Writer’s Note — October 1, 2023

Do you fondly recall your firstborn? I speak not of children but of personal writing. This is mine and I love it more than anything I have written since. Doesn’t mean it’s my best piece, but it’s damn good, and some of it certainly feels downloaded and foreshadowed much that has followed. I covered a wide range of topics from heavy — substance abuse, depression, suicide, and codependency — to light — love, my children, my favorite foods, and my favorite music and lyrics. A true self-portrait in essay form. The good, the bad, the ugly — and the beautiful. I wrote it in December 2013. Published it on Medium in 2020. As Conni Walkup Hull reminded me yesterday when I read her You Don’t Need Permission to Tell Your Story, You own everything that happened to you, this is my story. A few of you have read it. I share it now with all of my subscribers (at least the ones that Medium will not fail to email) and I hope you enjoy it and get something out of it. I did. It’s my story.

Writer’s Note — December 2020

Greetings from my chrysalis. I wrote this essay in December 2013. It is my first piece of self-expositive writing. It is both my first not-a-legal-brief and personal writing of any sort. I did not write another for six and a half years. While the period in between is essential both to whom I am and becoming, but for the tail-end of the period and anything having to do with my wonderful children, it could be described as the lost years, or, the wasteland. I have several essays in various stages of readiness, some started before, and some inside the chrysalis. In the meantime, I submit this now for wider publication. Not only is she my most cherished firstborn, she touches upon many topics, none more important than depression and suicide prevention, and thus quite appropriate for Know Thyself, Heal Thyself, and I hope 𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘊. agrees.

I just finished rereading the essay and have tears and thrills and chills.

Self Portrait in Essay Form (circa 12/2013)

[Originally self-published on my medium.com page 9/25/20]

I contemplate often lately. I had considered writing a linearly organized essay on topics such as the meaning of my life and the power of positive thought. Then I recalled a conversation with HS — my most awesome therapist — in which he said he gets to know his patients and the people in their lives by what his patients tell him. He paints a picture in his mind from the information provided. So, I decided to apply the paint to this canvas. I do not know where the brush strokes will lead — whether the painting will be organized or splattered — here we go.

Early in my summer-of-2012 stay in Pennsylvania, Father Bill resonated with me when he said that substance abuse impairs our (he too is in recovery) ability to have intimate relationships with our loved ones, the world and God. For me, God is not a singular anthropomorphized individual Supreme Being — my conception of God is the spiritual energy that singularly (souls) and collectively permeates the universe, which, for the most part exists in a dimension not directly perceivable by our human form, but the presence of which is certainly inferable.

The concept of interference with intimacy is what strongly resonated with me at the time.

A couple of months later at a meeting I attended during my time in Delray Beach, I heard a speaker of some renown (a pop singer popular in the late 50s), who had over 40 years of sobriety, talk about intimacy. He said something I had not heard before — intimacy means “into me see.” It occurred to me that true intimacy is letting people see into me, but that before I could do that, I had to into me see. This could only be accomplished free of chemical masking.

I had arrived in PA hoping to find an understanding of God that meshed with my conception. I sought out counseling from a member of the spiritual staff whom I call Mystical Meredith. I explained to her that I had bounced around between agnosticism and the belief that God was akin to the Force from Star Wars — the psychic energy emitted by all living things — and that I believed that some people had the ability to tap into this energy, psychics, and to a lesser extent, me and others who experience the phenomenon of de ja vu. I told Meredith that I believed in the existence of souls because I had spoken to the souls of dearly departed through a psychic, and I asked her how God fits into this — asking her, “Is there a hierarchy of souls with God at the top?”

Before answering me, Meredith asked me why I thought I used substances abusively. I answered that I thought there was an irreconcilable conflict between my conscious and subconscious minds over things I had done, or not done, over the past few years, and I drank and drugged to run away from rather than resolve this conflict.

Meredith explained that the conflict was not between my conscious and subconscious, but between my mind and my soul. Meredith’s conception of God, or the Great All, and how we and our souls fit in, is that when our souls leave the Great All to take human form we contract with the universe to experience certain painful things on Earth that are not spiritual so we can learn what is spiritual (love, kindness, compassion, charity, etc.). At the end of our conversation, I was crying. I thought at the time it was the emotion of having a quest for understanding realized. I believe now it was something a bit different. I think more layers of paint should be applied to this canvas before that brush stroke reveals itself.

I thought of Meredith’s conception recently as I read Hesse’s Steppenwolf:

The way to innocence, to the uncreated and to God leads on, not back, … ever deeper into human life. … Instead of narrowing your world and simplifying your soul, you will have to absorb more and more of the world and at last take all of it up in your painfully expanded soul, if you are to ever find peace. This is the road that Buddha and every great man has gone, whether consciously or not, insofar as fortune favored his quest. All births mean separation from the All, the confinement within limitation, the separation from God, the pangs of being born anew. The return into the All, the dissolution of painful individuation, the reunion with God means the expansion of the soul until it is able once more to embrace the All.

Andrew

Andrew — my dear friend since June 1991 — charming, brilliant, funny — name a movie and he could quote a line — always there for me, until he wasn’t. Andrew killed himself in the fall of 2006. Liz [my wife then] said that this is when my slide commenced. Maybe.

In April 2012 Andrew saved my life in the summer of 2013.

Andrew, with a brilliant career as a litigator, a wife and three great kids, couldn’t cope with the then recent exposure of his double life as a sex addict. None of us knew. I felt tremendous guilt for not saving him — I knew this was irrational — but I felt it nonetheless. I should have known after his first attempt that he was conning us. He was, after all, a great actor.

A beautiful spring day, rich blue sky, warm breeze, leaves on the trees, sitting against a tree trunk in Central Park I called Anne and we spoke to Andrew. It was incredibly moving and emotional. He knew this moment was coming — that I would reach out. It wasn’t my fault — there was nothing I could do. Tears were streaming. He was hell-bent on suicide because he couldn’t see any way out. My ear was tingling. Anne asked me if I felt any tingling sensation in my ear — Andrew was sitting next to me touching my ear.

The connection to the spiritual dimension was very strong — it was unusually easy for Anne to translate. Andrew told me that what he had to live with forever, what all souls of suicides have to live with, is that the solution appears to them in the millisecond before their human life expires.

In April 2012 Andrew saved my life in the summer of 2013.

In April 2013 I became truly and deeply depressed. I was withdrawing from the sudden deprivation of my drug of choice — [“R,” a woman]. And I had nothing to do with my days because of what she did to me. You know what this was.

[12/7/20 edit — In March I had finally, or so I thought, escaped her clutches. I confided in a dear friend whom I knew both within and well before AA, thus that confidence was sacrosanct. R’s response to what she deemed a violation of her privacy, was to use my gmail address to send a picture of my erect penis to a woman at work]

I thought of suicide daily. At the beginning they were passing thoughts. On June 14th, the evening of the day we signed the XXXXXXX contract, R reached me by masking her phone number as someone else’s. “Why did you cut me off without explanation?” “R, you know why — you know what you did. I have forgiven you and I will always love you but our relationship is toxic.” Neither one of us could hang up the phone. Two hours on the phone later we spent the next 36 hours together. I was high.

The high didn’t last long. By early July, as I saw myself repeating behaviors that ate me up inside, the psychological-conflict-driven anxiety had returned. It wasn’t long before I started self-medicating with alcohol. I had been dry for a year.

July and August were tumultuous. The chaotic rollercoaster of a relationship with a borderline became unbearable. Plus I was under heavyweight financial pressure. Plus drinking worsened the depression. The amplitude and frequency of suicidal thoughts increased. But they didn’t become ideations — I made no plan to carry it out. I kept thinking of Sofia and Alex — that I would not do this to them. And I kept thinking of what Andrew said. I held onto the thought that the solution would present itself. Andrew saved me.

I love you Andrew. I miss you. I haven’t felt you on my ear since I left Pennsylvania. Where are you?

So what about the solution? In Man’s Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl writes of successfully treated suicidal people: “it turned out there was a solution to their problem, an answer to their question, a meaning to their life. ‘Even if things only take such a good turn in one of a thousand cases, who can guarantee that in your case it will not happen one day, sooner or later? But in the first place, you have to live to see the day on which it may happen, so you have to survive in order to see that day dawn, and from now on the responsibility [emphasis added] for survival does not leave you.’”

I had thought that the solution Andrew talked of was a tangible plan to change the circumstances, the facts, of the problem. Now I see the solution is simply the change in attitude needed to find meaning in life whether or not the circumstantial causes of the depression are removed. As Frankl writes earlier in the book:

What was really needed was a fundamental change in our attitude toward life. We had to learn ourselves and, furthermore, we had to teach the despairing men, that it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life — daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility [emphasis added] to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.

Andrew did not cure me. He saved me long enough so that the day would dawn when I found meaning in my life and took on the responsibility to live that life responsibly.

The Bright Sides

Let’s lighten up for a minute. Mallomars are my favorite cookie — wonderful mixture of rich, dark chocolate, fluffy marshmallow and thin graham cracker crust. Yum.

Thick and rare prime rib at The Palm (the original, where I am painted on the wall), the juices of the rare meat infusing and richly flavoring the dark, tender and crusted outside.

Toro, melting in my mouth with a hint of specially-crafted-for-sashimi soy sauce and a dab of fresh wasabi.

Uni. I don’t know how to describe the unique flavor and texture — I just love it.

Warm zabaglione prepared tableside and poured over raspberries and blackberries. Decadently delicious.

I have always (or for the most part) tended to responsibilities in my life. I have worked hard, shown up on time and where I was supposed to, and except for the R days, prioritized my children. But while I have seen to tangible responsibilities, I have not taken responsibility for my life. Instead of steering my ship through the waves of life, I let the waves push me around. I did not manage my life.

Now I actively strive to accomplish my goals. I love my work and I love the people with whom I work. I am present in most moments. I find pleasure in being kind and thoughtful, particularly to and of the people I love, but also in small acts for strangers, like giving a smile, a “How was your day” or “Have a good evening” to strangers in an elevator. As I lay in bed each night I pray for my sick cousin (my cousin's wife has stage four cancer) — I pray for R and her son and I pray for peace to come to my resentful, myopic and tunnel-visioned in-laws, that they may find freedom from such toxicity (I recognize that there is some self-serving in those wishes ;) ) — I express gratitude for Sofia, Alex, RJM, JLM, SB, HS and for my many friends with whom I have reconnected after four years of self-imposed exile.

I am truly happy for the first time in my life despite that most of the pressures that sunk me remain.

I am saddened that Jason is not here to reconnect with. I think of Jason often. How he would so enjoy what [business — the aforementioned contract] is becoming. He would be so frenetic. And having meals in DaShwick — he would be in heaven on earth.

Where is the sense in his death? Where is the meaning? So much pain. Everything happens for a reason? What is the reason here? There is only so much we humans can understand. I guess I just have to think that the ripples his death has caused across the fabric of the universe serve an overall positive result. And besides, his soul lives and I will speak with him someday. I will get to share with him the success of what he created. Jason, there would be no XXXX without you. Thank you.

Hmmm, what else should I paint?

Last night I read 150 pages of a book. Two months ago I would have watched four hours of television. Now in less than 2 months I have read The Sun Also Rises (disappointing — the prose was too bland), Steppenwolf (I love the way Hesse writes), For Whom the Bell Tolls (fucking beautiful narrative prose and, among other things, a tragic but somehow not sad love story), Man’s Search for Meaning, and now last night have started Underworld (that I read 150 pages (it’s over 800 pages) in one sitting says all about the quality of DeLillo’s prose).

The Beatles are proof to me of the existence of “God.” In July of 1964, they perfected pop (A Hard Days Night (their first album without any cover tunes) was released). A few months after releasing Help! in August 1965, they began to take music to a place it had never been before and hasn’t been since. In a year and a half, they released Rubber Soul (December 1965), Revolver (August 1966), Strawberry Fields Forever as the A-side and Penny Lane as the B-side of a single (February 1967) and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (June 1967). Absorb Rubber Soul, Revolver and Sgt. Pepper’s in that order (I recommend the mono mix of Sgt. Pepper’s over the stereo mix). Hear the nuances and the techniques never before realized and being expanded and perfected over the course of those albums. Universal influence is apparent. The creative advancement, out of nowhere, cannot otherwise be explained.

I love how music triggers memories — often bringing me back to a time that now seems simpler and yearned for — but in reality those times were no simpler than the present — maybe it just seems that way because I survived them — because they are safely in the past?

A few of my favorite lyrics:

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup They slither while they pass they slip away across the universe. Pools of sorrow waves of joy are drifting through my open mind possessing and caressing me … Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns It calls me on and on across the universe

(The Beatles — Across the Universe)

Take time to see the wonders of the world To see the things you’ve only ever heard of Dream life the way you think it ought to be See things you thought you’d never ever see

Take a cruise to China Or a train to Spain Go round the world Again and again Meet a girl on a boat Meet a boy on a train And fall in love Without the pain

Everybody needs love and adventure Everybody needs cash to spend Everybody needs love and affection Everybody needs 2 or 3 friends These are the things These are the things The things that dreams are made of

(Human League — The Things that Dreams are Made of)

Words to memorize Words hypnotize Words make my mouth exercise But words all fail the magic prize Nothing I can say when I’m in your thighs

(Violent Femmes — Add it Up)

I look at her and see the beauty that is the light of music

(R.E.M.— You are the Everything)

I believe in this and it’s been tested by research He who fucks nuns will later join the church

(The Clash — Death or Glory)

In Delray I would wake before dawn and go running barefoot on the beach with the moon, Venus and Orion keeping me company, feeling connected to the universe. Realization of connection to the universe — that is why I cried with Meredith.

I know now that my relationship history has always been a quest for connection — the problem is I yearned so that I felt connection where there in fact was none. Looking back on Liz and me, there never was a connection. We just got along. From the outside we looked great — people always said they wished for what we had — but in truth, from my present vantage, we had nothing. When the Rabbi asked me what I loved about Liz I could barely answer — all I came up with was she loves me and has the common sense that I lacked.

It’s no wonder, to me anyway, that I fell in love with R. The void in me was vast and our connection filled it. I became the first person that she ever trusted and we told each other everything about ourselves — things that neither of us had shared with anyone else.

Earlier I referred to R as my drug of choice. This is because the connection pleasure was so strong that it overwhelmed the rational part of my brain. I could not see that she was not good for me on many levels.

In retrospect I see now that the intimacy was false — not that what we spoke of was false — but because we shared predominantly while chemically lubricated. And I am over her.

The greatest revelation of the past 3 months is that I can open up and let people see into me sober.

No portrait of me can be complete without a picture of Sofia and Alex and my relation to them. Sofia is kind, empathetic, compassionate, very smart, quiet, contemplative, eager to learn, and willing to challenge herself. I am very proud of her. Alex is outgoing (the Mayor of the classroom), impish, sweet and is slowly gaining confidence. I am proud of him too. Sofia and I are very close. I have to be honest about the fact that I have always favored her. I am getting better in this regard and strive to have the one-on-one time that Alex needs and enjoys with his Daddy.

I love my children and love engaging with them, playing with them and teaching them and talking with them and showing up and being present for them. I kept this promise to myself — that I would not be my dad to my children.

Sighhhhhh. My parents. What a fucking enigma. I think I got my driftwood trait from my mother. She is the one that everybody likes — she is kind and very social — she took care of us but I wonder now if she was there but not present. My father is emotionally detached from the world. He imperiously lives in his own construct of the world and everyone else, including his children, are but chess pieces in his game of life. What love he thinks he shows has strings attached. In Delray, after a few group therapy sessions with my parents, B., who practically destroyed his children, came up to me and said, “Man Greg, I thought my kids had it rough.”

The enigma is how the hell they have stayed together. They constructed a world for themselves that works for them I guess, but they don’t realize that while it’s kept them together it’s not what they should want for their children. They would tell me that I seek infatuation and that real love is what they have. Bull shit. They have co-dependency.

They don’t even talk WITH each other. So many times I tell one of them something important and find out days or weeks later the other doesn’t know.

There are no coincidences — only signs from the universe that are there all the time — if only we could see them. I am about to talk about love and this comes on my iTunes set on shuffle play:

There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done Nothing you can sing that can’t be sung Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game It’s easy

Nothing you can make that can’t be made No one you can save that can’t be saved Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time It’s easy

All you need is love All you need is love All you need is love, love Love is all you need

…

Nothing you can know that isn’t known Nothing you can see that isn’t shown Nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be It’s easy All you need is love

The Beatles just covered the power of love for me. Now I can just paint me. I am a romantic. I believe in the existence of idealized love. I want it. I will find it. I want to grow old with my best friend, I want to walk down the streets of forever arm in arm. I want to sit on a park bench reading a book, her head in my lap reading her book as I stroke her hair. More important than sharing our highpoints, I want to share the mundane, and each other’s pain. That to me is true unconditional love. And jumping in front of a car to save the other.

Those who say this doesn’t exist say so because they don’t have it.

I want the intimacy — the connection. “The purpose of a relationship is not to have another who might complete you; but to have another with whom you might share your completeness.” (From Conversations with God — Book 1). And sharing is primarily how I view sex. As Viktor Frankl writes, in addition to our primal need for sex, “sex is a mode of expression of love…love is not understood as a mere side-effect of sex; rather, sex is a way of expressing the experience of that ultimate togetherness which is called love.”

Anyone reading this already knows from conversation that casual sex bores me. What I mean is it doesn’t hold my attention for multiple repeat encounters and at this point in my life I don’t now seek it out. Sure, if an opportunity presents itself… Sure it’s physically satisfying — “Sex without love is a meaningless experience, but as meaningless experiences go, it’s pretty damn good.” (Woody Allen). “It’s wonderful fun. Why, it’s just about the most fun you can have with your body, if you’re talking of strictly physical experiences alone.” (From Conversations with God — Book 1).

Perhaps because I am not driven by sex, but by connection, is also why I am capable of platonic love of a woman. It seems that most people do not believe that such can exist because they are not capable of it. For me, the choice between no relationship because for whatever one or many reasons romance is not in the cards, or having that person in my life and deriving shared spiritual pleasure from each other’s non-romantic intimacy and company and connection, is a no-brainer in favor of the latter.

I guess this painting is complete enough. To the very few of my friends that I will show this, know that I love you and trust you deeply.