&Y and WHY?

Andy (&Y) is 40, he recently quit drinking. He's seeking his own answers while recalling his past. The goal is improvement of life for all readers..

I should know that making a grandiose plan and expecting it to stay on track rarely happens. In this case, I had an outlook for this blog. As it tends to do, life stepped in my way. I was feeling drastically defeated, even suicidal, this past week. Events compounding, as if the world I live in was conspiring against me. I spent days feeling sorry for myself. The hope that someone would unexpectedly step in to help me lingered in my thoughts. Now that I've gotten past my pity party, I need to take action. Marking my thoughts with these words, I hope this blog acts as a kickstart to the next phase of my life.

I realize that I am the only person that can actually change things. I've made plenty of bad choices that illustrate that. Accepting negative outcomes from my actions has been difficult. Second guessing after the fact does nothing but create resentment within my own being. It's no fun to argue with yourself, so here I am. This isn't meant as a complaint. I also realize others have much worse problems. Of which I'm sympathetic to, as I speak about my own.

I'm a 40-year-old, Caucasian, American man. I've failed this far in a world set-up for my prosperity. Saying that doesn't mean I'm in agreement with the way this world operates. I actually believe it's incredibly cruel, and needs to be changed. It could be the standards of society putting pressure on me to succeed that ultimately lead me to fail. Possibly, my upbringing giving me a false sense of safety and security. Whichever outside factor I examine when seeking answers for an unsatisfactory life remains just that. A factor. I am the common denominator.

In the past week, I've had downfalls. One after another. Day after day. I did not handle them well as they piled on top of one another. Bills were paid, but always paycheck to paycheck. The only vehicle my girlfriend and I have broke down. I paid to have it fixed, choosing to neglect a few bills. I didn't change any extracurricular activities. Our vehicle broke again. More income dispersed to make necessary repairs. These repairs didn't work. The vehicle had to be towed to the dealership we purchased it from. They would have possession for up to one month.

I rented a moving van, simply to drive, for a week. The following week, I rented a car. These rentals ensured I could continue working, as I have a 40-mile commute. I couldn't fund a third rental and had no choice but to call off from work. I've missed five days at the time I'm writing this. There is a chance my job can still be saved, although it isn't likely.

I didn't ask for help from friends or family. Instead, I stole prescription drugs from my significant other. Knowing she would find out and be outraged, I did this regardless. I was seeking short-term comfort for a long-term problem. This isn't the first time I've done it. I'm not proud of my actions. All it did was make things worse. I felt great while I was drugged up. My problems didn't go away. They, infact, worsened.

Almost an entire week was wasted from my poor choice. I couldn't bring myself to terms with what I had done. I must now admit and accept my part. This situation I've put my small family in is my fault. I acted childish throughout and don't deserve pity. I'm extremely lucky to still be with my girlfriend. Honestly, she should have kicked me to the curb.

Today was the first day I could bring myself to begin building back. I'm starting with this blog post. If for no other reason than to simply get my thoughts flowing positively. I'm not a big believer in fate, or destiny. I don't believe this, or any other hardship, was predetermined by any entity pulling the strings, so to speak. I do, however, take this as a learning experience. Next time I want to reach for a substance to numb the pain, I hope to instead reflect on what I've written. Giving myself an opportunity to take the right step.

Addiction is something I believe can never fully be understood. It manifests differently in each person affected by its grasp. That's why it's hard for me to call it a disease. We all have the ability to choose to shut addiction down. That's not possible with a traditional disease.

I remain grateful for my life, and accept its downfalls lie on my shoulders to fix. Improvement won't happen with a snap of the fingers. It can be achieved through hard work and being honest with yourself. Please take care. I will try my best to do the same.

I stared at this page while on my break at work. Thoughts race, but my fingertips remain still. This is my first blog. “The intro should be perfect.” I said aloud while alone in my truck. Questions flooded my brain as I began to feel anxious. Do I start with “hello?” Do I introduce myself, even with my name in the small description I wrote? Should I use the same greeting for each post? Will I open my email tomorrow to a message proclaiming my wrongs? Should I tell the people closest to me that I'm creating a blog? When will I stop questioning myself and take action? Writing my thoughts has answered everything I was unsure about. I'm brushing any lingering anxiety off of my shoulders.

Partnering with passion and that very anxiety, I'm taking on this new challenge. I'm hoping to learn more about myself and help others while doing so. I've chosen the topic that I know most about: addiction. In the beginning I'll give background on my adolescence. Today you'll get to know my parents.

I am not a professional writer. In fact, up until a year ago, I had zero interest in any of the arts. Since finding the write.as platform a few months ago, I knew it was a matter of time until I joined. Today is that day.

I was born in the West Michigan area in 1981. The first child of a young, recently married couple, My father, Jim, was 30 years old at the time. He was a hard-working, blue-collar man of few words. His adult life began in an unimaginable way. Shortly after high school graduation, Jim enlisted in the United States Army. This wasn't his choice. He joined by way of the military draft. The last ever by the American government. My father hasn't spoken about this with me. I imagine his fears were overtaken by his loyalty. Forced to leave his family, friends, and country to fight in Vietnam.

His choices made for him, there was little chance of emotional growth. To survive he had to take another life. My dad lost his virginity on a night out with his battalion. This wasn't his plan either. Finally, enduring a homecoming filled with disdain from his fellow Americans. He was set up to fail. I can see exactly what shaped the rest of my father's life.

I haven't spoken to my dad in over two years. This is my choice, not his. I'm hoping to change that and be able to give him a call. Writing this synopsis of his early adulthood has given me a new viewpoint. I don't have enough strength to dial his number yet. I will get there.

My mother hasn't received correspondence from me either in the past few years. The onus is on me to reach out to her as well. As my younger friends would say, I have ghosted both of my parents.

On a cold, snowy December night, my mother, Joan, arrived at the hospital. I have no doubt there was a smile on this 24-year-old expectant mother's face. In her hand, a tote bag. It included my first outfit, a teddy bear, and a handmade Christmas stocking with my name knitted on it. There's no doubt that most of my creativity comes from my mother. I still have and cherish the teddy bear and the stocking.

My father's young adulthood was unenviable. I sometimes wonder if trauma attracted him to my mom. Her childhood shouldn't happen to anyone. My grandparents were strict on her. The term “God-fearing” was literal in her household. If you did not behave, they believed you'd go to hell. Joan was only useful to her parents as a babysitter. Forced to watch her younger brother. She was parenting him more than they were. I'm not sure that her parents ever wanted children.

I can recall countless times that my mother would tell me how much her parents despised her. During recess one day, she got hit in the face. Not by a first, but a large rock. A boy in her class had thrown it. My mom was belittled and punished as well. Her parents then added insult to injury. Taking the side of the rock-throwing boy was devastating.

Now in her early teenage years, my mom was maturing. She began to realize her parents didn't have her best interest at heart. Joan started to become social, popular, and a little rebellious. That was a stark difference from what her parents had attempted to mold her into.

One day, she was late returning home from school. Whatever her reason was for being off schedule isn't important. Joan being late didn't produce that afternoon's happenings. Here it gets devastating.

Her 9-year-old brother had already gotten home from elementary school. Younger children have shorter days than those in high school. He was playing outside, as boys do. Unsupervised, he wandered towards the small creek near their house. No one saw him alive again.

I don't know who found him. Nor what exactly took place, but he drowned that day. My mother was not home, her brother was there with his mother. After the drowning my grandmother did what she always did. She used my mother as a scapegoat for her inability to parent. All the responsibility for the drowning was on my mother. Placed there once again by her parents. She was once again damned to hell by God.

It's evident to me that the pain and resentment this caused took its toll. The people that she needed the most were furthest away. This made grieving her brother's death impossible. It also contributed to the formation of her adult life. Later trickling down into my development. This is one reason I've chosen not to be a father myself.

I don't have many early childhood memories. Through this blog I can heal. I'll reveal some of those memories. I do feel good after writing about my parents' lives. It gave me a perspective I didn't have. Next, I'll get into my adolescence, siblings, and my teenage life.

I've been contemplating whether I want to tell my story in order. It is important for me to cover my time growing up. Once I get into my adult life, I'll post relevant topics. Everything won't be chronological. I have so very many meaningful, lesson teaching, and reflective events to talk about. Sometimes I'm surprised that I've made it this far in life. Cheers to that, everyone!