In the begining.....

Breathing Under Water by Carol Bieleck

I built my house by the sea.

Not on sand mind you;

Not on the shifting sand.

And I built it of rock.

A strong house

By a strong sea.

And we got well acquainted the sea and I.

Good neighbors.

Not that we spoke much.

We met in silences.

Respectful, keeping our distance,

But looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.

Always, the fence of sand our barrier, 

Always, the sand between.

And then one day, and I still don’t know how it happened

The same came

Without warning.

Without welcom, even

Not sudden and swift, but a shifting across the sand like wine.

Less like the flow of water than the flow of blood

Slow, but coming

Slow, but flowing like an open wound.

And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning 

And I thought of death

And while I thought the sea crept higher, til it reached my door

And I knew then, there was neither flight, nor death, nor drowning.

That when the sea comes calling you stop being neighbors 

Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance, neighbors

And you give your house for a coral castle,

And you learn to breathe under water.

     I stood in the hallway of our town house in New England screaming at the top of my lungs “You’re not enough, he’s not enough, this will never be enough.”  My wife nearly dehydrated from tears, protecting our 1 month old baby from the mad man I had become.  After 16 years of active addiction to alcohol, cocaine and heroine, who I once thought I would be was now overshadowed by this monster. A monster that had just torn apart our home looking for 20 bucks in order to get my next fix.  “Not me” I used to say. I would never choose weed over my college education. “Not me” I would never choose alcohol over my career. “Not me”, I would never choose cocaine over my good friends.  “Not me”, I would never choose my addiction over my wife. “Not me”, I’ll never choose a bad of dope over my son.  Fact is, I had lost the power of choice.  Over a decade of choosing a lifestyle of insanity had finally caught up with me.  Physically, new neuropathways had effectively paved new roads to my lymbic system.  I’d choose drugs over family, food, water, shelter. I was doing the thing that killed me as if my life depended on it.  Emotionally, I had lost the ability to feel anything.  One last faithful companion decided to stick around for the ride. His name was fear. Spritually, I was bankrupt. I had no idea who I was or where I was going.  Any value this life had to offer had completely vanished.
      To be completely honest with you I have no idea why I decided to start this blog.  Maybe I just needed to write.  Maybe I needed somewhere to confess.  Whatever it may be I decided to plagarize the title of a book “Breathing under water” by Ricard Rohr in an attempt to share my journey through recovery.  As Rohr says “We suffer to get well. We surrender to win. We die to live. We give it away to keep it.”  This is my journey, your welcome to join or jump off whenever you’d like.