Reassessment - Day 46

I’ve been in Seattle for a week now and I’m completely shocked at how quickly things have been falling into place.

Before I left I couldn’t find any place willing to help me. It’s been suggested that many psychologists and the like won’t take on new patients who are actively using drugs. While I believe that is a horrible policy that likely prolongs the suffering of many people, I’m glad to find that it’s easier once you finally take that first step.

About a year and a half ago I had reached out to Seattle Counseling Services. It was during the period that my drinking was starting to get out of control and I wanted to start seeing a therapist. I could tell that things were going to become unmanageable but I had no idea how I could stop them. I was told they would be unable to help me given my insurance. I could come in and see someone if I wanted to pay for the services entirely out of pocket, but that was far from a viable options.

The rejection only caused things to deteriorate further. There is nothing worse than finally getting to the point where you’re willing to ask for help and being told they can’t help you. This was especially upsetting because their stated mission is to help LGBTQ individuals and it seemed like another snub from a community I was trying to find my place within.

One of the biggest things that I learned in Hawaii was that in order to fully recover I am going to have to ask for help. Not just from people that offer it, but from people who have told me no before. So on my last Saturday in Honolulu I sent in a second application for services to SCS. They replied to my request Monday morning.

I spoke with a patient care representative last Tuesday afternoon. They were most concerned about confirming that I had in fact been clean for at least some period of time. I reassured them that it had been over a month and that as of now I was determined to maintain my sobriety, however in time I’m sure that will change without assistance.

The changes in my situation made me eligible for their services, but as with every attempt to get help there were hoops for me to jump through. This time I didn’t need to get a physical and the mental evaluation would be performed by one of their staff members. What they did need is for me to be covered by Medicaid in King County, not Honolulu.

I was afraid that getting health insurance was going to be a nightmare. People had warned me that it wasn’t going to be easy, so I prepared myself for a long drawn out battle with local bureaucrats. If I had insurance before the end of the month I was going to be happy.

I attempted to register on their website. Given that my address has been changing constantly, at times even weekly, they were unable to confirm my identity through their system. I was going to have to call them. So I brewed a whole pot of coffee, grabbed my notebook and pen, put on an extended playlist and called into the Washington state medicaid group, Apple Health.

I was on hold for about fifteen minutes, listening to the same twenty second message on repeat. I wonder if they intentional design them to break you down at little more with each repetition. I nearly hung up about every four minutes just out of pure frustration. However the idea of actually having to go into the office was unsettling enough to suffer through.

The woman who answered my call sounded completely exhausted already. I kept telling myself that it wasn’t her fault I was on hold for so long and tried to present a positive attitude. My demeanor paid off.

She told me that I needed to send in a copy of my ID so they could confirm my identity, but she would wait on the line with me while I take a picture and email it in. That way she could get it processed right away. We chatted about Hawaii and the terrible weather Seattle had the past few months. All in all it took about ten minutes and she had me all set up in the system.

There was a small concern that I wouldn’t be able to apply for benefits until I cancelled my insurance with the state of Hawaii. It was more offered as a warning than anything else as she readily admitted that things were changing constantly to make things easier. It turns out that the updates were in fact improvements and I was approved for services, effective retroactively to the first of April.

I don’t want to go into a full blown political rant at this point so I’ll just simply say with all the sincerity in my heart, Thanks Obama.

On Wednesday I called back SCS and informed them I was approved for services locally. They were able to confirm this immediately and scheduled me for an assessment Tuesday April 25th, today. What took me nearly three months in Hawaii I was able to accomplish in a week.

I arrived at the office at 8:15 am, fifteen minutes late. This is now the fourth assessment I’ve had this year, so I was well versed in the process. They block out two hours to complete everything and we finished in about an hour and fifteen minutes.

It was determined that I am eligible for two different services they offer, psychotherapy and addiction recovery. Therapy is likely to be once every two weeks, though I’m going to see if it’s possible to go weekly for the first couple months. Their intensive outpatient program meets all day for three days a week. In 3-10 days I will be receiving a call from each division to schedule a start date.

Counseling and formal treatment were the two most pressing concerns about my return to Seattle. It’s a huge relief to have been able to secure both in such short order. Once I have the definitive schedule I can make the next major step towards actual reintegration: employment.

Unattached Appreciation - Day 41

I’m back in Seattle, but most people wouldn’t know it. The whole experience is a little overwhelming. In many ways Seattle seems to have changed as much as I have, while still being exactly the same.

I have been limiting my exposure so far. I can count the number of people I”ve seen on just one hand. I’m not in any huge rush to change that either. In time I am going to need the full support of my friends, but right now I’m sticking to those I consider to be family.

A good friend of mine took me to Refuge Recovery, which is a buddhist approach to recovery. It was the first time I voluntarily walked into any kind of meeting. There is a huge emphasis on meditation, which I liked despite it being difficult for me to focus for 20 minutes at this point.

They implement a “tag/pass” sharing model, in which after a person shares they pick the next person to hear from who has the option to share or immediately pass to a person of their choosing. The topic for the discussion was “Unattached Appreciation”.

I was so nervous that I was going to be called upon I couldn’t hear most of what was being said. I was certain at some point they were going to put the spotlight on me. My thoughts had a shelf life of three sentences before I felt like I’d lost topic and then I had to remember what I was supposed to be thinking about. Just as my brain whitewashed a gentlemen pointed at me and said, “I’ll pass to the guy in the blue sweatshirt.”

What came out of the empty space went something like this:

Unattached Appreciation. I just moved back from Hawaii. That was actually where I got clean, so it’s a fairly recent thing for me. Hawaii was all about the attachment to material pleasure. Everything was in excess. It reached a point though, where the attached appreciation became bound to my attachment to suffering. Ultimate pleasure hand in hand with ultimate suffering...I spent a lot of time talking with the island of Oahu. I left it all there. I didn’t want to carry it with me anymore. I know that it’s a part of me, and it will always be with me, but what was there, right in front of my face, the extremes of pleasure and suffering, I left them in the sand. I don’t feel attached to them anymore. I remember where they are, but right now they need to stay there.

I surprised even myself with what was said. My final days on Oahu have been all I’ve thought of since I got back. I took so much from the island of Oahu, it almost feels like a crime. It offered everything to me freely. I didn’t even know what I needed and it provided for me. I don’t mean this in a material sense, though there were definitely instances in which the things I received were tangible.

Never have I been so totally humbled by anything in the way I was by Waimae Valley or the Stairway to Heaven or Magic Island. The island broke down the walls I spent two decades building and I got the first glimpse at my true inner self. I could hear the island speak to me on my final night in Honolulu:

“Give me your fears and your pain. Give me your sorrow and suffering. Give me all the things too heavy for you to carry with you.”

You have already given me so much I would not repay your generosity with such a curse.

“Since before man walked this earth I have beared the entirety of the Pacific upon me. The weight of your burdens is of no consequence to me.”

But I cannot leave them with you, I’m tired of running from them.

“Then come with me to the shore. In the sand we will wash away all you have attached to your past. This is the freedom that I offer you.”

The dragon has taken everything I have There is nothing I can offer you in return.

“All I ask of you is to forgive yourself.”

I sobbed on the beach as I watched the never ending procession of waves. With each salty breathe I could feel the decades of anguish starting to erode away. Slowly the tides mist began to swirl around me and condense. In only a matter of moments I was once again encased in the crystalline structure and once again I wasn’t alone.

My ten year old self and the man who identified himself as who I am supposed to be stood in front of me once again. The boy was in the foreground holding a single white tulip. Ignoring the other man, I approached the child, dropped down to one knee and continued crying.

I am so sorry.

“...”

I wish I could take it all back and that none of this happened to us.

“...”

I can’t change the past, but I can change the future. Please, I’m begging you, forgive me.

He then reached out and offered me the flower. It was slightly wilted but with a fragrance so intense I felt as if I were in a whole field of tulips. I took it from his small hands and held it for a moment. Overcome I reached out and pulled the boy close to me, my tears getting lost in the strands of his hair.

Thank you.

“This is only the beginning, not the end. There are others.”

How do I find them?

“The same way you found me. You look for them.”

I will find them, no, we will. I promise.

Forgiving yourself seems like a simple charge, but it can be one of the most difficult things to do. I still don’t think I have really even broken the surface of that endeavor. I have to figure it out though if I am to make it through this. For every indiscretion I hold against myself is just another fault line ready to take me back to where I was.

Waiting to Board - Day 38

When I was fifth grade my dad worked constantly. My parents were in the messy business of getting divorced and as much as he needed the money to cover all the expenses, he needed a place to escape more. It should be no surprise that I have a tendency to immerse myself in work when things get difficult. We do what we know.

Even though he was working 60 to 80 hours a week, he always tried to make time for me and my siblings. When I was young I used to think it was whenever he could spare a few minutes. Looking back I realize it was when he hurting the most and needed to be reminded of why he kept fighting.

One afternoon while he was living in an apartment across the street from my elementary school, he called my brother and I into his room. I remember everything in the apartment was new and stood as a reminder that our family was falling apart. We didn’t know what to expect as we climbed up on the bed to where Dad was holding his bible.

“I want to read you guys a story,” he said in a very solemn voice. His demeanor was such that neither of us argued. He turned the soft pages of the book to a section that was printed entirely in red. “This is the story of the Prodigal Son.”

He read the story perpetually on the brink of tears. I don’t know what about that day was so difficult for him, given the time frame he may have just finalized the divorce papers. Whatever the reason is irrelevant though. It was the first time in my life I remember wanting to end another person's suffering and true compassion doesn’t require context.

After he finished reading the story he looked at both of us and said, “I want you to know I will always welcome you back. Just like the father in the story, I’ll be waiting no matter what.”  

When I made the decision to leave treatment and return home, I knew that all I had to do was call him and I would be on a plane. He has always honored the promise he made to me 25 years ago and I have no reason to think that will ever change.

I’m currently sitting at Honolulu International Airport waiting to board my plane back to the mainland. There are so many emotions going through my head it’s hard to even see straight. I have no idea what to expect when I get back home.

While this marks the end of an adventure, my journey is far from over. It would be foolish to think that returning to Seattle is going to make all my problems disappear, it’s where they all started. I am essentially starting all over from where I was four months ago but with two crucial advantages: support and sobriety.

Every time my thoughts start to race and I can feel myself losing control I just take a deep breath and remember even if nothing is the same when I get back, at least my dad will be there waiting for me.

I hope it’s raining when I land.

Home - Day 37

I’ve now been on Oahu for four months and six days. It’s barely been one season, but it feels like a lifetime. I’ve been wondering what I’m supposed to be doing. I keep feeling like the culmination of such a radical journey of self discovery should be marked with a momentous event. As if I need to spend my final hours here out searching the streets of Honolulu for one final revelation.

So I set out from the loft on King Street, with only my laptop, determined to find what I’m missing. I walked a block down River over to Hotel Street. I remembered the first time I made the same walk, without the slightest idea where I was or where I was going. The buildings that once seemed so foreign to me are now just fixtures in the background. The 54 pulls up as I am rounding the corner and I know the 2 is just a couple minutes behind. I stop mid stride in front of the cambodian minimart and realize this place has become home.

Home. In the months before leaving Seattle I became obsessed with the concept. It’s such a simple word but it was also the major catalyst that brought here. Well, more the perceived absence thereof.

After the 2015 holiday season, my living situation was rocky at best. I had been struggling a great deal which led to drinking excessively and constantly. It felt like everything about my past was thrust into the foreground of my mind. Each mistake I’d ever made, everything that ever hurt me, anyone I’ve ever been, all at once.

It was centered around my substance abuse and the price that I paid for it. Most specifically the choices I made that led up to my first encounter with the most horrific face of God. After highschool I chose to get high instead of going to school.

I was terrified that I might actually turn out to be as smart as everyone thought. The expectation was too much. I had boundless potential but had no idea what to do with it.

So instead I lied to myself and said I was looking for some greater meaning. I justified using drugs as a way to better understand the mind. As if some three day bender would give me insight into the truth about our existence or more importantly explain to me why I wasn’t given a choice.

I regret that decision. No. I hate myself for that decision.

There were no hidden mysteries to unlock, only chains which I happily shackled to myself after burying my potential in an unmarked catacomb. It was all a sham concocted by the dragon that now haunts my sleep.

With the coming of the new year the dramatic increase in drinking concerned my roommate. Unsure how to help, instead he immersed himself in a new relationship. It quickly escalated from casual dating to her spending three nights a week at our house. The more that she came around, the less it felt like the place I’d called home. It’s not fair to blame her though.

David has a very aggressive demeanor which comes through in ways I’m not sure he realizes. Efforts that he made to better understand my recently actualized sexuality came across as offensive and discriminatory. He considered himself the pinnacle of masculinity and as such asserted himself as the head of household. My grievances were dismissed as irrelevant, which he justified due to my alcoholism and mental condition. I was marginalized and alienated in the place that should have been my sanctuary. The longer this continued the more I felt homeless.

During all of this I was frantically searching for a new job. A year prior I had taken a new position with the company that I had worked at for over a decade, KDL. I gave up my desk and moved into an office in the warehouse to manage operations. With the added responsibility came a myriad of unexpected complications.

I immediately began the massive undertaking of fixing everything that was wrong. With each day our systems improved and I would move on to the next problem. Within six months I had solved everything that was within my control but there was one that stood out above all others still.

Upper management had made a critical error in a moment of desperation and hired on the spouse of one of our sales people. They ignored her ineptitude and unwillingness to learn even the basic functions of her job. Her shortcomings were rationalized by blaming my unrealistic expectations. The entire staff and I were held hostage, I had to get out.

Everything seemed to fall perfectly into place when I was offered a job at University of Washington Medical Center. It offered me a way out of the hell I was suffering in everyday, while also affording me the chance to go back to school. It was everything I had ever wanted.

Leaving KDL had a greater impact on me than I had thought it would. The final months were so toxic I didn’t even consider that after 13 years my coworkers were more family than friends. It was my home and I was leaving it behind.

I was also still struggling with an identity crisis. I had no idea who I was or who I was supposed to be. I wanted to find my place within the gay community, but found myself spending more time having to convince people that I was actually gay. I would go out and drink to fight the anxiety I felt in being out. Then I’d drink too much and embarrass myself, or worse not remember, which would then result in depression and further anxiety.

Dating was even more tragic. For so long, I have wanted to find someone I could make a home with that I was blinded by future tense. I let a long distance relationship go on for far too long and it ruined any attempts I made to have meaningful connections with people near me. I kept going back to the same lackluster situation simply because I saw it as a comfortable place to wait for space to dissipate.

The distance between us was such a prominent dilemma to our relationship that it blinded me from any other warning signs that presented themselves. Then one day it all came to head and ended in an alcohol fueled rage. I will always regret the way I acted that day.

Then I met someone who I wanted to be with. Both of us still needed to heal from past relationships and I couldn’t see that. I thought that if I just tried harder I could make it work. I didn’t want to accept, just as a child impatiently watching water boil, I was powerless over time.

Any one of these factors would have posed a challenge for me. Combined they served as the setting for the perfect storm. Each element lending fuel to the next in an ever accelerating spiral of anxiety. When it came for me again, I went willingly.

“Blink.”

Take the pain away.

“Close your eyes and follow me.”

I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

“I can make it all go away. Just follow me.”

What are we waiting for?

---

I’ve tried reflect on what had taken me to the edge countless times. I have four other documents in which I got a paragraph in and couldn’t think of the words that come next. My fingers paralyzed by the thought of reminiscing on a point in my life that was so painful. I had no intentions of writing about it today and this is merely just an overview, but it hurts to relive all the same.

It’s been said that those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. It seems coming to terms with what brought me here in the first place is to be the final revelation I had in mind. As for a momentous event to to punctuate my departure, given the relatively short time we have here, I think the rest of my life will do nicely.

Neuroses - Day 36

My flight to Seattle is booked. I leave Monday at 8:45 pm. I have one layover at LAX and another at SFO then arrive in Seattle around 11 am. Cue the neuroses.

What if I get delayed and miss one of my connections. It happened on my way here. Now there's twice as much potential for things to go wrong with two layovers. It’s already known they over book the flights.What if I can’t even get on the flight leaving Honolulu and I get stuck here, left to suffer in limbo, always trying to get home but never able to find my way off this isolated rock in the middle of the Pacific.

Or it could be that I get on the plane and the same thing happens as last time. I’m waiting for take off when all of the sudden I get overwhelmed with a crushing bout of anxiety, shaking so much the flight attendants are called in even though there is nothing they could possible do to help alleviate the situation, so they only make things worse. In my panic what if I grab too many trazadone and then after all my efforts to stay alive til I got back home I’m loaded off the plane directly into a wooden box.

Maybe it’s not just me who’s doomed, maybe it’s everyone. Quietly sipping on a miniature glass of ginger ale when suddenly there’s a smell of smoke, the sound of creaking metal and then without warning the entire cabin splits in two as we all fall to our watery grave.

That seems a little extreme I’ll admit. But the most concerning thing right now has nothing to do with the flight or the plane. What do I do if I get back home to find that it was all just some dream world in my head and that no one really wants me to come back. What if they all moved along with their lives and found that things are just easier without having me around. It’s possible all of my excitement is misplaced and all I’m doing is setting myself up for the biggest disappointment.

I don’t know what to do if that turns out to be the truth. More concerning is I don’t know what I’ll do.