Too Damaged for Help

The Beginning

I was at a rehab once and the counselor told me I was "Too Damaged" for help. So this is my theme. The following is random thoughts of my life. Once I get the hang of this blog thing, I'm sure I'll make more sense...maybe.

Have you ever said, "I can't remember what I did yesterday, much less last week", when asked what you did last week. It's truly amazing to me how much of life I am remembering now that the fog of addiction has lifted.

When I started this book, I didn't realize how big the wall of self-protection was that I had built around myself. I was numb from life and 25 years of using. I use to wonder where I'd be a year from now or wish that I had done things differently yesterday, but lately I'm learning how to enjoy today, not yesterday, not tomorrow, but today. As long as I can remember, I wanted to be somewhere, someone or something else; anything but ME. The following is my journey from being sexually molested for ten years as a child and the self-loathing and self-destruction that ensued to finally getting life (understanding life that is), not penitentiary life, although that could have been the case.

I have always used humor to help me through every aspect of life, from funerals to rehabs and yes, even the molestation (example: how I found my spiritual awakening through a fart machine in rehab). I'll post that one in a separate blog.

I was 38 years old in my first rehab in Grand Rapids, MI and the counselor asked us to think about our favorite memory from childhood. Everyone took a turn and when it came to me, I didn't have a single thought come into my head. It would take me four more years and two more rehabs before I could actually think of a favorite childhood memory.

This book is written from the journals I kept at the rehabs and also from notes I found from when I was drunk out of my mind. I thought when I was drunk that I was more creative. No, I just created drama, drama, drama; although I must admit, some of the poetry is pretty good.

I was born in the small town of Reynolds, GA in 1960. It was a booming town of about 1200 people where my grandfather owned a barbershop (Malcolm X's father actually worked for him) and my grandmother worked at the post office. Life was sweet for the first 8 years of my life. Yes, shit happens even in small towns. I wasn't a planned baby considering my mother was only 14 and my father was 16 when she got pregnant. I was an "accident" and that's funny to me now because I always felt like an accident waiting to happen. My mother was 15 and my father was 17 when I was born.

My father worked as an electrical engineer and I would ride my bike to see him at work. The first time I was molested, I went to see him and he wasn't there so his boss (I'll call him Boss Man #1) took me into a room that had all these magnets and electrical gadgets in it. He asked me if I wanted a magnet, which was kept on the top shelf, and I said, "yes". He lifted me up and in his finger went. I remember my face turning so red, I thought I was going to die. He kept me up there for a few minutes telling me to look for which magnet I wanted; I never said a word. I thought if I kept quiet, it would go away, it didn't. Finally, he put me down and I walked very quickly out the door. The office with the magnets was in the back of the warehouse and I had to walk all the way past all the employees to get to the front door. I just knew that everyone had seen what he had just done to me and that I was somehow responsible for what had just happened. It was one of the longest walks of my life.

I rode my bicycle home as fast as possible. In the early 60's, the south had a motto, "If you don't talk about it, it doesn't exist." That was pretty much how I lived my life. I had such a feeling of guilt and shame and needed someone to tell me that he was a bad man and that I had done nothing wrong. That didn't happen. I told my Mom what had happened and that I didn't ever want to be left alone with that man again. That didn't happen either. I'll never forget my mother's reaction. Her face was as red as mine had been during the assault and I knew for sure that it was totally my fault now. I had done something so bad that I had embarrassed her terribly. I can't remember a word that was said after that.