Listen to chapter audio by clicking play above… Listen and Read at the same time to improve your “focusing fortitude” :0) Pictures related to chapter can be found by scrolling to bottom of this page. Enjoy the ride…
The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…
Chapter Seventeen: Regret
“I don’t want your suffering… I don’t want your future.”
—from the film X-Men: Days of Future Past
*
I was thinking about the different types of regret we experience when I was writing my article this week. And that kind you feel when you wish something was just a dream. When you wish you could go back in time and change things. But you can’t no matter how badly you wish for it—painful regret.
All regret is painful, I decided, some is just super painful maybe.
It’s Friday afternoon, December 11th, 2020, and I find myself at the memorial our school is having for Candace.
“You can’t save everyone Jose.”
Something Councilor John said to me once replays in my mind as I stand in front of this picture. I look at Candace’s face with no hood or mask covering its features. I see her thin blonde hair and can look into her brown eyes without making her feel uncomfortable. The young lady looking back at me from this flat lifeless surface attacks my emotions without restraint.
Candace is gone. Some of us barely knew her, yet we all stand here now realizing we loved her in some way— Why does it take something like this for people to realize that?
When Lily talked in the cafeteria that day there was hope Candace would pull through. Sadly, that didn’t happen. Lily was there when she was pronounced dead that night in the hospital. Lily told me it was the saddest moment of her life.
“She hated her teeth.”
Next to me Lauryn and Nel stand together. Whether Lauryn says this to me or Nel I’m not sure. I can barely hear what she says through that mask covering her mouth; another irritating element of this current reality of ours.
Nel drove Pras and Lauryn to this memorial. Arriving we all parked together. Neither of them had seen Lauryn cry about this yet. Today that changed.
“It was her f***ing birthday,” Lauryn cried into my shoulder while hugging me earlier.
Sunday, November 8th, was Candace’s birthday; the day after Lauryn and Candace had gotten together and smoked that weed. I knew that, but having Lauryn cry it into my shoulder provided a fresh circumcision of pain on my heart. Thankfully Lily was next to me and took Lauryn to collect herself.
Standing with everyone now, I take another quick look at Nel and see him looking strong beside Lauryn. He was made to come to this recovery high school after stealing some money from a teacher’s purse at his previous school. His parents blamed it on excessive drinking and had him sent here. He could have gone back to his school this year but stayed because of Lauryn.
How Nel’s parents feel about this is constantly discussed in emails and between teachers. Whether or not Nel truly struggles with addiction, only time will tell. I’m critical of him and I know it. Maybe it’s because he’s white, like me, and I’m allowed to be. In this moment however, I am connected to him because of how we both feel about Lauryn.
Candace’s death was a result of a tragic mistake. Zero blame is being placed on anyone today. This includes Lauryn’s mother; who is currently in treatment and has a legal battle ahead of her. Any honest adult will tell you they did plenty of stupid things in their youth. And that surviving mistakes is what lucky people live long enough to do. Whether Lauryn or her mother—who is only thirty-three years old herself—will ever accept this is unknown.
Visiting my grandparents at their nursing home before all this happened, I found myself wishing they would give out marijuana gummies like tic-tacs there. My generation will look at marijuana differently by the time I’m in a place like that— Why not make their life as enjoyable as possible? I thought visiting them. At this moment however, I find myself wishing all drugs just didn’t exist.
Being at this memorial has me thinking about how long I might have left with grandparents. Death doesn’t normally bother me much—I feel worse for the people we leave behind usually—but watching people grow old is extremely hard for me. With Covid I wasn’t allowed to visit my grandparents for a while, but even before I hadn’t visited much. Ever since that day I was forced to ask them for money…
“You ask them,” Sirena said, giving me an ultimatum, “or we are done!”
When I was working on the house after the fire I was super depressed and finding it impossible to stay focused on anything. I think that was after I did that electronic shock treatment…or maybe it was all at the same time. I thought Adderall; a medication prescribed for ADHD, might help at some point. Being denied by my doctor because of my history with addiction and my diagnoses, I asked my weed dealer if he could get his hands on some.
“Just use cocaine,” my dealer said after telling me he couldn’t, “it does the same thing…and it isn’t addicting.”
I liked all my dealers. They were like friends to me really. Not one of them was some master kingpin out there getting rich off me. All of them were just trying to survive… like me. Thinking about this now makes me hate myself though—No wonder Sirena left you King Stupid.
In the heat of my Percocet addiction, she sold all her jewelry so we could pay our bills once. Instead of just being grateful I begged her to use some of that money for just “one more pill” I said— God, was I pathetic.
When my weed dealer said that thing to me about cocaine not being addicting, I had never done what I considered a “real drug” like cocaine before. To me weed didn’t count and Percocet was medicine; and I spent every scent of Sirena and my money not switching to the cheaper alternative of heroin because that was a “real drug”. Not only was I stupid and pathetic, but super naive as well.
“Is this really a smart investment?”
Thousands of dollars later, and with nostrils that hurt because of this “non addictive drug”, I sat with my grandparents in early September of 2017… awkwardly asking them for money.
It was beyond humiliating telling them what I’d done that day. That was before they moved into that nursing home they’re at now. And so, Sirena and I sat at the same table we had those Sunday dinners at uncomfortably asking if they might cover the thirty-thousand-dollars for that recovery program Sirena had found for me.
My grandfather is a wonderfully caring and kind and smart man, who saved his entire life to live comfortably in retirement. He didn’t say no to us asking for money that day but voiced concerned about the cost of a program that offered no guarantees of my success. That’s why my mind remembers him asking if this was a “smart investment” when we were talking that day.
Rambling nervously, I remember saying something about wanting to get better so that I might finish my story. “Nobody wants to hear about your damn writing!” my grandfather said in an uncharacteristically harsh tone to that statement of mine. “What you need to do is get back to work,” he added.
I recently asked Sirena if she remembers my grandfather using that word “damn” in that moment. She couldn’t remember. My mind tends to embellish painful memories, so maybe my grandfather didn’t use that word. “The past is what changes the most,” that show my boys was watching said a while back—maybe this is what it meant by that.
At the time I wasn’t working and was collecting disability. Many people were like my grandfather and thought me getting back to work would make me better. Referring to my recovery as not being a “smart investment” and that comment about my “damn writing” hurt, but my grandfather was not wrong on either accounts. I never held that conversation against him. I simply hated myself for putting him in that position that day.
Ironically, sitting with my grandparents that day is when Shawn from G.A.A.M.H.A. first called me. I remember talking to him in their driveway. Shawn’s the one who told me how I could get into that halfway house—which was ultimately where I was meant to be I think—and so I hadn’t even needed to ask my grandparents for that money.
My mind swells with all I reflect on. Looking at the small collection of students, staff, and family around me, I find myself thinking about Sirena again. She wasn’t happy my grandfather was unwilling to dish out that cash then—Why am I still so obsessed with her?
“Grief moves at its own pace brother.”
More words from my past echo around in my mind. Ron said that to me when we were having breakfast one morning at a diner a short walk from that halfway house. He was repeating words Councilor John had used on both of us at some point.
Sirena has me questioning how I feel about the entire female race at the moment. Watching an episode of Game of Thrones just last night, I think maybe I’m supposed to be frightened.
“Five f-ing stars for the f-ery that show has done to our collective self-conscious.”
I wrote that in my journal finding the f-word necessary and memorable. Rewatching that show, I find myself extremely annoyed by it right now. “This fifth season has girl power written all over it,” I wrote. “Girls are strong. I get it. But girls can sometimes just be b-words.”
The b-word I thought necessary and memorable too. And justified as well as that’s what the girl had called her sister in the episode I had watched.
“You’re a greedy bitch, you know that.” That’s actually what the sexy and strong sister said after her sexy and strong other sister stuck a spear through the back of a young prince’s head whom she had wanted to kill herself.
Watching that episode, I wondered why they were laying this strong women stuff on so thick. I thought maybe it was just filler episodes to extend the series, but when I thought about it more I started to wonder if maybe something else was going on.
“That season was released in 2015,” I wrote. “Right before that Game of Thrones election happened in the real world. An election where deceit, belittling, and name calling was rewarded with votes. Is that ironic or sad? It’s f’n stupid is what it is.”
I would then go on to vent in my journal about how good men are living in a woman’s world today: “My guy friends who all fit that description rarely get together, but on Facebook I see their wives get together all the time. Woman attached to truly selfish men would be mad at me for writing about this, but those men are not the norm. We care. Most of us that is. Too much most of the time actually.”
Standing at this memorial now it’s all so insanely frustrating to me. The pain of this reality is much worse than the manufactured pain these shows are feeding us—I’d take a spear to the back of the head over this any day.
I eventually watch Nel, Pras, and Lauryn drive away together. Getting into my own car feeling mentally drained, I start it and look around to make sure I’m alone before taking out my phone. Finding my playlist, I begin looking for that one song from my past.
“Human intelligence will merge with artificial intelligence someday.”
I heard that somewhere. Depending on the mood I’m in, and what I might want to feel at this moment, my A.I. Assistant Device will find the song I’m in search of and play it for me. Until then, I have to scroll through this long list of songs that are separated by emotions and genre on the playlist I labeled The Teacher’s Playlistwhen I started using songs for these articles of mine.
At a bible study I was attending a year or so ago, the men there were talking about people getting computer chips inserted into their arms. I didn’t say anything, I just listened to them fear the possibility of having all their activities tracked. Listening to them I couldn’t help thinking if getting a chip inserted into my arm would save me from some of the many frustrations of everyday life today, I’d do it.
People fear A.I. for different reasons, but to me the biggest threat of A.I. is to our mental sanity. It’s basically breaking the internet now as its used to flood us with advertising and scams. Facebook listens to me I’m pretty sure. I must have clicked something that says it’s okay because I see adds whenever I say things. I think there’s something going on with scan codes on things now too because whenever I’m near one I see that on Facebook as well.
Remembering passwords — getting health reports — dealing with airport lines. If having a chip inserted into my arm would save me from those life frustrations; and maybe track people trying to steal my bank account information; and maybe kept me from being bombarded with emails so that I could communicate with people more easily…I think I’d be fine if people wanted to track my activities to try and sell me stuff.
Go ahead Mark Z or Elon or Bezos or Tony Stark, I’d maybe say, make me your ginny pig…Chip me!
“I just need space right now.” —A lyric from that song Space by Ivan B plays in my head as I scroll past it on my list— “Your face can hide a secret, but your heart will show it.”
Next week in class me and these few students I have will discuss Music, Mood, and Movies as part of a lesson discussing entertainment again. “We humans know music affects our mood,” —the warm-question I’ll start Monday’s lesson with reads— “Are we letting it turn us into monsters?”
After that I plan to show them a video of my youngest son doing the Macarena Dance while watching the movie Hotel Transylvania Three—the part at the end when they play different music to make the big scary monster angry or happy. Wearing only his underwear, my son’s bony body doing that long-exaggerated hip sway is hilarious. I’m hoping showing it will lighten the mood when I see everyone next week.
Scrolling past the song Sound of Silence by Disturbed, I finally find the song on this list I was looking for. Hitting play, the soft drum percussion and gentle strings of a guitar begin their work on me. Turning up the volume, I put my phone down and lean my head back before closing my eyes to listen to this song Down In a Hole by Alice In Chains.
At the halfway house this song played on a television in the basement while I sat around men who were strangers to me at the time. The lead singer of this band wore pink hair and sang this song as part of an old MTV Unplugged performance. Watching it almost had me in tears that day.
Councilor John told me it took him five years to feel comfortable and stable in sobriety. I hated hearing that then. Today I am three and a half years sober; and things have gotten better year after year like Councilor John said they would, but I wouldn’t say I’m comfortable or stable yet. On days like today, I consider John’s words and breathe a sigh of relief: I still have time—I try convincing myself.
I wear a lot of masks to hide certain things about myself. The one I try to wear most is a smile. Today however there is no one smiling and what I feel is the real me is hard to hide right now. It’s like this other person lives inside me. That person is a constant mixture of sad and scared and mad. That person worries that hoping for hope is hopeless.
“You must create hope!” That’s what the cheerful more confident me would say. But that person hides more and more as the harshness of this reality has become more and more real to me.
I now wonder if that hopeful person is dead and it’s just this other me. Pretending and putting on a show for these students, and for my kids, and for my family. And for me sometimes.
I fear I might never be the person I thought sobriety would help me become. This song playing now reminds me of those darker days though; the days I thought I’d be better off at the bottom of a six-foot dirt hole. Sitting here—thinking about Candace and hurting for Lauryn and feeling bad for myself—I feel guilty for ever thinking that.
I might have others believing me to be a strong adult these days, but I know who I really am.
Dropping my head, I take both palms and press them hard into the sockets of my eyes. With my fingernails digging into my hairline, the swelling in my head becomes too much…and I just let it happen.
*
Article Title: P.A.I.N. through Regret
Dated: Friday, December 11th, 2020
“There will be an answer.”
—from the song Let It Be by The Beatles
“Greed is acting like a vacuum on our world, sucking not only money from the many but also its dreams, compassion, and empathy in order serve the luxury of the few.”
That’s something I wrote in my journal and a strange way to start an article about regret, but it will make sense soon…trust me.
Regret is another emotion that connects all people. Two things that are often associated with regret is love and money. With two ex-wives, I certainly have regrets as it pertains to love. Rather than open those wounds, I’ll talk to you about my regrets with money here instead.
First though I want to talk to you about this song I quoted to start this article.
According to Paul McCartney, the song Let It Be was inspired by his mother Mary, who died when he was fourteen years old but visited him in a dream ten years later. Mary came to him in his time of trouble, he claims, speaking words of wisdom that brought him peace when he needed it most.
Was Paul McCartney visited by a ghost or an angel or a spirit when his mother said, “There will be an answer, let it be”? … Or did his mind create a story to comfort him in his time of trouble? Either way, it’s a beautiful song you should listen to later.
It’s a different world than it was when that song was written in 1970, but in many ways it’s still very much the same. Today we still fight over what’s dividing us, we still dream of the past, and we still regret the state of things. People felt the same way back then.
We are also still waiting for that answer I think. That said, let me now talk to you about regret as it pertains to money for me.
History books will tell you the “Global Financial Crisis” began on September 18th, 2008; the day Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy, but for me that crisis started six months earlier on Monday, March 11th of that year.
The Friday before that Monday, I had purchased ten thousand dollars of Bear Sterns stock just before the market closed. At twenty-six years old, that was a lot of money. Money I had earned from years of back-breaking physical labor; roofing mostly.
Over that weekend that investment looked like a smart one as Jim Cramer on Mad Money was calling it a “Great Buy!” I remember feeling really good about myself over that weekend.
Three days later, on Monday, I turned on CNBC first thing in the morning. That’s when I learned that the company whose stock I had purchased had gone bankrupt. That ten-thousand-dollars was gone. Poof.
In that moment, I remember screaming Lauryn’s favorite word into my pillow: “F***!!!”
Calling the work I did to earn that money “backbreaking” doesn’t do it justice. When you roof your fingers swell and become sensitive to the touch. At night, when you try and sleep so that you can do it all over again the next day, your fingertips pulse under the pillow and you toss and turn because your back is tight.
Today my knees and back still hurt because of all that work I did to earn money that was gone in an instant. Poof. Poof.
I was working at a phone center in Merrimack, New Hampshire for Fidelity Investments at the time. Going to work that day (after screaming into my pillow) we had an emergency meeting to discuss how to talk to clients about what had happened with Bear Sterns.
On screen they showed us the account of a man who had his entire retirement portfolio “invested” in Bear Sterns stocks prior to the weekend— over four hundred thousand dollars.
On the recorded call they played us, we listened to that long-term employee of Bear Sterns cry. “Banks don’t go bankrupt,” he said. I sat in that meeting feeling bad for that man and at the same time despising myself for losing my own money on such a stupid “investment”.
During the difficult year that followed was when I discovered my favorite alcoholic beverage: Captain-and-Coke; half Captain Morgans, half Caffeine-Free Coke. Drinking two of those a night helped keep me sane that year. I only drank at night of course. Hence the Caffeine-Free Coke. It’s not like I was an alcoholic or anything…
That was when I had my first cigarette as well. I had it on break with someone I worked with. His name was Ralph. That was also the year I started down the road that would lead to my Percocet addiction.
I don’t tell you any of this to make excuses. It’s just a few facts pertaining to my story. Losing that money didn’t destroy me in the end, but the alcohol and those Percocet and those cigarettes…well…you all kind of know what happened because of them.
Winning when it comes to all things, but especially when it comes to money, is never as rewarding as losing is painful. That’s a mouthful but it’s worth remembering.
Winning money feels good, yes, but that enjoyment does not last long. Losing however, will linger, and that can alter you in ways winning doesn’t. Just a warning from this old man. Take it or leave it.
I will stop talking about my regrets with you now though… Would you like to know why?
Because no one cares.
That’s right, no one cares about YOUR REGRETS. Usually. The same can be said about YOUR dreams and YOUR vendettas. You care about these things obviously, but most other people will not. You are merely a puzzle piece in THEIR story.
To achieve your ultimate potential, it’s best you accept this.
Someone might tell you to “Make Them Care!” But making people care can take a lifetime. That’s why so many biographies are written only after a person has died; because people might not care until you’re gone. “It’s twisted,” Miss Lily would tell you, “But it is what it is.”
Money is powerful. I would never try to convince you otherwise. But all the money in the world would not solve the world’s problems.
Abigale Disney has been known to compare wealth to addiction. A claim validated by Paris Hilton. Who said she would not be able to “settle down” until she had one billion dollars. People’s definition of rich varies. Like everything it’s a matter of perspective I guess.
When did more become the answer?
Watching the movie Gladiator with my boys this week, one of them said, “What’s the point of fighting for land you just destroyed?”
Their questions always make me think.
Having an abundance of money can buy peace of mind. Money can also help an individual avoid drama and relax. And it most definitely can add extra excitement to a person’s life. In time however, if given an abundance of wealth, an individual will find it harder and harder to “buy happiness”.
Plenty of people will tell you this, it’s not just me. Go look up some of the things Jim Carrey says about it: “I think everybody should get rich and famous,” he said, “and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it’s not the answer.”
It’s easy to get annoyed with billionaires flying off into space in their rocket ships today, while the rest of us share tips on Facebook on how to make ends meet in an ever-increasing inequitable existence. As your teacher however, I ask you to consider things from their perspective.
How would you give that money away? … How would you do it in a way that wouldn’t make someone angry with you? I’d argue it’s impossible— Maybe we’d want to fly off into space too?
If there is to ever be the answer Paul McCartney’s mother promised, we will need everyone to come together to change this sad reality of ours. Those billionaires more than all others perhaps.
Those—like you and me maybe—that will want history to remember them for how they helped propel humanity forward. And those—like you and me maybe—that want to leave their future generations not only money but a sense of respect that is not connected to one’s wealth.
I had planned to write something different for this article. Hearing a Beatles song inspired me to write this instead. The song I heard is the one you’ll see me reference in just a moment. Honestly it annoyed me when I heard it, but it also provided me the ending to this article.
Was mother Mary working her magic on me? … Who knows.
With this article I’m hoping to convince you—and myself maybe—that money is not the answer to our problems. If things are to get better we will need a miracle, not just money.
Now, if you don’t believe in miracles, I get it. I don’t know if I believe in love like other people do right now. Infatuation, I get. Lust, I understand. Co-dependency, I know very well. But LOVE? … I just don’t know anymore.
“Where there’s love miraculous things can happen.”
That’s a quote from the movie Angels in the Outfield. A movie that was made before entertainment became straight poison I think. You should watch that too.
I’m not sure I believe in love at the moment but let me tell you what life has taught me about it. When we feel love another feeling comes with it. HOPE. In my life, I’ve had money. I’ve lost it. I’ve had it again. And I’ve lost it again. Not once did having money give me the same feeling love did. Love made me feel hopeful in a way no amount of money ever did.
Hope energized me.
When we feel hope, money matters little. We feel strong. We feel happy. We feel like there is a purpose to living. This Beatles song on my Teacher’s Playlist annoyed me when I heard it, but they might have been right: All you need is love…. love is the answer.
WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:
“Hope is more powerful than all the money in the world.” In your journals answer honestly how this statement makes you feel. Fill a page.
The Teacher’s Playlist:
All You Need is Love by The Beatles
“You can learn to be you in time.”
*
(End of Chapter 17)
Recovery High School 