Twenty years ago, I strolled into your life. You didn’t see me coming. I was just this young, white guy with enough charm to get you to trust me. And you did. So I placed a matchbook in the corner and waited for the right moment to strike.
The right moment for me was always when I had you exactly where I wanted you based on my own needs, appetites and grand life schemes. Sometimes it was shortly after meeting. Sometimes it was a month. But, if we knew each other, there was a reason for it. And when I left, I left you wondering why you ever trusted me. No doubt scarring you for future encounters with charming strangers.
Before stylized visions of Hollywood plots start running through your mind, my affairs were far less ambitious. And my environments darker. Most of the people I encountered and engaged twenty years ago were just a tick or two away from my own plight of roaming the earth looking for truth in a reflection. Alcoholics. Drug addicts. People on the verge of nervous meltdowns, or worse. Insignificant souls who saw something good in me that wasn’t there. Or else it was buried so deep that I didn’t acknowledge it.
I was a runner. A liar. A thief. A manipulator. I went from job to job and town to town until I was fired or run out. I loved no one. I had no place to call home. I was also an alcoholic and did whatever I needed to do to ensure that I had access to it. I was literally without hope – and was willing to drag you down with me. Nothing good came from those 6 years of my life – except for hitting a bottom.
Tomorrow, August 3, 2011, I recognize 20 years without a drink. The events that led me to that point were dark and terrible. But the epiphany was brilliant and powerful. For the last few months I’ve been writing a book about my life, and am currently in the process of recounting the period when things were pretty bad. It’s not easy going back there. I definitely don’t want to glorify my mistakes, but I know how this story has worked out and so I have to get through the bad stuff, to get to the good. I can’t believe how my life has changed over twenty years. It makes me feel both grateful, and unworthy.
Twenty years ago, if you told me I’d live until at least my late 40s, have a wife and children, a college education, a house, a car and friends who were like family – I’d figure out a way to take advantage of you, because you were obviously delusional, and then I’d laugh as I burned the bridge that connected us.
The relationships I have with people today are so real, I sometimes can’t stand it. No, I never think about drinking any more, but the reality of love that is in my life today sometimes takes me by surprise and overwhelms me. I’ve been with my wife for 18 years. She has no reference point to me as a monster. No one does. Of all the connections I’ve gained as the result of digital media these last few years, there’s not one person from my past that is part of my present. Even though I tried reaching out to make amends to the people I used and hurt, most of them were unreachable. I can only imagine that they faded into the fringe. I sometimes wish I could thank them.
***
Peter Shankman
Aug 2, 2011
Congratulations, my friend. This is a huge accomplishment. You should be majorly proud.
Scott Baughman
Aug 2, 2011
Good job getting past it. Good job staying past it. Here’s to doing a good job of telling your story so maybe you can help pull somebody else past it.
Rebecca McCormick
Aug 2, 2011
I’m a stronger person for having met you, Jim. Congratulations on a significant anniversary. And thank you for sharing the gift of yourself.
Gabrielle Laine-Peters
Aug 2, 2011
I am lucky to have you in my virtual life and call you a friend. Congratulations for the 20 years. May life continue to bring you joy and the love you deserve and gifts of new friendships for a long time to come – Gxx
Carl Thress
Aug 2, 2011
Though I’ve never met you in person, I feel like I know you at least a little by your writing and our limited interactions on Twitter. Congratulations on 20 years of sobriety and on all that has happened as a result of it.
Summer
Aug 2, 2011
I am happy and proud for you.
As one of those people who’s been hurt by, and loved those, who were in a place similar to where you were, I know how hard it must have been to change. I’m glad you’re sharing your story. I know a few folks who could stand to hear it and know that there’s a future with love and happiness, if they choose it.
Glad you did.
Mike
Aug 2, 2011
Awesome Jim. Thanks for sharing.
Jason
Aug 2, 2011
Nicely done. As an ACoA, I know what the past may have held. As the saying goes, “Keep coming back”… no matter where the inspiration to stay away comes from.
David
Aug 2, 2011
Jim,
Congratulations on your 20 years, It gives me something to look foward to with just 2 years of sobriety.
Thank you
Janet Vanderhoof
Aug 2, 2011
Congratulations, you are a very powerful person and fortunate to know you.
Jim Mitchem
Aug 3, 2011
Powerful? Ha. I’m just a guy who listened to some sound advice. But thanks, Janet.
Kelly Greene
Aug 3, 2011
I’m glad I know you!
Dov N
Aug 3, 2011
Congratulations and wishes of strength in the future.
Gabriella Sannino
Aug 3, 2011
Wow, just wow! That was truly beautiful Jim. I won’t pretend we know each other, but you dear man, are one I truly admire and find courageous. Grazie mille for being so real.
Wendy
Aug 3, 2011
What a beautiful post. Congratulations.
Kathryn McMann
Aug 4, 2011
A beautiful and honest post. Extremely brave. Not a lot of people would look back with magnifying glass to their former darker selves. Thank you for sharing.
Megan Battistella
Nov 22, 2011
Just had to respond to this very raw and sincere post. Genuine humility is so rare, as is genuine repentence. This is powerful because it is brave and revealing. In an industry like advertising, in which we have to make products “shine” it is nice to actually “feel” the truth in pain and struggle. The dichotomy of our actual “self” and who we like to show on Facebook or to the public, represses us from making society better as a whole. It is easy to neglect starting with ourselves first.
My novel – Minor King
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