Fact, fact, feeling?

In my last post I spewed heartache goop all over the page, lamenting the loss of my old life.  As the rollercoaster would have it, today I feel differently.  A brief look at the facts helped.

Fact #1: It’s undeniable that I had some great fucking times “out there”; from house parties in the suburbs, to beers on beaches in Central America, to dive bars in Rome, and private jets to Utah, memories were made.  I don’t have to pollute ALL of my past with where drugs and alcohol took me in the end.  (Just have to remember what the end was like.)

Fact #2:  Rome was a great time.  But…it is marred by the fact that I spent the last night hounding my best friend’s friend for cocaine, as though it was the most important thing in the world.  Once the dry goods were obtained, everyone carried on drinking like normal people and I snuck to and from the tiniest, dingiest, darkest, bathroom to blow lines off my passport till the wee hours of the morning.   I lied all night…”I swear it’s all gone.”

Face #3:  Some of college was hysterical; I’ll never forget my girlfriends rolling a keg across the lawn in torrential rain, right as the sprinklers went on, and as a cop drove by.  I’ll never forget road tripping all the way to San Francisco at 3 in the morning with five of my friends to watch the sunrise, just to realize the sun rises on the east, (so we just watched it get light out.)

There are one hundred humorous recollections, but for every one good memory there are 1,000 regrets…for every one fun college night there were 100 days I couldn’t hold my head up walking across campus.

Fact #4: There were no laughs at the end, no “remember whens” or “let me see that picture.”  Drugs and alcohol made all my choices for me; where I would end up, who I would go home with, where I would drive to during a blackout, and what I would say.  The only decision I had left was to change.

Fact #5:  In the past year I have learned more about life than in all 26 prior years.  I’ve tapped into what it means to be a good person, how to ask for help, and most importantly how to help others.

I’ve restored relationships with my family, some of which I thought were irreparable.

It turns out I love rock climbing.  And probably fly-fishing.

Turns out I still suck at cooking.

Best of all, I’m able to connect with whatever is keeping us all connected, and that’s a fact, too.  Or maybe a feeling?

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2 thoughts on “Fact, fact, feeling?

  1. I love this post! I too have to really look at the reality of things and remember the good, the bad and the absolutey ugly. But, well, it was my life, it was my journey and it got me where i am today. And that’s a gift.
    Ps. I still can’t cook either. Lol.

  2. mike says:

    Sorry kid. I should have read this entry before I commented on the one before.

    Lol. I relate to the shame in college. I lasted a semester and a half. It was destiny. The beginning of first semester they had no freshman dorm rooms left and I slept on the pa’s couch for the first few days. They finally found me a room in senior housing. Unfortunately, every senior on that hall was a physical education major. Everybody up there but me played on the sports teams. Every single night of the week, there was a fresh keg out in the corridor. Usually right outside my door, as I was at the end of the hall. The movie Animal House had come out the year before, so that was the vibe.

    Everybody on that hall had a nickname. They named me sleepwalker, or walker for short. As I was in a blackout quite often and would mistakenly walk into other dorm rooms in the middle of the night or wander around the campus taking my clothes off. I vaguely remember any of it. Though I do slightly remember I ended up in a hospital with a broken nose after defending a woman’s honor at a toga party. I definitely remember waking up out of a blackout in the deans office. I was in a panic. It was getting light out, I only had half my clothes on, and I had taken a shit in the middle of the deans desk. No lie. I got back to my dorm room and realized I was missing a sock…….Oh Shit!!
    My mother had sewn name tags into my socks. I had a moment of clarity.

    I gathered up all the weed I had left………as I had brought a quarter pounder for the second semester, and sold it off cheap and headed out the door to the greyhound bus station. I missed the State Police, who came looking for me, by minutes. Memories.

    Did have some good times though. Alas, I knew even back then, that every time I drank, I should have been chained to a wall, as I never knew what the fuck was going to happen after I drank the first drink.

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