Shame Vs. Guilt

Shame was one of the meeting topics a couple weeks ago. Y'know, how our personal shame led to our drinking or drugging or overeating or oversexing or over-anything-ing. The meeting chairperson described how his shame about his sexuality, coupled with shame of not being good enough in school or sports to please his parents, led to his escape down the rabbit hole of drugs & alcohol. As others in the group shared similar stories, I searched and searched for shame in my life. And raised nothing but an empty net.

But, the format was a round-table discussion and as we went around the circle each attendee was asked to share. I couldn't really get out of this one but what did I have to say on the topic if I couldn't find things that brought me feelings of shame? I thought, "Oh, I'm ashamed of much I did while I was drunk or high." So I shared that feeling and some of those stories. And when I finished the next person began to speak.

He shared his shame and the next person shared hers. Then the gentleman three seats down from me began his share. But he opened with something that surprised me... he said, "When I look at this question, I have to remember shame is about my self-pereception and guilt is about something I've done... or failed to do."

Hmmmmm.

I'd never thought about shame versus guilt in that way. When I did, I realized what I had shared moments before was about guilt, not shame. And that felt right...the definitions he gave them felt like they "fit."  I thought, "Yeah, this guy just taught me a lesson on life."

 

When I was at home that night, I searched the question more. What I'm realizing is that getting over shame is about changing the way we view ourselves and getting past guilt is about righting the wrongs we've done and trying not to do them again. I like to think I've done my best to learn from my mistakes though. And yeah, I may make some of them again. Might have to relearn some lessons which, hopefully, I'll approach with new tools and a different perspective. But I try to keep trying to learn from all of it. Without much shame, I don't feel the need to look in the mirror and say, "You're a good man. A beautiful person, not a loser" etc. etc. etc. Looking at my guilt however is a different story. So I learn and grow and hopefully will be a better man tomorrow from those lessons.

That's what this whole topic meant to me. It wasn't about shame versus guilt. About who I was or what I've done. It was about lessons. The instruction manual on life I've always felt was never published for me... or for any of us. I realized in that meeting room that there was a manual and it was right there in front of me every day. It's present in our shared experiences. When I'm watching and listening - when I'm present - I learn from all around me.

I've never been a dishwasher before but on my first day of work the manager said, "You really know what you're doing." I didn't learn that from doing it though...I learned that from being aware of what the dishwashers did in other places I've worked. Whether it's watching the barista kindly manage a rude customer or hearing a woman on the bus share a story with her friend about how she overcame the grief of losing her husband, the instructions are there. The lessons may come from those older or younger. Friend or foe. Sometimes even from nature. My instruction manual is written but doesn't have a table of contents. The pages pop up randomly each and every moment of each and every day. They're in the lessons others have already learned and they surround me every day. When I walked in that meeting room that day, I didn't know the difference between shame and guilt. When I walked out that afternoon, I was a wiser man.

I have a feeling this lesson on lessons isn't one I'll have to relearn.

Be well, my friends...

-j

Desperation? Or Surrender?

In my meetings the past day or two, there's been quite a lot of talk about desperation. Maybe it has something to do with the snow & ice we've been experiencing here in Portland. Everything's been beautifully challenging. People have been stuck in their homes looking out on a crystal clear ice-scape. Gorgeous plants locked in tiny globes of frozen beauty, ready to now die. I walked out in this winter wonderland, eyes taking it all in in amazement, and started to drive to my meeting. Then, as my car slid on the slick pavement, I parked, left my car in a random neighborhood and tried to bus it. Buses which were off-schedule or not running at all. I walked. Fifty blocks. To a meeting. So maybe it was due to the ice or snow; this talk of desperation. The weather reminding us of the cold, frozen embrace of the drug.

But as other addicts began talking about hitting a point of desperation in their drug & alcohol use, I couldn't relate. I just didn't get it. They talked about how they needed to reach a place of despair in order to walk out one door and through another into the rooms. I never felt that despair. Still don't see it in hindsight. Not even after losing two homes. Living on the streets of Las Vegas. Being broker than a ninety-two year old toothless hooker. Losing a job a loved. And watching my roommate flee in her own desperation to get away from me. All of which drugs & alcohol played a large part in (yes I finally admit it, darn it!). I still never despaired. However, ten days ago, I did something else. I surrendered.

 

The idea isn't mine. A gentleman in the meetings was talking about how he never felt desperate but instead surrendered. Maybe the idea wasn't even his. Maybe he heard it from someone else. Y'know, they say you hear what you need to hear if you're listening... and, boy, am I glad I was listening at that moment. Because it's often easy to focus on the differences between ourselves and others but it's sometimes much more beneficial to focus on the similarities. And that similarity with that one man was what I needed to hear to connect to that meeting's topic, "Willingness." Over and over I kept feeling different because I didn't need to feel desperate to feel willing to change. But I did need to surrender to that willingness.

For years, I surrendered to the drug. To other drugs & booze that were gateways or disinhibitors. I surrendered to the idea that this is the way my life was. That I was using recreationally. Surrendered to the thought that I couldn't change. Or couldn't succeed if I tried. For two decades I surrendered to feeling powerless to do anything about it. Then, ten days ago, I realized I was only surrendering to my addiction.

But no more. I no longer surrender to the drugs & alcohol. No longer surrender to my addiction. Desperation wasn't my path. Instead...

 

...today, I surrender to the program.

I surrender to my Sponsor's guidance.




I surrender to my Higher Power.




I surrender to the life I deserve.




I surrender to my destiny.

 
For once, I will finally surrender to giving you, my friends, the friendship and love you all deserve. To giving you the friend you always knew I could be. Thank you for staying by my side. For you, I'm grateful.

-j

Self Care

For a few months now, I've been meaning to write a "Monday Moment" post on this topic. One of the many things I realized after my gig as a homeless guy and my move to Portland is that a mini "spa day" does wonders for the mind (and body).

In many (many) ways, much of what I have been doing recently can be placed under the "Self-care" column. I mean, that's about all I've been focused on these past few weeks - myself. No job. No roommate. No cleaning (obviously). No pets (well, J.B. is here with me and getting very, um, "Rubenesque" - I think he's gonna be the size of a catfish soon). But I have been working through this psychosis, taking my meds, finding safe places to heal. But I haven't been caring for my "self" - for the vessel in which my spirit resides.

Whoa... that sounds too New Agey for me.

But it's true. That word "holistic" means "Mind. Body. Spirit." And maybe that's one of the few New Agey things I can relate to.

And although much of what I've been doing falls in that self-care category, my mind is still broken, my spirit is down and my body - well, I haven't been taking much care of it at all (other than detoxing from the drugs & alcohol).

So today, I revisited that lesson on self-care that I learned not too long ago. It was far from a mini-spa day. No mani-pedi's or soaks in a hot tub. Definitely no massages. But I took a long, long shower. Trimmed and shaped my beard. And conditioned it. I gave myself a haircut. Plucked & tweezed (darn random middle-age hairs in hard-to-reach places!). Clipped my nails. Did laundry and wore something I liked...and which liked me, heh! I put new sheets on the bed and I napped. I watched a couple episodes of Grace & Frankie (I've finished the season...looking forward to the next!). I cooked three meals for myself. Pancakes, sausage & eggs for breakfast. Reheated homemade soup for lunch. And pasta with pesto for dinner. Oh, and I baked bread.

I still took my meds. Went to a meeting. Called a friend. But it was those other things - the true self-care - that made the difference in my day. And, in the end, whether it was true to the outside world or not, I looked and felt good... mind, body & spirit. The last of which I did nothing - and everything - for.

Be well, my friends.

I feel I'm getting there.

-j

One Small Step...

Today I took my next steps toward healing and health. And those steps required stepping...out into the world. Something I haven't done much of (if at all) since the break last month.

While discussing my psychosis with the psychiatrist, he stated the following:

Diagnosis: Inconclusive
Prognosis: Good

The diagnosis is understandable, especially in a mental health context. Although the evaluation was more than two hours long, it far from communicated all symptoms and experiences over these past two years and we barely touched on the lifetime of potential causations and actions that may hold relevance. However, more than inconclusive, he stated the following:

A) a late-life psychotic break such as mine is rarely attributed to recent manifestation of bipolar or schizophrenic disorders, both of which generally become apparent prior to ones' thirties.

B) based on my dive (swim? immersion? embrace?) into drugs - especially methamphetamine - last year, the auditory & visual hallucinations may be a lingering effect from using. An effect that can take up to three friggin' years!  to resolve.

Three years?!?! What the what?

Anyway, that's where the Abilify (my anti-psychotic) came into play. Doc gave the option of staying unmedicated or taking a small dose of one of the less powerful AP meds for a few months to act as a bridge while my mind re-wires itself and returns to normal...or a "new normal" (which means I may never re-wire perfectly... quite possible and very likely).

Hence the "Good" prognosis.

And the meds seem to be working...a bit. Especially since we upped the dose - and I ended my brief little attempt at numbing with drugs. As I said, they don't make the crazy go away...but make it much more bearable & acceptable in my head.

So, what does a guy with all of the above do? He takes baby steps.

All three were about support. The first, support of my peers. Other tweakers. Not twerkers (never could twerk...don't wanna learn...tweaking was plenty embarrassing for me, heh!). Crystal Meth Anonymous (CMA) is a 12-step program specifically for recovering meth heads. Like me. And for one hour today, I listened to my tribe talk about their experiences in a way that mirrored my life.

They talked about being robbed for their electronics. Or their drugs. About hanging out with people they didn't like just so they'd have someone to do drugs with. Or get drugs from. There was talk of the "tweak" - the diligent, focused attention on a project or thing or idea that comes during meth use. Someone shared a story about waking up in the doorway of a business after a four day binge he doesn't remember. Oh, and that waking up happened yesterday. Another guy's story was about when he wanted to jump (from 17 floors up). And they shared the one thing that kept them from hitting a literal rock bottom...and, trust me, it's only ever one thing at that point. The point of wanting to jump. And thank you universe for always allowing me to realize that one thing before I even got close to thinking about jumping.

I never jumped because my one thing was you. Or, more specifically, your love. A guy like me - who has more love in his life than any one man deserves - can, with a little luck, find that one thing by looking in almost any direction other than down.

CMA will be a thing for me now. And I'll start working the steps. And I'll stay true to the program. And you'll always find me in the rooms. 'Cuz it works if you work it.

After the meeting, I met up with my friend Gay for a belated Christmas lunch. She gave me a loaf of sweet poppyseed bread. I gave her nothing since I'm kinda broke. But we had a wonderful chat. You see, Gay and I have known each other for twenty-four years. We've been through a lot together - which is

Gay, kicking back at my 40th birthday shenanigans

an understatement. And that day six weeks ago, when I saw people in camouflage hiding in the trees spying on me...well, I called Gay. And she showed up almost immediately. About as quickly as the police did (I called them right afterward). Today was the first day she'd seen me since then. She let out a sigh of relief as she talked about how I looked so much better. How scared she was. How it looked like I was returning to...me, I guess. Then we talked about politics. And books. Oh, how we both love books - she's an English teacher. I'm a...writer? Who knows what I am. Except crazy ;)

I came home after lunch. Lounged. Napped. Watched another episode of Grace & Frankie (an awesome show everyone except me has seen - even Gay has seen it and I didn't even know she owned a television!!!). Then I ventured out into the slush for the last of my three small steps today.

My day ended with another 12-step meeting...Alcoholics Anonymous this time. Twelve-stepping started with alcohol. We have these spinoffs now...like CMA, or Narcotics Anonymous, and Overeaters Anonymous. So even when alcohol isn't the drug of choice, AA meetings are still there (and more plentiful) to help with ones recovery. Plus I always liked a drink or twelve. Not as much as meth though.

AA meetings aren't really my thing as I don't connect with the stories or the people as much. But they offer that one thing I needed. Fellowship. That sense of belonging. Of being in the right place. Of listening. Being heard. And, most importantly, of being present. So I was. Present. And I listened. And spoke a little. And, in the end, it was good. Because I came home, wrote this blog, took my pills, watched an episode of Grace & Frankie, then went to sleep. Oh, after eating a slice of sweet poppyseed bread.

And those are all healthy things. With no hallucinations. And no illegal drugs. And as alone as I am in my bed tonight, I don't feel lonely.
 
 

Of course, I never did - because of you, dear reader.
 

And here's today's selfie...with smile, as promised ;)

Maybe tomorrow I'll clean the house. 'Cuz my new normal does not include a sink full of dishes!

Be well, my friends....

j-

A.P. Lessons in Life

The form asked: Reason For Visit

I wrote: Psychotic Break

About halfway through my initial intake, the psychiatriast looked up from his notepad and said, "Yep, that's exactly what a psychotic break is."

Yay for me for getting it right?!?!

That was six weeks ago. Things haven't improved much since then. But today - Christmas Day - I received a small miracle. Unlike most other days lately, I only distrust half of you instead of all of you. That's the miracle... and my A.P. lesson for this semester.

In this context, A.P. could mean "Advanced Placement" for my experience is arguably one of lifes more advanced lessons...for myself & those around me. Today, A.P. stands for anti-psychotic - the class of drugs prescribed in an effort to help me find a "new normal."

Y'know what? I miss my old normal, crazy as it was. (Pun most definitely intended!)

With everything I've been through plus the things I've done to myself added to a genetic predisposition for mental illness, it's a wonder I've made it this long without cracking. Finally did though. And now the question asked by a beautiful soul in my life...

And What's Next?

I don't know. I tried anti-psychotics. When they weren't working I tried numbing it with booze (again). And when that wouldn't quiet the voices (and, yes, there were voices), I escaped in drugs again for a brief moment. That definitely doesn't quiet the voices but it sure does make them more entertaining, heh!

In the end, I have no idea what's next. They've upped the dosage on my meds and that was enough to get me out of the house to buy some groceries. Still wasn't enough to get me up & cleaning the kitchen though. Maybe next week.

But it was enough to allow me to write (and hopefully publish) this blog entry. Writing is a salve for my mind. Sharing is the way I work through resolving my challenges. If I have the strength to write and the courage to share, I can tackle almost anything. Please let this be one of those things.

After that healing begins, it's on to the job & housing front. Both of which are gone. That's what happens when you start seeing things (yes, there were hallucinations too) and call the police who then send you to the psych ward and you miss a shift at work. But, man, those officers were so understanding and compassionate. Portland PD, hats off to you guys.

Geez, I really loved that job.

And my roommate took off in the middle of the night then texted a week later to say I can stay til the end of the lease. She has found other accommodations til then. That's what friends are for, right? And I know it's got to be scary in some ways but I was up-front & non-threatening. I couldn't hurt a fly.

Sigh.

So that's my Christmas gift to you. To let you know I'm alive if not fully well. Just burning through another of many life lessons I'm smart enough - and strong enough - to Ace.

If I write more about this journey, I want to include a selfie in each post to gauge my progress - or lack of. Here's todays...

I'll do my best to smile in the next one.

Be well, my friends...

j-

Bonus!!!

As much as I'd like this AIDS/LifeCycle journey to be altruistic, I have to admit there are some unexpected benefits that go beyond the money raised for vital HIV/AIDS services.











And I'm going to be totally candid. One of the greatest benefits is the butt.

Seriously. I'm a butt & leg guy. Always have been. Boobs? Awesome! Six packs? Amazing! A gorgeous smile? My downfall. But muscular legs & butt? OMG, I'm in heaven!




So, yeah, the ride tested our limits. Helped us realize what we thought impossible. Connected us to a community of heroes. But it also offered a lot of distraction in the way of muscular legs & bubble butts. It's a side effect of what we do. Just think about my training for ALC - hundreds of thousands of rotations on the pedals. Each one working the gluteus maximus to maximus status. And forming the quadriceps to an exceptionally brilliant form. And that, my friends, makes for some seriously sweet eye candy.


Each day as I pull my jeans over my new thighs & buttocks, I'm reminded of the personal benefits I get from the ride. And they're more than external. My lung capacity has also increased. My resting heart rate and blood pressure has decreased. My body eliminates toxins more effectively than when I wasn't working out. My mind - oh my mind - I can't even describe the high one gets from the endorphins & sense of accomplishment achieved after a 50-mile ride.

And then there's the science of it all (sorry folks, I'm a bit of a science & numbers geek). By the age of 30, most men start losing muscle mass instead of gaining it. By 40, our bone density begins to diminish. Yes, we're aging but that doesn't mean we can't counterbalance nature by putting in some effort. I'll be the first to admit it's not easy. Getting on that bike 3-4 times a week is tough. Pulling on those resistance bands a few hours each month is far from exciting. And stretching it all out afterwards - well, I could write a whole entry on the pain of foam rolling. But, in the end, it's all worth it. It's mostly mind over matter. But I also somehow get through it all by recognizing those moments where I think, "Gee, the thighs of my jeans are damn tight." Or, "My bum seems to be getting really muscular." Yes, we pay a price - like the hardcore tan lines we acquire. But that is a small price to pay for the health benefits we get along the way.

Yes, we AIDS/LifeCycle riders are participating in the ride, and raising monies, to save lives. But one of the things we often forget is that in doing this, we're also extending our own lives. Most of the effects we don't see - the heart rate, blood pressure or bone density. And some we do see - like the weight loss, strength improvement or increased endurance. Then there are the the benefits we see when we slide into that spandex. The meaty thighs. The shapely butt. The trimmer waist. And if sometimes that's what it takes to keep us motivated to save the world, then so be it.






And, if all else fails, we can always focus on the crotch shots in lycra we see for the week on the ride (but that's a whole other blog entry!).






Okay... I think every single one of us who rides ALC can say we want to be selfless in supporting the cause. But it's impossible. Because through our dedication to the event, we get an added bonus. We raise the bar for our own healthcare. We acquire physical benefits - seen & unseen - that we weren't even thinking about. We do good for others while at the same time doing good for ourselves. And that, my friends, is a damn fine picture to paint.

(I still have the skinniest legs in this photo... argh!)

Here We Go... Again!

And so it begins.

Y'all knew this was coming. I knew this was coming. But even after completing my ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles just a couple months ago, I can't believe I'm planning on doing it again.

You followed my journey for an entire year and watched me cross the finish line after 545 miles. You offered words of support for my ride, gave me a hug at the start, or bought a jersey for me to wear. You read my story in Instinct Magazine. You dealt with my constant fundraising requests on Facebook or in your inbox. You donated to the cause and we raised over $14,000 to help support HIV/AIDS programs at the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and the LA Gay & Lesbian Center. I did it. And I did it with your help. So why am I riding again?

You know, after blogging for an entire year about the reasons I ride you would think that I would have run out of things to write about. That all the reasons would have been exhausted. But nothing could be further from the truth. You see, with over 22 years of HIV work & activism under my belt, I have more reasons than I care to count. And, since our work isn't done, more reasons present themselves more often than I like. In fact, one of those presented itself just a couple weeks ago when another friend passed away.

But I don't want to kick off this year in a melancholy way. I want to start off with one of the more cheerful reason I'll be riding again... one of the 2,800 reasons that bring a smile to my face when I think of one of them. Like Kerry, my cyclist rep last year - and again this year. I'll forever feel blessed that I had that moment with her and Mel at the starting line a few months ago. Then there's my friend Brendan who I hardly saw this year since he was a Roadie - but next year he's going to ride which means I'll see him on the road a lot more. There's Marni who was in the caboose and who (in some ways, thankfully) I didn't see too much of in June. I hear Team Swiss will be riding again - and who can pass up a chance to ride with them?!?! Andy who carried a sweater for me one day. And Suzi who was the Peep Sweep. Ahhh, then there's my Shelley who I was lucky enough to see a few times during the week - but not nearly enough. And one of the many superheroes I came to know... Tara, another Vegas peep. Jim - former staffer and now a rider in 2014. Hell, ALL the amazing staff... like Eric & Cailin & Megan and of course Greg. New riders and old friends like Justin. Old friends and past Roadies like my tentmate Eric. Maybe I'll see Keith & Jorge again. Or Kirstie. Jillian & Steve? I hope so. But, most of all, I hope to see my team from last year.

Dan & Molly & Erik & Jonathan & Harold. Jose & Paul &  Duke & Derek & Randy. I know Jeremy's not going to be able to ride this year but maybe Jamaal's leg will be healed enough to ride. Or Martijn or Dominic will be able to join us this year. Even with a week on the road - and nearly a year of training - I didn't get to spend anywhere near enough time with these amazing folks. Maybe this year I'll get moving a little faster in the morning and be able to ride out with Erik one day. Or maybe Molly will choose to Roadie instead of ride and I'll get to see her at one of the rest stops every day. If luck's on my side, Dan and I will be able to share a few more meals together. Or Randy and I will get to ride side-by-side just a little longer.

So many more... all the Pos Peds. Tim & Stefan & Bear & Bob & Deyon. My friends from Team San Diego. And Team Long Beach. And Team Portland - including the new recruit, my friend Rayme. There's Deborah - the woman who I only shared a moment with one

afternoon while in line for the Port-a-potties but whose hug was one of the many memories I'll hold with me forever. And anyone & everyone who had to hear my belt out the Brady Bunch's "It's A Sunshine Day" over & over again up that damn hill on that chilly, gray morning. There's not enough space here to mention all of you I think of fondly and hope to get to know better in the coming year.

But I know one of them will be Jordan who's heading out to Vegas in November to ride with me in the local Bike MS event. My first big "official" ride of the season. One hundred miles on Saturday then another fifty on Sunday (remember the "recovery rides," heh!). There will be friends at the NorCal & SoCal Expo's & Kick-off events. Might even be fortunate enough to ride some training rides in both cities too. Tour de Palm Springs is on my calendar again. And of course Day On The Ride. And this year we'll be inviting riders out to the desert again for another amazing ALC Wild West Weekend in the spring!

And friends, just because I didn't mention you here don't think I've forgotten you. Far too little space to remember all 2,800 of you in this blog - but you've all got plenty of space right here in my heart.

So, yeah, I'm doing it again. All the cold nights. The foggy days. The lines for bike maintenance. The rush to shower, eat & set up camp after riding 109 miles in a day. The lines for port-a-potties (and the single-ply toilet paper). Waking at 4:30 a.m. and hearing people in tents all around me snoring like freight trains. But also coming around a curve and seeing the ocean right in front of me. The little chats at the rest stops, or dinner, or while waiting in line to use that single-ply paper. People I barely know stopping to help me with a flat tire. Or stopping to take a pic of me at one of the many scenic areas we pedal through. Climbing the Quadbuster again but this time doing it just a little faster - and sweating just a little less. And, of course, you. Those of you who stood by me those eleven months and cheered me on. Donated to the cause. Offered a word of support when I was feeling worn out. Gave me a jersey as a gift. All those Mavericks in Texas! Those of you who allowed me to take you along for the ride. You know, even after completing the ride, it's hard to

comprehend I did it... or that I can do it again. Can't explain that one. From what I hear, it never really goes away - that disbelief that you can actually ride 545 miles. But like they told me last year, I can do it... and today's the day I officially kick it all off - went on my first training ride this morning - 27 miles - not much but, eh, it's a start. And in kicking off this year's training I want to do it in anticipation of seeing all these amazing folks I've come to know in the ALC Love Bubble. And in anticipation of all the new folks I'll be meeting for the first time. I want to spend the next year hearing the stories of why they ride. Or getting to know each of them just a little better.





But maybe most of all, I want to finally wear the amazing superhero cape, handmade by Kerry & her little helpers, that I earned last year but didn't have a chance to wear ;)