i ain't got no jello

he says i'm be mad
or fuck or fight
when he's get paid or get attention
on his crack baby
i wish they had his welfare
maybe he would know how to apply
can't stand his poetry
saw this kid tonight
get hid in the head
by someone said that loved him
is that james baldwin
i wish those like him would just die
and got nothign to say but the obvious
ask him to say something different
like running a marathon
all he got to say he got a new newphew
fucking albino
trying to piss me
off
publishing that bullshit book i haven't even
tried to destroy
so hate on me bitch
when i gave you a free pass
hate on me bitch
the world i gave you
i will destroy
you think you mad at me yet
you ain't learned shit
i was just trying to make you a better writer
but you wanted to be notice
but let's see how they will notice you

this message is CC

Say What?

I got scolded again in one of my AA meetings when I brought up the issue of sex, this time it was in my Gay AA meeting which I thought they would be more understanding. I was told I’m focusing on the wrong issue, and I was like fuck you, every pun intended. I don’t get why I can’t talk about alcoholism and sex and how they are related. It’s very discouraging. I can’t even talk about it with my therapist. This reminds me I need to get a new therapist. It’s like the world is trying to silence me and its pissing me off. And just to piss more people off at AA, I’m going to the next five meetings and raise my hand to bring up the issue of sex again. I will kick bringing it up until they banned me from the DuPont Circle Club. I will not be censored.

The issue is this. Giving up my addictions, sex, drugs, and liquor, I guess I didn’t realize how much it would affect my life. I thought getting sober would be the key to my happiness, just the opposite; it’s only brought me more misery.

I thought abstaining from alcohol would fix my relationships yet recently another so called friend has stopped speaking to me. I mean after all the times I cursed him out drunk, insulted him, he picks this sober moment to end our so called friendship. I just brought up the fact much to his annoyance that the night I tried to kill myself I did call him. I actually called him all that weekend but he never picks up his phone. I mean, why act like you so damn surprised when that night we went to the movie you knew how depressed I was but he treated the situation so causal. And when I went missing for a month and we finally spoke again, I told him what happened, and he seemed all upset which confused me. I expected his reaction to be casual like all my casual friends, like “mike, you so crazy.” Instead what I got was attitude. He acted like he was so upset, yea get pissed off at the suicidal person, that’s fucking helpful. I mean I didn’t want him to give me a pity party, he asked, so I told him. It was no need for me to hide it. The next couple of days his response bothered me. I mean I was sober, I was in therapy, and I had been going to AA meetings with a couple of relapses because real recovery is a bitch. I’m not talking about that Oprah let’s pretend for the cameras “recovery” I mean the real deal. It ain’t fast, it ain’t cute, it’s emotionally exhausting, it’s physical because the body is going through a withdrawal and you will see who really loves you. I was happy I told that so called friend about my suicide because it showed me who he really was, I mean his bullshit. I didn’t understand why get upset when I called you. Why get upset when you purposely ignored my phone calls like he has the last couple of months. And he gives those bullshit excuses like he lost his cellphone, or he’s been really busy at work, or he’s going through something which I can understand, because we all have our moments but don’t act like you care more than you do. It’s insulting. So I called him on it. If I would’ve died he would’ve never known which put our friendship into perspective. My real friends after I go missing for a couple of weeks call. My real fucking friends actually worry. I mean I meant the dude on the internet; I really never took him serious. And that’s the thing about sobriety learning to be brutally honest. A lot of people aren’t going to like it.

It’s like when my sister. I had a relapse on my birthday after I spoke to her because she is bad for my soul. My soul can’t heal around her. She called me on my birthday and the first thing she said, “Are you drunk, I thought you be out painting the town red.” And she knew I just got out of rehab/mental hospital. She knew I was in AA and she just had to push “let’s piss off Michael” button.

I couldn’t understand why she would be so insensitive. Did she not take my recovery serious? Does she not take me serious? Do anyone fucking take me serious!!!!!!!!!
I mean what the fuck do I have to do? And that’s what pisses me off most about recovery and sobriety, it’s like everyone is waiting for me to go back to the old Michael. Or waiting to see if this time that “I changed” will stick. I’m actually also waiting to see if I’m really serious. I know I am. I’m just trying to figure it out.

And don’t get me started on my boyfriend or soon to be ex-boyfriend. When we argue he loves pointing out my flaws. He says I’m not taking AA serious because I’ve had three or four relapse in the last two months. I mean it’s like when a nigga join church everybody automatically thinks he’s going to become some saint. Maybe I joined church to get closer to go not become perfect. Just the fact I would go to an AA meeting the last two months is monumental change in my life. I’m in therapy twice a week and old antidepressants and antipsychotic and that’s major. I have been running from my problems since I ran away at fifteen years old and fifteen years later I’m just now dealing with it. You couldn’t tell me I had a problem a year ago. You couldn’t tell me I was an alcoholic, bipolar or skipzo a year ago. I’m trying.

Which brings me back to my original point, SEX. Now that I’m 75% sober, I don’t drink at least five days a week, maybe on Saturday; my sex life has been greatly affected. I mean I can’t do all the kinky stuff I used to do. I was high and drunk most of the times I did that stuff. It’s like I’m going to have to learn sober sex all over again and that just makes me nervous. It means I’m going to have to show up during sex. What the hell is that going to be like? I liked being high, because I was having sex with the person, they were just assisting my orgasm.

In order for me to have sex sober, I really have to be attracted to the person, which prevents me from being a whore. I can’t just get on the internet and hook up. I can’t just go to a sex party or bathhouse, that’s just tacky sober. And I’m also a very shy person.
I was molested. I normally don’t like being touched. I don’t like to kiss. I don’t like for anyone to look at me more than five seconds. I just think they are picking out flaws like one of my eyes is bigger than the other or my nose slighting leans to the right, or my ears are really small or my lips are to thin and often crack at the sides. And let’s not get me started on my body issues.

The other thing about being sober is that the liquor and drugs kept me very thin. I went from a size 34 to a size 30 without exercise. I hardly ate and especially on Crystal Meth, I could go without eating for days. And now that I’m sober, I can’t stop eating. I probably gained like seven pounds this last month. My appetite came back with a vengeance. I probably should start going back to the gym.

I wonder if I am focusing on the wrong things with my sobriety. I can’t help it, I’m extremely vain. Yes, addiction got me in a lot of crap I wish didn’t happened, but it became a lifestyle.

I guess it’s the change of lifestyle that got me really afraid. I don’t like change. I was comfortable. But I know I could no longer live that way, not just because it was court mandated. I was just tired of being sick and tired. Yet, I don’t want to become one of the “shiny happy people.” I hate those people. I liked my anger, depression, suicidal moments, slutty ways, free clinics, jail cells, mental hospitals, I thought my constant “fucking up” gave me charm.

Yet as said in the Joan Crawford movie, Mommie Dearest “When you were young you’re drinking was sexy. Now that you’re old, you just look like a drunk.”

Let's see how far we go

If you reading this you should be listening to matchbox “Let’s see how far we go.”

I woke up crying like three years ago and I haven’t been able to stop. I guess it all caught up to me. My best friend died when I was 23. I graduated college. I wasn’t happy. I looked like I was happy but I wasn’t happy. It seemed like I missed something.

And then recently, I got into with my boyfriend. I’ve been attending AA for the last two months. I have been trying to get sober or sanity. I was trying to prove that I could look that picture I painted when I lived in Chicago. I had the apartment. I had the clothes. I had the Volkswagen. I had the big job in the big city and fucking miserable. It was like I was a fraud. And it bothered the hell out of me. I was so pretending. And the shit I was doing at night. Waking up on the weekends in crack houses. I was in supposedly great relationship, but I was cheating on him like everyday. I slept with all his friends. And when he would get home his face would light up. He was so fucking in love and I hated his fucking guts. I hated that he was happy. I hated that he was in love and I knew I was never going to feel it like how he looked at me. So I did what I knew how to do best, I self destructed. It was the only thing I knew. It was my entire life. I watch my father self destruct until he got a bullet in the back of his head. I watch my mother do until it she was homeless on the streets sucking dick for cigarettes. I saw my grandmother do it with liquor until she ruined her liver and died alone in her room. I saw every aunt do it with a man, until one beat them or one tried to kill them. I saw my uncles do it, each and every last one ending up in prison. I did what I knew best. Now my sisters and I are doing it. My older sisters is so damn fat but she want recognize the problem. My middle sister got sober but still go with men that beat her in front of her children. And I keep quitting myself. I sometimes feel so damn fragile like i'm tissue or rice paper, the slightest breeze tears me apart. I constantly suicidal that the hotline is on my speed dial. But how do we get stronger? I'm trying.

But lately I’ve been telling myself that my story is not going to end up like the script said. I was to never be shit. I know that. If I just disappeared it ain’t going to mean shit. If I die tomorrow I will be a John Doe. There’s no sending my body anywhere. I die where I stand. I don’t have a home. And there was nothing ever really special about me. And when people used to tell me to keep a good attitude I wanted to fucking hit them in their jaw. I know the fucking truth. And I heard the story so many fucking times, niggas and their promises when they don’t really understand what it means to be alone, I mean really alone, no family, no real friends, just pity or somebody's boredom and it all ends up the same. I just belong to the system. A fucking orphan so loving me aint easy and i don't love easy, i hurt easy, so i've learned to hurt other easy, because love don't come easy for me. I mean alone when you’re raped at 12 but can’t tell anybody because nobody is listening. are you listening. have i bored or depressed you. would you rather i fucking smile and pretend when i'm plotting your death when you're alseep. they always say, he seemed so normal, but what the fuck is normal when they really should say i never asked him i just assumed because i'm just pretending like the rest of the fuckign world.

my sister says i'm angry, i say at least i'm feeling something, finally. it's like sex for me for so damn long was about nothing. everythign was about nothing but the just the clown in his make-up trying not to appear sad.

And I’m beginning to understand that’s what some have hated most about me, because I’m upfront with it, I don’t bullshit it, because I know at the end of the day, I’m the one who will have to deal with it. I’m not pretending it’s easy, and I have to know people’s intentions and they hate that about me. i ask and when they don't give the answer, i listen and watch and when i tell them what i see, they wrestle with it in their mind and tell me i'm angry or noncompliant, insurbordinate or some bullshit. a fucking rebel with a cause to keep motherfuckers from thinking i don't see thier bullshit.

It’s how I've survived. I aint giving it up. Call me the con man. call me the hustler. Call me a thief. I ain't giving it up because i know if i live long enough, shit, i become the teacher.

Funny, now that I’m getting sober, the other day my boyfriend tripped out. I haven’t been doing it that is getting drunk and having my moments, so the house was really quiet for two weeks. I think it bothered him. I think he was waiting for me to go back to my old ways. I never thought me getting sober would be such a problem with others. I thought me “acting right” would be welcomed. I thought not having the police come to the house, not fighting, not yelling, not causing unnecessary drama would be welcomed. Yet, I didn’t realize that had been my role in other people lives and if I changed, they knew they would have to change.

A quick story, before I got to DC I stayed with this guy named Charles, and one night before we went out I had him stop by the grocery store to get me a bottle of wine so that I wouldn’t have to spend a lot of money at the club. He went in the store and got the wine but as I poured it in my Big Gulp cup, he started yelling at me. He called me a drunk, trifling, sad, and pathetic and I sat sipping my cheap wine hoping it would drown the bastard out. But what I didn’t realize at the time, I played that role in his life. He yelling at me actually made him feel better about the fact he was a borderline pedophile, gambler and fraud. And when I tried to stop playing the role, I remember how he would try to tempt me like give me money or give me the car. It was as if he needed me to play the “fuck up” in his life. And at the time in my life I needed to play the role myself because I was trying to act out childhood pain. I wasn’t trying to heal. But I never thought I would get typecast in my own damn life.

This brings me back to my current relationship. Tom and I have been together on and off the last nine years. I feel as if I put him through all kinds of hell. I cheated on him. He has bailed me out of jail at least five times. He has sat by me through three suicide attempts. He’s been there after I quit many jobs. He’s taken care of me. He has sent for me when I found myself in cities I didn’t know how I was going to get out of. When I started AA and therapy, I thought in the back of my mind it was attempt for me to save our relationship. I hadn’t thought about my role. After two weeks of sobriety the house was quiet and then one day Tom came home and exploded. There were three dirty dishes in the sink. I had just gotten home from getting a new job, so I didn’t understand the problem. He started yelling and throwing things around. I sat and watched him calmly. I was trying to figure out exactly what was the problem. And then I realized, he was playing my role. He was doing what I would normally do and I suddenly became him, trying to get him to calm the fuck down. It disturbed me. It was as if even sober our relationship was the same. It was as this guy said in AA, you can take the rum out the fruit cake, but you still got the fruit cake.
Getting sober wasn’t just the issue. It was the first time in my life I knew the relationship had to end. Tom needed to be the savior and I didn’t want to play the drunk fuck up anymore. I knew the relationship had to end because he wasn’t going to change. He didn’t even feel as if he didn’t need to change. I asked him to go to a friends and family of alcoholics meeting and he refused. I knew I couldn’t be healthy with him, not in the long run. I knew I would go back to playing the role and I didn’t want to do that. Of course, the next day feeling guilt I decided to take a drink. I acted out. We had sex that night and I felt so stupid. He was suddenly happy again and I was fucking miserable.
I’m still figuring it out. One day I think I’m I got the answer? The next day I lose it. I also feel as if I’m needlessly stressing myself out. I guess it’s the 4 As, acceptance, approval, applause and appreciation.
Now I’m wondering what my life means. I have found a way to be happy but it means the world I knew is burning to the ground. But I want to see how far it’s going to go. I’m not afraid anymore. It’s the first time in my life I’m being honest and sending the world to hell.

It always seemed forced, change. Birth, didn’t even ask me if I was ready, nine months of gestation and then eviction. We all supposed to come into this world screaming. It’s the only the world know we are alive. Can’t go back. And there’s sucking on the tittie. The first food. I don’t even remember the taste. Was it good? It stopped around age two. Or when mama got tired of the selfishness. And then they stop picking me up. Make the baby walk. Take pictures. No more being held in arms and carried no matter how much I cried. Change, it always seemed forced. The diapers had to come off to be a big boy. Then it came about approval. I want to be a big boy. I want to please. Then kindergarten. Then middle school. Then high school. Soon you’re graduated. Supposed to go off to college. Grandpa told me a happy life was a good Christian girl, the fear of god and a good job to get a good house and work a hard life. I had different plans. I wanted to runaway to New York. I wanted to dance. I wanted to kiss men. I didn’t ever want to grow up. But change it always forced. Youth is a lie. Don’t learn that until it’s gone. Re-birth, didn’t even ask me if I was ready, thirty years of aimlessly searching and now its time to grow the fuck up. I didn’t know wanting to be happy was so damn selfish.

Read it again.

I finally got step 2 and 3

Higher Power
Do I believe in god? The major part of me beginning the twelve stop program was deciding if or how I believed in god. I had to come to learn that the point of the twelve steps was a spiritual awakening and promise to myself and God to change the direction of my life. I had to accept that my life had become unmanageable, in my case directionless and hopeless. I had to accept that I was tired of being sick and tired. I had to get angry. At first the change felt confrontational, forced, that I had gotten arrested and needed to pretend I was sorry or something was being taken from me and I needed to prove I was serious or I wanted to get some control back so I needed to explore my option. I didn’t like the word “recovery.” I didn’t like the word “addict.” I felt I just like to party and sometimes it just got out of control. I felt the world was the problem and not me. I felt the world was trying to ruin my buzz and fun like damn can’t I do anything. I really meant damn can’t I just do what the fuck I want. I really meant fuck the rules. I just wanted self-indulgence. I just wanted unlimited pleasure. I just want to be out of control.
I came to AA a broken person. It was after another night of drinking went too far. It was in the hospital after I got drunk and high and ended up slicing my wrists and taking a bottle of pills. I was beginning to understand I had a problem or was out of control that’s why I attempted the suicide. I just wanted to escape and not take responsibility for my decisions. That night I cut my wrists I felt as if I was the worse fuck up and there was no help for me. I felt I was better off dead. I thought I could never get control. I felt as if putting my life back together or in my case putting a life together was impossible. Shit, my life has always been unmanageable. I was born into chaos: a drug dealer father who got himself killed and crack addicted prostitute for a mother. I was born into alcoholism and other addictions, I was born into the rape and molestation, I was born in the physical and emotional abuse that lasted until I ran away at 15 years old and picked up my first drink and just kept running. I thought getting away, that was it, I wasn’t in that city or state anymore, but I was still running. I didn’t think too much about my soul, that was some church shit, but my soul was telling my body it hadn’t healed, that it was starving, so my body started acting out. It kept trying to feel itself with liquor and drugs thinking I was feeding my soul but starving it more. I was feeding what I had originally started running from. I kept trying to numb the pain or memory or resentment or insecurity but indirectly and ignorantly feeding it. I couldn’t understand why what I kept running away from kept showing up and the farther I ran, the stronger it got, the bigger it got, the more out of control it got.

The most important thing I had to learn, with wounds, you can’t run. If I broke my leg, I wouldn’t move to another city hoping that would fix the problem. I would go to the hospital and seek medical help. If I got a finger cut off, I wouldn’t start drinking large amount of liquor hoping it would just grow back. I would have to bandage it, medicate it, go to the hospital, make sure it doesn’t get infected and then my arm would have to be amputated. A unaddressed wound, especially a deep wound, only gets worse. It become vulnerable to infection, opportunistic germs and viruses looking to hurt the already hurt. I used to say, when you’re hurting, it’s funny how you find more people to hurt you. I had to understand a wound to the soul is the same. It didn’t help that I moved across the country or to another country, it was still deep wounds.
The only difference wounds to the soul need spiritual intervention. It’s the unseen that need addressing. A wound to the soul that go unhealed gets infected, and opportunistic germs and virsuses also known as “trouble” show up to hurt the already hurt. It took me a long time to get it. I needed a spiritual intervention. I needed a spiritual awakening. I needed a spiritual healing.
The spirit meant the soul. My soul meant my connection to God.
soul /soʊl/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[sohl] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation,
–noun
1.
the principle of life, feeling, thought, and action in humans, regarded as a distinct entity separate from the body, and commonly held to be separable in existence from the body; the spiritual part of humans as distinct from the physical part.

2.
the spiritual part of humans regarded in its moral aspect, or as believed to survive death and be subject to happiness or misery in a life to come: arguing the immortality of the soul.

3.
the disembodied spirit of a deceased person: He feared the soul of the deceased would haunt him.

4.
the emotional part of human nature; the seat of the feelings or sentiments.

5.
a human being; person.

6.
high-mindedness; noble warmth of feeling, spirit or courage, etc.

I had to ask myself did I have a soul? It was a rhetoric question. I knew I had consiconess, that in which was shelled inside my body, the body that will die, but my soul was that gave my body it’s animation, it’s personality, that part of me only I knew but had to translate via my mouth, touch, actions and connected me this physical existence. When I would get high, it was my soul that was going higher, tripping off the pleasure I gave to my body. I know there have been times my body was sick, and I ached with it, but my soul was still intact. I’ve seen people die, watch them in pain, but their soul didn’t blemish. Of course I’m connected to my body, it’s like a compass for my soul, like god gave me a map so that I wouldn’t directionless. If I touch fire I know it burns. I know if I keep doing it burns worse and the scars. I know not to do it anymore. Pain is my compass and pleasure is my compass, the direction I’m suppose to go. It’s the motivator. So when the drinking only kept bringing me more pain, it was my compass telling maybe I was going to the wrong direction. It was just the same as when I stuck my physical hand in the fire, I immediately redrew, I didn’t keep it there.
So I had decided there was a god and I knew I was in pain, sick and tired of making the same mistakes. I was tired of leaving in pain, humiliation, feeling out of control, wanting to escape my mistakes, wanting pleasure but thinking I left myself to long in the fire that I was all scared up and ugly and worthless.
And then I think of that five year old kid who was drug from his home, gasoline poured on him and set ablaze. His mother said his spirit died that day. She said all he did for a year was cry not just from the phsycial pain but the emotional, the nightmares, that other kids teased him and didn’t want to play with him. That he lost all his friends. I asked myself what kind of God would allow that to happen to a child. And then I prayed for him. In my prayer I knew in my heart he would find love one day. He would learn to love the scars. I knew the physical pain wouldn’t hurt that bad one day. And if I was praying for him, I knew others who read the same story was praying for him, and one day somebody will help him, and one day love will look pass his scars and pain and see his beautiful soul. I knew his soul was beautiful because it was god. I prayed for him until tears were in my eyes because I knew that was god. All I had to do was connect to it. I can’t tell people I have a soul, because they can’t see it or touch it. I can’t prove it to them and even when I look in the mirror, I know when my soul shows up and when I was drinking real bad, how it disappeared. I couldn’t even type these words now a year ago, because my soul wasn’t there, it was still wounded.
And now that I’m healing, finally went to the hospital and got the help I needed to address the deep gashes of my spirit. And when I accepted my Higher Power as I understand him or her, I was finally ready for my spiritual awakening.
I think it’s very important before anybody truly begin the twelve steps, the must first let the miracle happened. It takes time. It takes letting go of the anger. It takes trusting. It takes honesty. If you don’t understand, don’t fake it. The miracle isn’t approval. In fact, it’s the oppostite. I’m glad I didn’t rush the miracle. I’m glad I questioned it. I’m glad I got pissed at it. I’m glad I told god he or she was an asshole. I’m glad I turned my back and ran. It’s because now that I’m home, I know what a real home is.
I needed a change. I needed trust the compass gave me and go a different direction in my life. I was tired of running and living on the hopeless streets, I just wanted to get home.


admitting that one cannot control one's addiction or compulsion;
recognizing a greater power that can give strength;
examining past errors with the help of a sponsor (experienced member);
making amends for these errors;
learning to live a new life with a new code of behavior;
helping others that suffer from the same addictions or compulsions.


These are the original Twelve Steps as suggested by by Alcoholics Anonymous.[5]
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
My worse alcoholic moment was the night I cut my wrists. I had been drinking for five days straight, about seven liters of rum, my life was hopeless, I had been punching holes in the walls, my ex-boyfriend was making plans to just move out, I had been locked out of the landry room because somebody found a drug pipe down there and assumed it was mine, it was, every neighbor in my apartment building hated me because every time the police showed up it was usually for me, and I’ve been making so much noise, cursing out ppl, having around shady people, one of them broke into the apartment downstairs, it was crazy, but to top it all off, that night I went out to the bar, I got into another fight, a shoving match and then on the walk back to my apartment, I ran into some guy, didn’t know him, I somehow ended up sucking his dick in my hallway, so unaware of time, my neighbor was about to take his kid to school and caught me, started cursing up a storm which woke up my ex who came to calm the situation down but that’s after the guy woke everybody up cursing talking about I was putting everyone’s safety in danger, that he had wife and kids and didn’t want them seeing that, so it all started crashing down on me, I went to the bathroom, got the boxcutter, first swallowed the pills, then cut my wrists and passed out on the bathroom floor. My roommate found me a hour later, called the ambulance, and I spent a week in the mental ward.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
I believe there’s a god. I don’t really consider myself insane. I think I’ve had problems. But I do believe God has given me the compass to go the right direction to get home. Whatever home is.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
God as I understand him or her, I really do think my God is a woman, it would make the most sense to me. I think step 3 is really about trust, that I have to trust there are no mistakes with my life. I have to trust my inner compass and intuition.

I hate this soberity.

I got pissed off in AA caused when i shared i asked now that i'm sober "what's going to happen to my sex life." And then some bitch going to say that she didn't think that was an appropriate question to ask in public. I was like, fuck you. I sit here and listen to ppl talk about when they drank they beat their wives, or when they were drunk they pissed on themselves, or all kind of crazy shit and i can't ask a sex question. I wasn't solicting for sex. I thought it was a legitimate question. i'm still single. i'm gay. I usually went about my sex life either online, parks, bookstores and bathhouses. does it mean i'm going to have to get a boyfriend? and how the hell does one keep one of those? omg, i'm going to have to get into a relationship.

This is my bitch rant, because I’m sober and it’s three o’clock in the morning and I can’t sleep. Maybe I should lay off the energy drinks. Damn they are expensive. I drink like three or four a day and that’s like eight dollars a day, 56 dollars a week. I’m not really saving that much money now that I’ve stopped drinking. Well a bottle of a liter of Bacardi is like fifteen bucks and four of those a week comes out to sixty bucks a week. And let’s not forget the bars, the tipping, so I guess I was spending like 150 bucks a week on drinking, which came out like six hundred dollars a month. So now that I’ve stopped drink, I look to save like four hundred dollars a month. Wow.

Well I got into my first fight with AA people today. It’s my fifth day of sobriety and I had important questions to ask. First it was my insomnia; I hadn’t slept in days even with the antidepressants and antipsychotic I take which usually with alcohol knock me off for days. Now that I’m clean, I only sleep like two hours a day. I only slept like five hours for three days. I guess it could be the energy drinks. But I was drinking those along with liquor; I guess they balanced themselves out somehow. I know liquor and weed is a downer. Well I got good feedback on my insomnia. I was told to take hot baths before bed, eat bananas and take one tablet of melatonin to get my body’s clock recalibrated. My body got used to passing out which is different from regular sleep.

And then my next question was what will happen to my sex life. I mean the last time I had sober sex I was like thirteen years old. The next year I discovered weed and cough syrup. And gay sex for me had always been with some type of drug or liquor and poppers. Am I supposed to give up poppers now that I’m sober? And what is really clean? I still use chemicals like caffeine and I’m only like six different antidepressants and antipsychotic. And mix that with ginseng and GNC men’s multivitamin pill and I must as well be high. Shit it’s a better high because I don’t have to worry about the hangover. Yet, I still miss liquor and the drugs.

And another problem I didn’t anticipate was “attention.” At the bars and clubs I got all my attention. I was the hot boy. I was the cute boy. I was the boy with six pack and nice ass. I got my attention from sex. I loved getting hit on. I loved walking in the club and have all eyes on me. And now that I’m sober, I can’t go to bars anymore. It’s just too tempting and I’m weak.

And now that I’m in these damn meetings, I feel lost like I’m back in middle school and nobody notices me. Alcoholics sober are very lonely and withdrawn people. And OMG are the fucking boring. Sometimes I think the meetings would be more interesting if some of them went back to drinking. When I’m in the meetings I try to imagine the former drunks when they were drinking. It makes my dick hard.

I got twenty five more days until I get my thirty day button and I will see what I’m going to do with my life after that. I don’t know if I’m going back to drinking. I don’t’ want to go back to my old life. I don’t want to go back to my old life.

I guess I will be abstinent the next 25 days. I need liquor, weed, maybe some coke, poppers to have sex. I hate sober sex. I need to address that problem.

Four days of soberity after relapse

Four days of sobriety. I wouldn’t say I relapsed four days ago, I did the normal actually. That Thursday until Friday was my usual drinking days. Thursday s are shirtless men drink free from 10-11 and I can count on one hand the number of Thursdays I’ve missed it in 4 years. It used to be every Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday but I’ve cut down from going out but still drank on those days. If I’m binging I know I can go through 7-8 liters of rum in a week. That’s eight bottles. When I drink that much days are foggy, I don’t know who I spoke to or did, it’s like it starts and then I lose time. I guess that's what they call black outs. I wonder why during black outs the mind shuts down but the body keeps going. I go out, i curse out people, and then when i start to sober up my mind has no memory of it. It's foggy like it was a dream not reality but i usually get the calls afterwards or end up in jail. I remember once i had this dream i called pulled over by the cops and i decided not to stop because i was drunk and i gave them a car chase. I woke up with my heart pounding because it felt so real, and that's what black out feel like, like my mind is taken hostage and somebody else is in control and he's crazy but i will have to pay for it.


But what’s change I ask myself. What’s change for real? I can’t lie to myself. The thing that’s change is my desire to live. After my last suicide attempt, I took an honest look at myself. I wanted to understand the hate. I wanted to understand the depression. I also understood I couldn’t do it alone. I tried and kept ending up in the same place. After my last suicide attempt and I lived, I figured god must want me to live. It was only like my sixth attempt. The first time I tried to kill myself I was nine years old. I stole my aunts ankles weights, and jump in the deepest part of the boys and girls club swimming pool. I don’t know what made me do it. I just wanted to drown. I remember going under the water, swallowing, then panicking, then finding peace with my death, and then just darkness. I was saved by my older cousin. The life guard performed CPR. I was banned from the pool for like a year. My cousin told my grandma about the ankle weights when I got home. I got a beating. My grandma said next time they should just let my black ass die.

It seems I’ve been suicidal my entire life. There’s always been this dark cloud. It’s like it comes and everything goes dark. I shut completely down. I withdraw and if anybody tries to get in I attack them. I just want to disappear. I don’t want a name. I don’t want tombstone. I want to make it like I was never here. I want the birth and death certificate erased. I want those who knew me to just forget, go on with their lives.

But what change, was in the hospital I was put on decapate, Zoloft and lithium and for the first time in my life I felt at peace with my self. It took about four days but one morning I woke up and my brain was at peace with itself, like my soul was at peace with itself. I went to the window and I could see the sun shining. It was like the world was a good place. It was like I could be somebody in that world. I was talkative, took over the group meetings. The light in my eyes came back. Life wasn’t so hard.

And then I got scared. I never liked happiness. If I felt anything good I would just shut it down. Happiness for me was like waiting for the bullshit to happen, because something always ruined my happiness. I got scared, told myself I needed to drink, act up, kill the feeling somehow.
But what changed, I told my therapist about the feeling, how I felt good but wanted to kill it. I told her that suicide was my way of escaping the dark cloud. It wasn’t that I wanted to die per se; I wanted to escape that in my head, like it was the boogie man, that misery coming to smother me to death. So I figure I beat it to the punch. And then she said something profound, she said, how is that winning, how is that logical. I never thought about the illogical aspect of suicide, that it was irrational fear, almost schizophrenic; I just gave into the desire.
I never even thought about my life. That it was my life. That it was the birth of a soul in a body. That I was that soul that destined that passage of time we call memory. That I was in control of its perception, serenity and salvation and redemption. I always considered my life noise. It was the noise of my drug dealer father. The noise of my crack addicted mother. The noise of my fucked up childhood. The noise of not being close to not one member of my family. And then the noise I created with my addictions and acting out for attention.

I didn't want the attention that destruction brought me anymore. I just wanted peace. I wanted that peace i felt after a suicide attempt but make that a life. I decided to stop killing my body that house my soul but kill those demons that tormented my soul.

But what’s change is the will to live. It's to continue to connect via this body, this body i never claimed like never claiming my eyes to see the world or mouth to speak or hands that type these words. Instead i chose to look at my body as a prison thinking with all the abuse i did to it was me breaking out of that prison. It was me harming not the soul but that which i had looked at to be harmed. it's like burning down the house in which the rape happened. it's not the house fault. it just where it happened.

I finally had a desire to live in this body. I can’t say that enough. Even I only live for another year; I have a will to live it. I want to be remembered, loved and heard. Now I’m just trying to reduce the noise in my life so that I can hear god’s purpose for me. I can hear me. That’s what change.

So on my fourth day of sobriety, I tell myself why I’m doing this. It’s just isn’t about sobriety but more sanity. I know it’s going to be hard. I have a lot of noise to silence in my life. Today I start with my grandmother. She was a bitch saying what she did when I was eight. I forgive her. I didn’t go to her funeral. I was told she asked for me when she was dying, but I was in Chicago and I ignored her phone calls. When I ran away at 15, I did it for good. I never saw those people again. My grandmother died ten years later. I spoke to her on the phone when I was twenty one. I was drunk and it was thanksgiving. I hate the holidays. She asked for my forgiveness. I told her no. I wasn’t ready to forgive. I wasn’t ready to forget. I didn’t understand holding on to pain becomes something worse, that’s why the soul needs to practice forgiveness. I didn’t understand what it really meant to forgive. I know forgiving on my part is understanding it can never happen again, the hurt can never happen again. I’m not a child anymore. I silence you today grandma. I silence living with you for those awful six years. I silence you spending my trust fund and social security check on your addictions and not saving any money for my future. I silence you not protecting me from the abuse I suffered by you and other relatives. I silence you for not understanding my need for being myself. I silence you for not celebrating me, that when I walked in the room the look on your face was more disgust than love. I silence you trying to hold me back for your selfishness. You can hurt me anymore, not just because you’re dead, because you are no longer a voice in my head. And when you speak, I understand I silenced you. I forgive you to silence you. I will not feed the pain anymore. I will not hurt the body that you made me look as hurt anymore. I will not worship the wounds. I wish you peace in eternity and forgive you finally. I silence you as no longer a noise in my head. and when i dream of you like i do i will tell you that you are silenced.

relapse

Last night something really weird happened to me. I came back from the bar because these days I’m relapsing, and I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m not ready to give up drinking.

But something really weird happened to me, I think it was because my intense therapy session yesterday. I realized I didn’t like myself. I also realized I’m lonely and my homework for this week is “how do I like me” so that made me want to drink. And I like to drink.


I’m going to my AA meeting drunk.

when i lost my mind

I write this for you, you who will come looking

Begins With seeing sight dying
Some call it suicide
It ends with seeing dreams beginning
So call it rebirthI started to lose my mind
When I got my front teeth knocked out at the gay club
Thought because I was cute
I wasn’t protected like raw sex
Just had the right body
Thought because I followed the rules
No fats or fems
But had to learn the hard way
When you're hurting you will hurt
and it will find you likeHoes
walking certain streets corners
Couldn’t save me
Cause I couldn't see me
Like before god said let there be light
I write this for you who will come looking
for thisPoem
Yourself
Salvation
To understand
your death
I write this for you
Who they told you were somebody
When you knew you were nobody
Just another illusion in the timeline
Just another headstone with no name
Yes I thought I was cute
Yes I fought in the club
to get my dick sucked
Yes I bottomed for deep voices and no rules
But in the end
Still a headstone with no name
In the end, expiration
When it wants you
It makes you think not to ask why it wants you
And it's so seductive
Because you don't like yourself
And when it wants you
You want it to want you
Like selling yourself to the devil
It’s so easy to get in hell
Not preaching
Just reaching
For something I forgot to hang on to
like the neck that broke in lynchings
So I write this for you
Or I write it for myself
Because I went looking
Lost my mind
Had so many pics of my be hind
past
Lusting niggas who just want to dig into divine
yesterday
But I was malignant
The cancer so ignorant
Refusing treatment
Thinking it would make me stupid
And wanted
And lonely
When I was lonely to begin
With
So I write this for you
You who will come looking
And I sayLose your mind
so that you can love you better
And if you hurting
Hurt with find those who don't love themselves better
It isn't about death
Or the newest deception
Think of your life as a journey of salvation
Or redemption
Or demystifying god
when Atheists get got sucking trees
But think of your life
Before mental intuitions
or jailthose who don't choose only get death
Before somebody decided
I got toothless
To understand my bite
it's no money
just angry
and sometimes that's enough

Playing with fire understanding step 1

Step1: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable

It's like i've been playing with fire and surprise i burned the house down. Every time i take a drink i know now i'm playing with fire. I'm burning down my life.

Coming back from the store, I saw my neighbor and she didn’t speak. She actually frowned at me. I knew the reason. She had to deal with the noise of my drinking, me yelling at the top of my lungs, just acting crazy. I felt embarrassed. I’m not alone in the world.

The first step: I admitted to myself that I was powerless over alcohol and that my life has become unmanageable.

I don’t think I’m “powerless” over alcohol. I don’t need to drink every day. I only really drink about two or three times a week, but those days are more like binge drinking. I start with a rum and coke and don’t stop until I pass out.

I would admit that when I start drinking, it’s very difficult for me to stop. I don’t drink to have fun anymore. I drink to get drunk. I recognize that as a problem. I’ve been fooling myself over the last couple of years thinking my drinking was the same as when I was in college or clubbing. It wasn’t the same. I drink alone at my computer. It has no rhyme or reason to it. And then I get drunk and do shit I hate. I start calling people. I rehash old problems. I stop moving my life forward. It's like i'm stuck ing quicksand when i drink. It's like i'm stuck in a moment when i drink. When i'm drunk, i only live in the past, my sadness. I don't know why i need to keep revisting my sadness. I can't spend my entire life an abused child.

I admit drinking stagnated my life. But what life? I believe drinking has compromised or deferred me getting a life.

I don’t think my life has become unmanageable. I managed very well to be self-destructive. My life has always been somewhat unmanageable. It had always been chaotic. I had a crackhead mother. I come from so much drama.

So I have to ask myself, what type of life do I want? I want a respected life. I kind of feel I lost respect a long time ago.

I remember just before I got to DC, my ex was yelling at me that I was drunk, trifling, sad and I just sat there sipping my wine from a big gulp cup, thinking if I drank fast enough, the liquor would drown him out. It didn’t. He was right, I was a drunk. I was losing all respect.

And then I remember my mother, how others treated her because she was addicted to crack, like she was worth nothing. Others felt they were better. I remember hating being her son because I felt her addiction tarnished my life. I was guilty by association. That’s why I worked so hard in school, that’s why I tried so hard, because I wanted others to know I was nothing like her.

I don’t know how I ended up like my mother. I don’t know how I lost my self-respect. I’ve done so many stupid things drunk. I have allowed the liquor to steal everything, even my soul.

I admit binge alcohol consumption has unraveled and disrespected the possibility of me having a good life. I grew up in chaos. I don’t need it as an adult. If that means giving up alcohol, so be it.

It's like i'm playing with fire. I was an addict before i even took my first drink. I'm bipolar. I'm skipzo. I kind of feel most days i was set up to fail. I got to start fighting back. I used to think i drank because i was angry. I thought the alcohol made me brave. I'm beginning to realize it only made a coward. A coward too scared to take responsiblity for his life. That ends now. That ends now. That ends now.

Hi, I’m Michael Whitley and I’m an alcoholic. I've been sane 7 days now.

And now let's really talk about this

These are the original Twelve Steps as suggested by by Alcoholics Anonymous.[5]

We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His Will for us and the power to carry that out.

Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Other twelve-step groups have adapted these steps of AA as guiding principles for problems other than alcoholism. In some cases the steps have been altered to emphasize particular principles important to those fellowships.[6][7][8

The Prequel: Anaylzing my addiction and the need for AA

The only requirement for A.A. membership is a desire to stop drinking.

de·sire /dɪˈzaɪər/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[di-zahyuh r] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation verb, -sired, -sir·ing, noun
–verb (used with object)
1.
to wish or long for; crave; want.

2.
to express a wish to obtain; ask for; request: The mayor desires your presence at the next meeting.
–noun
3.
a longing or craving, as for something that brings satisfaction or enjoyment: a desire for fame.


Of course the clever addict will analyze the hell out of the word “desire.” He or she will look for loopholes aka excuses. After my first couple of AA meetings I decided to read up on the organization. I guess I wanted more information. At first it seemed liked a religious cult. I really didn’t care too much for my childhood religion. I was suspicious because AA is deeply rooted in Christianity values. Its basis is the spreading of Christ in the form of alcoholic recovery. It didn’t require a “door to door” mission but only to those alcoholics who still suffers. In AA, you are told the only way to sobriety is to release control to a higher power. It’s the second step, but we will get to that later.

Let’s go back to the word “desire.” After my first couple of meetings I had to decide if I really wanted to stop drinking. I mean quit, which is different from desire, quit meant to cease, or discontinue, basically stop, end, kill, mourn. The idea of quitting made me want to have a drink. It seemed so final and dramatic like samurai sword to the neck – clean cut, blood spitting out in the air. Quitting seemed so messy. I feared failure. I feared I was setting myself of for future ridicules, boasting that I was sober, and then relapsing and relapsing and relapsing which meant at the same time, compromising my integrity.

In America, everything is so political and unforgiving. WE like our heroes and leaders infallible basically non-human. It’s why so many politicians lie. It’s why heroes always disappoint. I didn’t want to be a hero. I just wanted to get so control over me abusing alcohol. I didn’t want to quit. I wanted perspective. Alcohol was legal. It wasn’t like I was doing crack. Yes, I may do an illegal drug after a couple of drinks but that’s not the point.

Let’s go back to the word “desire.” I liked how it sounded. Yet, two words down, was the word “stop.” I had a desire to control alcohol, not stop alcohol. I needed to understand what I meant by control or if in the fact, I could control alcohol. I hadn’t been successful in the past which lead me to my first couple of AA meetings. When I first started drinking and kept getting fucked up, I thought it was because I didn’t know how to hold my liquor or drink properly. I learned to drink in college which was basically binge drinking. It was at the fraternity parties or a night of clubbing. It was back to back to back tequila shots. IT was downing one cup of liquor after another with the cheer of the crowd. My friends and I always drank to get “fucked up.” It wasn’t to enjoy a meal or conversation but get inebriated to the point of falling down or dancing on tables. It was “party” drinking. The goal, to get stupid.

Growing up, alcoholism ran in my family. Everybody liked to drink beer. I figured since I didn’t like beer I was safe. I figured since I was a martini guy, that my drinks came in pretty Crate and Barrel glasses, I was safe. I wasn’t a paper bag, 40 ounce drinking drunk. I was glamorized techno-colored drinks from polished Bacardi and Absolut bottles.

I think the major problem I had was that I correlated drinking with “partying” and I wasn’t ready to quit the party. I felt I was too young. I felt I still had some good years left in me but I was already thirty years old. Truth, I wasn’t going to clubs anymore. I was drinking bars. I was drinking alone at the computer or watch television. I was drinking to go to the movies. I was drinking to go to an interview. Drinking had become a coping mechanism. I wanted that feeling I used to get when I was “partying” in college. I was a shy kid. When I had a drink, I was a wild boy. I was gregarious and flirtatious. I was the life of the party. In my regular life, I consider myself much laid back, almost conservative. I consider myself a geek. I read a lot. I study to be on game shows. I do the crossword puzzle.

I remember my first two years in college. I was so damn bored. I would sit in my dorm room and dream of a better life. I would watch others and hoped they invite me to something. Finally, somebody invited me to a party. It’s where I had my first drink. At first at the party I felt out of place but after my first drink, I didn’t give a damn. I liked how it made me feel. I didn’t want my boring life. I wanted to explore the world. I wanted to soar my wild oaks. I wanted to dance on tabletops and have wild sex. I couldn’t do any of that sober. I needed the alcohol. I needed the alcohol to change.

So what happened? Did I take it too far? Did I change too much? I guess that’s the fear about quitting. I don’t want to go back to my old life. I thought that person was insufferable and uninteresting.

Truth, something changed with the drinking a couple years ago. It became heavier. I wasn’t going out. I was staying in more. I wasn’t drinking to be the life of the party. I was drinking to be a disruption. I started getting kicked out of parties and clubs. I started getting into fights. I wasn’t the life of the party anymore but a nuance.

Truth, something changed with the drinking, I started getting so damn angry. I needed more drink. I couldn’t stop at the club or bar anymore, I drank before I went out, when I was out, and then when I got back. I couldn’t hide the drinking anymore. Everyone would always ask me, are you drunk? It became a regular. I decided to just hang around other drunks. Something happened with the drinking, I started finding myself in embarrassing situations. I was annoying my friends and family members. My boyfriend decided to break up with me. I couldn’t keep a job. I would rather drink all day than go to work. After liquor was in my system I didn’t care about anything. The drink just shut me down. I wanted to control it or hide it better. I wanted to be able to drink and look normal. I wanted to be able to drink and not get confrontational. I wanted to be able to drink.

Something happened, I changed. I was no longer that twenty two year old kid with red plastic cup at the party dancing on the floor. I had become a thirty something drunk stumbling home, falling out in the snow. I couldn’t understand what happened. When did it change? Had it always been that way and I was oblivious. I had stop being that funny articulate flirt that people invited to their parties. I became the avoidable drama. I’ve had been shun me. I couldn’t understand what was happening?

And then add life to it. And then add feeling like a failure. And then add hating my job. And then add all the fucking problems I had with my family. And then add a failing relationship. And then add getting older in gay life. I needed to drink more. And then add bipolar and schizophrenia. And then add depression. I needed to drink more just to feel some kind of normal. My life started spinning out of control. I was constantly depressed which meant I drank more.

I started to think I was giving up on life. Or life had given up on me. I turned thirty years old and I hadn’t done anything I thought I was going to do with my life. I hadn’t written that novel. I didn’t have my master’s degree. I still worked crummy jobs. And the parti-boi thing had expired and I was just another drunk in the bar. I knew the truth.

Let’s go back to the word “desire.” I guess it could be said I hit rock bottom a couple of times. I pretty much figured addicts come in five different forms.

Predisposed
Experimental
Habitual
Coping
Rock Bottom
I had stop coping with alcohol and was dangerous falling to the rock bottom. I had gotten a DWI. I moved to a city where I didn’t have to drive. I once was so drunk I passed out behind a dumpster on a piss stained mattress. I blacked out. I gotten kicked out of every bar or club in DC. I’ve passed out in clubs. I had several people no longer speaking to me or keep their distance. The landlord decided to not renew the lease because of complaints of my drunken rampage. I’d been dangerously promiscuous. I tried to commit suicide on many occasions and ended up in a mental hospital. It was so out of control.

Let’s go back to the word desire. I desired to be able to dream again. I desired to want to live again. I desired to have so control in my life. I desired to repair my tarnished reputation. I desired sanity. But yet I also still desired alcohol. I didn’t want to let it go. It seemed hopeless.

I hated myself when I drank too much. I had stopped working. I had stopped looking for a job. I’d sit home during the day and just drink. I then feel alone or lonely. I start calling people. I start wanting to have meaningless conversations. Everyone hated that because they were at work and I was drunk at home wanting to talk about something from five years ago. I hated when I drank how I kept rehashing the past. I was that that “pining” drunk, also wanted to talk about so shit that happened to me when I was a kid. I wanted to yell about it. I wanted to fight about it.

I hated when I started to drink that I’d want everyone to believe I wasn’t drinking. I’d call and pretend to be sober just friendly. I wanted the illusion of sobriety not the reality.
I wanted to be funny and likeable, not at all what I’m like sober. I’m withdrawn sober, suspicious, and a loner.

I hated when I started to drink, that I get on the internet and start looking for sex. I’m usually not in the right mind to make good decisions.

I hated when I started to drink that I couldn’t stop. I buy a litter and promise myself that I would only drink a couple of drinks, but after the first three drinks, I know I’m not stopping until I pass out. I usually drink the entire bottle, if I’m still awake, go buy another. I drink and drink until I’m crazed out my mind.

I hate the hangover the next two days if I stop drinking. It’s an entire day gone. I’d just lay in the bed in agony or shaking. I can barely talk. I have no energy. I’m sick.

So why do I drink? It’s no longer fun. It’s because I’m an addict. I know the realization is the recognition of a problem. And I’m a “rock-bottom” addict. The addiction has already started to unravel my life. It’s become first before my friends, family, dream, job and stability. I understand the diagnosis. If I don’t act soon, only one of four things will happen to me: homelessness, jail, mental hospital or death. It may take a month, year or several years, but rock bottom only gets worse.

I do have a desire to stop drinking. I decided to seek help in AA. Next was figuring out the 12 steps. To be continued.

I finally got it yesterday.

My "AA" story.

I knew there was something different about me when my boyfriend and I would go out drinking. He could have only one cocktail and be done. I needed a drink just to leave the house. I called them “pre-club” drinks; I thought it was just my way of saving money. I get to the club and drink; and when I got back from the club I kept drinking. I used to think I just liked to get fucked up. I considered myself a "part-boi." I was at every event. I just thought i was social.

I know I was afraid to admit there was something different about me; I thought it was admitting failure. I didn’t want people looking at me crazy if we were out at a club, bar, restaurant, and I would say I can’t drink, and they would ask why and I’d say because I’m an alcoholic. I figured they would judge me, think that I was weak or crazy or something. I figured they might laugh, try to pressure me, not understand. Yet, I know it’s worse if I did have that first drink. I know it’s worse than them judging me, because what they wouldn’t be able to understand, after that first drink, I’m no longer the same person. What they wouldn’t understand after that first drink, I’m not stopping for a week. What they didn’t know that first drink lead to a bottle and then I get confrontational. And I will keep drinking until the money runs out. And then I’d find more money, or another party or someway to keep drinking, then add drugs to it, then add fights at the bar to it, then add maybe jail time or trying to commit suicide again.

Now I’m afraid to not admit I’m an alcoholic. It’s not failure. Admitting it is actually finally success. I finally have some control. Like every alcoholic that’s existed since Monks invented beer, I know I can’t win. I’m powerless. It’s not will power. It’s not morality. It’s chemical. It’s a fucking disease. I was an alcoholic even before I took my first drink. That first sip is the devil for me. I’m not coming back until I’ve done something stupid. Yes, it’s not every time I take a drink. Some days, I was a good drunk. Some days I did stop at five or six drinks. That’s my minimum, five or six drinks.

Yet, I know admitting that I’m an alcoholic is setting myself up for future confrontations. It’s like admitting that I’m the “fat” girl and when people see a drink in my hand, they’re going to comment. It’s like watching a fat person eat, watching everything they put in their mouth and they claim they are on a diet. I’m still weak. I’m still in the beginning stages and I’m going to make some mistakes. I’m not making excuses but I know diets don’t take each and every time. It’s a lifestyle change. I think that’s what I have to get in my head, that it’s a lifestyle change.

I think that’s the hardest for me because being an alcoholic everything used to be about TIME. I got used to watching the clock. It was the time the liquor store opened (10 am) and closed (10.pm). It was the time the happy hours started during the week, free drinks on Wednesday and Thursday from 10-11; on Friday and Saturday 12-1 am, and Sundays was two dollar vodkas. It was what time I had to be at work the next day which determined how long I could drink. It was how many times I am going to get away with drunk driving. How many times do I have a DWI? How much time will I get for a second or third DWI? How many more times do I have cursing out a friend? How many times do I have before my boyfriend decides he’s tired of picking me off the floor, or cleaning me up or dealing with my drama? How many times have I been arrested? How many times I can make it work late before I’m fired or how many times have I called in sick? It was always about time. I watched the clock.

I used to wonder what people meant when they said “you need to get some help.” Or what I meant when I said to myself after a binge “I need to get my life together.’

It’s the responsibility. Being an alcoholic is a very disruptive life. It steals everything. I go out to the bar never knowing if I’m making it home. You become a burden to soceity, family and friends. You become an embarassment. You become a liability. Everyone stops taking you serious. It's like you're a "grown-child."

I get it now. Yesterday after my seventh AA meeting off and on, I finally got it. I remember my first AA meeting, it was a nightmare. I got to the building and I immediately noticed the homeless looking drunks standing outside. I didn’t stay for long. I thought the people were old and ugly and just freaky looking. I told myself I was nothing like that. I felt safe that I wasn’t an Alcoholic. But I forgot completely why I sought the A.A. meeting. I had my first blackout. I was coming from a sex party and completely blacked out. I found myself standing in front of a grocery store trying to figure out what the building was. IT was so fucking creepy. I felt out of control.


My second AA meeting was in the hospital after I tried to commit suicide. I was in the mental ward and two guys came to the hospital to speak about A.A. They were very well dressed guys and good looking. We were the same ages, our late twenties. I liked what they had to say. They gave me their number but I never called. The day I got out the hospital I was drunk that night. And didn’t stop drinking for a week.

I would go to AA and I usually sat in the back and didn’t “share (that’s when you say hi I’m Michael Whitley and I’m alcoholic).” I hoped no one noticed me.
I never said it. I didn’t say the serenity prayer. In the end when they went over the 12 steps I tuned them out. I was just going through the motions of it. I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. I was doing it partly to prove to my boyfriend I was trying. I was doing it partly as public relations. I was doing it like logging hours. In the beginning in AA I was like what they called “a head full of AA and a belly full of booze.”

It really is like trying to lose weight. I was trying to lose the weight of my disruptive life. “Fat girls don’t get skinny over night, but fat girls must first want to be skinny.” It also like saying, “drunks don’t get sober over night, there’s the hangover, and then drunks must first want to get sober.” Some of us think we can cheat the system. There isn’t a pill. There’s just hard work and discipline.

I hate to think that I can never take another drink in my entire life. It makes me want to scream. It makes me want to throw the furniture across the room. It makes me walk down the street and punch the first person I see in their face. It makes me want to burn down the AA buildings and say fuck it. It makes me so damn angry, and then I want to cry and bawl myself up in the fetal position and just die. I have dreams about drinking. I have dreams about going out of town, getting a couple of bottles, maybe some smack, and for a week, just drink and drug, and I tell myself nobody will know. It’s the worse lie. When you’re an alcoholic, you can never hide it. I start wanting to get talkative. I start calling people. It’s a very lonely disease.

And I think of Time again. Am I just buying time to my next drink? Will it take a month or a year? Will it take ten years? Am I just buying time to my relapse? I smile when I think of my relapse. I want to relapse.

But I know the truth. I’m a fat girl who wants to be skinny. Yes, right now I want it for all the wrong reasons. I want it for the vanity. I want people to like me again and not judge me again. I will eventually want it for my health. I’m a drunk who wants to be sober. I want to have friends again. I want to be able to keep a job again. I want a life again.

Funny, I had been going to the AA meetings off and on for the last two years, and Saturday was the first time I actually got the 12 steps. I honestly never really paid attention. Like I said, I would go to the AA meetings, usually after a binge and feeling guilty, and I sit in the back pondering my next drink. But Saturday was the first time I understand the first step. “I’m powerless over alcohol and my life has become unmanageable.” I felt like finally somebody fucking got me. And then I looked around the room and suddenly those people weren’t freaks, they were my people. They were just like me, old and young, straight and gay, black and white. The room was packed that night, like 45 people.

I decided to share “Hi, I’m Michael Whitley and I’m an alcoholic.” It felt good. The demon finally had a name. The disease finally had a name. It wasn’t some crazy shit that kept happening to me. It had a name. And if it had a name, maybe it had a cure. Maybe I could get my life back. But there’s also sadness. It had a name so I don’t have anymore excuses. I get it. I get it. I get it.

Yet, I know I’m an addict and we are very clever people and I’m hard head and stubborn but I’m also very resilient. I’m four days sober now. I hate counting the days because it makes me watch the clock. It’s like I’m counting down to my next relapse. And I hear somebody saying, be positive, think positive, but I know the truth. I will think the truth. I will be proactive with the truth. 90 percent of people born in poverty return to poverty. 90 percent of addicts return to their addiction. 90 percent of people who try to lose weight end up gaining the weight back. Yet, I’m an “A” student. I used to be overweight, about 40 pounds overweight and I’ve kept it off for over ten years. It’s not easy. I had to relearn food. I had to accept I was going to exercise for the rest of my life. Funny, the alcohol did help because I ate less. I know it’s going to be a challenging life. It’s a life. It’s my life. I want to tell a different alcoholic story. I want to tell the truth.

Yesterday, my boyfriend gave me twenty dollars to go to the grocery store and I immediately thought to myself, liquor money. But I didn’t buy any liquor. I want to not drink more than I want to drink. I get it. I get it. I get it.

And now the hard question, do I really want to get better? I'm I ready for the lifestyle change? I get it. I do get it. It's just so damn hard.

Happy Birthday to me

I guess this is the end of the "Drug and Drinking" years. I'm now 31 years old.

How we treat black women has to stop!!!!!!!!!

In the wake of Anita hill, I remember when my father dragged my mother across the floor. I was so hurt by that. I didn’t understand why my father would hurt the person who gave me birth. It was the slavery. And every time I look on the television, some black male is taking away my birth. Puff Daddy put Jennifer Lopez in the spotlight and he never disrespected her. But look at the hoes, so called, he put on stage at the MTV awards. How we treat black women has to stop men. They say “nappy headed hoes” but where did that come from, NWA. Snoop dog took two black women on a chain to the MTV awards and he was still married. What is up with this!



Gwen Stafini gets to sing a Marlon, but what happened to lauryn hill. It’s like we hate ourselves. I wrote an article on dark skin black women, and I got so many response back. They needed to hear it. They needed to hear it.

don't look at the sun

I decided to look into it
Some artist pretend
This the artist poem
I looked into
And that’s crazy
If you look into it
Let it speak to you
Let it speak to you
This is my last poem
On the high of the sun
Don’t look into it
But look into it


But you won't have control of it
it's want everything
It will make you insane
Everybody you think is a good person
As artist
Looked into
I shouldn’t have looked into
And now it’s calling me
And now it’s calling me
But your name will be remembered

today is a new day

today i did something i thought i would never do. I went into the cabinet and poured all my liqour out. It felt great. I flushed my weed and other drugs down the tolilet. I thought about giving it to some friends because i hate to waste drugs but i was like, i'm not supporting anybody's habit.

i woke up this morning and realized, my father was addict, my mother was addict, my grandmother was an addict, my sister was an addict, and i watched it destroy thier lives. It's not going to happen to me.

i'm walking away. shit i'm running. this is my promise to myself. to get better. it really is one day at a time.

I wrote this my third day in the mental hospital.

My mother is missing. I talked to my middle sister and she says our mother has disappeared for a year. She usually disappears for big moments of time but never a year. I felt in my sould that she died. I don’t even know if I care.

Today is my third day in this hell and I want out. I can’t believe I went too far to put myself in a mental ward. All they do is medicate you. All do is sleep and eat that nasty ass hospital food. And my dreams have been so crazy lately. They have been really violent; I think it’s the med. I could feel my heart race in my sleep but can’t wake. My dreams have been so vivid.

I need to figure out what’s wrong with me. I need to figure out before it goes too far. I can’t go back home, not now, I think I will be here a couple of days, not after what I did, i can't go home. I can’t go back, I’m too damn embarrassed. All the neighbors hate me. I think they are plotting against me. I can’t seem to act right. I don’t know what’s going on anymore. I’m losing days. I’m losing sleep. I’m jobless. I got myself backed into a wall and it’s not cute. I don’t think I can get another job in DC. I’ve quit like 50 jobs since I've been in this city for four years. A normal person doesn’t get 50 jobs in a year. Every year I do my taxes and I’m so surprised by how many w2s I get. Nobody is going to hire me. I ain’t got any money.

I’m hearing the voices again. I’ve been hearing them my entire life but they are getting louder. They are getting bolder. I keep telling myself I got to survive this. I got plans for my life. I knew I should’ve never started AA because sobriety only makes me deal with my issues. I’d gotten so use to avoiding any human interaction, any human feeling. I know I can be sane; I just need to wait it out. I just need to wait the therapy out. I decided to try something new, get help and now I just feel uncomfortable. Tom says I have no self restraint. He says I give into all my temptations. He’s right. I’m impulsive but it’s worked for me for years. I just hate when it starts calling me, the voices. I hate Wednesdays, and at first it’s just a whisper. Then it gets louder. And if I try to ignore further, it starts yelling.

The voices in my head go back and forth, talking calming and then belligerent but soon I find myself walking to the liquor store or nearest drug dealer house and then voices keep telling me to take whatever I need to take to shut them the fuck up. To feel normal again. To have peace in my head and then it’s that devious smile. It’s that same smile I get on my face when I know whatever chemical I put in my body has changed my personality. I’m Sean again. And then that’s when Tom tells me the look in my eyes change. He says I change like 180. I just want revenge. I just want revenge.

Is that what I want? I want them to pay. I want them to understand I haven’t forgotten. But it’s all so pointless. My life is nothing like it was when I was a kid. I think all I want is now is to survive. My psychiatrist calls it post traumatic syndrome. I keep having the nightmare. Even so many years later I keep having the nightmares. I don’t understand why it won’t leave me alone.

Then I remember how much I was beat. Beat down. And I had to escape. I had to escape the physical torture. Yet, I still want for it to love me. I don’t think I want revenge at all. I want for it to love me.

I’m beginning to realize I’ve only know people who hurt me. And I wonder if a person like me who’s come from such abuse ever heal?

Maybe that’s my life story. Maybe that’s my life story. Maybe that’s why it has to make sense. I will do something GREAT!!!!!! With this pain. I won't let it go silent. I won' t let it destroy itself.

I know i can be sane.

i am listening

i am breathing
i am paying attention
i am breathing
i am listening.