edge these days!) came over and we played for several hours.  Lots of poppers and that led to feeling short of breath and feeling sick.  After all, I had only had about 4 hours of sleep. 

This afternoon, I had a “Come to Jesus” moment with myself.  Exhausted and short of breath, I had to admit that my sexual behavior was impulsive and not healthy.  I knew that the poppers were making me sick.  I knew that I had to reach out to my psychiatrist and ask for help. 

I did that.  I hope that she can help because I am ready to change.  I just need some help.

That sweater that I am knitting it taking shape and I’m going to wear it.  It makes sense.  I’m learning...even at the ripe old age of 62.  I’m continuing to grow and change...hopefully for the better.

[rickssoberjourney]

Sobriety

Originally posted by giantmonster

SOBER…

I’ve hear THAT word a lot lately…not perfect…sober.  I thought I knew what that meant, but apparently I don’t.

As always, when confronted with the meaning of a word, let’s consult good old Merriam.  According to Merriamn-Webster’s Dictionary, sober can have several meanings.  It can mean: “sparing in the use of food and drink,” but it can also mean, “not addicted to intoxicating drink”.

So, am I sober?

I have written before that I have used crystal meth.  I used recreationally for about a year.  Toward the end of that year, I used every weekend for three weeks.  I knew I had to quit so I started attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings in addition to Crystal Meth Anonymous meetings.  AA says that the only requirement for membership is a desire to quit drinking.

Check.

The problem is that I really never had a problem with alcohol.  Have I been drunk? Sure.  Not often, but sure.   Did I consider myself addicted?  No.  But the AA community offered me the support that I needed to quit meth.  And, as I soon found out, over half of the people in my group of 80+ people were also addicted to crystal meth.

What about CMA?  Well, they were a little more demanding.  They said that as a member, we were to refrain from using anything that was mind altering, including alcohol, prescription drugs (misued), pot, illicit drugs, and even poppers.  I knew what I had to do - I signed on and gave up all of those things.  

I stopped drinking.  I stopped using crystal.  I didn’t misuse any drug and I didn’t smoke pot.  I liked poppers but I stopped using them, too.  So, according to CMA as long as I continued on that path, I was sober.

I remained sober for 77 days…and then I relapsed.  I went off the deep end one Sunday night.  I promised myself only a couple of hits with a friend and I’d be done.

Wrong.

By 7 am the next morning, I had smoke a bunch with three different guys.  I was high as a kite.  I went to a meeting that morning and resolved to start all over again.

My crash was horrendous!  At 61, I guess your body doesn’t recover like the young ones.  I twitched.  I ached.  I stopped eating and lost about 10 lbs.  I ground my teeth so much that they hurt…so did my jaws.  The inside of my mouth was raw from chewing on my tongue and cheeks.  I was a mess.

Today, I have 223 days without crystal meth.  But, can I call myself sober?  Let’s examine that.

Today, I do have a couple of drinks during a week.  I do not become intoxicated.  So, according to the first definition, I guess I could say that I am sober.  After all, I am sparing the use of food and drink.   But, what about the second definition?  There’s that word: addicted.   “not addicted to intoxicating drink”.  I guess that calls for another definition from Merriam.

“Addicted” = “exhibiting a compulsive, chronic, physiological or psychological need for a habit-forming substance, behavior, or activity”.

OK.  I drink alcohol, but am I exhibiting a compulsive, chronic, physiological or psychological need for alcohol?  My behavior would say no.  I am not.  I am able to have one drink and then not drink again for days.  I am not compulsive and I do not crave it.  Can I say that about crystal?   Probably not.

By saying probably not, I mean that I know that I cannot take one hit and be done with it.  Like the alcoholic who says that he can have “just one for the road” and then drinks himself into oblivion, I know from past experience that I cannot take just one hit on a meth pipe.  I cannot be a recreational user like some people I know. I’ve proven that.  One hit and I am on the road to an all night bender and weeks of physical withdrawal symptoms.  So, am I addicted to meth?   Yeah, I guess I am.  But, with 223 days without using it, I can proudly say that I am sober.

But, can I say that I am sober without qualifying “from meth”?  Let’s look at that.

Sober from meth? Yes, I am.  But, because I drink occasionally, can I truly claim to be “sober”?  According to the definitions that I started off with, I think the answer is yes.  I’m sober because I am not “addicted” to using alcohol.  It is not a compulsion.  I can have one and walk away.  So, why do I feel guilty saying I’m sober without qualifying it with “from meth”?

Too man in the recovery community have the attitude that, “If you don’t do it MY way, you’re doing it wrong!”  They pompously parade around proclaiming their sobriety while looking down their noses at those who do not follow the 12- steps exactly as they do, even though Bill W. (the founder of AA) specifically said that AA doesn’t have the corner on getting people sober from alcohol.

Tonight, I had a woman (from one of my AA groups) take me to task on this exact topic.  She said that I wasn’t sober because I still drank alcohol.  I’m not sure why it made me so mad.  Was I worried that she was right?   Maybe it was that she wasn’t approving of my “method” of sobriety and God knows the co-dependent in me cannot stand it when people think badly of me or disagree with decisions I have made.

I’m troubled over this.  I am trouble over this because I am troubled over this.  I don’t want to care what this woman thinks.  I don’t want to let people like her make me question who I am or my sobriety or how I work out my sobriety.    

When I’m calm, I truly believe that I am sober, even without the qualification of “from meth”.  I don’t abuse alcohol at all.  I don’t use meth or other drugs. So, with a nod to the woman who says otherwise…

I AM SOBER!                                                        

[rickssoberjourney]

“Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” Glynda the Good Witch asked Dorothy in Oz.  Jeeze!  If that witch had asked me that same question, I’m not sure that I could give an answer.  I’m both.  So, what’s wrong with that?

My drug use and overactive sexual behavior indulges the devil in me.  I call him the, “Bad Boy”.  If you’ve read some of my writing before, you know that I was a very good little boy.  An even better adult.  I never partied…used drugs…drank alcohol…had sex.  I studied to be a minister.  I married my best friend and we had three children together.

I became a youth pastor and a public school teacher, all the while  dying inside because I desperately wanted a relationship with another man.  But, the good boy in me wouldn’t allow me to break my marriage vows so I remained faithful for 16 years and never once fooled around on her.

Then I came out of the closet.

My mom says that when I came out of the closet, “All hell broke loose!”  That’s kind of true.  I started drinking moderately and I did begin having sex with men but it wasn’t to an extreme. It wasn’t until about two years ago that I let my bad boy out to play and he played HARD!

I remember standing in the middle of a room filled with 16 men doing what gay men do when they are high on meth.  I remember thinking to myself, “I like myself better high!”  I was truly enjoying being BAD.  It was truly a new experience for me. Without going into detail (because I’ve written about them before), I’ll just say that I now have six months sober without meth.

A month ago, I moved back to my hometown of San Diego to be with family.  I moved with the goal of starting over.  “The best laid plans of Mice and Men sometimes go awry…”  I haven’t used crystal, but I have had a lot of sex and I have really over done it on poppers. And you know what?  I’m sick of myself! 

 I have found that I really don’t like myself very much when I whoring around and using poppers.  I have found that I truly don’t like the devil in me.  Yeah…it’s always going to be there and someday, I’ll learn how to live with that.  But, for now, I need to nurture the good boy…the good man in me.  When I’m wondering about acting out…having anonymous sex and using poppers (or heaven for bid, meth!), I will “play the tape forward”.  I’ll go ahead and let myself think about the pleasure that I might have, but I won’t stop there.  I will think about how I’ll feel about myself.  I’ll let my mind wander to the withdrawal…the shaking…the grinding teeth…the shaking hands…the lack of sleep and loss of weight.  I will look into that crystal ball and see that the end result could mean the loss of my job, my family, and my life.

More than that, nurturing the good man in me feels good.  I must continue to seek him and feed him and make him grow.

[rickssoberjourney]

Loving ourselves works miracles in our lives.

Louise L. Hay

Mike and the Mechanics sang, “All I need is a miracle…all I need is you!”  Boy, is that wrong!  I need a miracle, but it simply can’t come from someone else.  It has got to come from inside me.

The last year has been the toughest of my life.  Too much of most everything…too much alcohol, too much sex, too many drugs.  Living in Palm Springs proved to be harder than I had expected.  I got sober there.  That’s a good thing, but there were too many other things that got in the way, as I mentioned before.

I am an only child.  My dad passed away in 2000.  My mom recently turned 86 and (although she is healthy) she is showing her age.  I have three adult children and now, five grandchildren, including the most recent addition of identical twin girls about four months ago.  Family is important to me.  For that reason I decided to move back to my hometown of San Diego.

My goal in moving (besides being here for my family) was to turn over a new leaf…to make a clean start of things.  To start over.  I had the best of intentions but old patterns sucked me back into old behaviors.

One good thing is that tomorrow I will have six months without meth.  I’m proud of that.  But, I find that I am looking for sex all the time.  The gay apps on my phone like Grindr and Scruff made finding sex very easy.  And, having just moved into town, I was “new meat” so to speak.  The guys hadn’t seen me face or profile before so I was getting hit on like never before.  It felt damn good!

There were times that I had sex with three different guys in one day.  One guy would leave and I would start looking for the next one.  Along with the sex came the use of poppers.  I found that the temporary high was something that I really liked so I did a lot of them.  It got to the point that I didn’t want to have sex unless there were poppers involved.  But, I began to wonder if all of this was making me physically ill.  I haven’t felt well in over a year.

Why was I doing this?  I think I’ve figured it out: I don’t like myself very much.  Playing armchair psychologist I think I am looking for validation from these guys.  My thinking went something like this: “If I can get you to fuck me, I must be OK!”

I need a miracle.

I need to find a way to start loving myself.  I need to find deep inside me that value that I have simply because I AM.  Not because I have done anything to earn it.  Not because I’m smart or good looking.  And, certainly not because I can get some guy to have sex with me!

I’m not sure where to find it, but I’m bound and determined to seek it out.  

(via rickssoberjourney)

[desertdaddypsp]

This is exactly how I feel right now...I AM A ROCK!

“I won’t disturb the slumber of feelings that have died, if I never loved then I never would have cried! I am a rock!  I am an island!  And a rock feels no pain...and an island never cries!”  Simon and Garfunkel

I hate people.  

Let me tell you what the last month has been like.

I have never really been suicidal.  You know...making plans to truly off myself for good?  I’m too afraid to do that final “thing” that would stop the pain.  But, I tell ya!  If there was a way I could choose to go to sleep and never wake up again?  I’d take that route.  I just can’t take it anymore.

There is a phone number 211.  You know?  Like 411 for directory assistance or 611 for help with your cellular.  211 is for community resources and they tout themselves as a number you can call if you need mental help.  

I woke up one morning with the words, “I wanna kill myself” swirling around in my head.  I couldn’t stop it.  No “voices”.  I wasn’t psychotic.  But, the words kept pulsing through my brain...”I WANNA KILL MYSELF...I WANNA KILL MYSELF...I WANNA KILL MYSELF!!!”  It wouldn’t stop. So I called 211.

“So you aren’t planning on killing yourself, but you are just wanting the pain to stop?  Is that right, Rick?” the operator asked.  “Yes,” I confirmed.  “Well, there is an urgent care clinic up off of Racquet Club Road that will take you in for free and will give you someone to talk to.  There is also another one on Perez Road in Cathedral City.”  I got up the balls to drive to I R International on Racquet Club Road.

I got there and they did my intake interview.  I told them that I wasn’t suicidal but they took my shoelaces and my belt anyway.  Like I was gonna hang myself right there in the middle of a big meeting room.  They sat me down and left me there for two and a half hours!  No one said a word to me.  I raised some concern and was told that there were only two counselors on staff and that I’d just have to be patient.  I waited another 30 minutes and finally had had enough.  “Give me my things!” I demanded.  With my belt and shoelaces dangling from my hands, I lumbered to the car, sobbing.  I had gone there pleading for help and all I got was 3 hours of nothing.  I had summoned the nerve to ask for help and was treated like it didn’t matter.  Their fucking schedule was more important than the fact that I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again!  

I went to work.  I’m finding that work is my salvation.  I’m good at it and I know it.  It also forces me to be social which is easy because I like the people I deal with during my work day.  But, I decided that after work, I was going to go to the other mental health facility on Perez Road.

I drive up and it looks awfully empty.  As I get out of the car, a security guard meets me at the door and asks what I’m looking for.  “Riverside Community Mental Health,” I told him.  

“Oh.  They’re close.”  

“Closed?”  

“They moved their office.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know!” he kind of snarled.

Shit!

Once more, I get the balls to ask for help and my intentions are thwarted.  So, I decide to call 211 again while driving.

“211 operator.  How can I help you?”

I explained what had happened during the day with being ignored for three hours and how the Perez Road office was closed. 

“Oh, that office has moved to Indio...but they are closed now for the day.  Let me get someone on the line that can help you.  Hold on, please.”

The woman was gone for 5 minutes, forcing me to listen to “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” on Muzak.  Was the music mocking me?  

“Gee, Rick.  I’m sorry.  All of the counselors have gone home.  Can you call back tomorrow?”  I hung up on her.

Shit!  I’m gonna go get drunk!

I hadn’t had a drink since I started getting sober from crystal, but I wanted one.  So I proceeded to drive to my favorite bar, Streetbar.  I promised myself only one drink - a Hendrick’s tonic with double lime.  I took my potion out to the patio, sat there sipping, and watched the world go by.  I found solace in an alcoholic drink when I should have been able to find it through people who were supposed to help me. 

The solace I found didn’t come so much from the booze but from the fact that I was alone and that is just what I wanted.  I just wanted to be alone but not in my living room.  It was then that I realize it:

I HATE PEOPLE!

So much hurt and pain at the hands of human beings.  So much nastiness from men on the apps who either ignored me or told me I wasn’t worth their time.  How’s this one: “Your so ugly it would take me a month to wash the ugly off!” or then there was this guy: “I wouldn’t touch you with a 10 foot pole!”  I’m not ugly.  I know that.  But why do people have to be so mean.  Of course, my codependent mind believed what they told me.  To MY mind, there was something wrong with ME when clearly, there was something wrong with THEN.

I send a desperate note to my therapist telling her that I couldn’t keep the thought of I WANT TO KILL MYSELF from running through my brain.  I never hear back from her.  Oh, I got some message saying, “Oh, you didn’t get the message that I sent this morning?”  No, I didn’t.  If you sent one, why didn’t I get it.  She apologized and gave me a phone number to call and promised to call me the next day to check up on me.

She didn’t.

Fuck her...fuck the whole world.  

Nobody gives a shit.  Even people who are paid to give a shit, don’t give a shit.

I tried for three days to get someone...ANYONE...to listen to me.  If I didn’t have insurance, I couldn’t afford to talk to someone and if they were free, it was going to take a month until they could get me scheduled for my intake interview.   I’m screaming out to someone to help me not kill myself and money and time are more important.  People just don’t give a shit!

So, that is when the resolution came and God damn it, it’s working.

ISOLATION!

For the last three weeks I basically see no one with very few exceptions. I go to work and I see Art (my best friend who checks in on me because HE cares about me!) and Gordon, because he cares, too.

I get up, sad and depressed.  I go through the motions of my morning.  I take Biscuit for her walk and we go for a car ride to Townie to get a bagel and then drive through Starbucks.  Then, I go home. Alone. Until it’s time for work.  Then, I go to Streetbar and have one drink on the patio.  Everyone leaves me alone which is just what I want.  Then, I go home.  Alone.  

For a couple of weeks, I went back on the gay apps (Grindr, Growlr, Adam4Adam) and tried to get laid, but I could even get anyone interested.  Another blow to my ego.  My decision?  

Don’t let anyone in!

I resolved to keep everyone except for Art and Gordon and my mom out of my life.  I wasn’t going to let anyone in because when I do, they hurt me.  They say they are my friends, and yet the don’t act like it.  They break dates.  They break promises.  They lie.  They have talked smack behind my back.  And, the worst I think is that this.

I stopped going to my meetings.  It has been over a month and not one person (well, my sponsor, excepted) has even noticed that I’m gone.  People who said that they liked me and chatted with me on Facebook and invited me to their pool parties didn’t even miss me or if they did, they didn’t give enough of a fuck to find out if I was ok or even sober to drop me a text message.  

Fuck ‘em!

They won’t hurt me again because I am not going to let anyone close enough to hurt me.  At least for now.  Maybe when the new meds kick in I’ll feel differently.  I did get a new Primary Care Physician to prescribe refills of some psych meds that I used to take, but it’s going to take 4-6 weeks for them to kick in.

So, for now, I am a rock...I am an island...cuz a rock feels no pain and an island never cries.

[rickssoberjourney]

Another day…same shit.

A recap of yesterday:

Out of sheer desperation, I went to a place that offered immediate urgent care for mental issues.

After intake, they sat me down in a corner for 2.5 hours and said nothing to me.  Knowing that I was possibly suicidal, they left me alone with no updates as to when I might see someone.

I took back my person items and left in tears…feeling hopeless.

Went to work - probably my salvation for the day then drove to the mental health clinic in Cathedral City only to be told it was closed (*heavy sigh*) and then was informed by a security guard that the mental health clinic had moved, but he didn’t know where.

Things went from bad to worse.  I called 211 (a mental health number) and was told that the operators were all gone for the day and that I should call back tomorrow.  WTF

So, I did exactly what I shouldn’t have done.  I drove to Streetbar, ordered a Hendricks and tonic with double lime and proceeded to get drunk.  Interesting that I shared the patio with several other drunk AA’ers from the rooms.  I guess we’re all human, aren’t we.  We pretended not to notice each other.

A friend, a young alcoholic, saw me and knew that I was upset.  I poured my heart out to him, sobbing uncontrollably, right there on the patio.  I didn’t give a damn that anyone could see me. 

I explained that the experiences of the day showed that no matter how desperate I was to find help, I couldn’t.  I was ignored at a place that should have helped me.  I went to a place of help that was closed (when it was supposed to be open) only to be told that the office had moved but no one knew where.  211 operators weren't’ on duty so call back.  

I did have one person reach out to me in a text message, but I wasn’t ready to take the actions that he suggested.  What do I want?  I just want someone to hold me, let me sob, and tell me that everything is going to be ok and that they will not leave me. I don’t want rules or guidelines  I don’t want process or input.  I simply want someone to listen to me and not try to fix me.  Once I’m calm and back together a bit more, I’ll listen to process and advice on how to pull myself out, but right now, I just cannot hear it.  It makes no sense to me.  The pain won’t let me hear it.  Can’t anyone understand that?

So, what did I do?  I went home, drunk, put on porn and got out of my head on poppers.  I did not use crystal!  I took two temazepam hoping that on top of the gin and tonic that I would sleep well.  No such luck.

This morning?  Wake up to the same shit.  I’m going to try to find help without going to the emergency room.  I need help…QUICK.  I don’t need busy signals or operators who aren’t on duty.  I don’t need to be sat in a corner and ignored.  I need someone to listen to me, understand, and to help me formulate a game plan to get me through the day.  I have no idea if I’ll get what I seek.

Time will tell.