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The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…
Chapter Thirteen: Anxiety
“It ain’t about how hard you hit, it’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.”
— from the film Rocky Balboa
*
“We made this bed for ourselves…now we gotta sleep in it.”
I remember being annoyed hearing Councilor John say this at the halfway house. He was right of course, but I still felt like life had sort of manipulated my reality to create this bed of mine in many ways. Whatever I wanted to say in that moment I didn’t as life had beaten me into silent submission then.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the time I spent in that halfway house recently. Missing it strangely enough— Is it weird to miss something you hated so much?
I’m realizing I felt safe there. “Safe from the demands of a demanding world,” I wrote in my journal last night.
I’m supposed to be grateful for being sober today, but I don’t often feel that way. Life continues to poke me. I move from task to task doing what I’m supposed to do, or trying at least, but don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere— When will I feel like I’m not just holding on by a thread?
In my journal last night, I complained about the amount of caffeine I’m consuming: “I’m constantly tired,” I wrote, “and that’s just making it worse…why can’t I just feel better?”
My bad day yesterday began when my car started a making a new noise in the morning. I have Willard’s Auto on speed dial at this point. With my three boys anything I do costs a fortune. I could sneeze and spend a hundred bucks I think. Yesterday, when my car starting making that noise, I turned up the volume on the radio and tried not to worry about it, but worrying is what I do.
In recovery, car problems are called “luxury problems”. Because when you’re in active addiction all you can think about is your drug, and so we are supposed to think it a “luxury” to have other things to worry about. Telling myself that yesterday didn’t make me feel any better.
Maybe that’s because I’m picking what teeth to chew on again. I have a no interest loan I’m paying to my dentist already, and more work I’m waiting to get done when my yearly allowance kicks in next year.
When I’m feeling overwhelmed like this I find myself getting irritated so easily I irritate myself.
Last night my mom was trying to be nice and offered a bunch of choices of things she could make for dinner. “Cook whatever you want mom,” I thought frustrated with her wanting me to choose. “You’re a great cook and I like everything you make…just don’t make me think about it please.”
Life at that halfway house was less complicated for sure. We ate whatever was served. Maybe that’s why I’ve been reflecting fondly on my time there—this demanding world is just too overwhelming.
Is having to choose what I want for dinner really overwhelming? … Or am I just being a b-word again?
Driving to school this morning, with all this going on in my head, I saw that old lady sweeping her driveway again. All year she tries keeping that driveway clean of leaves and sticks and snow. She must accept this impossible task because life is supposed to be a constant struggle I guess… Or maybe cleaning that driveway mindfully brings her some peace.
“You gotta get after that Jose.”
From beside me Mr. Joseph whispers to me. He’s talking about Miss Lily; who sits on stage in front of us with Principal Sam and two administrators from downtown. It is Monday morning, and this school cafeteria is filled with chatter amongst staff who are all wondering why we’ve been called in for this meeting today.
Turning, I see Mr. Joseph stick a finger beneath his mask to lick it before going back to those papers on his lap.
This math teacher has become a somewhat friend to me here. Lately he’s had fun imagining Miss Lily and I as an item. Her recent break-up has only fueled this little fantasy of his. “Go for it,” he said to me the other day. “If not for you, for me.”
Mr. Joseph fancies my single life, what he doesn’t know—or care to be told—is my single life isn’t what he imagines. When I told him I don’t date because of my boys, the way he eyed me I was pretty sure he took it to mean I have a bunch of wonderous one-night stands. “Nothing could be further from the truth,” I told him. “I’ve never had a single one.”
I do like playing with Mr. Joseph sometimes though. At our last teacher’s meeting I told him my convenience store story…
A few months ago, this pretty young girl was moving boxes at this convenience store I got to when I asked if she needed help. Doing so had me walking directly into a poll. Her and I watched it on a security camera after and shared a laugh.
A few days later that pretty young girl asked if I was single. Thinking I was maybe getting hit on, an excited little boy in my head bounced on his toes: “Oh my gosh,” it shouted gayly, “It’s happening!”
Uncomfortably confirming that I was in fact single that day, this pretty young girl then asked if she could set me up with her mom. In that moment, that excited little boy in my mind was immediately replaced by an old man pushing a walker with tennis balls at its end.
Everyone loves that story when I tell it. Even my grandfather laughed when I told him. Mr. Joseph was no different.
I think this math teacher watches too much Sex and The City with that wife of his. I got him to admit he watches that show the other day, but honestly it could have been any number of shows where everyone is hooking up with everyone.
In my experience as a single person, that’s just not how things are in real life. People like him just don’t believe that though; hence his fancying my single life—If he only knew how lonely my single life is.
I tried dating apps for a hot second. I put up a picture and didn’t advertise the complex nature of my life but still got no bites. The whole experience left me feeling more alone. While I do crave intimacy still; and might appreciate the distraction of a relationship—or to just feel wanted maybe—relationships take time I just don’t have with my boys right now. I wasn’t lying to Mr. Joseph.
Even if what he wants to believe was true, that life wouldn’t interest me and would most definitely come with drama I don’t want or need. Regardless, I can’t pay attention to what he wants for me at the moment…as my mind is concerned with other things.
After posting my article Saturday night, I anticipated a student contacting me; surprised for any number of reasons. I hate putting myself out there with a story and then having to wait to see if people like it or not. I ended up going to bed that night without hearing a word from anyone.
Sunday morning then came and went and still nothing. That’s when my car started making that noise. At that point I assumed the students just didn’t read it. Around noon I texted Lily: “Did any of the students say anything to you about the article?”
I got no response from Lily who goes “off the grid” from time to time. With her recent breakup, my mind had her dealing with more pressing issues.
My day was busy as I had all my boys with me, so I didn’t give her silence too much thought. That was until I got an email from Principal Sam: “EMERGENCY STAFF MEETING MONDAY MORNING BEFORE SCHOOL,” was the email’s headline sent to all teachers in all capital letters. Inside the email was a short message: “There is a situation we must discuss prior to the students arriving tomorrow. Please arrive at 7:30 AM for this MANDATORY meeting. — Principal Sam.”
I barely slept last night after reading that email; worried this had something to do with that ham sandwich story. I considered emailing Principal Sam to ask but didn’t. I did text Lily again to see if she knew what this meeting was all about but again received no response from her.
That story was meant to be a lesson. I wanted to teach the students that nothing is truly common sense and that we can be tricked by entertainment unknowingly. Sitting in this cafeteria now, worried about being exposed in front of the entire staff, I continue making excuses for why I wrote that story.
Not knowing what’s going on in my head, Mr. Joseph leans towards me again. “Grow some balls and ask her out,” he whispers; referring to Miss Lily once more.
Hearing this has me looking again at Lily on stage—Why didn’t she respond to me?
A minute passes and Principal Sam stands up. The chatter amongst staff slowly subsides. I feel my heart beating against my ribs as I watch Principal Sam take a few steps to the front of the stage.
“A tragedy has occurred,” Principal Sam begins. “Two of our students are in serious condition as we speak.”
A deafening silence fills the room. That heart, which was just beating hard in my chest, suddenly stops beating entirely—This definitely isn’t about me.
Principal Sam reads from a piece of paper. “Because of privacy laws we cannot share all the details with you now, but it is likely students will come in today knowing certain things. And we need to have a discussion regarding what we can and cannot say to them right now.”
I listen to a carefully edited description of this incident that happened over the weekend. Principal Sam tells us who these people behind her on stage are and why they’re here. Secretly I hope Principal Sam is being overdramatic like usual.
Please let this be one of those times, I think to myself.
“I’m going to invite Miss Lily to speak to with you now about how to best support our students,” Principal Sam says. “I again apologize for the lack of details, but our hands are tied. Please listen to what is suggested and see me privately with any concerns you may have after we break from this meeting.”
I watch Lily stand up and walk to the front of the stage as Principal Sam steps aside. Lily doesn’t read from a piece of paper, but I can tell every word she says has been carefully prepared as well. Again, no names of students are given. With what we are told, the fact Lily is not giving names seems silly to me—Secrets never stay secret…especially something like this.
I feel a mixture of fear and frustration as I listen to Lily. “No one has died,” Lily again assures us, “but things are still frightening and today will be a pivotal day.”
Looking at the administrators from downtown standing behind her, I wonder which one is here to make sure we properly protect ourselves—Maybe both.
Lily finishes.
“As the guidance counselor I am more of a friend than a teacher to our students, hoping to know what they might need I’ll meet with some of you one on one after this meeting. Specifically, with those who will be most affected, and perhaps most helpful, with this situation.”
The meeting ends and everyone gets up from their seats. Looking around the room I watch as adults seem lost; not knowing what to do or say. Mr. Joseph walks away from me and joins the group of teachers around Lily. I stand alone and watch from a distance.
Between scattered bodies I lock eyes with Lily; she gives me a look and what might be a small smile beneath her mask. I study the teachers around her. All of them look to be alarmed but I assume many of them cannot stifle their curiosity as to what students we are talking about.
Looking at me again, Lily aims her eyes at one teacher in particular— Does she want me to come save her?
Considering this question, I watch Lily edge her way through the sea of bodies surrounding her. I watch her walk towards me looking strong and confident as always. As she approaches, I try to think of something to say.
With her only a few feet away I see them pooling in her eyes…fresh tears. Lily doesn’t stop once she reaches me, instead she points to the door and waves her hand at me to follow.
Leaving the cafeteria, I follow her down the hall towards her office.
*
Article Title: P.A.I.N. through Anxiety
Dated: Friday, November 13th, 2020
“Anxiety is the illness of our age.”
— from The Heart of Buddha’s Teaching by Thich Nhat Hanh
When I go for those walks I’ve been telling you about, I’ve been listening to this audiobook titled The Heart of Buddha’s Teaching. In it the author continues his argument about anxiety being the illness of our age:
We worry about ourselves, our family, our friends, our work, and the state of the world. If we allow worry to fill our hearts, sooner or later, we will get sick. Yes, there is tremendous suffering all over the world, but knowing this need not paralyze us.
These are nice words… but what happens when it does paralyze us?
On November 19th, 2013, it paralyzed me. That was the day my good friend took his own life.
With everything going on this week, I’ll be using this article to share some of my pain and frustration with you, hoping it might help you cope with yours.
My friend, like me, came from a good family. He had a wonderful wife who had recently given birth to healthy baby girl. He had a great job running his dad’s family business. I had done a kitchen remodel for him a year earlier; everything seemed fine then, what he did that day just didn’t make sense to me.
After his death I learned that my friend’s brain had been playing tricks on him. Things got so complicated and convoluted in his mind, that he decided this world, and everyone in it, would be better off without him— If he only knew I fought with similar feelings myself, I thought sitting alone at his funeral.
Though I did not suffer like he did, I sat there that day with a million what if’s running through my mind.
What if I told him of my struggles? … What if we could have helped each other?? … What if I could have saved him???
I was in the heat of my opiate addiction at the time. Thinking I could “save him” sounds a bit “self-important” to me today. That’s a phrase I heard my councilor at the halfway house use a lot. I think that’s what pain does to us. It makes us want to have answers when sometimes there are none.
At my friend’s funeral—fully grasping the reality of that moment—my mind swelled to the edges of its skull. The pews of that church were filled with people that knew me. Looking around at them I began to sweat. With the walls of that church closing in on me, it felt as if all those people could see the guilt consuming me from the inside out.
Holding it together the best I could, my body began to literally shake, and I felt like I might throw up. Then, without warning, the tears came. My shoulders jumped up and down uncontrollably as I gasped for air…unable to catch it.
I sat there unable to do anything. For myself or my friend. The crushing sadness of that moment was just too much, and I completely lost it…in front of everyone. That might have been the first panic attack I ever remember having. Probably not, but maybe. It wouldn’t be the last.
Shortly after my friend’s funeral I attempted to kick my opiate addiction in secret. I did this by trying to do it cold turkey. This wasn’t my first attempt at trying to do it this way, but now I had to quit—for my friend.
I curled up on a couch in my basement with three fans on high surrounding me. The sound of the fans and that breeze helped distract my body from its attempts at crawling out of my skin.
Over a long weekend, I watched all the Rocky movies. Between punching, crying, sweating, and swearing I was doing my own impersonation of Rocky in that basement. The movies were merely on in the background.
There was a moment in the movies I do remember though. It was when Rocky’s wife Adrian goes into a coma after childbirth but wakes up just in time to tell Rocky, “I want you to win.”
Watching that scene, I imagined my friend as Adrian. I welcomed the delusion as it removed my desire for a pill in that moment. Imagining him sitting beside me I sort of choked on my heart: I’ll do it for you, I thought.
Unfortunately, I was never as strong as Rocky and that attempt at getting clean was just another punch in the face. My willpower and desire to do it for my friend just wasn’t enough.
Over time, I learned to accept that I could not have saved my friend as I continued to fight my own battles. He still needed me to win though. I’ve always known that deep down: That his pain and my pain would help someone with there’s someday.
On the day my friend took his own life he sat on a bed covered with pictures of loved ones. The time he took to place those pictures around him tells you everything you need to know about my friend’s heart. That heart must have felt heavy that day; weighed down by worries and fears no one understood.
Was his ending inevitable though? … What if he didn’t own that gun he used to take his own life?
As a kid I was never scared of guns. Year after year I remember wanting a BB gun for Christmas. Year after year I was disappointed. I was spoiled with gifts but never got that BB gun I wanted. As an adult I am scared of guns today but realize saying that out loud isn’t wise.
I am reminded of this every day I pick my son up from school. There I always see the same grey pickup truck with that sticker on its back windshield. “*uc* Gun Control,” it says; the letters F and K are replaced with assault rifles.
Hearing this story about my friend, you can imagine how I feel seeing this truck picking up their child from my son’s school. It’s always the same. I consider getting out of my car to knock on the window to say something, then my son shuffles out of school and heads in my direction, I smile at him and let myself forget what I wanted to say to this person.
This past week, with everything happening at our school, I sat in that line of cars boiling over this sticker. I imagined my freckled face friend sitting beside me and knew what he would say to me in that moment. “J—the only way to stop a bad guy with a gun, is with a gun.”
Sitting alone in my car, I looked over and asked my now imaginary friend a question, “Is that what you said sitting on the bed that day?”
“Oh shit!” My imaginary friend responded. “Shots fired … pop—pop—pop … You got me bro.”
My freckled face friend could be super funny when he was alive.
At thirty years old, with a pop of that gun—a gun he purchased legally to protect his family—my friend removed himself from this world and all its problems. And from his family forever. While that is the sad truth, I’ve come to believe my friend is one the reasons I’m your teacher today.
“Lives that inspire never expire.”
To kick my opiate addiction, I entered a detox facility soon after that little Rocky experience I just told you about. There a therapist encouraged I keep a journal where I wrote this thing about inspiring lives. Opening that journal this past week, I found a lot of irrational gibberish in it. There was a page where I wrote about starting a new internet for some reason.
When we are hurting, thinking a bit irrationally should be expected. Don’t beat yourself up for it like I did.
In that journal I also wrote about this idea I had while watching the movie X-Men. In the opening scene of that movie, Charles Xavier—the bald dude in a wheelchair—says this:
Mutation. It is the key to our evolution. It is how we have evolved from a single-celled organism into the dominant species on the planet. This process is slow and normally takes thousands and thousands of years. But every few hundred millennia, evolution leaps forward.
If I’m being honest with you, which I think is important right now, when I wrote that I was off opiates and alcohol but still smoked weed. When I heard those words in that movie a lightbulb went off in my head: That’s what we need, I thought and later wrote, another leap forward.
Was my friend somehow giving me ideas? Or was I just high? Does it matter?
Later, while watching a Star Trek movie, I wondered what must have transpired on Earth to make this “Enterprise” exist in the future. Here’s the entry I wrote about that:
It would take a massive amount of cooperation on this planet and require the bringing together of wealthy people in some sort of united vision. It would also require the encouragement of the masses to make possible…I think Star Trek needs an origin story.
I did not understand what any of that really meant back then. They were just pieces of information my mind was feeding me. But somehow, years later, all that information encouraged me to create this curriculum for you.
Maybe losing my good friend somehow brought us together?
I like to think it did.
Listening to other people tell me how to think or feel didn’t much help me when I was struggling. And I can remember getting really upset with people who tried. That said, I will not tell any of you how to think or feel right now, instead I will talk to myself for a quick moment.
“How you think and feel right now is temporary Mr. J. You are more durable than you realize. And you will survive this. Just don’t give up.”
I don’t remember everything from that period of my life. It’s probably better that I don’t. How I felt then seemed unbearable to me. Being sad hurts. The word sad is a simple word but the feeling is anything but.
My friend’s life served a purpose though and his memory gives me strength to this day. I told myself that if I ever did put that puzzle my mind was working on together, I would have him to thank.
Hoping that all of you are pieces to that puzzle, I will remember him now—I love you AJR, you are missed.
WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:
In your opinion, is an individual more likely to use a gun for protection or out of anger or frustration? Please answer thoughtfully and respectfully in your journals.
The Teacher’s Playlist:
Broken featuring Amy Lee by Seether
“I want to hold you high and steal your pain away.”
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(End of Chapter 13)
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Recovery High School 