The Byrne Notes LIII © 2015 (Sometimes those living the high cost of low living follow me)

Next day at work I was talking to my supervisor. Really connected with her for the first time by mentioning Greg Brown.

At times she seemed very stand offish. In retrospect, I have admiration for her as opposed to the resentments I once had for her. She was very detailed. Seemed very aggressive and combative when she addressed me. She had every reason to be because, “The schools that send girls to us are spending at least $10,000. per student.

I couldn’t shake the depression side of my bi-polar. Telling myself, “They felt sorry for me in Clarksdale. That’s why they kept me hired. No one wants me.” My attention span was rapidly deteriorating. Couldn’t seem to focus. Was so tired much of the time.

Kept writing Going Educational and the open mics kept me distracted. NA and AA kept me clean and sober. In the back, making its way to the front, of my mind was, “John when you going to LA?” Missed home dreadfully.

Made a decision and started working slowly toward getting a job in Mississippi.

Before I went home on Christmas break I looked up open mics in Hollywood and Los Angeles.

It was strange and joyous at the same time that Charles made a point to spend more time with me when I came down. He spent more time with me than he ever did before. Even took off of work. He went with me to the meetings he hated so. Took photos with me all around the Coast, and of course, we went to New Orleans to see the sights. On our way to bar hop in Tidewater, we passed a guy playing creepy accordion music in the shadows of a house’s front porch. Also, there was a picture of a jester that we both took pics of. He used his pic for his profile picture on facebook.Charles and my footage of New Orleans (dedication)

“Charles, did you take off of work to spend time with me?”

“No.” His tone was suspicious.

On Christmas day when I felt I was to make my mother and father’s sides of family happy; he comforted me. Patiently, listened to every trivial complaint I had. Holidays are often stressful for me because I am shuffling between spending enough time with my mom and my father. They are divorced. Many have this kind of stress due to the divorce rate being at 50%. Charles parents never divorced. They supported what ever dream he went after. At one point he was considered the best guitarist on the Gulf Coast. His parents would come to watch him perform. I was a bit jealous. His parents gave him everything materialistically that he wanted. I wanted my parents to do for me also, “John, we don’t have that kind of money.” Thus I resorted to emotional blackmail to get what ever I could, “You ruined my life…”

“Son, I didn’t do everything right. I know I did many things wrong. But I did the best I could,” my father would say.

Didn’t take long for my drug abuse (including alcohol) to get out of hand. My step father put his foot down, “Betty, I’m not going to pay for him to flunk out again at college. I made that mistake in my first marriage.” At the time, I hated him for that. Would’ve been homeless, if not for him allowing me to stay in the garage apartment. Which I trashed out by punching holes in the walls, staining the floors with alcohol, vomit, and burns. When all my friends turned their on me, and relatives excommunicated me, Charles and David were there for me.

We did so many things together.

I ended up being unemployable in the mid nineties. I desperately, barely got accepted into the US Army. All those debaucheries were long ago. At this time, December 2014, Charles and myself were supporting ourselves and living on our own.

I have had good friends  follow me into the rooms of AA/NA. At first I would gauge my recovery off of them. It was very ego driven, “Well at least I’m not like him anymore.”

And of course they were thinking, “If John can do it I can to.”  

My AA sponsor in Clarksdale told me once that alcohol was the worse thing to detox from. Never believed him till I saw friends go through the DT shakes. I’d watch them go through emotional cycles that I would go through: first the happy drunk, then the philosophical drunk, then the empathizing, “I love you man.” Then the anger. I so much wanted them to get sober. In the past I have gone all out to save them from themselves. Maybe they get “religious.” Maybe they live in a dream inside their heads of what they’ll do when they get sober.

Maybe they do like I do with cigarettes, “Well, I haven’t smoked in a few hours I deserve to reward myself by smoking just one.”

Maybe they’ll have a hard day and rationalize. Personally, I know and remember the feelings after my black outs. Like a Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde.When I was returning back to normal my sense of time was altered. Sometimes, I would remember events, but not the specifics.

Most of my friends who followed me into the rooms of AA/NA left. So what am I to do? Cut them out of my life. Some, maybe. Do I cut them out of my life because they would cause me to drink? I don’t very often.

Charles made me very immune to being around people drinking and being in bars. In my early weeks, of recovery, I loved him so much that I hung out with him every where. I remember once he poured his beer into one of my sodas right in front of me. For some reason, after that, he never did anything like that again. No matter what Charles did, I loved him unconditionally. I think that’s the best way.

On Tuesday afternoon I went to the coffee shop, Emmanuel’s, “Scott moved the open mic?”

“Where to?”