Step Four excluded
Hidden Resentments
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
When I did my fourth step, it seems that I left out one very important resentment that I have been carrying with me for about 30 years or so. It came to light this last week when I received a letter from the Franchise Tax Board of California.
In 1979, my wife took it upon herself to start filing her tax returns by herself and claiming the kids on it, thus eliminating my ability to claim any exemptions other than myself. I took this to believe that she was being “greedy” as she could get more refund by doing it this way. The result being, that I didn’t file MY return, and continued not filing for a few years. The years to come were those of having my wages attached for not filing, thus building up considerable amounts in fines, interest and everything else the government does when this happens.
Every time I got a garnishment from work that they were attaching my wages, I would get pissed off eventually at my wife for starting (in MY mind) this grave situation. This has gone on for over 30 years.
The last four or five years, after making an installment agreement with the State, I have had 150.00 taken out of my check each month. With these payments and all those thru the years, I have more than paid off my debt to them, but NOW……. I owe them MORE than when I started the payments.
The letter I got from them was due to filing my taxes online with the 74.00 owed to them, making arrangements (online) to have them paid from my bank automatically. This would have been fine, except when I entered my routing number to the bank, I didn’t enter ALL of the numbers, and the payment became invalid when they tried to extract the payment. The letter was “an Intent to Cancel” my arrangement with them.
My first reaction was one of surprise until I explored and found the reason. My second reaction was one of resentment towards my wife for starting this mess 30 some odd years ago. Today, while looking back at this situation the last week, I am amazed that I have held onto this resentment for so long. Maybe because it only pops up when I’m contacted in regards to the matter.
Being in an ugly mood caused by this, I “threw” the situation in my wife’s face, accusing her of causing this to happen because of her greed, 30 + years ago. One thing led to another, and an argument arose between us.
But………… then……… she said something to me that really hit home and shut me up about this matter forever. Her answer to me was “I did what I had to do to feed and clothe my kids because you were out of control at that time.”
WHOA!! Stopped me in my tracks. It finally came out and it was true as can be. I went to my room like a little kid that had been caught with “his pants down”, as well I was. It made me stop and take a close look at this. What happened? When I did my fourth step, WHY wasn’t this resentment included? Why wasn’t it let go years ago? Why did I carry this resentment for so long without resolving it?
So our troubles, we think, are basically of our own making. They arise out of ourselves, and the alcoholic is an extreme example of self-will run riot, though he usually doesn't think so. Above everything, we alcoholics must be rid of this selfishness. We must, or it kills us!
We went back through our lives. Nothing counted but thoroughness and honesty. When we were finished we considered it carefully. The first thing apparent was that this world and its people were often quite wrong. To conclude that others were wrong was as far as most of us ever got. The usual outcome was that people continued to wrong us and we stayed sore. Sometimes it was remorse and then we were sore at ourselves. But the more we fought and tried to have our own way, the worse matters got. As in war, the victor only seemed to win. Our moments of triumph were short-lived.
It is plain that a life which includes deep resentment leads only to futility and unhappiness. To the precise extent that we permit these, do we squander the hours that might have been worth while. But with the alcoholic, whose hope is the maintenance and growth of a spiritual experience, this business of resentment is infinitely grave. We found that it is fatal. For when harboring such feeling we shut ourselves off from the sunlight of the Spirit. The insanity of alcohol returns and we drink again. And with us, to drink is to die.
If we were to live, we had to be free of anger. The grouch and the brainstorm were not for us. They may be the dubious luxury of normal men, but for alcoholics these things are poison.
We turned back to the list, for it held the key to the future. We were prepared to look for it from an entirely different angle. We began to see that the world and its people really dominated us. In that state, the wrong-doing of others, fancied or real, had power to actually kill. How could we escape? We saw that these resentments must be mastered, but how? We could not wish them away any more than alcohol.
This was our course: We realized that the people who wronged us were perhaps spiritually sick. Though we did not like their symptoms and the way these disturbed us, they, like ourselves, were sick too. We asked God to help us show them the same tolerance, pity, and patience that we would cheerfully grant a sick friend. When a person offended we said to ourselves, "This is a sick man. How can I be helpful to him? God save me from being angry. Thy will be done."
We avoid retaliation or argument. We wouldn't treat sick people that way. If we do, we destroy our chance of being helpful. We cannot be helpful to all people, but at least God will show us how to take a kindly and tolerant view of each and every one.
Referring to our list again. Putting out of our minds the wrongs others had done, we resolutely looked for our own mistakes. Where had we been selfish, dishonest, self-seeking and frightened? Though a situation had not been entirely our fault, we tried to disregard the other person involved entirely. Where were we to blame? The inventory was ours, not the other man's. When we saw our faults we listed them. We placed them before us in black and white. We admitted our wrongs honestly and were willing to set these matters straight.
Notice that the word "fear" is bracketed alongside the difficulties with Mr. Brown, Mrs. Jones, the employer, and the wife. This short word somehow touches about every aspect of our lives. It was an evil and corroding thread; the fabric of our existence was shot through with it. It set in motion trains of circumstances which brought us misfortune we felt we didn't deserve. But did not we, ourselves, set the ball rolling? Sometimes we think fear ought to be classed with stealing. It seems to cause more trouble.
We reviewed our fears thoroughly. We put them on paper, even though we had no resentment in connection with them. We asked ourselves why we had them. Wasn't it because self-reliance failed us? Self-reliance was good as far as it went, but it didn't go far enough. Some of us once had great self-confidence, but it didn't fully solve the fear problem, or any other. When it made us cocky, it was worse.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Paranoid
Paranoid
I used the word paranoid in either a post or in the chat room the other night, and ever since then, I've been thinking about that word and what it means to me.
I had my first experience (that I know of), about 1964 in San Francisco. My older brother was a "speed" addict, at that time shooting up methadrine. Never knew much about it then, and in fact, not now either. It was the drug that his crowd used, among other things.
There was this little alley off of either Folsom or Harrison and 6th in San Francisco that they all hung out at. There was a garage under a house that was made into an apartment, if you want to call it that. There was one room and a small kitchen in back. The guy that rented the place was "Crazy Bob", and believe me, he was crazy. Crazy with the drug speed/heroin and anything else that would go up his veins. My brother took me there with him, as I was on my own in the big city. I did some drinking, but that was about it.
The paranoia was constant there in that garage, with people constantly hearing "noises", people "sneaking up on them", and were always looking (peeking) out the mail box opening. There was a constant traffic of "street" people coming in and out throughout the nights. Several times while I was there, people showed up with brief cases of dope, stolen from drug stores in the night.
Boy, that's when the paranoia REALLY showed, with one after another peeking thru that mailbox, while trying to figure out just what they had stolen. Like it really didn't matter, because nothing went to waste if it was "dope". The Stove was going constantly, "cooking" up dope to get another "geeze".
This was not only my first experience with paranoia, but my first real experience being around dope and addicts. I've never shot up, myself, but seen enough thru the years to turn me off from it. I used to think that I could never become an addict, and from that point of view that I was around, didn't. But, I became an addict, a different type of addict that hung around "Crazy Bob's" pad, but an addict just the same. I did everything they did, at one time or another in my life, just not mainline.
At the end of my drinking and drugging career, paranoia meant something else, besides looking thru mailboxes. It meant thinking that people were always talking about me whenever I couldn't hear them. Thinking that the bill collectors were knocking at my door every time I heard a knock, afraid of answering the phone, afraid of headlights in back of me at night, thinking it was certainly a cop, and he knew who I was, and what I had done, or was doing.
I guess what I'm getting at, and I'm sure there are plenty here that can relate, IS........... The life of drugs and alcohol is almost ALWAYS filled with that paranoia. It comes with the territory.
For me, today, I live in a new territory, a territory of peace and tranquility, paranoia FREE!!
How about YOU???
Just my thoughts as they came to me tonight.
Mike
I used the word paranoid in either a post or in the chat room the other night, and ever since then, I've been thinking about that word and what it means to me.
I had my first experience (that I know of), about 1964 in San Francisco. My older brother was a "speed" addict, at that time shooting up methadrine. Never knew much about it then, and in fact, not now either. It was the drug that his crowd used, among other things.
There was this little alley off of either Folsom or Harrison and 6th in San Francisco that they all hung out at. There was a garage under a house that was made into an apartment, if you want to call it that. There was one room and a small kitchen in back. The guy that rented the place was "Crazy Bob", and believe me, he was crazy. Crazy with the drug speed/heroin and anything else that would go up his veins. My brother took me there with him, as I was on my own in the big city. I did some drinking, but that was about it.
The paranoia was constant there in that garage, with people constantly hearing "noises", people "sneaking up on them", and were always looking (peeking) out the mail box opening. There was a constant traffic of "street" people coming in and out throughout the nights. Several times while I was there, people showed up with brief cases of dope, stolen from drug stores in the night.
Boy, that's when the paranoia REALLY showed, with one after another peeking thru that mailbox, while trying to figure out just what they had stolen. Like it really didn't matter, because nothing went to waste if it was "dope". The Stove was going constantly, "cooking" up dope to get another "geeze".
This was not only my first experience with paranoia, but my first real experience being around dope and addicts. I've never shot up, myself, but seen enough thru the years to turn me off from it. I used to think that I could never become an addict, and from that point of view that I was around, didn't. But, I became an addict, a different type of addict that hung around "Crazy Bob's" pad, but an addict just the same. I did everything they did, at one time or another in my life, just not mainline.
At the end of my drinking and drugging career, paranoia meant something else, besides looking thru mailboxes. It meant thinking that people were always talking about me whenever I couldn't hear them. Thinking that the bill collectors were knocking at my door every time I heard a knock, afraid of answering the phone, afraid of headlights in back of me at night, thinking it was certainly a cop, and he knew who I was, and what I had done, or was doing.
I guess what I'm getting at, and I'm sure there are plenty here that can relate, IS........... The life of drugs and alcohol is almost ALWAYS filled with that paranoia. It comes with the territory.
For me, today, I live in a new territory, a territory of peace and tranquility, paranoia FREE!!
How about YOU???
Just my thoughts as they came to me tonight.
Mike
Milkman's Online Recovery
Online recovery groups have been a major part of my life since January 29, 2004. I started my first site (group) on MSN Groups. MSN made it fairly easy to develop a site and I, and many others were very disappointed when they closed them down.
Since that time, I have taken several classes in web design, and developed my own, on my own domain. I learned the basics on MSN and a lot more with the classes I took. There is so much to learn in web design, that at times it can be confusing and overwhelming. At age 63, the capacity to retain what I learn has dwindled somewhat, and it can even be confusing at times. But, I will keep doing what has been most satisfying to me these last 6 years…… providing recovery sites to folks in recovery, and hopefully will help some of them retain their new lives clean and sober for another 24. I know it has had a major impact on my own sobriety, and I’ll keep on, keeping on. Hope you will join with us in recovery and support. Help others and yourself in the process.
Mike
Since that time, I have taken several classes in web design, and developed my own, on my own domain. I learned the basics on MSN and a lot more with the classes I took. There is so much to learn in web design, that at times it can be confusing and overwhelming. At age 63, the capacity to retain what I learn has dwindled somewhat, and it can even be confusing at times. But, I will keep doing what has been most satisfying to me these last 6 years…… providing recovery sites to folks in recovery, and hopefully will help some of them retain their new lives clean and sober for another 24. I know it has had a major impact on my own sobriety, and I’ll keep on, keeping on. Hope you will join with us in recovery and support. Help others and yourself in the process.
Mike
Emotional control
Emotional control
I've been able to control my emotions (at least most of them, lol) most of my life. By control I mean my outward control. My wife says that I have very little emotion, but that’s what shows on the outside. My insides feel emotion; it's just that I don't express them to others. One emotion I did express most of my life was anger. I’m glad that anger isn’t an issue in my life these days.
The last few weeks, my wife has been going thru some physical events that have affected me to the point that I haven't been able to do some of the things in the ways that I think are right. One of those things is posting how I feel about things. When I post and share my thoughts, usually the words just seems to flow. But I’m finding out that they only flow when I’m feeling good about things going on around me. Holding back my emotions these days affects how I think and what I write. I’ve been trying to write things the last few weeks, but I’m like the author that has a wastepaper basket full of crumpled up sheets of paper. Instead of paper, my “Trash” folder is full on my computer, lol.
I don’t claim to be any great writer, but I do try to write how I feel and what I’m thinking. I also try to take into consideration that what I write will not offend others. That can be an almost impossible feat in itself, as there always seems to be someone that won’t agree. That still doesn’t deter me from writing what comes out. It’s just that what comes out, I’d like to at least make some sense, lol. This hasn’t been happening in the last few weeks, and maybe some may think it NEVER does, lol again. But I will still write and post my thoughts.
My wife is finally started getting better from her vertigo, and we had a wonderful day yesterday, taking our dog for a walk (run), and did some shopping together. It’s been almost 2 months since she has had such a great day. I feel when SHE has a great day, I have a great day. I could really tell that it had an effect on the way I think, as my mind started working overtime to make up for the last couple of months.
I can only pray that my wife continues to get better, so that we can both enjoy doing the things we like. Today is her birthday, so I won’t be doing much for myself today, lol.
So in closing, I guess I’m not so in control of my emotions as I thought. Holding them inside is tough, but sometimes it’s better than laying them on someone else. Have to find that happy medium and then talk out what I need to, to a mediator (sponsor) that will listen to me.
Have a great day everyone
Mike
I've been able to control my emotions (at least most of them, lol) most of my life. By control I mean my outward control. My wife says that I have very little emotion, but that’s what shows on the outside. My insides feel emotion; it's just that I don't express them to others. One emotion I did express most of my life was anger. I’m glad that anger isn’t an issue in my life these days.
The last few weeks, my wife has been going thru some physical events that have affected me to the point that I haven't been able to do some of the things in the ways that I think are right. One of those things is posting how I feel about things. When I post and share my thoughts, usually the words just seems to flow. But I’m finding out that they only flow when I’m feeling good about things going on around me. Holding back my emotions these days affects how I think and what I write. I’ve been trying to write things the last few weeks, but I’m like the author that has a wastepaper basket full of crumpled up sheets of paper. Instead of paper, my “Trash” folder is full on my computer, lol.
I don’t claim to be any great writer, but I do try to write how I feel and what I’m thinking. I also try to take into consideration that what I write will not offend others. That can be an almost impossible feat in itself, as there always seems to be someone that won’t agree. That still doesn’t deter me from writing what comes out. It’s just that what comes out, I’d like to at least make some sense, lol. This hasn’t been happening in the last few weeks, and maybe some may think it NEVER does, lol again. But I will still write and post my thoughts.
My wife is finally started getting better from her vertigo, and we had a wonderful day yesterday, taking our dog for a walk (run), and did some shopping together. It’s been almost 2 months since she has had such a great day. I feel when SHE has a great day, I have a great day. I could really tell that it had an effect on the way I think, as my mind started working overtime to make up for the last couple of months.
I can only pray that my wife continues to get better, so that we can both enjoy doing the things we like. Today is her birthday, so I won’t be doing much for myself today, lol.
So in closing, I guess I’m not so in control of my emotions as I thought. Holding them inside is tough, but sometimes it’s better than laying them on someone else. Have to find that happy medium and then talk out what I need to, to a mediator (sponsor) that will listen to me.
Have a great day everyone
Mike
This alkie and drugs
We talk about alcohol so much, that sometimes I forget all the drug abuse I had in my life. Alcohol was my drug of choice, but the drug abuse was very prevalent in my life also.
Back in the day, people used to say that marijuana would lead to hard drugs, and we just laughed at them. SURE!! What do YOU know? Well, my story with drugs goes a bit like this:
When I was about 14, my older brother (17) was doing drugs. Speed was called methedrine and somehow they got it in vials and shot it up. I caught my brother using one day, and he told me it was medicine he was taking because he was sick. There was a house where a few of his friends hung out, and the little brother (me) was always tagging along. I didn't think anything of the behavior of these people, staying awake for days, and acting strange all the time, as I was happy just to be included, the little brother looking up to the older brother.
I got involved with burglaries and ended up in a boys camp in La Honda, Calif. for about a year. When I got out, I thought I was the tough guy, because the little guy that went there, built his body up with weight lifting, exercise and high bar routines.
I had an Italian friend that was allowed to drink at home, and we started to drink on the weekends, and I started ending up getting drunk at times. It got to the point after graduation, that my parents finally gave me the option of doing as they wished or leaving. I left to go out on my own and ended up in the big city, San Francisco.
Once I got to the big city, it was ON! I had a menial job in an Insurance Company, wearing white shirt and tie, and suits and sports coats, lol. I thought I was the "business man". I worked in the tabulating dept. as an IBM operator by day, or a "man" of the night when I got off. I ran into a couple of guys that I had been in the boys camp with and they were into smoking pot and poping pills. Of course, I didn't want to look like a "square", so I joined right in with them. It was all about hitting the night spots, even though we weren't 21 yet. Hung out in the coffee houses of North Beach, and the pot and pill taking escalated. I remember there was a "church" for the down and out, called the "Last Exit", located at the end of Broadway and started hanging out there, and in the Tenderloin District at night and weekends.
There was plenty of drugs to go along with all the alcohol we were consuming. You name it, they had it, so WE had it. Didn't matter what it was, we took it, or should I say I took it.
I went to jail in 1965 and when I got out, the Hippie movement was on its way. There was a girl I had been going with before I went in, and we tried to hook up. She was into selling Acid, pot and all the other psychedelic drugs of the day. Naturally, I had to go and do my share.
A couple of guys that I had met in school and later in the pool halls started selling grass big time, and of course I had to get my fingers in it too. I would buy a "lid" which was a four finger baggie, and then break them up into matchboxes and sell them in the city and to new people on the scene. The bike clubs started selling beans or bennies, (cross tops) about this time, and I would buy a "jar" (1,000) for about 10 bucks and sell a "roll" for 2 buck in the after hour clubs. Of course, in order to stay "up", I had to take MY share.
So here I was, in the late 60's, taking and selling drugs, hustling the streets, coffee houses, bars and friends. Of course there was a lot of other crime involved along with the drinking and drugging. The boosting of stores and cars, robbing houses and stores, stealing cars, strong arm robberies and a lot that I won't mention.
Ah, here come the 70's, the cocaine and crank years, at least the beginning. Now settled down with my wife, had my first son in 1969, I continued to party, even though I had a pretty good job. Spent a lot of time in the bars and consumed massive amounts of alcohol, so I had to take the coke and crank to stay sober, lol. The mescaline and the speeds made it so I could drink longer and more.
This continued all thru the 70's and into the 80's and 90's. In the 90's I was mostly taking speed and smoking pot along with the drinking. I almost forgot to mention all the prescription drugs that were available. The reds, yellows, darvon, percadan, and a whole lot of others that I took and didn't even know what they were.
I took anything that would help me drink more and longer, or make me forget about any responsibilities that I might have had.
In 1996, after my best friend passed away from cancer, I went on a spree after his funeral. I went on about a 10 day run, with anti depressants, valiums, pain pills, crank and washed it all down with massive amounts of alcohol. I went to jail and then prison, with somewhere around my 13th DUI. I went into, what I think, was a nervous breakdown, having the DDT's and ending up in the rubber room at the county jail. I don't think I "came to", until about 14 or so months later, while walking the yard in San Quentin State Prison.
When I was released from prison, my wife had left me, everything that I had owned was gone, and I didn't have a pot to piss in. It took three violations and a 20 month trip to a program to finally make me "see the light".
The rest is mostly good, after I was released from prison in 2003. I have been clean and sober since, and on the 29th of this month, I will pick up my 6 year coin or chip, whatever they want to give me, lol. I had to go thru some bad times when released to get my life back in order, but the patience, honest and willingness made it possible for that to happen.
My life has changed dramatically and so has my thinking. After leading a life like mine, I never thought I would see this day, with so much time without alcohol and drugs. I thank the 12 step programs and the people in it and especially all you great people that have come to this group and shared yourself, listened to what I had to say, gave me feedback and helped me STAY clean and sober.
Thanks all for coming and "listening" to me.
DONE
Back in the day, people used to say that marijuana would lead to hard drugs, and we just laughed at them. SURE!! What do YOU know? Well, my story with drugs goes a bit like this:
When I was about 14, my older brother (17) was doing drugs. Speed was called methedrine and somehow they got it in vials and shot it up. I caught my brother using one day, and he told me it was medicine he was taking because he was sick. There was a house where a few of his friends hung out, and the little brother (me) was always tagging along. I didn't think anything of the behavior of these people, staying awake for days, and acting strange all the time, as I was happy just to be included, the little brother looking up to the older brother.
I got involved with burglaries and ended up in a boys camp in La Honda, Calif. for about a year. When I got out, I thought I was the tough guy, because the little guy that went there, built his body up with weight lifting, exercise and high bar routines.
I had an Italian friend that was allowed to drink at home, and we started to drink on the weekends, and I started ending up getting drunk at times. It got to the point after graduation, that my parents finally gave me the option of doing as they wished or leaving. I left to go out on my own and ended up in the big city, San Francisco.
Once I got to the big city, it was ON! I had a menial job in an Insurance Company, wearing white shirt and tie, and suits and sports coats, lol. I thought I was the "business man". I worked in the tabulating dept. as an IBM operator by day, or a "man" of the night when I got off. I ran into a couple of guys that I had been in the boys camp with and they were into smoking pot and poping pills. Of course, I didn't want to look like a "square", so I joined right in with them. It was all about hitting the night spots, even though we weren't 21 yet. Hung out in the coffee houses of North Beach, and the pot and pill taking escalated. I remember there was a "church" for the down and out, called the "Last Exit", located at the end of Broadway and started hanging out there, and in the Tenderloin District at night and weekends.
There was plenty of drugs to go along with all the alcohol we were consuming. You name it, they had it, so WE had it. Didn't matter what it was, we took it, or should I say I took it.
I went to jail in 1965 and when I got out, the Hippie movement was on its way. There was a girl I had been going with before I went in, and we tried to hook up. She was into selling Acid, pot and all the other psychedelic drugs of the day. Naturally, I had to go and do my share.
A couple of guys that I had met in school and later in the pool halls started selling grass big time, and of course I had to get my fingers in it too. I would buy a "lid" which was a four finger baggie, and then break them up into matchboxes and sell them in the city and to new people on the scene. The bike clubs started selling beans or bennies, (cross tops) about this time, and I would buy a "jar" (1,000) for about 10 bucks and sell a "roll" for 2 buck in the after hour clubs. Of course, in order to stay "up", I had to take MY share.
So here I was, in the late 60's, taking and selling drugs, hustling the streets, coffee houses, bars and friends. Of course there was a lot of other crime involved along with the drinking and drugging. The boosting of stores and cars, robbing houses and stores, stealing cars, strong arm robberies and a lot that I won't mention.
Ah, here come the 70's, the cocaine and crank years, at least the beginning. Now settled down with my wife, had my first son in 1969, I continued to party, even though I had a pretty good job. Spent a lot of time in the bars and consumed massive amounts of alcohol, so I had to take the coke and crank to stay sober, lol. The mescaline and the speeds made it so I could drink longer and more.
This continued all thru the 70's and into the 80's and 90's. In the 90's I was mostly taking speed and smoking pot along with the drinking. I almost forgot to mention all the prescription drugs that were available. The reds, yellows, darvon, percadan, and a whole lot of others that I took and didn't even know what they were.
I took anything that would help me drink more and longer, or make me forget about any responsibilities that I might have had.
In 1996, after my best friend passed away from cancer, I went on a spree after his funeral. I went on about a 10 day run, with anti depressants, valiums, pain pills, crank and washed it all down with massive amounts of alcohol. I went to jail and then prison, with somewhere around my 13th DUI. I went into, what I think, was a nervous breakdown, having the DDT's and ending up in the rubber room at the county jail. I don't think I "came to", until about 14 or so months later, while walking the yard in San Quentin State Prison.
When I was released from prison, my wife had left me, everything that I had owned was gone, and I didn't have a pot to piss in. It took three violations and a 20 month trip to a program to finally make me "see the light".
The rest is mostly good, after I was released from prison in 2003. I have been clean and sober since, and on the 29th of this month, I will pick up my 6 year coin or chip, whatever they want to give me, lol. I had to go thru some bad times when released to get my life back in order, but the patience, honest and willingness made it possible for that to happen.
My life has changed dramatically and so has my thinking. After leading a life like mine, I never thought I would see this day, with so much time without alcohol and drugs. I thank the 12 step programs and the people in it and especially all you great people that have come to this group and shared yourself, listened to what I had to say, gave me feedback and helped me STAY clean and sober.
Thanks all for coming and "listening" to me.
DONE
Setting an example
Setting an example
It’s really ironic how a conversation can spark up memories of your past. While in the chat room one night, a member was sharing, and mentioned how her father had taken her into the bars with him, when she was a child.
This brought up a lot of memories for me. My first child was born in 1969, and my wife and I were heavy into the "party life style" of the times. These were the days of the Hippie movement, and in my circle of "friends" there was a lot of drugs and alcohol in our everyday lives. We were very open in our home with the drugs, smoking pot, and doing other drugs and a lot of drinking.
"Friends" and other drinking and using family members would constantly stop in and the parties were never ending. My second and third were born in 1973 and 1976 respectively. Still the drugs and alcohol, parties, and "friends" continued. We did not try to hide our addictions in front of our children, and I know that it must have had some effect on the ideals that were instilled in their little heads.
I can remember taking the little ones with me to the bar and having them wait in a booth or car, while I consumed a couple of drinks or beers or coped some drugs. I remember taking them fishing and always having a 6 pack or a joint to smoke. Family trips in the car always had me driving with a beer between my legs the whole trip. In fact, I don't think I ever went anywhere without that beer. I drank and drove my entire life. I can't remember ever doing anything without some type of mind altering drug. (Alcohol IS a drug)
Is it any wonder WHY the boys are into THEIR addictions today? Did I set an example for my children? Did I have an effect on them, when I showed up to the baseball and football youth teams they were on drunk or loaded?
The answer to these questions lies heavy in my heart. I realize that I can't change what has been done, but it still doesn't stop me from feeling guilty today.
I am now 63 years old, and have been clean and sober for over 9 years. I do my best to forgive myself for the past life and it helps.
I can only hope that by sharing this with some of the younger members that have children, that you may realize what effect we have as parents on our children. In our alcoholism and addictions, we sometimes have no realization on what effect we have on the little ones.
Don't wait until they are grown, as I did, to change your life style. REMEMBER, that you are the parents, and what you do, will be what your children grow up with and think is NORMAL?
I don't know if this makes sense to anyone, but when things bother me, I find that it helps to talk or write about it.
Anyone else have anything to add on this subject?
Mike
It’s really ironic how a conversation can spark up memories of your past. While in the chat room one night, a member was sharing, and mentioned how her father had taken her into the bars with him, when she was a child.
This brought up a lot of memories for me. My first child was born in 1969, and my wife and I were heavy into the "party life style" of the times. These were the days of the Hippie movement, and in my circle of "friends" there was a lot of drugs and alcohol in our everyday lives. We were very open in our home with the drugs, smoking pot, and doing other drugs and a lot of drinking.
"Friends" and other drinking and using family members would constantly stop in and the parties were never ending. My second and third were born in 1973 and 1976 respectively. Still the drugs and alcohol, parties, and "friends" continued. We did not try to hide our addictions in front of our children, and I know that it must have had some effect on the ideals that were instilled in their little heads.
I can remember taking the little ones with me to the bar and having them wait in a booth or car, while I consumed a couple of drinks or beers or coped some drugs. I remember taking them fishing and always having a 6 pack or a joint to smoke. Family trips in the car always had me driving with a beer between my legs the whole trip. In fact, I don't think I ever went anywhere without that beer. I drank and drove my entire life. I can't remember ever doing anything without some type of mind altering drug. (Alcohol IS a drug)
Is it any wonder WHY the boys are into THEIR addictions today? Did I set an example for my children? Did I have an effect on them, when I showed up to the baseball and football youth teams they were on drunk or loaded?
The answer to these questions lies heavy in my heart. I realize that I can't change what has been done, but it still doesn't stop me from feeling guilty today.
I am now 63 years old, and have been clean and sober for over 9 years. I do my best to forgive myself for the past life and it helps.
I can only hope that by sharing this with some of the younger members that have children, that you may realize what effect we have as parents on our children. In our alcoholism and addictions, we sometimes have no realization on what effect we have on the little ones.
Don't wait until they are grown, as I did, to change your life style. REMEMBER, that you are the parents, and what you do, will be what your children grow up with and think is NORMAL?
I don't know if this makes sense to anyone, but when things bother me, I find that it helps to talk or write about it.
Anyone else have anything to add on this subject?
Mike
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Milkman’s Story Part 3 –
Milkman’s Story Part 3 –
Functioning Alcoholic (I thought)
When we moved back to the peninsula somewhere around 1968 or 69, we moved around quite a bit from apartment to apartment to motels and finally into a duplex next to the park in South San Francisco. Our first son Michael was born in September of 1969 there. We were still a “wild” couple, having our apartment set up “hippie style”, with black lights, posters of the groups of the era, beads, candles and more.
I was still working at the office in San Francisco, but was soon let go in early 1970. I did some roofing for awhile and a lot of drinking and drugging. In 1971 I got a job with a big company and slid up the ladder in eight years somehow to General Foreman. My drinking slid right up there too, hitting the bars and partying constantly. My wife was settling down but I was “off the hook”.
After our 1st son was born, I was a proud father, even though I wasn’t yet grown up myself. I did a lot of the “father” stuff, buying toys, teaching him sports, camping, shows etc. etc. But all the while, I continued my drinking and drugging. Anytime we went for a family outing, a beer was always between my legs while driving. The “bars” always called me after work, and sometimes getting home was just in time to hit the sack, pass out, get up and start over again.
My other 2 sons were born in 1973 and 1976 and still this life of drinking continued. In the 70’s, I was incarcerated for DUI’s several time, doing time in Work Furlough’s, weekends, and mandated DUI programs. I went to AA during several periods during the 70’s, but I wasn’t ready to sober up for any period of time more than 30 days at a time.
My wife worked at the US Post Office in between pregnancies, and between us we had a fairly good income. With so much money being spent on my drinking and drugging, we were never able to acquire much, and most of the times, had bill collectors knocking at our door and on the phone. Of course, being in debt, gave me just that much more reason to go out and drink to forget and not feel overwhelmed by debt. Actually, I didn’t need much of a reason to continue my drinking career.
I did many things with my boys and wife during these years of 1969 to 1980, but I continued to lead my own life away from the house in my addiction. My job involved many company functions, which at that time involved a lot the drinking during the functions, paid for by the company. It seemed OK to me to over indulge, and that is what I did. I finally lost this job due to my alcoholism in 1979.
I guess I knew that I had a problem with alcohol and drugs during the 70’s, but refused to admit it. Even with all the jail time that was involved, it just didn’t hit “home”. I could read the writing on the wall; I just didn’t realize that the writing was addressed to ME.
Many things outside the home happened in the 70’s, with me getting involved with many criminal acts. I won’t mention them here as to protect the anonymity of others and myself from people that might take offense to these deeds. Just know that they were things that came with the “territory” of the times and acquaintances.
That’s all I’m gonna write about the 70’s and will do my best to continue my story soon about the VERY bad 80’s, for my family and myself.
Mike
Functioning Alcoholic (I thought)
When we moved back to the peninsula somewhere around 1968 or 69, we moved around quite a bit from apartment to apartment to motels and finally into a duplex next to the park in South San Francisco. Our first son Michael was born in September of 1969 there. We were still a “wild” couple, having our apartment set up “hippie style”, with black lights, posters of the groups of the era, beads, candles and more.
I was still working at the office in San Francisco, but was soon let go in early 1970. I did some roofing for awhile and a lot of drinking and drugging. In 1971 I got a job with a big company and slid up the ladder in eight years somehow to General Foreman. My drinking slid right up there too, hitting the bars and partying constantly. My wife was settling down but I was “off the hook”.
After our 1st son was born, I was a proud father, even though I wasn’t yet grown up myself. I did a lot of the “father” stuff, buying toys, teaching him sports, camping, shows etc. etc. But all the while, I continued my drinking and drugging. Anytime we went for a family outing, a beer was always between my legs while driving. The “bars” always called me after work, and sometimes getting home was just in time to hit the sack, pass out, get up and start over again.
My other 2 sons were born in 1973 and 1976 and still this life of drinking continued. In the 70’s, I was incarcerated for DUI’s several time, doing time in Work Furlough’s, weekends, and mandated DUI programs. I went to AA during several periods during the 70’s, but I wasn’t ready to sober up for any period of time more than 30 days at a time.
My wife worked at the US Post Office in between pregnancies, and between us we had a fairly good income. With so much money being spent on my drinking and drugging, we were never able to acquire much, and most of the times, had bill collectors knocking at our door and on the phone. Of course, being in debt, gave me just that much more reason to go out and drink to forget and not feel overwhelmed by debt. Actually, I didn’t need much of a reason to continue my drinking career.
I did many things with my boys and wife during these years of 1969 to 1980, but I continued to lead my own life away from the house in my addiction. My job involved many company functions, which at that time involved a lot the drinking during the functions, paid for by the company. It seemed OK to me to over indulge, and that is what I did. I finally lost this job due to my alcoholism in 1979.
I guess I knew that I had a problem with alcohol and drugs during the 70’s, but refused to admit it. Even with all the jail time that was involved, it just didn’t hit “home”. I could read the writing on the wall; I just didn’t realize that the writing was addressed to ME.
Many things outside the home happened in the 70’s, with me getting involved with many criminal acts. I won’t mention them here as to protect the anonymity of others and myself from people that might take offense to these deeds. Just know that they were things that came with the “territory” of the times and acquaintances.
That’s all I’m gonna write about the 70’s and will do my best to continue my story soon about the VERY bad 80’s, for my family and myself.
Mike
Milkman Mike’s Personal Story Part II
Milkman Mike’s Personal Story Part II
Life in Never Never Land
Places I never never want to see again
Part II
From 1964 to about 1970 my timetables are all out of whack. What I’m going to share in this next segment of my life may not coincide with the times or even the sequences that they happened. I was still 17 when I moved to the big city, and so many things happened so quickly, that a lot of it was hard to realize when it happened, only that it did happen.
A few notes added from before I left home:
I didn't meet my real father until I was about fourteen. My brother took me to see him in Hayward. He was an alcoholic and an addict. He died from a stroke at the age of 42, from his alcoholism when I was 17 years old. I met my other two brothers and sister at that time. I've seen them periodically through the years. The two boys were also alcoholics and addicts, but I believe that they are clean today.
My mother is Catholic, so my brother and I attended catechism, making our communion and confirmation. We attended church regularly by ourselves until I was about 15. After that, I remember only going to church on Christmas and Easter Holidays. I believe that during these times in my early youth, I believed that God had abandoned me by taking me from my life with Lou. After a while I either accepted it or blocked it out of my mind. I don't know which. I do know that I have forgiven my mother and Tony for what I believed that they did to me. My mother loved me and did what she thought was right and what she could handle during those years.
Being from the suburbs, I probably wasn’t as “street wise” as those that had grown up there. Things are done a lot different; people grew up hustling and living off the streets, whereas I had a home to go to for my sustainable needs. I did have some experience though, as I had been around some of these “street folk” in jails and institutions.
San Francisco had many places that were like magnets to youngsters like me, with North Beach and its coffee houses, night clubs, and people of the night. The Tenderloin District with the clubs and all night hangouts and more street people. Not having any direction in my life, I fit right in.
In the 60’s San Francisco was a place where “runaways” came, drawn into a “new freedom”, away from their families and places where they felt they did not fit in. When we’re young, we think we’re “bulletproof”, and not afraid of anything. Most were willing to try anything. For a lot of the young, in order to survive turned to prostitution, both male and female. Although San Francisco is now known for it’s Gay communities, in the 60’s, most were still in the “closet”, and a lot of them fell prey to those trying to survive.
The tenderloin had it’s after hour clubs where they served alcohol (under the table) and a lot of drugs changed hands there also. With the after-hour clubs came the need for “speed”. Not only to stay awake, but to prolong drinking. For the young of the times, adapting to this new lifestyle of freedom was quick. What a lot of the youngsters didn’t know, was that the predators were waiting for us all. The sex predators, the hustlers looking for new blood to support their habits, and then those that just liked to hurt people.
The North Beach area and Market Street were also places for the runaways and street people to hand out. The coffee houses and strip clubs and bars were such places. There were the all night restaurants, doggie diners, pool halls and a lot more. I hit them all at one time or another. With these new hangouts came new “friends”, people from the street; the bikers, druggies, alkies, the gays and more. We all seemed to be looking for “something else”, but what that was, I’m not really sure.
I lost my job at the Insurance company about a year after moving to the city. I had already moved from the little apartment to hotel rooms, paying by the week. Living from place to place, from Mason St. to Ellis, back to Stockton St., and then to the bottom of Nob Hill. Had run into some guys that I had been in the Boys Ranch a few years earlier that were more street wise than me, and I got more “education” from them as well as the people I had met. I lasted one month at the Nob Hill apartment, getting booted for having a continuous party that lasted almost a month. Lost my work clothes (suits and sports clothes of the times) after letting just about anyone in.
When I lost my job, I hitchhiked to Russian River resort area (Rio Nido), got a job cleaning up the beach and remodeling cabins that paid for a cabin and meals, with a small wage that went for cigarettes and booze. There were others just like me doing the same things and we were known as the “River Rats”. It was a party every night, drinking and doing drugs continuously.
Life in Never Never Land
Places I never never want to see again
Part II
From 1964 to about 1970 my timetables are all out of whack. What I’m going to share in this next segment of my life may not coincide with the times or even the sequences that they happened. I was still 17 when I moved to the big city, and so many things happened so quickly, that a lot of it was hard to realize when it happened, only that it did happen.
A few notes added from before I left home:
I didn't meet my real father until I was about fourteen. My brother took me to see him in Hayward. He was an alcoholic and an addict. He died from a stroke at the age of 42, from his alcoholism when I was 17 years old. I met my other two brothers and sister at that time. I've seen them periodically through the years. The two boys were also alcoholics and addicts, but I believe that they are clean today.
My mother is Catholic, so my brother and I attended catechism, making our communion and confirmation. We attended church regularly by ourselves until I was about 15. After that, I remember only going to church on Christmas and Easter Holidays. I believe that during these times in my early youth, I believed that God had abandoned me by taking me from my life with Lou. After a while I either accepted it or blocked it out of my mind. I don't know which. I do know that I have forgiven my mother and Tony for what I believed that they did to me. My mother loved me and did what she thought was right and what she could handle during those years.
Being from the suburbs, I probably wasn’t as “street wise” as those that had grown up there. Things are done a lot different; people grew up hustling and living off the streets, whereas I had a home to go to for my sustainable needs. I did have some experience though, as I had been around some of these “street folk” in jails and institutions.
San Francisco had many places that were like magnets to youngsters like me, with North Beach and its coffee houses, night clubs, and people of the night. The Tenderloin District with the clubs and all night hangouts and more street people. Not having any direction in my life, I fit right in.
In the 60’s San Francisco was a place where “runaways” came, drawn into a “new freedom”, away from their families and places where they felt they did not fit in. When we’re young, we think we’re “bulletproof”, and not afraid of anything. Most were willing to try anything. For a lot of the young, in order to survive turned to prostitution, both male and female. Although San Francisco is now known for it’s Gay communities, in the 60’s, most were still in the “closet”, and a lot of them fell prey to those trying to survive.
The tenderloin had it’s after hour clubs where they served alcohol (under the table) and a lot of drugs changed hands there also. With the after-hour clubs came the need for “speed”. Not only to stay awake, but to prolong drinking. For the young of the times, adapting to this new lifestyle of freedom was quick. What a lot of the youngsters didn’t know, was that the predators were waiting for us all. The sex predators, the hustlers looking for new blood to support their habits, and then those that just liked to hurt people.
The North Beach area and Market Street were also places for the runaways and street people to hand out. The coffee houses and strip clubs and bars were such places. There were the all night restaurants, doggie diners, pool halls and a lot more. I hit them all at one time or another. With these new hangouts came new “friends”, people from the street; the bikers, druggies, alkies, the gays and more. We all seemed to be looking for “something else”, but what that was, I’m not really sure.
I lost my job at the Insurance company about a year after moving to the city. I had already moved from the little apartment to hotel rooms, paying by the week. Living from place to place, from Mason St. to Ellis, back to Stockton St., and then to the bottom of Nob Hill. Had run into some guys that I had been in the Boys Ranch a few years earlier that were more street wise than me, and I got more “education” from them as well as the people I had met. I lasted one month at the Nob Hill apartment, getting booted for having a continuous party that lasted almost a month. Lost my work clothes (suits and sports clothes of the times) after letting just about anyone in.
When I lost my job, I hitchhiked to Russian River resort area (Rio Nido), got a job cleaning up the beach and remodeling cabins that paid for a cabin and meals, with a small wage that went for cigarettes and booze. There were others just like me doing the same things and we were known as the “River Rats”. It was a party every night, drinking and doing drugs continuously.
Milkman Mike’s Personal Story Part 1
Milkman Mike’s Personal Story Part 1
Life in Never Never Land
Places I never never want to see again
Part I
I’ve decided that it’s time to update my personal story, as I see my past a little different than when I first told it in 2001, and thru the years, my past has been unfolded to me, a little bit at a time. Things that I’d forgotten about, things I didn’t want to remember, and that which even to this day, don’t know if it’s fact or a stories that I built up in my mind.
I first shared it with a bunch of Prison convicts/addicts/alcoholics in the Amends Recovery Program at CRC (California Rehabilitation Center) in Norco, California, sometime in 2001. I ended up there after serving 3 or 4 prison terms beginning in 1992, along with 3 or 4 parole violations. County jails had been my second home up until 1992, and as someone once told me, “Mike, you are doing LIFE on the installment plan”, which well I was. My agenda up until 1992 was going to county jails about every 2-3 years and serving 6 months to 1 year sentences. It included work furlough centers, work farms and minimum security housing.
I hit the California Department of Corrections (the Prison System) (the Big House) (the Pen) at the age of 45 years old in 1992. All the jail time I did was always somehow related to alcohol and drugs. In 1992, I got my 4th DUI in a 5 year span, and due to changes in the laws, was sentenced to 16 months, the low mandatory prison term. I went to San Quentin, and then to Pelican Bay State Prisons. In the next 8 years, I was to see the insides of Folsom State Prison, Tracy, and CRC, with a couple more terms in San Quentin as well. In 2000, I pleaded with the judge for a recovery program instead of the 5 year sentence they were going to give me. The judge’s words in January of 2001 “I am going to try something with you Mr. Olson, and send you to CRC. Even though your problems are alcohol related and CRC is for addicts, we will send you there in hopes that this will work for you, as nothing else in the past has”. I actually had to convince the judge that I was an addict as well as an alcoholic.
My prayers were answered, “beating” the 5 year sentence for a 9 month program. Little did I know that those 9 months would turn into 29 months. I had been “out” there for about 37 years, abusing alcohol, drugs, and most of all, myself and my family. My higher power must have deemed it necessary for a long term recovery program for me. That’s what it took to get my clean and sober.
The 29 months in recovery was the beginning of my almost 10 years clean and sober. I’ve decided to tell my story in segments of my life, as I see it now, or maybe I as I THINK I saw it then. There will be a lot that will be left out, not only to protect myself, but others as well. Some things I will tell in detail and some not. The details might be for those that can relate to the times, maybe jog their memory and give them and others more incentive not to want to go back out there. I know that I will also benefit from this, as thru the years, I’ve learned that once I start typing and thinking, the more that is revealed to me.
Where it began
I was brought into this world in 1946 by my father (addict/alcoholic), and my mother (19 years old), and they divorced when I was about 2 years of age. I had an older brother that my mother had at age 16, and we were both shipped off to foster homes. I was to live with a woman (Lou) and a Jewish man (Izzy). Izzy sold costumes and jewelry to the “show girls” in the Bay Area and Nevada. They divorced about 4 years after I started living with them. It’s kind of ironic, but years later when I met my wife, it turned out that her mother, a showgirl and stripper at the time, knew Izzy also, and bought costumes and jewelry from him at about the same time I was living with him. My wife had recollections of being in his shop on Geary St. in San Francisco as a child. We visited Izzy together a couple of times and Izzy recalled her mother.
Lou then married a Japanese fella (Art) that was a preacher. My life from 4 to 9 years of age was involved heavily into religion and the church. I played the accordion at the church functions and studied the bible. This was a complete opposite of the life that was in store for me later.
In the winter of 1955 my mother came and pulled me from Lou off the steps of the Church in Los Angeles, and brought me to her home in South San Francisco. At the time, I hated my mother for taking me away from the woman that I had grown to love and thought and believed to be my mother. I can remember lying awake at night in bed crying, and thinking that GOD had abandoned me. I held onto this idea until I was sent to CRC in 2000. Although I went to Catechism as a youth and somewhat practiced my faith, my inner thoughts would always go back to those days.
My life changed dramatically when I was brought to the Bay Area. My older brother was the only person that I was close with, even with 2 younger step brothers, and a step sister that came along a few years later. The only problem being was that my older brother was already getting into trouble, and I, looked up to him no matter what. In just a few short years it would turn out that I would follow in his footsteps.
I played sports and was average in most, even though I was a small person, smaller than the average boys my age. I started acting out the “tough” image, getting into fights, hanging at the pool hall and at 14, got involved in burglaries with my brother. It wasn’t long before I started my own “ring”, and after about 2 years of robbing homes and businesses, got caught. I was sent to a Boys Camp in La Honda for 8 months, and while there, lifted weights, learned boxing, some martial arts and street fighting. When I got out, I used these newly acquired “skills” to cause one hell of a lot of mayhem.
In my senior year of High School I started drinking wine and then whiskey with a couple of my friends. The first few times I got sick, but continued to drink until I could “hold” it. The night before graduation pictures and ceremony practice, my friend and I got drunk at the yearbook signing party. He passed out on a car, and we both ended up getting arrested. We got out in time to participate in the senior function, and in the end, were allowed to graduate on stage.
We lived in the suburbs and drugs were not out in the open yet, as they would be later on in the 60’s. There were drugs around, it’s just that they were kept hush hush, and hidden from the small towns. My older brother was into speed at the time, but I wasn’t aware of it at this time. I would later see him with it, and he would tell me it was medicine for a cold. He hung out at a house down the street a couple of blocks, and that’s where the drug people were at that time. Later, when I worked at the neighborhood drug store as stock and sales clerk, I would start stealing a variety of drugs and my brother would sell them.
My drinking accelerated, along with my weekend wildness, and my parents gave me an ultimatum. Either do as we say or move out. I moved out and got an “apartment” in San Francisco. The “apartment” was a one room studio with the bathroom down the hall which I rented for 15 dollars a week. It was on Stockton St., right before the tunnel to Chinatown and North beach, and up the street from the Tenderloin.
When I moved to the big city, I was working at an insurance company on Stockton St., so the apartment was about a 5 min. walk. I had started there as a mail clerk, delivering mail throughout the companies 6 or 7 floors and moved up to IBM operator and operated one of the first computers, a Honeywell that took up a whole room. The majority of the work force was young, and it wasn’t long before I was going to parties all over the Bay Area and drinking up a storm. I learned very quickly how to make an ass out of myself while drinking. I was one of those drinkers that gets loud and boisterous, and wants to argue and fight. I thought I was a tough guy, but when I think back, I believe that the reason I won so many was that I was smart and knew how to pick my fights, and could and would, use anything available for a weapon.
There were a lot of “side roads” in my first 18 years that led to what I would become in my adult years. Here are a few quick notes that I recall as I’m writing this story:
My 18th birthday – Out drinking in my friend Tom’s 56 Plymouth in the rain, in Redwood City. He rear-ends a car driven by a pregnant woman (she didn’t lose the baby), I go thru the front windshield head first: 80 stitches in my head. Tom (Italian with a big nose) BREAKS his nose on the steering wheel. Nose gets gigantic! I lose almost 2 pints of blood, next night drink a ½ pint of Vodka. Drunk, drunk, drunk……… again.
14 years old – Friend and I have early morning paper routes. Garage door open, I spot a purse hanging on the kitchen door. I take it and run.
13-14 years old working in a pharmacy as stock clerk and cashier. Pocketing money everyday, taking cigarettes, sports cards, comic books and whatever else I could get my hands on.
12 to 18 years of age – Hustling pool in the pool halls. My brother would take me to the big-time pool halls in San Francisco and get them to spot the little “kid” points. I usually ended up winning money.
15 to 18 years of age – Brother and I would pick the locks of coke machines with a fingernail file in gas stations, hotels, motels and stores. Lot of businesses used them then as a safe for their receipts and we stole hundreds in a single night.
15-16 years old – Car lots kept the keys in new cars in those days and we would take one to get home and leave the car around the corner.
In the 60’s a lot of the small grocery stores were owned and operated by the Chinese. There were a few stores up in the Excelsior District in San Francisco that would sell liquor to minors and we knew right where they were. We were buying our own liquor at 16 and 17 years of age, when the older guys at the bowling alley stopped buying for us. It was a regular trip for some of us each and every weekend in our senior year.
My friends dad owned a brake shop and one night we took one of the customers cars to make our liquor run to the city. We ended up getting drunk and when he was driving me home, rolled the car into one of our neighbors fence. We ran, but the homeowner recognized me from my paper route (one of my customers) and told the police who we were. Off to jail for the night, I think I was about 17 at the time.
This is the end of part I of my story and for your information; I was 18 years of age at this time. I will continue with Part II that will include my graduation to the bar scene and drugs. Stay tuned, this might take some time.
Life in Never Never Land
Places I never never want to see again
Part I
I’ve decided that it’s time to update my personal story, as I see my past a little different than when I first told it in 2001, and thru the years, my past has been unfolded to me, a little bit at a time. Things that I’d forgotten about, things I didn’t want to remember, and that which even to this day, don’t know if it’s fact or a stories that I built up in my mind.
I first shared it with a bunch of Prison convicts/addicts/alcoholics in the Amends Recovery Program at CRC (California Rehabilitation Center) in Norco, California, sometime in 2001. I ended up there after serving 3 or 4 prison terms beginning in 1992, along with 3 or 4 parole violations. County jails had been my second home up until 1992, and as someone once told me, “Mike, you are doing LIFE on the installment plan”, which well I was. My agenda up until 1992 was going to county jails about every 2-3 years and serving 6 months to 1 year sentences. It included work furlough centers, work farms and minimum security housing.
I hit the California Department of Corrections (the Prison System) (the Big House) (the Pen) at the age of 45 years old in 1992. All the jail time I did was always somehow related to alcohol and drugs. In 1992, I got my 4th DUI in a 5 year span, and due to changes in the laws, was sentenced to 16 months, the low mandatory prison term. I went to San Quentin, and then to Pelican Bay State Prisons. In the next 8 years, I was to see the insides of Folsom State Prison, Tracy, and CRC, with a couple more terms in San Quentin as well. In 2000, I pleaded with the judge for a recovery program instead of the 5 year sentence they were going to give me. The judge’s words in January of 2001 “I am going to try something with you Mr. Olson, and send you to CRC. Even though your problems are alcohol related and CRC is for addicts, we will send you there in hopes that this will work for you, as nothing else in the past has”. I actually had to convince the judge that I was an addict as well as an alcoholic.
My prayers were answered, “beating” the 5 year sentence for a 9 month program. Little did I know that those 9 months would turn into 29 months. I had been “out” there for about 37 years, abusing alcohol, drugs, and most of all, myself and my family. My higher power must have deemed it necessary for a long term recovery program for me. That’s what it took to get my clean and sober.
The 29 months in recovery was the beginning of my almost 10 years clean and sober. I’ve decided to tell my story in segments of my life, as I see it now, or maybe I as I THINK I saw it then. There will be a lot that will be left out, not only to protect myself, but others as well. Some things I will tell in detail and some not. The details might be for those that can relate to the times, maybe jog their memory and give them and others more incentive not to want to go back out there. I know that I will also benefit from this, as thru the years, I’ve learned that once I start typing and thinking, the more that is revealed to me.
Where it began
I was brought into this world in 1946 by my father (addict/alcoholic), and my mother (19 years old), and they divorced when I was about 2 years of age. I had an older brother that my mother had at age 16, and we were both shipped off to foster homes. I was to live with a woman (Lou) and a Jewish man (Izzy). Izzy sold costumes and jewelry to the “show girls” in the Bay Area and Nevada. They divorced about 4 years after I started living with them. It’s kind of ironic, but years later when I met my wife, it turned out that her mother, a showgirl and stripper at the time, knew Izzy also, and bought costumes and jewelry from him at about the same time I was living with him. My wife had recollections of being in his shop on Geary St. in San Francisco as a child. We visited Izzy together a couple of times and Izzy recalled her mother.
Lou then married a Japanese fella (Art) that was a preacher. My life from 4 to 9 years of age was involved heavily into religion and the church. I played the accordion at the church functions and studied the bible. This was a complete opposite of the life that was in store for me later.
In the winter of 1955 my mother came and pulled me from Lou off the steps of the Church in Los Angeles, and brought me to her home in South San Francisco. At the time, I hated my mother for taking me away from the woman that I had grown to love and thought and believed to be my mother. I can remember lying awake at night in bed crying, and thinking that GOD had abandoned me. I held onto this idea until I was sent to CRC in 2000. Although I went to Catechism as a youth and somewhat practiced my faith, my inner thoughts would always go back to those days.
My life changed dramatically when I was brought to the Bay Area. My older brother was the only person that I was close with, even with 2 younger step brothers, and a step sister that came along a few years later. The only problem being was that my older brother was already getting into trouble, and I, looked up to him no matter what. In just a few short years it would turn out that I would follow in his footsteps.
I played sports and was average in most, even though I was a small person, smaller than the average boys my age. I started acting out the “tough” image, getting into fights, hanging at the pool hall and at 14, got involved in burglaries with my brother. It wasn’t long before I started my own “ring”, and after about 2 years of robbing homes and businesses, got caught. I was sent to a Boys Camp in La Honda for 8 months, and while there, lifted weights, learned boxing, some martial arts and street fighting. When I got out, I used these newly acquired “skills” to cause one hell of a lot of mayhem.
In my senior year of High School I started drinking wine and then whiskey with a couple of my friends. The first few times I got sick, but continued to drink until I could “hold” it. The night before graduation pictures and ceremony practice, my friend and I got drunk at the yearbook signing party. He passed out on a car, and we both ended up getting arrested. We got out in time to participate in the senior function, and in the end, were allowed to graduate on stage.
We lived in the suburbs and drugs were not out in the open yet, as they would be later on in the 60’s. There were drugs around, it’s just that they were kept hush hush, and hidden from the small towns. My older brother was into speed at the time, but I wasn’t aware of it at this time. I would later see him with it, and he would tell me it was medicine for a cold. He hung out at a house down the street a couple of blocks, and that’s where the drug people were at that time. Later, when I worked at the neighborhood drug store as stock and sales clerk, I would start stealing a variety of drugs and my brother would sell them.
My drinking accelerated, along with my weekend wildness, and my parents gave me an ultimatum. Either do as we say or move out. I moved out and got an “apartment” in San Francisco. The “apartment” was a one room studio with the bathroom down the hall which I rented for 15 dollars a week. It was on Stockton St., right before the tunnel to Chinatown and North beach, and up the street from the Tenderloin.
When I moved to the big city, I was working at an insurance company on Stockton St., so the apartment was about a 5 min. walk. I had started there as a mail clerk, delivering mail throughout the companies 6 or 7 floors and moved up to IBM operator and operated one of the first computers, a Honeywell that took up a whole room. The majority of the work force was young, and it wasn’t long before I was going to parties all over the Bay Area and drinking up a storm. I learned very quickly how to make an ass out of myself while drinking. I was one of those drinkers that gets loud and boisterous, and wants to argue and fight. I thought I was a tough guy, but when I think back, I believe that the reason I won so many was that I was smart and knew how to pick my fights, and could and would, use anything available for a weapon.
There were a lot of “side roads” in my first 18 years that led to what I would become in my adult years. Here are a few quick notes that I recall as I’m writing this story:
My 18th birthday – Out drinking in my friend Tom’s 56 Plymouth in the rain, in Redwood City. He rear-ends a car driven by a pregnant woman (she didn’t lose the baby), I go thru the front windshield head first: 80 stitches in my head. Tom (Italian with a big nose) BREAKS his nose on the steering wheel. Nose gets gigantic! I lose almost 2 pints of blood, next night drink a ½ pint of Vodka. Drunk, drunk, drunk……… again.
14 years old – Friend and I have early morning paper routes. Garage door open, I spot a purse hanging on the kitchen door. I take it and run.
13-14 years old working in a pharmacy as stock clerk and cashier. Pocketing money everyday, taking cigarettes, sports cards, comic books and whatever else I could get my hands on.
12 to 18 years of age – Hustling pool in the pool halls. My brother would take me to the big-time pool halls in San Francisco and get them to spot the little “kid” points. I usually ended up winning money.
15 to 18 years of age – Brother and I would pick the locks of coke machines with a fingernail file in gas stations, hotels, motels and stores. Lot of businesses used them then as a safe for their receipts and we stole hundreds in a single night.
15-16 years old – Car lots kept the keys in new cars in those days and we would take one to get home and leave the car around the corner.
In the 60’s a lot of the small grocery stores were owned and operated by the Chinese. There were a few stores up in the Excelsior District in San Francisco that would sell liquor to minors and we knew right where they were. We were buying our own liquor at 16 and 17 years of age, when the older guys at the bowling alley stopped buying for us. It was a regular trip for some of us each and every weekend in our senior year.
My friends dad owned a brake shop and one night we took one of the customers cars to make our liquor run to the city. We ended up getting drunk and when he was driving me home, rolled the car into one of our neighbors fence. We ran, but the homeowner recognized me from my paper route (one of my customers) and told the police who we were. Off to jail for the night, I think I was about 17 at the time.
This is the end of part I of my story and for your information; I was 18 years of age at this time. I will continue with Part II that will include my graduation to the bar scene and drugs. Stay tuned, this might take some time.
Came to believe………
Getting sober was a BIG problem for me most of my life. Somewhere in my early program with the State, the urge to drink was lifted from me. I can’t really pinpoint the reason, but can only relate what I did prior.
While I was in a dorm at CRC, I met a guy that was doing a bible correspondence course and he seemed to be taking the incarceration and program in “stride”. I didn’t really understand how anyone could be “comfortable” being where we were at. Locked up, in prison, and mandated each day to attend the Amends Recovery program, the being in groups each day with other inmates, listening to a lot of BS from most, and not understanding a lot from those that were “working their program”. All I could think of was the day I’d be released from there, and could once again do as I wished.
Having had quite a bit of religious upbringing in my early youth, I was aware of the religious beliefs and the bible. I had lived with Baptist preachers as foster parents in my 5-9 years of age days, and attended Catholic teaching from age 11 to 14, receiving communion and confirmation of the Catholic Church.
At age 9, a major event happened in my young life, with my birth mother “taking” me from the foster parents off the steps of church one Sunday morning in 1955. I don’t have much memory of my youth prior to being reunited in 1955, probably my mind blocking it from my memory. Since my recovery began in 2000, piece by piece, parts of that life emerge. As the saying goes, “more will be revealed”.
Getting back to the bible study and the urge to drink being lifted from me, I jumped into the study with “both feet”, going thru the lessons quickly and getting more and more. It seems now that it was like getting a “review” of my religious backgrounds and experience in the church. I had read the bible in my youth complete, a couple of times, so it was not new to me, just refreshing my memory and reconnecting me with my GOD.
For reasons unknown for certain to me, I strayed away from my religious beliefs sometime in early adulthood, and after the death of my 1st son in 1980, gave up on religion altogether. I know that I had blamed GOD for my transition from a foster mother that I only knew as “mother”, and then again for taking our first born at age 11 in 1980.
At this time as I look back, and as I process what I read this morning from Dick B’s story, I have a tendency to think that my “straying” away from my beliefs, just MIGHT have had an effect on my becoming alcoholic/addict, or in staying in that life for such a long time. I can’t even say for certain that my picking up my faith again was everything that brought about recovery for me, but I’m sure it had a lot to do with it. I think that being more comfortable with myself gave me the stamina to absorb and retain what the program was teaching and offering me. My retention as to quoting from the Big Book or the Good Book is not there, but the readings and teaching are imbedded in self. My actions and thoughts retain those teachings and readings, even if my mouth doesn’t speak them as read.
Step 2 of Alcoholics Anonymous say: “Came to believe that a power greater than myself could restore us to sanity”. I believe today that by reestablishing my contact with my GOD, that it gave me the strength to drive out that urge to drink, along with working the 12 steps, prayer and meditation, wanting something other than what I had been living for the prior 35+ years, and the willingness to change. Daily meetings and sometimes more were sure the extra kick in the butt that helped also.
When I was finally released from the CRC program in 2002, I was sent to a transition recovery house in Vallejo. It was an African/American run recovery house, with mostly African/American clients and counselors. Having been brought up a in very prejudiced time (the 60’s), just leaving a prison atmosphere where racial issues are a daily occurrence, it was quite the place for a 55 year old ex-con, alcoholic, addict, with a past of closed mindedness to go and be. I was out of my comfort zone, that’s for sure, but I think that my GOD had something to do with sending me to this environment. Another part of MY recovery process. What I learned there was acceptance, humility and the ability to accept people for who they are and not what they are. My days of profiling were in the past.
I started this writing with the intention of it being about “balance in my life today”. Somehow, because of where my thoughts are today, it turned out to be “as it is”. When my thoughts stray, I let them, as I generally write about what I REALLY am thinking and feeling today.
My writing on balance in my life will have to wait for another day, another thought process and more time, lol.
Wishing you all a great day and now to figure out what kind of title I’ll call this writing, even though I feel it’s incomplete. My thoughts tend to wander when writing and if I get off track, excuse me please. It must be the “age”, lol My memory and attentiveness just isn’t what it NEVER was.
Getting sober was a BIG problem for me most of my life. Somewhere in my early program with the State, the urge to drink was lifted from me. I can’t really pinpoint the reason, but can only relate what I did prior.
While I was in a dorm at CRC, I met a guy that was doing a bible correspondence course and he seemed to be taking the incarceration and program in “stride”. I didn’t really understand how anyone could be “comfortable” being where we were at. Locked up, in prison, and mandated each day to attend the Amends Recovery program, the being in groups each day with other inmates, listening to a lot of BS from most, and not understanding a lot from those that were “working their program”. All I could think of was the day I’d be released from there, and could once again do as I wished.
Having had quite a bit of religious upbringing in my early youth, I was aware of the religious beliefs and the bible. I had lived with Baptist preachers as foster parents in my 5-9 years of age days, and attended Catholic teaching from age 11 to 14, receiving communion and confirmation of the Catholic Church.
At age 9, a major event happened in my young life, with my birth mother “taking” me from the foster parents off the steps of church one Sunday morning in 1955. I don’t have much memory of my youth prior to being reunited in 1955, probably my mind blocking it from my memory. Since my recovery began in 2000, piece by piece, parts of that life emerge. As the saying goes, “more will be revealed”.
Getting back to the bible study and the urge to drink being lifted from me, I jumped into the study with “both feet”, going thru the lessons quickly and getting more and more. It seems now that it was like getting a “review” of my religious backgrounds and experience in the church. I had read the bible in my youth complete, a couple of times, so it was not new to me, just refreshing my memory and reconnecting me with my GOD.
For reasons unknown for certain to me, I strayed away from my religious beliefs sometime in early adulthood, and after the death of my 1st son in 1980, gave up on religion altogether. I know that I had blamed GOD for my transition from a foster mother that I only knew as “mother”, and then again for taking our first born at age 11 in 1980.
At this time as I look back, and as I process what I read this morning from Dick B’s story, I have a tendency to think that my “straying” away from my beliefs, just MIGHT have had an effect on my becoming alcoholic/addict, or in staying in that life for such a long time. I can’t even say for certain that my picking up my faith again was everything that brought about recovery for me, but I’m sure it had a lot to do with it. I think that being more comfortable with myself gave me the stamina to absorb and retain what the program was teaching and offering me. My retention as to quoting from the Big Book or the Good Book is not there, but the readings and teaching are imbedded in self. My actions and thoughts retain those teachings and readings, even if my mouth doesn’t speak them as read.
Step 2 of Alcoholics Anonymous say: “Came to believe that a power greater than myself could restore us to sanity”. I believe today that by reestablishing my contact with my GOD, that it gave me the strength to drive out that urge to drink, along with working the 12 steps, prayer and meditation, wanting something other than what I had been living for the prior 35+ years, and the willingness to change. Daily meetings and sometimes more were sure the extra kick in the butt that helped also.
When I was finally released from the CRC program in 2002, I was sent to a transition recovery house in Vallejo. It was an African/American run recovery house, with mostly African/American clients and counselors. Having been brought up a in very prejudiced time (the 60’s), just leaving a prison atmosphere where racial issues are a daily occurrence, it was quite the place for a 55 year old ex-con, alcoholic, addict, with a past of closed mindedness to go and be. I was out of my comfort zone, that’s for sure, but I think that my GOD had something to do with sending me to this environment. Another part of MY recovery process. What I learned there was acceptance, humility and the ability to accept people for who they are and not what they are. My days of profiling were in the past.
I started this writing with the intention of it being about “balance in my life today”. Somehow, because of where my thoughts are today, it turned out to be “as it is”. When my thoughts stray, I let them, as I generally write about what I REALLY am thinking and feeling today.
My writing on balance in my life will have to wait for another day, another thought process and more time, lol.
Wishing you all a great day and now to figure out what kind of title I’ll call this writing, even though I feel it’s incomplete. My thoughts tend to wander when writing and if I get off track, excuse me please. It must be the “age”, lol My memory and attentiveness just isn’t what it NEVER was.
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