Notes on Michele
I met Michele in 1984. I first noticed her at work. I was a supervisor at a big factory. Michele was working in the department next to mine. The factory made many different types of seasonal products. I was making swimming pools, the ones blue ones with the cartoons inside, and her department made coolers and surfboards out of Styrofoam.
I had been recently been dumped, by another black woman. It seemed as if she was more interested in my money and what I could do for her and her child. When I moved form Wisconsin to Virginia, Child support lost track of me for a few months, so I had some extra income, temporarily. But when they caught up with me, which I knew was going to happen, her interest in me faded away quickly. I found myself very lonely and hurt; I didn’t understand what had happened until later.
Which brings me back to Michele; she worked in plain view of my department. She was a good looking black woman, about 5’ 7” around 135 pounds with coco colored skin, and use to wear these stretch jeans. There seemed to be a lot of bending and stretching involved in the operation of her machine. Before long I had a great deal of interest in just who she might be.
After watching for about three weeks I finally screwed up my courage to talk to her. There was some danger in this because it was the south and I was a supervisor. I at least wasn’t her supervisor. I made some silly comment about the hat she was wearing. I told her I liked it , I didn’t, but it did break the ice .We talked about nothing for about five minutes . I then asked if she would care to have a beer with me after work. So we drank a couple of beers in my car, I worked the evening shift and you couldn’t buy beer after work so I kept some in a cooler in my car. We seemed to hit it off.
I was so lonely that I just sort of dumped everything on her. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. I found out much later that my becoming interested in her was a well planned out maneuver. She had been trying to attract my attention. My dumping my sad sob story scared her at first. She later said, she thought I might be more than a little crazy. But when I didn’t do anything else crazy, she decided to give me another chance.
I found out about three dates into it that she was living in a battered women’s shelter. I can’t really remember just how it came about. But after about three weeks, I was helping her move into a real dump; it was furnished in early junk. We finished hauling her stuff into her new place, and retired to my place for the night. Some where in that night I said you should just move in here, that I really didn’t like the neighborhood and the condition of her place. Before I really knew what was happening she was all moved in. It seemed awful fast but things were moving fast in her life and she needed to get out of the shelter.
Things were really good for a little while; it was more than a bit like a honeymoon. But about a month later, things started to get strange. She had called into work saying she was sick. She wasn’t sick when I left,. I started work earlier than. she did.. When I got home that night my place was all torn up. Throw rugs pulled up, the cushions on the couch thrown about the room. I had no clue what had happened. She explained that she had called in to go out with some of her friends, and the room was torn up because she had been looking for an ear ring, and didn’t have time to put the place back together. I bought it, but it just didn’t set well. The next Thursday night she didn’t come home from work, she rolled in about 6 am. Saying she got hung up with the girls from work, they had gone to get their checks cashed and just lost track of time. I was mad because she could have called; I had worried most of the night. But she said all the right words and actions to make me believe she was sorry. I was unaware that she had no money the next week, it just didn’t register with me. Nothing else happened for a few weeks and I just forgot about the whole thing. Until she was again a no show at work on a Friday night. When I got home after work the house was tore up again. This time I didn’t see her until noon Sunday. I way beyond mad, She tried to tell me some cock and bull story, about not being able to get home or call. I refused to hear it. After much arguing and crying on her part she told me that she had started to smoke some crack with a woman she had met in the shelter, and got lost for the weekend. I asked her what the hell did she come home for now, she had run out of money. I couldn’t really understand this, I drank some beer and in the past smoked some dope, even did some coke. It was one of the reasons I had moved to Virginia I started to like coke too much. But the idea of keeping going until I was out of money, was new to me. After many promises to never do it again, and to some how make it up to me for all the worry she had put me through. I forgave her. And we made do with my money the next week.
Things went on smoothly for about a month. We came home from work, Michele had been quiet on the ride home, I thought it was just being tired, our jobs were very physical. When I got home the first thing I wanted was a shower. I jumped in the shower; Michele came into the shower to talk for a couple of minutes. When I got out of the shower and had dried off I went out into the living room, She was gone, just gone no note no nothing. I looked out the window and her car was gone. After a while I went to throw my clothes in the hamper, I found my wallet wasn’t in my pants. I found it on the night stand, empty. I was very angry and hurt. That money was for the rent and other bills, not to mention food. And she had promised me. This was before I knew anything about addicts, and the things they will do for their drug.
I didn’t seem her until late Sunday night. By that time I had made up my mind, even though I thought I loved her, I couldn’t have this. I told her she had to leave, to move out. She begged and pleaded, and promised, but my mind was made up. I really hated the idea of being alone again. That somehow it was my fault that this was t I deserved. I was scared that I would be alone forever, that no one would ever love me. But I couldn’t have this lying and stealing, it offended everything I felt two lovers meant. I told her she had until pay day to find somewhere to live. She kept pleading to stay. I softened up enough to tell her if she could stay completely clean for three months I would take her back.
She moved out the next Friday. I really hated to see her go, I felt bad for her, but I really felt bad for myself. I felt like she was my last and best chance for love.
She managed to stay straight for the three months, She made work everyday, and even signed up for some classes at the local tech school. We talked everyday at work. She kept telling me she was doing all of this to get me back, that she loved me more than crack Of course It was just what I wanted and needed to hear. She went to class during the day before work. And a couple times a week would come over to my place after work. We were not intimate and she went home to her own bed. After the three months and some, she moved back in, I was very happy and so was she. It was also the last time crack entered our lives for a long time. She kept up with her classes and became a legal secretary. Things were good for a long time. Kevin had poured out his fractured heart in his proposal. His rough attachment told of a near-death stabbing after half a life of alcohol abuse. But I don’t want to tell his story. I just want to show why I bid $75 for a $2000 editing job on Guru.com.

Hi Letty
Thank you for responding to my posting. If you have been sober for 32 years you may very well have heard my story. It only differs from hundreds of other in degree.
My friends, my shrink, and many of the groups, I have spoken to tell me its worth putting on paper. That maybe my telling it will help the next guy.
I'm not a writer, and really don't know how to go about a project like this. So if we decide to work together you will have a clue as to what you will be dealing with.
I want to do this because, I should not be alive. the ex stabbed me in the chest 13 times. No one gave me a chance of pulling thru. But I'm here, I now consider my life all gravy. My old life ended just over five years ago, and I’m doing my best to make this one worth living.
My recovery program is simple and yet encompassing. "I’m just a guy trying to do the next right thing."
I'm attaching a little bit of my story, I wrote it to try and explain to someone what the stabbing was like. It was also was very diffult to write. I'm hoping you will get a feel for my story.
I hope we can find common ground and produce a readable story.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
Kevin

The Stabbing and its Aftermath

I’ll try to get through the story today. Last night it just wore me out to put it down on paper.
It all started long ago in a country beyond the sea; oh no that’s a different story....
About eight years ago, I was mentally in bad shape. I had lost a job that I had high expectations of. My fault that the job went away. My unemployment was about to run out, I was afraid we were going to lose everything, which we did.
I decided that my life was shit, and there was nothing I could do about it. I went and got sleeping pills and lots of whiskey. Tried to write a note, and couldn’t do even that correctly.
I took the pills and slammed the rest of the whiskey. After a short while I started to fall asleep, I was ready to go. There was no doubt in my mind that this was what I wanted. My wife got this feeling that she had to get home now! She left early and came straight home; the plan had been for her to go the store, after work. She found me just barely breathing; in fact I stopped on the way to the hospital. I was in ICU for three days before I came around, I was not happy; I had taken my final step in making my pain stop.
After wards I made promises to Michele (the ex) that I wouldn’t do it again. I never tried it again, but I gave up on everything, My life was going to be full of pain and there wasn’t shit I could do about it. So I just gave up, on everything. I just didn’t want to care about anything. After that my drinking really started to get bad, why try to control it. It didn’t take long before we were both on the streets, just a couple of months. After a few weeks on the street Michele found a room she could rent, they told her I wasn’t allowed to be there... So I stayed on the streets, working day labor when I was not too sick And getting paid at the end of the day. First stop the liquor store, for a bottle and some cigs was all set to stay drunk for the next couple of days. I would give Michele money when I had some. But I would run out of money and booze, and go back to the day labor, repeat for the next couple of years. I would go into find work so sick from withdrawals; I would be sneaking off to throw up.
I found out somewhat later that Michele was fucking the landlord, no wonder he didn’t want me around. I found out about it, and my dumb-ass took her back. But she didn’t move out of the house. I had gotten angry and had beaten the shit out of the guy. He was bigger, younger, and sober, But I still kicked his ass downstairs, he ran up to his room. He then started to talk about, not giving the old drunk, me, a break if I didn’t leave the house. I took that as a challenge, so up the stairs I went. Michele was yelling in my ear to stop, I’m not sure who she was trying to protect. Any way I kicked his door down and then kicked ass down the stairs again, out of the door he went. Again Michele was yelling for me to get out, that I had screwed up her place to live, and sure as hell she was not joining me on the streets. I left.
For your information, homeless in the winter in Wisconsin really sucks. I would stay in the men’s shelter when I could and when I could stand it, it smelled very badly in there. But you could only stay in the shelter for 45 days per year. So I slept outside in the winter, where I slept, I was at least protected from, the snow, wind. But not the cold.
After about a year and a half, my Aunt tracked me down. She knew what I was, but still would not let me stay on the streets, so she put me up in a very cheap hotel. I was warm and dry; I even had a TV to stare at while drinking... Now Michele wanted to move in with me, I had a place to live. I let myself be convinced that she had been with the landlord, so that she had a place to live. And how much better a lover I was and what a little dick he had, and she wanted nothing more in this world than for us to get back together. FYI, it was not the first time I had caught her. You must remember that I was the lowest piece of shit on earth; I knew very well what I was.
Anyway I took her back. Because I’m sure you know, any love is better than no love,
We were in the motel for about six months, really just drinking.
One night we were working on a 1.75l of vodka. About 9-9:30 I fell asleep, not pass out for a change, she kept drinking.
About 1:30 am she decided that I had to die, why? She claims long term abuse, I don’t remember ever hitting her, but I don’t remember a lot of things from that time so I couldn’t argue. She grabbed a steak knife, 6” serrated, and open me up from the sternum to my belly button, before I got my eyes opened and focused, she had stabbed me in the left side of the chest, As I reached for her arm I felt the stab in the left again, but this one I heard/felt the blade grate off my rib. I don’t how, but she got me one more time, before I got a grip on her arm. Then she switched hands, and before I could react had buried It into the right side. This one seemed to happen in slow motion. I saw her arm coming down I felt the blade sink in, no pain, and the worst part I could hear the air hissing out of my lung. She got me twice more on the right side, before I threw her off. She hit the end table, I hit the floor. Somehow I had the knife, in my hand. She took it away from me and started to stab me in the back. I was begging for her to stop. After 3-6 more wounds she did stop, I didn’t have the air to yell for help. This part is almost funny, smart ass to the end, I looked at her and asked if she was going to watch me die or was she going to call me an ambulance, I’ll never forget the look on her face, it was blank.
She sat there for a few seconds, then got up and left the room. As she left I lost color vision, I heard her dial 911 then all sound became garbled, I laid there for who knows, seemed like a long time to me. When she came back into the room, everything started to go black, like going backwards down a tunnel. I had enough time to think I’m going to die. My last thoughts were “oh shit here we go”.
I woke up, sort of, two days later in ICU I remember screaming, with a nurse holding my hand and making calming sounds. I have no idea what she may have said; I had no idea where I was. I didn’t know what had happened; I just knew I had to scream. I don’t know if they did anything but I sank back under in just seconds. I really came awake 3-4 days later, still in ICU. I was still very confused but it started to come back. I started to freak out. Again There was a nurse holding my hand and trying to calm me. I wasn’t awake for more than a few minutes, and off I went again.
The time after I died and the time I woke is a small story in and of it’s self. I have talked to everyone I could about it, I just had to know.
When the police got there, they thought I was dead so they went into homicide mode. Then I moved and they freaked. I was in such bad shape that a police officer drove the ambulance. The EMTs were busy trying to plug holes and get air into me, by the time they got me to the ER, both lungs had collapsed.
When they drove me away the police left at the scene were sure I would never make it to the hospital... When I did make it there, the EMT and the nurses thought I would never make it out of surgery. I don’t know what the doctors thought.
When they took Michele to detox, yes where I now work. They told the nurse on duty to keep a close watch on her because she was going up on first degree murder charges.
Any way back to the hospital, I don’t really remember much.
I do remember they took me to a different room, one where they check you every 15 minutes, instead of always. I was there for just a couple of hours; again I had help remembering this. I do remember that I couldn’t get any air. I remember Drs and nurses running around, it was like it was happening to someone else. I remember them running down the hall. At least I thought they were running. Then a Dr. was in my face telling me that they had found a mass in the bottom of my left lung, and they had to go back in to take it out, was that okay with me.
The one thing that stands out about this little bit is that the Dr. was holding up a fist when said a mass.
When I woke up this time it was 5:15am, I know that because there was a clock right in front of my eyes, and I couldn’t see much else. This time I was in restraints, and I had one of those tubes down my throat. Again there was a nurse holding my hand, trying to explain what had, and was happening to me... Every Dr. form every department wanted to look at me before they would take the tube out. I was in and out all morning. I would come awake, and in seconds, it seemed, another shot and it was nap time. At 1:30 pm they said we are going to pull the tube now, I was very happy to hear that, because I was gagging the whole time, or so it seemed. But before we do you have some gunk in the bottom of your lung, I was thinking AND....
And we are going to have to get it out. She grabs a long tube, and slides inside the tube that was already there, OK not so bad.
Then she squirted water down there to flush it out, have you ever sucked in a big mouth full of water and thought you were going to drown, yes well then you know how if felt. After a few hours (seconds) they stuck another tube down and sucked the water and some really nasty looking “gunk”out of my lung. Wow well that’s done, But up came another tube and more water, they did it five times. By the end my legs were drumming on the bed, I really thought I was going to drown, I couldn’t think straight at all, complete panic. That was the worst thing I went through.
Out came the tube, and I was moved out of the recovery room.
The next week or so is sort of a blur, at some point Katie and her mom, came to visit, they brought me some orange roses, god they were beautiful. They came to see me just that once, and no one else came to visit... After a couple of weeks I wanted a cig. I wanted one bad. I drove the nurses crazy, to the point that they gave in. Picture this; I have two chest drains in one on each side. I have to wear an O2 mask at all times, the lungs weren’t working all that well. I had a bag for the tubes to drain into; I had one of those pumps to keep the meds flowing. A O2 tank. So they loaded me up onto two wheel chairs, and away we went, both nurses smoked so they weren’t mad. They did ask me to turn, off my O2 so I wouldn’t start my head on fire. Shortly afterward I was back on solid food and could make my way down to the smoking lounge (outside) by my self. When the whole thing hit me. Some one, someone I loved wanted me dead. I was such a piece of shit that they felt I need killing. I was so bad no one wanted to even come seem me not even my kid. The one visit was duty, not because she cared.

Life at the Hospital and alone


I got real depressed. really fast, then I wished that Michele would have finished the job. My life wasn’t going to get better; it was still steadily going down hill. The nurses must have been looking for that to happen, because they, (RN, NA even candy stripes) were all over me, I was rarely left alone; they always wanted to talk about something up beat.
More than once I woke up in the middle of the night with my hand being held. I would look at her, see would say softly, you were dreaming again, and would stay and hold my hand until I fell back to sleep..
I have nothing but praise for the nurses; They treated me like a king, and were all ways in a good mood around me even when I was less than a model patient. As an example about three weeks in, the chest tubes were coming out, ALRIGHT! The next day they had to go back in. They did it right there in my bed, The Doc did one side and a student did the other. It took three of the bastards to hold me still, and that was with me trying to hold still. If I ever hear a Doc tell me “we are almost there” again, I think I will rip his lying tongue out by the roots.
They cut a slit in your lower ribs, ALL the way through, then take this ½ inch plastic tube and shove it up under and all the way to your shoulder. I think I was less than pleasant to just about everyone in the room, in the hall, their mothers, and any one else I could think of. AND to make it worse, my regular nurse came in laughing at me and the things I told the Doc he could do with his tube. People didn’t talk that way TO HIM, fuckem!
When they were ready to discharge me, they found out I lived alone with no one to help me, they kept me another week. I don’t think I was ready to go even then but no insurance.
In some way the following is the worst part, you may want to stop here.
They put me into a cab and home; to the hotel I went no choice. Even the cab ride was, very painful; I had to ask the driver to pull over a couple of times so I could get my shit back together. But that pain was nothing like what was coming.
When I got back to the room it was tore all apart. The police had taken the sheets away; I had a bare mattress blood soaked of course, and a blanket. The mattresses was soaked the walls were smeared, the head board and the carpet soaked with dry blood. I could really smell it, I was so tired from trip home I just laid down and pulled the blanket over me. Except for meals on wheels I just laid there for two days.
Then Katie and Betsy came over, they put on new sheets, tried to wipe up some of the blood. I could smell the blood through the sheets. But I was so drugged on pain meds, that I thought I didn’t care. I didn’t care then. After about A week the nightmares and the flashbacks started, I would wake up screaming knowing I was getting stabbed, I could feel the knife again. It would take along time to convince my self it was a dream, it was so real. That would happen three, four, even five times a night.
It really got bad when they started to happen in the day time.
I would be staring at the TV and the next thing I knew It was happening again. I could feel the knife, I could hear it again. I don’t know how long I was out of it, but it took a long time to come back. And I would be just shaking, had trouble holding a cig. There was never any warning; one second I’m watching the TV and the next I fighting for my life again. This happened two to three times a day. I would take a long time for my heart to slow down.
As they started to wean me off the pain meds, the dreams just got worse. I would take hours to fall asleep again. I was so wound up that any little thing would set me off. I was later told it was normal. Sure as hell didn’t feel like that to me.
After a month of pain meds I was taken off them completely. I still had a great deal of pain, and Alieve just was not working. They did not want me to be alone, on the meds. I’m sure they also knew of my history of suicide. They took me off. Now I had to deal with the physical pain, and the mental. The dreams were tearing me apart; I was not getting any real sleep.
My coming off alcohol also made the not sleeping worse. I was starting to get real tired, but I was afraid to go to sleep. The terror was waiting for me.
I had been sober for almost two months, I thought I would try and keep it going.
I was so depressed, I knew in my heart that I deserve to be killed. I was a waste of air. I have always known that I was not supposed to be here. It had to be my fault I was stabbed; I had done or not done something. If I had done it, I would still be apart of the world, well this time it was true I was not wanted by anyone. Even the one person I thought loved me thought I needed to die.
I could not face it any more, the mental pain was unbearable.
I had no where to go, not sleep, not even awake I was not safe. the TV I could not concentrate, I would try to watch and the realize that I had no idea what I had just watched.
No one came to see me there wasn’t anyone to come. So I was locked away, getting so freaked out that I was desperate for, I didn’t know. I knew no one cared, everyone, me including me would be better off if I had died. I just didn’t know what to do. There was no one to call. I couldn’t ask for help, real men stand on their own two feet.
I did know one thing that would help; I called a cab and went to the liquor store. The ride hurt like hell, every bump made me want to scream, it felt like someone was sticking a knife in me...lol when I got to the store I remember thinking I’ll buy a big bottle, then I won’t have to come back so fast. So I bought a 1.75i, thinking this will last me for 3-4 days.
I got home and hit the bottle hard, all the mental and physical pain eased up. I got very drunk. When I woke up the next morning, I needed a drink. I had the shakes and the pain was coming back, so I got drunk, when I woke up I needed a drink.... By the second morning I knew I was going to need more, so I called a cab and went to the liquor store. I did this for about a week I later found out Katie, my daughter, and her mother, Betsy, were checking up on me. They were getting very worried about me. I’m told I would be awake when they came over, I don’t remember any of that. I told them I want to die and to go away. I don’t know how many times they came over. The meals on wheels food was piled up next to the front door. I didn’t want food I wanted to just die. I even made Betsy, my first wife, go get me a bottle, it was either that Or I was going myself.
I don’t know if I could have made it. I hadn’t eating in days, I was still in physical pain, and I really wanted to die. I should have never been born, I was a mistake, and I needed to make all of this stop. And the dreams still came, or so I’m told. Katie stayed with me for some time. and witnessed a couple of them. That was when she decided that I had to be under professional care. They called 911, the police knew who I was, what the story was.
So September 16Th 2003, I woke up in detox, thinking how in hell did I get here. I had been in my bed. The staff gave me vague answers. They held me for the full 72 hours, when they were up and I wanted out, I had some drinking and dying to do and these people were in my way. I had been a guest there over a hundred times. They and every treatment center, had me down as untreatable, which mean the sober you up and let you go, they don’t even try to help you.
So I started to squawk about my rights, and that they could not hold me for more than the 72 hours, and it was up in 2 hours.
Right at the 72 hour mark, they told me I was going to be committed to Detox for 90 days; I asked how they could do that, they didn’t have any family to make the motion to the court. They gave me some bull shit about the court decided to step in. I yelled and which of my doctors signed, they told me three different ones. when asked who started it Betsy my ex wife did. I really started to yell then; She has no right to any say about me. SHE IS MY EX, don’t you understand. Again more vague answers. I went off. So much so that I ended up in four point restraints with an ass full of Haldol, a very powerful trank that they give to violent drunks, or drug users.
About three days later, at least I think it was three days, it all is very vague. I don’t think I was in touch with reality then.
After three days, they told me someone wanted to see me... I asked who, they told me Betsy and Katie, I went off again. “what does that bitch want, to rub it in? OH hell no I don’t want to see her. They went away, in a couple of minutes they came back, I was pacing around with two attendants watching me very closely. They asked if it would Be alright if Katie came in to talk to me. With that all the wind came out of my sails I said yes.
Katie came in looking frightened, I tried to put her at ease, until I found out it was me she was afraid of. If was feeling low and worthless before. it became a hundreds times worse. My Baby Kates was afraid of me. We talked for awhile, I have no idea what we talked about, my mind was screaming you worthless piece shit your baby girl is afraid of you. You’re supposed to keep her from harm.
Just before she left she put her arms around me and whisper “Daddy I don’t want you to die”, then she was gone.
After she left, I thought if she still wanted me to be her Daddy. I had to give this sober shit a real honest try.
That was just over four years ago.


The following day, my ridiculous proposal was accepted, but not before I had queried him about the unexplained incidents in his story, including where his funds for Meals on Wheels and a hotel room had come from, and he replied, like the earnest fellow I was finding him out to be.

My Aunt Judy

My Aunt Judy, AJ for short, was my father’s younger and only sibling. AJ was never able to have children, of her own. So she adopted me. She was also very smart and determined woman. She started out being an operator for the Bell Telephone co. even before AT&T was formed. The phone company sent her to school, for training. She got the equalivent of a college degree. And advanced is the engineering area of the phone company. She was sent all over the country helping to switch the phone company from rotary dial to touch tone. She was in charge of turning the whole city of Atlanta GA, to touch tone. She had invented a piece of equipment that would test every line in the city for its proper function. She was named employee of the year for that and nice bonus, plus a corner office. After the award she mostly taught others to use the equipment.
She was a very smart woman. You had better have your wits about you if you wished to cross swords with her. But hard to talk to sometimes, she was not afraid of silence. So there could be long breaks in the conversation, which could become uncomfortable when I was calling her for money. I could hear the wheels turning in her head, “is the kid lying to me”? Which, while I was drinking, I did more often than I care to think about. I also tried to lie to her by omission, I don’t know for sure, but I think she saw through all the bull, and helped anyway.
AJ was about 5’6” with auburn hair and hazel eyes. An had a half
smile that made you wonder what she was up to. She also had a look that made you think she could see deep into you. Her bullshit detector was always turned up high.
She also was the source of all good things. She was in high school when I was born. She more or less adopted me. She, and her first husband, Uncle Dan lived in Milwaukee WI. For most of my early life, they came to our house almost every weekend. And when ever they did come, something fun was bound to happen. She taught me all the fun things in life. She taught me about fun stuff like bowling and golf. She bought me my first new bike, it was a Schwinn three speed, and I loved it. And she gave me my first car, it was her old one, but she bought a new one and gave me her old one, A 1966 Ford Galaxy 500. I loved her a great deal and would get excited about their coming, by about Wednesday. I remember, when I was little, sitting out side when they were due to arrive, and then go running through the house yelling “their here “. Uncle Dan was my buddy; he and I got into mischief nothing serious. When I was old enough he would let me smoke, when I was with him. He never tried to be authority figure. We just had fun. Things like going to the store and me getting a treat that AJ and Grandmother, would not approve. He also talked my grandmother into letting me get a subscription to Playboy when I was about 14.
AJ, was also a buddy of sorts, she was he one who turned me on to museums, and some of the finer things in life.
She was and wasn’t an authority figure. I was taught very early on that she bought my new school clothes, and my bike, my coolest X-Mas presents and helped Grandma with money. So it was driven into my head to not ever make her mad. That without her we would be in trouble. We got to go on vacation because of her.
I don’t know how many times I was scare shitless, when I thought she was angry with me. I would get so freaked out that I would end up puking.
When I got divorced she helped me with my child support for a couple of years, until I got back on my feet.
When I got into financial trouble AJ would bail me out. I would get sick to my stomach, when ever I had to call. I tried very hard to not ask her help, but I had no choice. She never said no, I was terrified of her saying no. I didn’t have anyone else to call.
When I was drinking heavy, she would send me money, to keep me off the streets. I would start to shake and sweat when ever I had to ask. When I was homeless, I wouldn’t call her, I was too ashamed. Finally when my health was going down hill fast I called and she gave me money to stay at that hotel. And bitched at me for not calling sooner, that she was worried about me.
She insisted that I give her an address that she could get in touch with me. So she started to support me again. And after I got sober she supported me. So the only thing I had to worry about was staying sober.
It helped me do what I needed; I didn’t have to work, so I got involved with AA and ended up the current president of our club house and the weekly visits with my counselor. I didn’t have much money but was able to keep a roof over my head, and some spending money. All I had to do was get my head back together.
I was unable to keep a job. The PTSD and other issues had me ovewhelmed. In fact I spent three different weekends in the Phych ward in the hospital. I wanted the pain go to away, and suicide sounded awful good.
I did call for help, and the crisis center, would give me some time in order to help me get my head around all the stuff that was changing in my life. As my counselor told me, I had lost my best coping tool, alcohol. I would find myself over whelmed. And I need some place safe from my impulses.
For the first six months or so, I was a real wreck. The nightmares would wake me up screaming, I couldn’t sit still for more than about five minutes. I was hyper aware, I would get panic attacks. What really sucked is I knew what these feeling were about, but I was unable to control them. I would get just a bit freaked when there would be a knife in some show I was watching With time and medication those feelings have gone away, mostly. I still get tense if there is violence in a movie, esp. if it comes about in a in a sudden way/
Aunt Judy passed away, at 68 years old, in my third year of sobriety. She died in her sleep, from an aneurism. It’s what has killed most of the Setzers. It seems we have bad veins. She again helped me: She left me a nice little nest egg. It helped me to be able to work part time and work myself up to full time.
I owe Aunt Judy, so much more than I could ever repay. But at least she got to see me sober and standing on my own two feet.

I wrote Kevin that I hoped he was really thankful to have someone who believed in him, and who repeatedly helped and never gave up. But I wanted to know how he got to this spot of self-loathing, which he so graphically described.
Here is his reply.

My Mom


My brother Ron was conceived in the back seat of a car, coming home from a Christmas party. He was born Sept. 4th 1954. My Dad left and joined the Army. I was conceived when Dad came home for a leave. He left and went back to the army.
Mom was from the wrong side of the tracks. Trailer trash would be a good word for her.
I was born Sept.6 th 1955, just one year and one day younger than my brother.
So while Dad went back to Germany and the army, my mother Ellen was left at home with two young ones. I don’t know the story from her side; I have only talked to her twice in my life. But she neglected us to the point where we both had to be hospitalized for three weeks, for malnutrition. The only relative from my father’s side of the family who was allowed to come to see us was my great grandfather. And he told me the story of finding me in a diaper at least a day old and sucking on a bottle of curdled milk. My paternal grandmother sued for custody. She won, unusual in the 50”s, and was going to take both of us. But my mother begged to keep Ron and she could keep me. When I was about 5, I started to wonder what was wrong with me. When I was young my brother and I saw each other about once a year. My grandmother’s second husband (Abe) would track their family down; they moved about every six months. And I would get to see Ron for a weekend. But as soon as we took him home, I wouldn’t here from him until Abe tracked them down again.
I have only talked with my mother twice in my life. The first time was when my Dad went to see Ron, and took me along. I didn’t know what to think, it was over in about 60 seconds. I didn’t know what to expect but I thought there would be something, not just disinterest.
The second time I met her was at my high school graduation. I had sent an announcement to Ron’s last known address, just to let him know. Well about two weeks later I got a letter from my mother, asking if she could attend. I was more than a little freaked out; the rest of my family left it up to me,
So I answered back saying yes come if you wish.
I met her after the ceremony she walk up to me and introduced herself; it all seemed so surreal we talk about nothing for about ten minutes. I even invited her to the party going on at my house. She declined, and said she had to get going, and walked away. That is all the interaction I had with my mother. She was a small Woman 5’4” or so very dark hair and brown eyes. Which could describe my brother as well. Except he was a bit taller he very much looks like mom’s side of the family. Where as I’m a Setzer, no doubt about it I look a lot like my grandfather.
I found out that Grandma wasn’t mom around the age of 4.
I remember being called in the house, and sat down and told the story even then I remember wondering what was wrong with me? I was a good boy wasn’t I? I asked grandma about it and she told me what trailer trash she and her family were. I then asked why didn’t she want Ronnie. And being told that my mother begged for Ronnie and didn’t want me. It didn’t take long for me to be sure that there must be something wrong with me. After all mom picked Ronnie and not me.
I learned two big lessons from that talk, one that my needs didn’t count. And that there must be something wrong with me, for even my mom not to want me.


My Dad


I don’t remember much from the age of 6-7, they are a gentle blur of playing and going to school.
The next big thing that happened to me is in the summer of my seventh year I was shipped off to live with my father. How this all came about is lost. I guess that my Dad wanted me to come live with him. But there has always been a feeling that grandma wanted to get rid of me.
I was packed up and put on an airplane and 707 it was the latest and greatest at that time. I was excited by the whole process, looking forward the trip.
What I didn’t think about was living with complete strangers. I had no memory of my father. I don’t know if I had ever met him. So off I go, put on a plane in Chicago and picked up in LA., by strangers. Dad had married again and I had never met my stepmother. They had two boys, my half brothers. Bruce the oldest at three and Larry at 1 year old.
I remember them picking me up, I knew who Dad was from his picture. The rest of them were unknown. I went from being the only child to the oldest of three.
Everything was fine until some time had passed and I realized this was real. I started to get homesick, I felt like I had no one to turn to. My dad was busy with the navy, he had joined the navy after the army or he had his head under the hood of a car. He was also very taciturn, it seems to run in the family. After awhile I tried to avoid him, so he would have any reason to be mad at me. He also didn’t put up with much nonsense. I was shooed put of the garage many times.
My step mother tried to comfort me and do special things with me. But she had two and one on the way. There wasn’t much time left over for me. I understood that even then, but still wanted the attention.
I can’t ever remember my Dad hugging me or any show of affection. He seemed not want the kids around. Any homework help came from my step mother. She was not the evil stepmother
from stories and legends. I think she came to love me.
But late at night I would be in my bed crying, wondering what I had done wrong for grandmother to ship me out. I have no idea how many times I cried myself to sleep. Or how many promises to god to be an extra good boy if I could just go home. I enjoyed school and most of my time with them, but it never felt like home. I figured out that I must really bad, because no one wanted me. My mom wanted my brother and not me, My grandmother didn’t want me I was so bad that she couldn’t stand me any more. So she shipped me here. It sure didn’t seem like my Dad wanted me. But he had to take me. I knew I had done something but could never figure it out. I knew if I was a perfect little boy maybe things would change.
After a year with Dad and his family, Dad asked me if I wanted to live with him or go back to my grandma. Without any hesitation I said yes I want to go home. I think this might have hurt his feelings but eight year olds don’t think about stuff like that. He than asked if I wanted to go now or after the family vacation to see the redwoods. Again I said now. So in a couple of weeks I was back on the plane taking me home. But I also tried to figure out what I had done right in order to go home and how not to get sent away again

The Store

The picture was getting clearer and clearer. Were there any happy times growing up? Kevin answered that with “the store.”


When I was four, My grandmother and My aunt Judy opened up a bar/store in northern Wi near the town of Park Falls. It was a small bar about ten bar stools. The other half of the building was a little general story. We served the surrounding area, resorts mostly. If you did not want to deal with us for that loaf of bread or a pack of hot dogs fine, the next store was about 23 miles away over twisting lousy roads.
There was a bar area where we spent most of the time, the store The store where I played when the weather was bad. One bedroom, where my grandma and my Aunt Judy slept, and the kitchen.
I had an army cot to sleep on. It wasn’t a bad place to live; I had 40 acres of woods to call my back yard. People were coming in all the time. I spent a lot of time playing in the woods, mostly alone. The nearest neighbor was just over a mile away. And that was through wild woods. Just a little far for a four year old to wander.
My Great Great Grandfather, lived about a mile away and would walk to our store for his daily shot of brandy. And he would tell me stories about life in the lumber jack era.
My Aunt took a leave of absence from her job, to get the place up and running. So from opening day of the fishing season until after Deer hunting, we were open. This was the late fifties and there were no such thing as a snowmobile.
In the winter we went to Florida to live with my great Grandfather and great Grandmother. I have lots good memories of this time in my life. Of course I was around liquor all the time. And people drunk and acting the fool, after all they were on vacation. So I saw happy drunks and sad ones, even a few who couldn’t walk. At night I would sit behind the bar and listen. Told to keep quiet because no one wanted to hear what a four year old thinks. I can clearly remember running and opening a beer for someone, I was helping. I was sent to bed at a normal time, but would lay in bed listening. People drinking and getting drunk was normal for me, it happened everyday.
One thing happened when I was four a babysitter was watching me and reading me a story. And all of a sudden it clicked, the marks on the page stood for something. The first word I learned to read was “come”.
It opened a new world for me, I lucked out, my grandmother and aunt were both avid readers. They decided that it didn’t matter what I read so long as I read, so I had an endless supply of comic books and when I wanted, books as well. They both told me later, that they would encourage my reading and would work on my taste later.
From the age of four to the age of six we ran the store, Grandmother wanted to buy the land, but the owner wanted way too much and our lease ran out so we closed the store and moved back to Janesville WI. AJ went back to the phone company.


Hi Letty
I had the night off and tried to write something. To try and give you an idea about my early childhood and why I was sure that there was something wrong with me. It came out later, the perfectionist, the feeling, if people really knew me. I would be cast into the outer darkness.
This crap is hard to write without sounding like a cry wimp. It is supposed to be an explanation and not a pity party.
Look forward to hearing your thought.
I do plan on spend the most time on the recovery phase of my life.
Kevin


Dear Kevin:

I can see clearly that your early experience was simply awful and painful. You are good at telling the story poignantly but not asking for sympathy. I like that. That keeps the pity party under control. Keep working hard.
We'll plug in a bit of this letter.
Whoops, this is the first I've heard of Donner/Setzer. Who is Adeline's son's kid? I know its you, but who are the other characters? Just when I feel like I'm getting my arms around this task, up comes something from left field. Help.
________________________________________

Hi Letty
Thanks for the encouraging word. I have some more questions. Do you feel the dispassionate viewer, is the right voice to use. Some of this material is very emotional. It still upsets me, not like it used to but none the less.
I didn't add everything, for example when they would line up for family pictures, they just wanted the Donner family, and I was a Setzer. FYI the Donner family, I thought I was a member of is the same Donner's of a very famous mountain pass, out your way.
Does what I have written come across as someone looking for a pity party? I hope not I have written what I have in order to give a reader an Idea of just how much I felt like a second class citizen.
And what I would do to try and get back into the family. It's not supposed to be an excuse but rather a explanation. When I start to talk about AA and my recovery I have a tendency to get up on my soap box.
If I go with the dispassionate voice, can it be changed later. I think I can do dispassionate, but will that type of writing stir up emotions in the reader?
Does any of the stuff I have sent you, raise any feelings in you?
Do you get a sense of how painful all this was. To be over sensitive to everyone's actions and spoken words. Always looking for that frown of disapproval. you know tuck my tail between my legs and make myself as small as I could. Never taking anything upon my self Hoping that it would end with just a look. I knew that everyone else had a memory like mine, so they would remember everything I did wrong, and build a case to throw me out of the family, after all I was just tag along. Adeline's son's kid.
you know the one who got dumped on her. I haven't written about it yet but I over heard my grandmother say if she just didn't have the kid she would be able to...........you fill in the blank.
Right next door. and I heard it many times
Let me stop this for now
So if you can find my questions in all if that I would like your opinion.
Kevin
********************************************************


( I think I had made a mistake to mention “voice” at all; a fault left over from 8 years of teaching writing at the junior college level. He was doing just fine without knowing that.
Lots more correspondence followed about “was he doing it right, etc” but I was tickled pink. Reading his work was really the same pleasure I got when one of my students “woke up” and realized what a story was telling him.
I was waiting for his recovery story and his tying up of all the loose ends like Michelle and Kate and his son whose name I forgot. He replied:)

Good morning I'm just about to crawl into bed. But thought I could clear up some of your confusion
this is as much as I know about the Donner side of my family
Ben Donner was my great great grandfather. I had him in my life until I was 15
He used to tell me stories almost everyday when I lived in the store. He had three sons( I knew them all) Orly is the oldest. there was Orly Orvid, and Bernie
Orly Donner is my greatgrand father I had him in my life until I was 30. He is also the man who set me of the course of my life. He gave me the rule I try to live by He said " Kevin, try to do a good deed everyday, the best kind are the ones no one knows about, you may never get rewarded, but you’re building up brownie points in heaven"
I have changed that to say. everyday try to leave this world just a bit better than you found it this morning, and don't do it for a reward, do it because it's the right thing to do. So my whole recovery program is" I'm just a guy trying to do the next right thing"
Orly Donner and his wife Florence had five children. Adeline was the oldest( my grandmother)She married a Setzer.
Adeline and her first husband had two children Ronald Setzer, my father, and Judith ( my aunt)
Ronald and his first wife had two children Ronald Joseph and Kevin
As a side note when I was born we had five generations alive, made the local papers. And when my son Forrest was born we had five again, also made the local papers.
I guess I never did tell you my son Forrest in now 28 and a whopping 6'7" and weights 275
My baby girl Katheryn is 24 and a long 5'10"
I'll be up for about another 1/2 hour .
So any questions?


(.Kevin, dear: Tell me about the time from High School graduation through your first marriage.)


age 15
Spent a night with a shotgun under my chin, I wanted the pain I was in to end. Never told anyone about it. I never felt like I fit in, I was a burden. Vowed to do better, The problem was me I had to be a good kid, in order to stay. I was a good kid, very good grades, track star, had a job making fair money.
age 17
Went to college, partial scholarship for track. But I discovered pot, this was a whole new ball game. I felt free. I loved how it made me feel, I smoked a lot. Joined a Frat, I lived the movie Animal House. I was never really a joiner, I knew if people “found out who I really was” I would be banned from society.
age 19
Met my future wife Betsy. I felt like someone loved me, really for the first time in my life. But I knew if she found out who I really was ............
Moved in together over the objection of her parents. I wasn't doing well in school so dropped out got a job bar tending and paid our expenses. while she finished school.
age 23
Married Betsy, after she had finished school. I had a good job and we had lots of fun. drank a lot. But it was good.
age 24
The time was right, we were set up in good shape. I went back to school. half way thru first semester came home on a Tuesday night to find the table set for a nice dinner, Half away through dinner she told me that "we're pregnant". Rather a shock because we had agreed that No kids until I had finished school. She had quit the pill without telling me.
age 25
We had lost the home set up, because of the kid coming we were resident manger of a 85 unit apartment complex. And Betsy wanted Maternity leave. We sued and won but we were still out on our ass. Move to another city, I found a very good job. So things were looking good, Healthy son (Forrest). But the trust was gone. I started to drink more.
age 28
Katherine was born, again unplanned. Betsy refused to go back on the pill. I came home drunk and refused to use a condom.
age 29
Betsy and I seperated lots of reasons. My drinking a big one. there is a long story here. I moved in with a cousin, really started to drink and do drugs. Lost my good job from drinking.
age 29
After my Grandmother's death, and my father's offer. I moved to VA. I needed a fresh start and to get away from all the drinking and drugs. never really did drugs after that and cut way back on my drinking for a couple of years. I had two jobs while in VA both very good ones.
age 31
Met Michele, at work. She was coming off of an abusive relationship ; was living in a battered womens shelter. She moved in within a month. Things went well for about 3 months, then she started to do crack, it got to the point where I had to put her out, gave her the choice me or crack. made her stay away for three months. I felt used, she just wanted me for money She gave up crack and moved back in.
age 31-38
We lived in VA, both with jobs. It was a stormy relationship, getting drunk almost ever night.
There were a lot of police calls. But I thought bad love was better than no love, and this was the best I could get or deserved.
age 39
moved back to WI. To be near my children. Things went down hill from then. Michele wasn't happy, My good job turned out to be a pain, bad boss. I started to drink before work.
I quit that job and went to another but promptly lost it due to drinking.
age 40
my unemployment ran out and I “ committed suicide.”
Well enough for tonight. But hopefully you have a better idea of my story. My recovery is a story of over coming.


(Here, Kevin asked if it was ok for me to do this work for so little money, given my background. I told him “full speed ahead,” I believe in you.)


******************************************************

Good morning Letty:
I hope your belief isn't misplaced.
Well I'll get back to work, but just didn't have it in me the last couple of days. I was completely surprised my how much the writing I did on Sunday took out of me. I was just emotionally flat the last couple of days.
And St Pat's day was more than a little bit crazy. Have I told you I work in a Detox facility? And there are a lot of stories I could tell you about that place. Most of clients are brought in by police, for being incapacitated.But we do get those who want to get sober and stay that way.
My working there is like 40 hour per week AA meeting. Nothing about people being drunk is funny any more. One thing that has happened from my working there is that I sometimes talk to people at three in the morning, when they can't sleep and are open to new ideas. I tell them my story and the fact that staying sober in not easy, But the rewards are more than they would believe. When I tell them about rewards, I talk about a nice little apartment and half way decent car.
But the biggest reward is the way my kids look at me. They have both told me how very proud they are of me. I have a much better relationship with them I deserve. And for me, a very big reason to work there is, every now and then someone will pull me aside after a meeting and tell me " you know you helped me decide to take a real chance and try to stay sober" and then they thank me for talking to them. It makes up for a lot of cleaning up puke and piss and shit.
About month ago a guy stopped me coming out of a board meeting and asked if I remembered him. I had to be honest and say no, sorry. Then he asked if I remember talking to him at detox, Again I had to say I talk to a lot of people at work. He told me not to worry he knew I talked to a lot of people. He was up from Janesville WI a town about 40 miles away for a young peoples meeting at my home clubhouse. And had hoped he would run into me. I laughed and told nope I didn't do it you must have the wrong guy. He got a very serious look on his face and said I gave him the courage to try and deal with life head on, and quit hiding in a bottle. I had to tell him that I may have shown you that it is passable, but the courage is all yours. He laughed and told me that if anybody as fucked up as you were can come back I had a chance( a left handed complement if I ever here one).
He got serious and said no really he credits me with giving him the nerve to try. Well I had to look away for a second, I was choked up. And that if he wants to believe that, who am I to tell him nay. It doesn't really matter in the long run. I may have been the spark but we both know he did the work.
So he says I was hoping to find you and thank you, I told him he was welcome to any help I gave him, after all the twelfth step to carry the message, "Again I wanted to tell you that because tomorrow will be 18 months sober" I felt like I was ten feet tall. And maybe I really did help some one up on to his feet again.
As you know I took what I thought was my last breath, after the stabbing. And that my life is now gravy.

People have told me that God has a plan for me. I'm an agnostic, and so I'm not sure if that even that could be true. But I feel compelled to try and help. And that is why I want to do this book. If I somehow make a little money it can help me pay off old bills from my drinking days.
I hope you can some how get a readable story out of all this stuff I have been sending you.
It's time for me to call it a night.
Thanks for saying you believe in me. AJ always did And I was so happy I could call her up and not ask for money and tell I'm sorry about all the crap I put you through, and oh by the way I have been sober for a year today. I'm very thankful for that opportunity
Well nite nite Letty
Kevin

*******************************************************
Kevin finally got to the recovery story: Here’ s how he formatted it:


THE STEPS

Step 1 We admitted we were powerless over alcohol- that our lives had become unmanageable.

This step wasn’t really very hard for me at the end. I did take some convincing though. I tried three times to get sober, but I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. I was trying to keep a relationship intact, I tried for my family. The third time I tried to stay sober I made it 18 months. But I was living alone, working to many hours. I worked an odd shift, 11 am till 7-8 pm. I got lonely, I got tired, I stopped going to meetings because I was different from all of those people. I didn’t have a sponsor; I never really connected with anyone. The people I went through treatment with, all fell by the wayside. I really didn’t have any friends.
I made just about every mistake you can make and stay clean, not sober, for any length of time.
When I was finally committed to Detox for three months, I came to believe my drinking and life was out of control. When I came out of high school, my goal in life was not, homeless street drunk. I had given this living stuff my best shot, and ended up here, committed by family and doctors.
I decided that maybe I should take some advice and direction.

Step 2 Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Now this step gave me a lot of trouble until I straighten some things out in my mind. Like most new people I thought they were talking about GOD. I’m an agnostic, which I define as, The universe runs too smoothly to be a complete accident, But I KNOW I don’t know how it works and I really don’t think you do either. I don’t think any organized religion has THE right answer. In fact I find it very arrogant for anyone to claim they understand the will of God. I know my mind is incapable of that feat.
But I’m a practical type of person. I really like cause and effect. I have trouble with things based on faith.
But being a practical person I could see some cause and effect, especially when it hit me in the face. This time around I kept going to meetings; I started to listen to the similarities instead of the differences. I heard people telling how they had been feeling as bad as I did. And by quitting drinking and doing the steps they now had lives worth living.
Well I wanted some of that; I wanted to feel that life might be worth the effort. These people were smiling and laughing, what did they know that I didn’t. Because, at the time I did not want to live. I was giving this living crap one more try, because my daughter still wanted me to be her daddy. So these people knew something I didn’t, and I believe knowledge is power.
These people had more power than I did, that made them a power greater than me, and for the most part they seemed some what sane. Maybe they could restore me to sanity. You only have to hit me with a brick a few times before I get the message. I should listen and follow their advice; these crazy people seemed to care about each other. They didn’t ask you to earn their love and care. And that was a completely new idea, up until now I felt I had to earn everything, anyone “gave” me.
So I took the second step.

Step 3 Made the decision to turn or will and our lives over to God as we understood him.
Another hard step for me at first. God I didn’t understand at all. Just a couple of months ago I took my last breath. Everyone said I should not be alive, and I agreed. So why was I still alive, I had been stabbed in the chest thirteen times, I shouldn’t be. People kept telling me God had a plan for me, my will to live was stronger than my pain. There must be a reason God kept you alive. I just kept telling them, okay, maybe. I had no idea, and still don’t.
I settled the issue in my mind by giving up, trying to answer the question.
I decided to just go with the flow, and try and not worry if there was a greater plan for me. I decided to just keep trying to do the next right thing. And the next right thing can be all most anything. Early on it was getting up cleaning my self up, and doing what ever I was supposed to do. In treatment it meant going to groups and really trying to participate. To be honest with
the group and especially myself. It meant to go to meetings and really trying to share. It meant gong to my shrink and having the guts to really open up and let another human see who I really was. This was frightening; I had never really trusted anyone for as long as I could remember. But to give sobriety an honest try I had to do it. And in my book an honest try means giving it your best effort. When ever I was unsure as to what the next right thing was, I asked some people I trusted and felt knew what they were talking about.
When there was no one to ask, I would sit as quite as my mind would let me and try to listen to that little voice we all have in our heads. That voice our parents tried to instill in us. We know right from wrong, and if we really listen to that voice and try to do our best by ourselves and others, we don’t go to far wrong.
Now my whole recovery program can be stated in just a few words. I’m just a guy who is trying to do the next right thing. And if that little voice comes from God well fine, I don’t care I going to give this living stuff my best shot. I’m going to do the next right thing what ever that means at the time, especially when it come to others.

STEP 4 Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
This step is the hardest one of all. To really look at ourselves, to see honestly just who we are, and what we have done. To look in the mirror and drop your pretensions, to drop self-denial.
This was, and is, one of the most difficult things I have ever done. We all hold a self image that we will protect to the end. We see ourselves as good and kind people, who care about others. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps us going. Some of us also hold a self image that we are the worse people out there. That we are not good or kind, that we don’t deserve to be in the company of normal people. That we deserve all the bad stuff that happens to everyone. That we don’t deserve to be loved, our families pretend to love us because we’re family and they sort of have to. Otherwise they would just ignore us. And others love us because of the stuff we can do for them, we see people who are just out for number one. They will use anyone who comes near, and why should we be any different. We have to earn our keep, like everyone else, there are people who seem to be loved by everyone. People who seem to just cruse through life on a pink cloud, and oh how we wish to be one of them, but we know it’s just dream, that it could never happen to us.
We see people who profess love for someone, but when their backs are turned they jump on them with both feet. We see a lot of people like that; we know we aren’t worth love. So anyone who tells us,” I love you”, we know what they are saying that behind our backs.
But to make a true inventory, we have to look at everything, both good and the bad.
When I’m trying to explain it to someone, who’s about to start doing their fourth step. I liken it to cleaning out a garage. When you clean out a full garage, you don’t start in the corners, you start with the big crap in the middle of the floor. You drag all the stuff out into the light of day. And spread it out all over the driveway.
And then start to look at what you have, both good and bad. And you have to rank things by how important they really are, some of the bad stuff we have done seems huge, until you look at it in the light. And when you look at the good things about you, it’s not hard to find exceptions. “I never stole a thing in my life” well what about stealing your time and affection from others in your life, so you could indulge in your addiction? What about that candy bar when you were ten. What about your time from your employer, and those office supplies you needed at home?
When you look at the horrible things you have done. Really how bad were they. I know we have all done things we’re ashamed of, the way we treated others are among the worse. And some people have done some very nasty things, esp. in relation to their addiction. But why did we treat others so shabby? Was it fear, we do a lot of things out of fear. Fear that people won’t like us, so hurt them first, and make them keep their distance. Keep them at a distance, they won’t be able to see the real you and thus they won’t be able to hurt you.
How many times have you been untrue to yourself, how many times have you put up a false front, so people will like you. So you will fit in? How many times have you gone against what you feel is right.
You also need to look at the good things you have done. How many times have you helped someone out with out thinking about a reward? How many times have you done the right thing, because it is the right thing?
Have you ever stopped to help a child? Have you ever resisted the urge to do something when you know it’s wrong, even though you wouldn’t get caught?
After you looks at all the stuff, while trying to be as honest as you can. I think you’ll find that you’re a mixture of good and bad, no one is 100% good or bad. You need to look at the stuff and decide, what you would like to keep and what needs to get changed about yourself. Remember that you’re not perfect and never will be .Instead of telling yourself that you’ll never tell another lie, remember little white lies make the world run smoother. Being brutally honest can often hurt others. Tell you self I’ll try and never tell a lie that will hurt someone. I won’t lie cover the fact I’m human, and make mistakes. And most of all promise yourself to never lie to you. You can’t change anything about yourself if you’re not honest. Make it a habit you examining your motives for doing what you do. When you come in conflict with what you know to be right, take action.
You’re going to find you’re a mixture of good and bad. You’ll find things that need to be changed now, and others that you need to work on. Don’t be afraid to give yourself a pat on the back for some of the good things you do, of course don’t sprain you arm in so doing.
This whole exercise is about finding out the truth about you. You can’t plot a course for changing your life without knowing where you are. This step in very hard to do, but you must do it, without it you’ll never change, and we need to change in order to stay sober. I not referring to being clean, I mean sober, to living life on life’s terms. To deal with the world in a healthy and hopefully a happy way. Maybe even to find some joy in your life. It was one of the big things I wanted out of my sobriety, just a little joy once in a while. You remember that feeling when you were a little kid, where you were just so happy and excited that you just had to go out in the yard and jump around, it either that or burst. This is the step that starts you on the path to real change, up till now you have just indentified the problem and the fact you need help, and decided to seek help.

STEP 5 Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs


Notes on Michele
I met Michele in 1984. I first noticed her at work. I was a supervisor at a big factory. Michele was working in the department next to mine. The factory made many different types of seasonal products. I was making swimming pools, the ones blue ones with the cartoons inside, and her department made coolers and surfboards out of Styrofoam.
I had been recently been dumped, by another black woman. It seemed as if she was more interested in my money and what I could do for her and her child. When I moved form Wisconsin to Virginia, Child support lost track of me for a few months, so I had some extra income, temporarily. But when they caught up with me, which I knew was going to happen, her interest in me faded away quickly. I found myself very lonely and hurt; I didn’t understand what had happened until later.
Which brings me back to Michele; she worked in plain view of my department. She was a good looking black woman, about 5’ 7” around 135 pounds with coco colored skin, and use to wear these stretch jeans. There seemed to be a lot of bending and stretching involved in the operation of her machine. Before long I had a great deal of interest in just who she might be.
After watching for about three weeks I finally screwed up my courage to talk to her. There was some danger in this because it was the south and I was a supervisor. I at least wasn’t her supervisor. I made some silly comment about the hat she was wearing. I told her I liked it , I didn’t, but it did break the ice .We talked about nothing for about five minutes . I then asked if she would care to have a beer with me after work. So we drank a couple of beers in my car, I worked the evening shift and you couldn’t buy beer after work so I kept some in a cooler in my car. We seemed to hit it off.
I was so lonely that I just sort of dumped everything on her. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. I found out much later that my becoming interested in her was a well planned out maneuver. She had been trying to attract my attention. My dumping my sad sob story scared her at first. She later said, she thought I might be more than a little crazy. But when I didn’t do anything else crazy, she decided to give me another chance.
I found out about three dates into it that she was living in a battered women’s shelter. I can’t really remember just how it came about. But after about three weeks, I was helping her move into a real dump; it was furnished in early junk. We finished hauling her stuff into her new place, and retired to my place for the night. Some where in that night I said you should just move in here, that I really didn’t like the neighborhood and the condition of her place. Before I really knew what was happening she was all moved in. It seemed awful fast but things were moving fast in her life and she needed to get out of the shelter.
Things were really good for a little while; it was more than a bit like a honeymoon. But about a month later, things started to get strange. She had called into work saying she was sick. She wasn’t sick when I left,. I started work earlier than. she did.. When I got home that night my place was all torn up. Throw rugs pulled up, the cushions on the couch thrown about the room. I had no clue what had happened. She explained that she had called in to go out with some of her friends, and the room was torn up because she had been looking for an ear ring, and didn’t have time to put the place back together. I bought it, but it just didn’t set well. The next Thursday night she didn’t come home from work, she rolled in about 6 am. Saying she got hung up with the girls from work, they had gone to get their checks cashed and just lost track of time. I was mad because she could have called; I had worried most of the night. But she said all the right words and actions to make me believe she was sorry. I was unaware that she had no money the next week, it just didn’t register with me. Nothing else happened for a few weeks and I just forgot about the whole thing. Until she was again a no show at work on a Friday night. When I got home after work the house was tore up again. This time I didn’t see her until noon Sunday. I way beyond mad, She tried to tell me some cock and bull story, about not being able to get home or call. I refused to hear it. After much arguing and crying on her part she told me that she had started to smoke some crack with a woman she had met in the shelter, and got lost for the weekend. I asked her what the hell did she come home for now, she had run out of money. I couldn’t really understand this, I drank some beer and in the past smoked some dope, even did some coke. It was one of the reasons I had moved to Virginia I started to like coke too much. But the idea of keeping going until I was out of money, was new to me. After many promises to never do it again, and to some how make it up to me for all the worry she had put me through. I forgave her. And we made do with my money the next week.
Things went on smoothly for about a month. We came home from work, Michele had been quiet on the ride home, I thought it was just being tired, our jobs were very physical. When I got home the first thing I wanted was a shower. I jumped in the shower; Michele came into the shower to talk for a couple of minutes. When I got out of the shower and had dried off I went out into the living room, She was gone, just gone no note no nothing. I looked out the window and her car was gone. After a while I went to throw my clothes in the hamper, I found my wallet wasn’t in my pants. I found it on the night stand, empty. I was very angry and hurt. That money was for the rent and other bills, not to mention food. And she had promised me. This was before I knew anything about addicts, and the things they will do for their drug.
I didn’t seem her until late Sunday night. By that time I had made up my mind, even though I thought I loved her, I couldn’t have this. I told her she had to leave, to move out. She begged and pleaded, and promised, but my mind was made up. I really hated the idea of being alone again. That somehow it was my fault that this was t I deserved. I was scared that I would be alone forever, that no one would ever love me. But I couldn’t have this lying and stealing, it offended everything I felt two lovers meant. I told her she had until pay day to find somewhere to live. She kept pleading to stay. I softened up enough to tell her if she could stay completely clean for three months I would take her back.
She moved out the next Friday. I really hated to see her go, I felt bad for her, but I really felt bad for myself. I felt like she was my last and best chance for love.
She managed to stay straight for the three months, She made work everyday, and even signed up for some classes at the local tech school. We talked everyday at work. She kept telling me she was doing all of this to get me back, that she loved me more than crack Of course It was just what I wanted and needed to hear. She went to class during the day before work. And a couple times a week would come over to my place after work. We were not intimate and she went home to her own bed. After the three months and some, she moved back in, I was very happy and so was she. It was also the last time crack entered our lives for a long time. She kept up with her classes and became a legal secretary. Things were good for a long time.


This was Kevin’s last explanation of the events in his life which led up to the stabbing.
I asked for some information about his grandmother, whom he said earlier was a great influence in his life, and about his AA life. Here are the two things he wrote.

He was anxious to finish this project. Me, too. I wrote that I’d convert the text into Adobe which anyone could download and read. He could distribute it that way, or he could have it printed from the Adobe text.

In either case, I figured my part was pretty well finished. I prayed I’d done right by him. He was a real example to me. I had been much more a guide and compiler than we both expected; but I figured the result was pretty durn good.


Letty Linhart
February 28, 2010


THE STEPS

Step 1 We admitted we were powerless over alcohol- that our lives had become unmanageable.

This step wasn’t really very hard for me at the end. I did take some convincing though. I tried three times to get sober, but I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. I was trying to keep a relationship intact, I tried for my family. The third time I tried to stay sober I made it 18 months. But I was living alone, working to many hours. I worked an odd shift, 11 am till 7-8 pm. I got lonely, I got tired, I stopped going to meetings because I was different from all of those people. I didn’t have a sponsor; I never really connected with anyone. The people I went through treatment with, all fell by the wayside. I really didn’t have any friends.
I made just about every mistake you can make and stay clean, not sober, for any length of time.
When I was finally committed to Detox for three months, I came to believe my drinking and life was out of control. When I came out of high school, my goal in life was not, homeless street drunk. I had given this living stuff my best shot, and ended up here, committed by family and doctors.
I decided that maybe I should take some advice and direction.

Step 2 Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Now this step gave me a lot of trouble until I straightened some things out in my mind. Like most new people I thought they were talking about GOD. I’m an agnostic, which I define as, The universe runs too smoothly to be a complete accident, But I KNOW I don’t know how it works and I really don’t think you do either. And not just you, I don’t think any organized religion has THE right answer. In fact I find it very arrogant for anyone to claim they understand the will of God. I know my mind is incapable of that feat.
But I’m a practical type of person. I really like cause and effect. I have trouble with things based on faith.
But being a practical person I could see some cause and effect , especially when it hit me in the face. This time around I kept going to meetings; I started to listen to the similarities instead of the differences. I heard people telling how they had been feeling as bad as I did. And by quitting drinking and doing the steps they now had lives worth living.
Well I wanted some of that; I wanted to feel that life might be worth the effort. These people were smiling and laughing, what did they know that I didn’t. Because, at the time I did not want to live. I was giving this living crap one more try, because my daughter still wanted me to be her daddy. So these people knew something I didn’t, and I believe knowledge is power.
These people had more power than I did, that made them a power greater than me, and for the most part they seemed some what sane. Maybe they could restore me to sanity. You only have to hit me with a brick a few times before I get the message. I should listen and follow their advice; these crazy people seemed to care about each other. They didn’t ask you to earn their love and care. And that was a completely new idea, up until now I felt I had to earn everything, anyone “gave” me.
So I took the second step.

Step 3 Made the decision to turn or will and our lives over to God as we understood him.
Another hard step for me at first. God I didn’t understand at all. Just a couple of months ago I took my last breath. Everyone said I should not be alive, and I agreed. So why was I still alive, I had been stabbed in the chest thirteen times, I shouldn’t be. People kept telling me God had a plan for me, my will to live was stronger than my pain. There must be a reason God kept you alive. I just kept telling them, okay, maybe. I had no idea, and still don’t.
I settled the issue in my mind by giving up, trying to answer the question.
I decided to just go with the flow, and try and not worry if there was a greater plan for me. I decided to just keep trying to do the next right thing. And the next right thing and be all most anything. Early on it was getting up cleaning my self up, and doing what ever I was supposed to do. In treatment it meant going to groups and really trying to participate. To be honest with
the group and especially myself. It meant to go to meetings and really trying to share. It meant gong to my shrink and having the guts to really open up and let another human see who I really was. This was terrifying. I had never really trusted anyone for as long as I could remember. But to give sobriety an honest try I had to do it. And in my book an honest try means giving it your best effort. When ever I was unsure as to what the next right thing was, I asked some people I trusted and felt knew what they were talking about.
When there was no one to ask, I would sit as quite as my mind would let me and try to listen to that little voice we all have in our heads. That voice our parents tried to instill in us. We know right from wrong, and if we really listen to that voice and try to do our best by ourselves and others, we don’t go to far wrong.
Now my whole recovery program can be stated in just a few words. I’m just a guy who is trying to do the next right thing. And if that little voice comes from God well, fine, I don’t care. I am going to give this living stuff my best shot. I’m going to do the next right thing what ever that means at the time, especially when it come to others.

I was afraid that Kevin couldn’t give a sincere account of going through the steps of the AA program, a process I found essential. I was also afraid he was losing his momentum for this entire project. I expressed these notions, and he replied:


Hi Letty
No not at all, I very much want to continue. Have been very busy of late. I'll work on the rest of the steps and have something for you very soon. I have been asked to speak to 140 nursing students tomorrow am; that will be the biggest crowd yet.
I have been through all the steps Letty. I never really had a normal sponsor. I did have about four people I would ask for advice.
I did the fourth and fifth step with a shrink. It tool me a very long time to open up. but it was that or die. It took about a year after I sobered up to find a reason to live.
The511 Alano Society owns the building that the AA groups meet in. AA is not allowed to own property, so the Alano society holds the building in trust.
I was asked to be on the board for my people skills, I was a care taker at the club. I knew most everyone. At the next election I was reelected and voted VP.When the then President resigned, I became the Pres. And at the last election I was reelected. Not too bad for a homeless street drunk. The board sent me to a leadership conference, put on by a state wide organization for 12 step clubhouses state wide. They asked me a couple of months later if I would become part of the steering committee. So I'm also on that as well; we laid down the by-laws for the new Wisconsin association of 12 step clubhouses. They did ask if I might be interesting in running for that board, I turned that down in no time.
Well it's time for me to crawl in for the night, remember I work third shift.
Thanks again
Kevin

________________________________________


Notes on Michele
I met Michele in 1984. I first noticed her at work. I was a supervisor at a big factory. Michele was working in the department next to mine. The factory made many different types of seasonal products. I was making swimming pools, the ones blue ones with the cartoons inside, and her department made coolers and surfboards out of Styrofoam.
I had been recently been dumped, by another black woman. It seemed as if she was more interested in my money and what I could do for her and her child. When I moved form Wisconsin to Virginia, Child support lost track of me for a few months, so I had some extra income, temporarily. But when they caught up with me, which I knew was going to happen, her interest in me faded away quickly. I found myself very lonely and hurt; I didn’t understand what had happened until later.
Which brings me back to Michele; she worked in plain view of my department. She was a good looking black woman, about 5’ 7” around 135 pounds with coco colored skin, and use to wear these stretch jeans. There seemed to be a lot of bending and stretching involved in the operation of her machine. Before long I had a great deal of interest in just who she might be.
After watching for about three weeks I finally screwed up my courage to talk to her. There was some danger in this because it was the south and I was a supervisor. I at least wasn’t her supervisor. I made some silly comment about the hat she was wearing. I told her I liked it , I didn’t, but it did break the ice .We talked about nothing for about five minutes . I then asked if she would care to have a beer with me after work. So we drank a couple of beers in my car, I worked the evening shift and you couldn’t buy beer after work so I kept some in a cooler in my car. We seemed to hit it off.
I was so lonely that I just sort of dumped everything on her. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. I found out much later that my becoming interested in her was a well planned out maneuver. She had been trying to attract my attention. My dumping my sad sob story scared her at first. She later said, she thought I might be more than a little crazy. But when I didn’t do anything else crazy, she decided to give me another chance.
I found out about three dates into it that she was living in a battered women’s shelter. I can’t really remember just how it came about. But after about three weeks, I was helping her move into a real dump; it was furnished in early junk. We finished hauling her stuff into her new place, and retired to my place for the night. Some where in that night I said you should just move in here, that I really didn’t like the neighborhood and the condition of her place. Before I really knew what was happening she was all moved in. It seemed awful fast but things were moving fast in her life and she needed to get out of the shelter.
Things were really good for a little while; it was more than a bit like a honeymoon. But about a month later, things started to get strange. She had called into work saying she was sick. She wasn’t sick when I left,. I started work earlier than. she did.. When I got home that night my place was all torn up. Throw rugs pulled up, the cushions on the couch thrown about the room. I had no clue what had happened. She explained that she had called in to go out with some of her friends, and the room was torn up because she had been looking for an ear ring, and didn’t have time to put the place back together. I bought it, but it just didn’t set well. The next Thursday night she didn’t come home from work, she rolled in about 6 am. Saying she got hung up with the girls from work, they had gone to get their checks cashed and just lost track of time. I was mad because she could have called; I had worried most of the night. But she said all the right words and actions to make me believe she was sorry. I was unaware that she had no money the next week, it just didn’t register with me. Nothing else happened for a few weeks and I just forgot about the whole thing. Until she was again a no show at work on a Friday night. When I got home after work the house was tore up again. This time I didn’t see her until noon Sunday. I way beyond mad, She tried to tell me some cock and bull story, about not being able to get home or call. I refused to hear it. After much arguing and crying on her part she told me that she had started to smoke some crack with a woman she had met in the shelter, and got lost for the weekend. I asked her what the hell did she come home for now, she had run out of money. I couldn’t really understand this, I drank some beer and in the past smoked some dope, even did some coke. It was one of the reasons I had moved to Virginia I started to like coke too much. But the idea of keeping going until I was out of money, was new to me. After many promises to never do it again, and to some how make it up to me for all the worry she had put me through. I forgave her. And we made do with my money the next week.
Things went on smoothly for about a month. We came home from work, Michele had been quiet on the ride home, I thought it was just being tired, our jobs were very physical. When I got home the first thing I wanted was a shower. I jumped in the shower; Michele came into the shower to talk for a couple of minutes. When I got out of the shower and had dried off I went out into the living room, She was gone, just gone no note no nothing. I looked out the window and her car was gone. After a while I went to throw my clothes in the hamper, I found my wallet wasn’t in my pants. I found it on the night stand, empty. I was very angry and hurt. That money was for the rent and other bills, not to mention food. And she had promised me. This was before I knew anything about addicts, and the things they will do for their drug.
I didn’t seem her until late Sunday night. By that time I had made up my mind, even though I thought I loved her, I couldn’t have this. I told her she had to leave, to move out. She begged and pleaded, and promised, but my mind was made up. I really hated the idea of being alone again. That somehow it was my fault that this was t I deserved. I was scared that I would be alone forever, that no one would ever love me. But I couldn’t have this lying and stealing, it offended everything I felt two lovers meant. I told her she had until pay day to find somewhere to live. She kept pleading to stay. I softened up enough to tell her if she could stay completely clean for three months I would take her back.
She moved out the next Friday. I really hated to see her go, I felt bad for her, but I really felt bad for myself. I felt like she was my last and best chance for love.
She managed to stay straight for the three months, She made work everyday, and even signed up for some classes at the local tech school. We talked everyday at work. She kept telling me she was doing all of this to get me back, that she loved me more than crack Of course It was just what I wanted and needed to hear. She went to class during the day before work. And a couple times a week would come over to my place after work. We were not intimate and she went home to her own bed. After the three months and some, she moved back in, I was very happy and so was she. It was also the last time crack entered our lives for a long time. She kept up with her classes and became a legal secretary. Things were good for a long time. Kevin had poured out his fractured heart in his proposal. His rough attachment told of a near-death stabbing after half a life of alcohol abuse. But I don’t want to tell his story. I just want to show why I bid $75 for a $2000 editing job on Guru.com.

Hi Letty
Thank you for responding to my posting. If you have been sober for 32 years you may very well have heard my story. It only differs from hundreds of other in degree.
My friends, my shrink, and many of the groups, I have spoken to tell me its worth putting on paper. That maybe my telling it will help the next guy.
I'm not a writer, and really don't know how to go about a project like this. So if we decide to work together you will have a clue as to what you will be dealing with.
I want to do this because, I should not be alive. the ex stabbed me in the chest 13 times. No one gave me a chance of pulling thru. But I'm here, I now consider my life all gravy. My old life ended just over five years ago, and I’m doing my best to make this one worth living.
My recovery program is simple and yet encompassing. "I’m just a guy trying to do the next right thing."
I'm attaching a little bit of my story, I wrote it to try and explain to someone what the stabbing was like. It was also was very diffult to write. I'm hoping you will get a feel for my story.
I hope we can find common ground and produce a readable story.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
Kevin

The Stabbing and its Aftermath

I’ll try to get through the story today. Last night it just wore me out to put it down on paper.
It all started long ago in a country beyond the sea; oh no that’s a different story....
About eight years ago, I was mentally in bad shape. I had lost a job that I had high expectations of. My fault that the job went away. My unemployment was about to run out, I was afraid we were going to lose everything, which we did.
I decided that my life was shit, and there was nothing I could do about it. I went and got sleeping pills and lots of whiskey. Tried to write a note, and couldn’t do even that correctly.
I took the pills and slammed the rest of the whiskey. After a short while I started to fall asleep, I was ready to go. There was no doubt in my mind that this was what I wanted. My wife got this feeling that she had to get home now! She left early and came straight home; the plan had been for her to go the store, after work. She found me just barely breathing; in fact I stopped on the way to the hospital. I was in ICU for three days before I came around, I was not happy; I had taken my final step in making my pain stop.
After wards I made promises to Michele (the ex) that I wouldn’t do it again. I never tried it again, but I gave up on everything, My life was going to be full of pain and there wasn’t shit I could do about it. So I just gave up, on everything. I just didn’t want to care about anything. After that my drinking really started to get bad, why try to control it. It didn’t take long before we were both on the streets, just a couple of months. After a few weeks on the street Michele found a room she could rent, they told her I wasn’t allowed to be there... So I stayed on the streets, working day labor when I was not too sick And getting paid at the end of the day. First stop the liquor store, for a bottle and some cigs was all set to stay drunk for the next couple of days. I would give Michele money when I had some. But I would run out of money and booze, and go back to the day labor, repeat for the next couple of years. I would go into find work so sick from withdrawals; I would be sneaking off to throw up.
I found out somewhat later that Michele was fucking the landlord, no wonder he didn’t want me around. I found out about it, and my dumb-ass took her back. But she didn’t move out of the house. I had gotten angry and had beaten the shit out of the guy. He was bigger, younger, and sober, But I still kicked his ass downstairs, he ran up to his room. He then started to talk about, not giving the old drunk, me, a break if I didn’t leave the house. I took that as a challenge, so up the stairs I went. Michele was yelling in my ear to stop, I’m not sure who she was trying to protect. Any way I kicked his door down and then kicked ass down the stairs again, out of the door he went. Again Michele was yelling for me to get out, that I had screwed up her place to live, and sure as hell she was not joining me on the streets. I left.
For your information, homeless in the winter in Wisconsin really sucks. I would stay in the men’s shelter when I could and when I could stand it, it smelled very badly in there. But you could only stay in the shelter for 45 days per year. So I slept outside in the winter, where I slept, I was at least protected from, the snow, wind. But not the cold.
After about a year and a half, my Aunt tracked me down. She knew what I was, but still would not let me stay on the streets, so she put me up in a very cheap hotel. I was warm and dry; I even had a TV to stare at while drinking... Now Michele wanted to move in with me, I had a place to live. I let myself be convinced that she had been with the landlord, so that she had a place to live. And how much better a lover I was and what a little dick he had, and she wanted nothing more in this world than for us to get back together. FYI, it was not the first time I had caught her. You must remember that I was the lowest piece of shit on earth; I knew very well what I was.
Anyway I took her back. Because I’m sure you know, any love is better than no love,
We were in the motel for about six months, really just drinking.
One night we were working on a 1.75l of vodka. About 9-9:30 I fell asleep, not pass out for a change, she kept drinking.
About 1:30 am she decided that I had to die, why? She claims long term abuse, I don’t remember ever hitting her, but I don’t remember a lot of things from that time so I couldn’t argue. She grabbed a steak knife, 6” serrated, and open me up from the sternum to my belly button, before I got my eyes opened and focused, she had stabbed me in the left side of the chest, As I reached for her arm I felt the stab in the left again, but this one I heard/felt the blade grate off my rib. I don’t how, but she got me one more time, before I got a grip on her arm. Then she switched hands, and before I could react had buried It into the right side. This one seemed to happen in slow motion. I saw her arm coming down I felt the blade sink in, no pain, and the worst part I could hear the air hissing out of my lung. She got me twice more on the right side, before I threw her off. She hit the end table, I hit the floor. Somehow I had the knife, in my hand. She took it away from me and started to stab me in the back. I was begging for her to stop. After 3-6 more wounds she did stop, I didn’t have the air to yell for help. This part is almost funny, smart ass to the end, I looked at her and asked if she was going to watch me die or was she going to call me an ambulance, I’ll never forget the look on her face, it was blank.
She sat there for a few seconds, then got up and left the room. As she left I lost color vision, I heard her dial 911 then all sound became garbled, I laid there for who knows, seemed like a long time to me. When she came back into the room, everything started to go black, like going backwards down a tunnel. I had enough time to think I’m going to die. My last thoughts were “oh shit here we go”.
I woke up, sort of, two days later in ICU I remember screaming, with a nurse holding my hand and making calming sounds. I have no idea what she may have said; I had no idea where I was. I didn’t know what had happened; I just knew I had to scream. I don’t know if they did anything but I sank back under in just seconds. I really came awake 3-4 days later, still in ICU. I was still very confused but it started to come back. I started to freak out. Again There was a nurse holding my hand and trying to calm me. I wasn’t awake for more than a few minutes, and off I went again.
The time after I died and the time I woke is a small story in and of it’s self. I have talked to everyone I could about it, I just had to know.
When the police got there, they thought I was dead so they went into homicide mode. Then I moved and they freaked. I was in such bad shape that a police officer drove the ambulance. The EMTs were busy trying to plug holes and get air into me, by the time they got me to the ER, both lungs had collapsed.
When they drove me away the police left at the scene were sure I would never make it to the hospital... When I did make it there, the EMT and the nurses thought I would never make it out of surgery. I don’t know what the doctors thought.
When they took Michele to detox, yes where I now work. They told the nurse on duty to keep a close watch on her because she was going up on first degree murder charges.
Any way back to the hospital, I don’t really remember much.
I do remember they took me to a different room, one where they check you every 15 minutes, instead of always. I was there for just a couple of hours; again I had help remembering this. I do remember that I couldn’t get any air. I remember Drs and nurses running around, it was like it was happening to someone else. I remember them running down the hall. At least I thought they were running. Then a Dr. was in my face telling me that they had found a mass in the bottom of my left lung, and they had to go back in to take it out, was that okay with me.
The one thing that stands out about this little bit is that the Dr. was holding up a fist when said a mass.
When I woke up this time it was 5:15am, I know that because there was a clock right in front of my eyes, and I couldn’t see much else. This time I was in restraints, and I had one of those tubes down my throat. Again there was a nurse holding my hand, trying to explain what had, and was happening to me... Every Dr. form every department wanted to look at me before they would take the tube out. I was in and out all morning. I would come awake, and in seconds, it seemed, another shot and it was nap time. At 1:30 pm they said we are going to pull the tube now, I was very happy to hear that, because I was gagging the whole time, or so it seemed. But before we do you have some gunk in the bottom of your lung, I was thinking AND....
And we are going to have to get it out. She grabs a long tube, and slides inside the tube that was already there, OK not so bad.
Then she squirted water down there to flush it out, have you ever sucked in a big mouth full of water and thought you were going to drown, yes well then you know how if felt. After a few hours (seconds) they stuck another tube down and sucked the water and some really nasty looking “gunk”out of my lung. Wow well that’s done, But up came another tube and more water, they did it five times. By the end my legs were drumming on the bed, I really thought I was going to drown, I couldn’t think straight at all, complete panic. That was the worst thing I went through.
Out came the tube, and I was moved out of the recovery room.
The next week or so is sort of a blur, at some point Katie and her mom, came to visit, they brought me some orange roses, god they were beautiful. They came to see me just that once, and no one else came to visit... After a couple of weeks I wanted a cig. I wanted one bad. I drove the nurses crazy, to the point that they gave in. Picture this; I have two chest drains in one on each side. I have to wear an O2 mask at all times, the lungs weren’t working all that well. I had a bag for the tubes to drain into; I had one of those pumps to keep the meds flowing. A O2 tank. So they loaded me up onto two wheel chairs, and away we went, both nurses smoked so they weren’t mad. They did ask me to turn, off my O2 so I wouldn’t start my head on fire. Shortly afterward I was back on solid food and could make my way down to the smoking lounge (outside) by my self. When the whole thing hit me. Some one, someone I loved wanted me dead. I was such a piece of shit that they felt I need killing. I was so bad no one wanted to even come seem me not even my kid. The one visit was duty, not because she cared.

Life at the Hospital and alone


I got real depressed. really fast, then I wished that Michele would have finished the job. My life wasn’t going to get better; it was still steadily going down hill. The nurses must have been looking for that to happen, because they, (RN, NA even candy stripes) were all over me, I was rarely left alone; they always wanted to talk about something up beat.
More than once I woke up in the middle of the night with my hand being held. I would look at her, see would say softly, you were dreaming again, and would stay and hold my hand until I fell back to sleep..
I have nothing but praise for the nurses; They treated me like a king, and were all ways in a good mood around me even when I was less than a model patient. As an example about three weeks in, the chest tubes were coming out, ALRIGHT! The next day they had to go back in. They did it right there in my bed, The Doc did one side and a student did the other. It took three of the bastards to hold me still, and that was with me trying to hold still. If I ever hear a Doc tell me “we are almost there” again, I think I will rip his lying tongue out by the roots.
They cut a slit in your lower ribs, ALL the way through, then take this ½ inch plastic tube and shove it up under and all the way to your shoulder. I think I was less than pleasant to just about everyone in the room, in the hall, their mothers, and any one else I could think of. AND to make it worse, my regular nurse came in laughing at me and the things I told the Doc he could do with his tube. People didn’t talk that way TO HIM, fuckem!
When they were ready to discharge me, they found out I lived alone with no one to help me, they kept me another week. I don’t think I was ready to go even then but no insurance.
In some way the following is the worst part, you may want to stop here.
They put me into a cab and home; to the hotel I went no choice. Even the cab ride was, very painful; I had to ask the driver to pull over a couple of times so I could get my shit back together. But that pain was nothing like what was coming.
When I got back to the room it was tore all apart. The police had taken the sheets away; I had a bare mattress blood soaked of course, and a blanket. The mattresses was soaked the walls were smeared, the head board and the carpet soaked with dry blood. I could really smell it, I was so tired from trip home I just laid down and pulled the blanket over me. Except for meals on wheels I just laid there for two days.
Then Katie and Betsy came over, they put on new sheets, tried to wipe up some of the blood. I could smell the blood through the sheets. But I was so drugged on pain meds, that I thought I didn’t care. I didn’t care then. After about A week the nightmares and the flashbacks started, I would wake up screaming knowing I was getting stabbed, I could feel the knife again. It would take along time to convince my self it was a dream, it was so real. That would happen three, four, even five times a night.
It really got bad when they started to happen in the day time.
I would be staring at the TV and the next thing I knew It was happening again. I could feel the knife, I could hear it again. I don’t know how long I was out of it, but it took a long time to come back. And I would be just shaking, had trouble holding a cig. There was never any warning; one second I’m watching the TV and the next I fighting for my life again. This happened two to three times a day. I would take a long time for my heart to slow down.
As they started to wean me off the pain meds, the dreams just got worse. I would take hours to fall asleep again. I was so wound up that any little thing would set me off. I was later told it was normal. Sure as hell didn’t feel like that to me.
After a month of pain meds I was taken off them completely. I still had a great deal of pain, and Alieve just was not working. They did not want me to be alone, on the meds. I’m sure they also knew of my history of suicide. They took me off. Now I had to deal with the physical pain, and the mental. The dreams were tearing me apart; I was not getting any real sleep.
My coming off alcohol also made the not sleeping worse. I was starting to get real tired, but I was afraid to go to sleep. The terror was waiting for me.
I had been sober for almost two months, I thought I would try and keep it going.
I was so depressed, I knew in my heart that I deserve to be killed. I was a waste of air. I have always known that I was not supposed to be here. It had to be my fault I was stabbed; I had done or not done something. If I had done it, I would still be apart of the world, well this time it was true I was not wanted by anyone. Even the one person I thought loved me thought I needed to die.
I could not face it any more, the mental pain was unbearable.
I had no where to go, not sleep, not even awake I was not safe. the TV I could not concentrate, I would try to watch and the realize that I had no idea what I had just watched.
No one came to see me there wasn’t anyone to come. So I was locked away, getting so freaked out that I was desperate for, I didn’t know. I knew no one cared, everyone, me including me would be better off if I had died. I just didn’t know what to do. There was no one to call. I couldn’t ask for help, real men stand on their own two feet.
I did know one thing that would help; I called a cab and went to the liquor store. The ride hurt like hell, every bump made me want to scream, it felt like someone was sticking a knife in me...lol when I got to the store I remember thinking I’ll buy a big bottle, then I won’t have to come back so fast. So I bought a 1.75i, thinking this will last me for 3-4 days.
I got home and hit the bottle hard, all the mental and physical pain eased up. I got very drunk. When I woke up the next morning, I needed a drink. I had the shakes and the pain was coming back, so I got drunk, when I woke up I needed a drink.... By the second morning I knew I was going to need more, so I called a cab and went to the liquor store. I did this for about a week I later found out Katie, my daughter, and her mother, Betsy, were checking up on me. They were getting very worried about me. I’m told I would be awake when they came over, I don’t remember any of that. I told them I want to die and to go away. I don’t know how many times they came over. The meals on wheels food was piled up next to the front door. I didn’t want food I wanted to just die. I even made Betsy, my first wife, go get me a bottle, it was either that Or I was going myself.
I don’t know if I could have made it. I hadn’t eating in days, I was still in physical pain, and I really wanted to die. I should have never been born, I was a mistake, and I needed to make all of this stop. And the dreams still came, or so I’m told. Katie stayed with me for some time. and witnessed a couple of them. That was when she decided that I had to be under professional care. They called 911, the police knew who I was, what the story was.
So September 16Th 2003, I woke up in detox, thinking how in hell did I get here. I had been in my bed. The staff gave me vague answers. They held me for the full 72 hours, when they were up and I wanted out, I had some drinking and dying to do and these people were in my way. I had been a guest there over a hundred times. They and every treatment center, had me down as untreatable, which mean the sober you up and let you go, they don’t even try to help you.
So I started to squawk about my rights, and that they could not hold me for more than the 72 hours, and it was up in 2 hours.
Right at the 72 hour mark, they told me I was going to be committed to Detox for 90 days; I asked how they could do that, they didn’t have any family to make the motion to the court. They gave me some bull shit about the court decided to step in. I yelled and which of my doctors signed, they told me three different ones. when asked who started it Betsy my ex wife did. I really started to yell then; She has no right to any say about me. SHE IS MY EX, don’t you understand. Again more vague answers. I went off. So much so that I ended up in four point restraints with an ass full of Haldol, a very powerful trank that they give to violent drunks, or drug users.
About three days later, at least I think it was three days, it all is very vague. I don’t think I was in touch with reality then.
After three days, they told me someone wanted to see me... I asked who, they told me Betsy and Katie, I went off again. “what does that bitch want, to rub it in? OH hell no I don’t want to see her. They went away, in a couple of minutes they came back, I was pacing around with two attendants watching me very closely. They asked if it would Be alright if Katie came in to talk to me. With that all the wind came out of my sails I said yes.
Katie came in looking frightened, I tried to put her at ease, until I found out it was me she was afraid of. If was feeling low and worthless before. it became a hundreds times worse. My Baby Kates was afraid of me. We talked for awhile, I have no idea what we talked about, my mind was screaming you worthless piece shit your baby girl is afraid of you. You’re supposed to keep her from harm.
Just before she left she put her arms around me and whisper “Daddy I don’t want you to die”, then she was gone.
After she left, I thought if she still wanted me to be her Daddy. I had to give this sober shit a real honest try.
That was just over four years ago.


The following day, my ridiculous proposal was accepted, but not before I had queried him about the unexplained incidents in his story, including where his funds for Meals on Wheels and a hotel room had come from, and he replied, like the earnest fellow I was finding him out to be.

My Aunt Judy

My Aunt Judy, AJ for short, was my father’s younger and only sibling. AJ was never able to have children, of her own. So she adopted me. She was also very smart and determined woman. She started out being an operator for the Bell Telephone co. even before AT&T was formed. The phone company sent her to school, for training. She got the equalivent of a college degree. And advanced is the engineering area of the phone company. She was sent all over the country helping to switch the phone company from rotary dial to touch tone. She was in charge of turning the whole city of Atlanta GA, to touch tone. She had invented a piece of equipment that would test every line in the city for its proper function. She was named employee of the year for that and nice bonus, plus a corner office. After the award she mostly taught others to use the equipment.
She was a very smart woman. You had better have your wits about you if you wished to cross swords with her. But hard to talk to sometimes, she was not afraid of silence. So there could be long breaks in the conversation, which could become uncomfortable when I was calling her for money. I could hear the wheels turning in her head, “is the kid lying to me”? Which, while I was drinking, I did more often than I care to think about. I also tried to lie to her by omission, I don’t know for sure, but I think she saw through all the bull, and helped anyway.
AJ was about 5’6” with auburn hair and hazel eyes. An had a half
smile that made you wonder what she was up to. She also had a look that made you think she could see deep into you. Her bullshit detector was always turned up high.
She also was the source of all good things. She was in high school when I was born. She more or less adopted me. She, and her first husband, Uncle Dan lived in Milwaukee WI. For most of my early life, they came to our house almost every weekend. And when ever they did come, something fun was bound to happen. She taught me all the fun things in life. She taught me about fun stuff like bowling and golf. She bought me my first new bike, it was a Schwinn three speed, and I loved it. And she gave me my first car, it was her old one, but she bought a new one and gave me her old one, A 1966 Ford Galaxy 500. I loved her a great deal and would get excited about their coming, by about Wednesday. I remember, when I was little, sitting out side when they were due to arrive, and then go running through the house yelling “their here “. Uncle Dan was my buddy; he and I got into mischief nothing serious. When I was old enough he would let me smoke, when I was with him. He never tried to be authority figure. We just had fun. Things like going to the store and me getting a treat that AJ and Grandmother, would not approve. He also talked my grandmother into letting me get a subscription to Playboy when I was about 14.
AJ, was also a buddy of sorts, she was he one who turned me on to museums, and some of the finer things in life.
She was and wasn’t an authority figure. I was taught very early on that she bought my new school clothes, and my bike, my coolest X-Mas presents and helped Grandma with money. So it was driven into my head to not ever make her mad. That without her we would be in trouble. We got to go on vacation because of her.
I don’t know how many times I was scare shitless, when I thought she was angry with me. I would get so freaked out that I would end up puking.
When I got divorced she helped me with my child support for a couple of years, until I got back on my feet.
When I got into financial trouble AJ would bail me out. I would get sick to my stomach, when ever I had to call. I tried very hard to not ask her help, but I had no choice. She never said no, I was terrified of her saying no. I didn’t have anyone else to call.
When I was drinking heavy, she would send me money, to keep me off the streets. I would start to shake and sweat when ever I had to ask. When I was homeless, I wouldn’t call her, I was too ashamed. Finally when my health was going down hill fast I called and she gave me money to stay at that hotel. And bitched at me for not calling sooner, that she was worried about me.
She insisted that I give her an address that she could get in touch with me. So she started to support me again. And after I got sober she supported me. So the only thing I had to worry about was staying sober.
It helped me do what I needed; I didn’t have to work, so I got involved with AA and ended up the current president of our club house and the weekly visits with my counselor. I didn’t have much money but was able to keep a roof over my head, and some spending money. All I had to do was get my head back together.
I was unable to keep a job. The PTSD and other issues had me ovewhelmed. In fact I spent three different weekends in the Phych ward in the hospital. I wanted the pain go to away, and suicide sounded awful good.
I did call for help, and the crisis center, would give me some time in order to help me get my head around all the stuff that was changing in my life. As my counselor told me, I had lost my best coping tool, alcohol. I would find myself over whelmed. And I need some place safe from my impulses.
For the first six months or so, I was a real wreck. The nightmares would wake me up screaming, I couldn’t sit still for more than about five minutes. I was hyper aware, I would get panic attacks. What really sucked is I knew what these feeling were about, but I was unable to control them. I would get just a bit freaked when there would be a knife in some show I was watching With time and medication those feelings have gone away, mostly. I still get tense if there is violence in a movie, esp. if it comes about in a in a sudden way/
Aunt Judy passed away, at 68 years old, in my third year of sobriety. She died in her sleep, from an aneurism. It’s what has killed most of the Setzers. It seems we have bad veins. She again helped me: She left me a nice little nest egg. It helped me to be able to work part time and work myself up to full time.
I owe Aunt Judy, so much more than I could ever repay. But at least she got to see me sober and standing on my own two feet.

I wrote Kevin that I hoped he was really thankful to have someone who believed in him, and who repeatedly helped and never gave up. But I wanted to know how he got to this spot of self-loathing, which he so graphically described.
Here is his reply.

My Mom


My brother Ron was conceived in the back seat of a car, coming home from a Christmas party. He was born Sept. 4th 1954. My Dad left and joined the Army. I was conceived when Dad came home for a leave. He left and went back to the army.
Mom was from the wrong side of the tracks. Trailer trash would be a good word for her.
I was born Sept.6 th 1955, just one year and one day younger than my brother.
So while Dad went back to Germany and the army, my mother Ellen was left at home with two young ones. I don’t know the story from her side; I have only talked to her twice in my life. But she neglected us to the point where we both had to be hospitalized for three weeks, for malnutrition. The only relative from my father’s side of the family who was allowed to come to see us was my great grandfather. And he told me the story of finding me in a diaper at least a day old and sucking on a bottle of curdled milk. My paternal grandmother sued for custody. She won, unusual in the 50”s, and was going to take both of us. But my mother begged to keep Ron and she could keep me. When I was about 5, I started to wonder what was wrong with me. When I was young my brother and I saw each other about once a year. My grandmother’s second husband (Abe) would track their family down; they moved about every six months. And I would get to see Ron for a weekend. But as soon as we took him home, I wouldn’t here from him until Abe tracked them down again.
I have only talked with my mother twice in my life. The first time was when my Dad went to see Ron, and took me along. I didn’t know what to think, it was over in about 60 seconds. I didn’t know what to expect but I thought there would be something, not just disinterest.
The second time I met her was at my high school graduation. I had sent an announcement to Ron’s last known address, just to let him know. Well about two weeks later I got a letter from my mother, asking if she could attend. I was more than a little freaked out; the rest of my family left it up to me,
So I answered back saying yes come if you wish.
I met her after the ceremony she walk up to me and introduced herself; it all seemed so surreal we talk about nothing for about ten minutes. I even invited her to the party going on at my house. She declined, and said she had to get going, and walked away. That is all the interaction I had with my mother. She was a small Woman 5’4” or so very dark hair and brown eyes. Which could describe my brother as well. Except he was a bit taller he very much looks like mom’s side of the family. Where as I’m a Setzer, no doubt about it I look a lot like my grandfather.
I found out that Grandma wasn’t mom around the age of 4.
I remember being called in the house, and sat down and told the story even then I remember wondering what was wrong with me? I was a good boy wasn’t I? I asked grandma about it and she told me what trailer trash she and her family were. I then asked why didn’t she want Ronnie. And being told that my mother begged for Ronnie and didn’t want me. It didn’t take long for me to be sure that there must be something wrong with me. After all mom picked Ronnie and not me.
I learned two big lessons from that talk, one that my needs didn’t count. And that there must be something wrong with me, for even my mom not to want me.


My Dad


I don’t remember much from the age of 6-7, they are a gentle blur of playing and going to school.
The next big thing that happened to me is in the summer of my seventh year I was shipped off to live with my father. How this all came about is lost. I guess that my Dad wanted me to come live with him. But there has always been a feeling that grandma wanted to get rid of me.
I was packed up and put on an airplane and 707 it was the latest and greatest at that time. I was excited by the whole process, looking forward the trip.
What I didn’t think about was living with complete strangers. I had no memory of my father. I don’t know if I had ever met him. So off I go, put on a plane in Chicago and picked up in LA., by strangers. Dad had married again and I had never met my stepmother. They had two boys, my half brothers. Bruce the oldest at three and Larry at 1 year old.
I remember them picking me up, I knew who Dad was from his picture. The rest of them were unknown. I went from being the only child to the oldest of three.
Everything was fine until some time had passed and I realized this was real. I started to get homesick, I felt like I had no one to turn to. My dad was busy with the navy, he had joined the navy after the army or he had his head under the hood of a car. He was also very taciturn, it seems to run in the family. After awhile I tried to avoid him, so he would have any reason to be mad at me. He also didn’t put up with much nonsense. I was shooed put of the garage many times.
My step mother tried to comfort me and do special things with me. But she had two and one on the way. There wasn’t much time left over for me. I understood that even then, but still wanted the attention.
I can’t ever remember my Dad hugging me or any show of affection. He seemed not want the kids around. Any homework help came from my step mother. She was not the evil stepmother
from stories and legends. I think she came to love me.
But late at night I would be in my bed crying, wondering what I had done wrong for grandmother to ship me out. I have no idea how many times I cried myself to sleep. Or how many promises to god to be an extra good boy if I could just go home. I enjoyed school and most of my time with them, but it never felt like home. I figured out that I must really bad, because no one wanted me. My mom wanted my brother and not me, My grandmother didn’t want me I was so bad that she couldn’t stand me any more. So she shipped me here. It sure didn’t seem like my Dad wanted me. But he had to take me. I knew I had done something but could never figure it out. I knew if I was a perfect little boy maybe things would change.
After a year with Dad and his family, Dad asked me if I wanted to live with him or go back to my grandma. Without any hesitation I said yes I want to go home. I think this might have hurt his feelings but eight year olds don’t think about stuff like that. He than asked if I wanted to go now or after the family vacation to see the redwoods. Again I said now. So in a couple of weeks I was back on the plane taking me home. But I also tried to figure out what I had done right in order to go home and how not to get sent away again

The Store

The picture was getting clearer and clearer. Were there any happy times growing up? Kevin answered that with “the store.”


When I was four, My grandmother and My aunt Judy opened up a bar/store in northern Wi near the town of Park Falls. It was a small bar about ten bar stools. The other half of the building was a little general story. We served the surrounding area, resorts mostly. If you did not want to deal with us for that loaf of bread or a pack of hot dogs fine, the next store was about 23 miles away over twisting lousy roads.
There was a bar area where we spent most of the time, the store The store where I played when the weather was bad. One bedroom, where my grandma and my Aunt Judy slept, and the kitchen.
I had an army cot to sleep on. It wasn’t a bad place to live; I had 40 acres of woods to call my back yard. People were coming in all the time. I spent a lot of time playing in the woods, mostly alone. The nearest neighbor was just over a mile away. And that was through wild woods. Just a little far for a four year old to wander.
My Great Great Grandfather, lived about a mile away and would walk to our store for his daily shot of brandy. And he would tell me stories about life in the lumber jack era.
My Aunt took a leave of absence from her job, to get the place up and running. So from opening day of the fishing season until after Deer hunting, we were open. This was the late fifties and there were no such thing as a snowmobile.
In the winter we went to Florida to live with my great Grandfather and great Grandmother. I have lots good memories of this time in my life. Of course I was around liquor all the time. And people drunk and acting the fool, after all they were on vacation. So I saw happy drunks and sad ones, even a few who couldn’t walk. At night I would sit behind the bar and listen. Told to keep quiet because no one wanted to hear what a four year old thinks. I can clearly remember running and opening a beer for someone, I was helping. I was sent to bed at a normal time, but would lay in bed listening. People drinking and getting drunk was normal for me, it happened everyday.
One thing happened when I was four a babysitter was watching me and reading me a story. And all of a sudden it clicked, the marks on the page stood for something. The first word I learned to read was “come”.
It opened a new world for me, I lucked out, my grandmother and aunt were both avid readers. They decided that it didn’t matter what I read so long as I read, so I had an endless supply of comic books and when I wanted, books as well. They both told me later, that they would encourage my reading and would work on my taste later.
From the age of four to the age of six we ran the store, Grandmother wanted to buy the land, but the owner wanted way too much and our lease ran out so we closed the store and moved back to Janesville WI. AJ went back to the phone company.


Hi Letty
I had the night off and tried to write something. To try and give you an idea about my early childhood and why I was sure that there was something wrong with me. It came out later, the perfectionist, the feeling, if people really knew me. I would be cast into the outer darkness.
This crap is hard to write without sounding like a cry wimp. It is supposed to be an explanation and not a pity party.
Look forward to hearing your thought.
I do plan on spend the most time on the recovery phase of my life.
Kevin


Dear Kevin:

I can see clearly that your early experience was simply awful and painful. You are good at telling the story poignantly but not asking for sympathy. I like that. That keeps the pity party under control. Keep working hard.
We'll plug in a bit of this letter.
Whoops, this is the first I've heard of Donner/Setzer. Who is Adeline's son's kid? I know its you, but who are the other characters? Just when I feel like I'm getting my arms around this task, up comes something from left field. Help.
________________________________________

Hi Letty
Thanks for the encouraging word. I have some more questions. Do you feel the dispassionate viewer, is the right voice to use. Some of this material is very emotional. It still upsets me, not like it used to but none the less.
I didn't add everything, for example when they would line up for family pictures, they just wanted the Donner family, and I was a Setzer. FYI the Donner family, I thought I was a member of is the same Donner's of a very famous mountain pass, out your way.
Does what I have written come across as someone looking for a pity party? I hope not I have written what I have in order to give a reader an Idea of just how much I felt like a second class citizen.
And what I would do to try and get back into the family. It's not supposed to be an excuse but rather a explanation. When I start to talk about AA and my recovery I have a tendency to get up on my soap box.
If I go with the dispassionate voice, can it be changed later. I think I can do dispassionate, but will that type of writing stir up emotions in the reader?
Does any of the stuff I have sent you, raise any feelings in you?
Do you get a sense of how painful all this was. To be over sensitive to everyone's actions and spoken words. Always looking for that frown of disapproval. you know tuck my tail between my legs and make myself as small as I could. Never taking anything upon my self Hoping that it would end with just a look. I knew that everyone else had a memory like mine, so they would remember everything I did wrong, and build a case to throw me out of the family, after all I was just tag along. Adeline's son's kid.
you know the one who got dumped on her. I haven't written about it yet but I over heard my grandmother say if she just didn't have the kid she would be able to...........you fill in the blank.
Right next door. and I heard it many times
Let me stop this for now
So if you can find my questions in all if that I would like your opinion.
Kevin
********************************************************


( I think I had made a mistake to mention “voice” at all; a fault left over from 8 years of teaching writing at the junior college level. He was doing just fine without knowing that.
Lots more correspondence followed about “was he doing it right, etc” but I was tickled pink. Reading his work was really the same pleasure I got when one of my students “woke up” and realized what a story was telling him.
I was waiting for his recovery story and his tying up of all the loose ends like Michelle and Kate and his son whose name I forgot. He replied:)

Good morning I'm just about to crawl into bed. But thought I could clear up some of your confusion
this is as much as I know about the Donner side of my family
Ben Donner was my great great grandfather. I had him in my life until I was 15
He used to tell me stories almost everyday when I lived in the store. He had three sons( I knew them all) Orly is the oldest. there was Orly Orvid, and Bernie
Orly Donner is my greatgrand father I had him in my life until I was 30. He is also the man who set me of the course of my life. He gave me the rule I try to live by He said " Kevin, try to do a good deed everyday, the best kind are the ones no one knows about, you may never get rewarded, but you’re building up brownie points in heaven"
I have changed that to say. everyday try to leave this world just a bit better than you found it this morning, and don't do it for a reward, do it because it's the right thing to do. So my whole recovery program is" I'm just a guy trying to do the next right thing"
Orly Donner and his wife Florence had five children. Adeline was the oldest( my grandmother)She married a Setzer.
Adeline and her first husband had two children Ronald Setzer, my father, and Judith ( my aunt)
Ronald and his first wife had two children Ronald Joseph and Kevin
As a side note when I was born we had five generations alive, made the local papers. And when my son Forrest was born we had five again, also made the local papers.
I guess I never did tell you my son Forrest in now 28 and a whopping 6'7" and weights 275
My baby girl Katheryn is 24 and a long 5'10"
I'll be up for about another 1/2 hour .
So any questions?


(.Kevin, dear: Tell me about the time from High School graduation through your first marriage.)


age 15
Spent a night with a shotgun under my chin, I wanted the pain I was in to end. Never told anyone about it. I never felt like I fit in, I was a burden. Vowed to do better, The problem was me I had to be a good kid, in order to stay. I was a good kid, very good grades, track star, had a job making fair money.
age 17
Went to college, partial scholarship for track. But I discovered pot, this was a whole new ball game. I felt free. I loved how it made me feel, I smoked a lot. Joined a Frat, I lived the movie Animal House. I was never really a joiner, I knew if people “found out who I really was” I would be banned from society.
age 19
Met my future wife Betsy. I felt like someone loved me, really for the first time in my life. But I knew if she found out who I really was ............
Moved in together over the objection of her parents. I wasn't doing well in school so dropped out got a job bar tending and paid our expenses. while she finished school.
age 23
Married Betsy, after she had finished school. I had a good job and we had lots of fun. drank a lot. But it was good.
age 24
The time was right, we were set up in good shape. I went back to school. half way thru first semester came home on a Tuesday night to find the table set for a nice dinner, Half away through dinner she told me that "we're pregnant". Rather a shock because we had agreed that No kids until I had finished school. She had quit the pill without telling me.
age 25
We had lost the home set up, because of the kid coming we were resident manger of a 85 unit apartment complex. And Betsy wanted Maternity leave. We sued and won but we were still out on our ass. Move to another city, I found a very good job. So things were looking good, Healthy son (Forrest). But the trust was gone. I started to drink more.
age 28
Katherine was born, again unplanned. Betsy refused to go back on the pill. I came home drunk and refused to use a condom.
age 29
Betsy and I seperated lots of reasons. My drinking a big one. there is a long story here. I moved in with a cousin, really started to drink and do drugs. Lost my good job from drinking.
age 29
After my Grandmother's death, and my father's offer. I moved to VA. I needed a fresh start and to get away from all the drinking and drugs. never really did drugs after that and cut way back on my drinking for a couple of years. I had two jobs while in VA both very good ones.
age 31
Met Michele, at work. She was coming off of an abusive relationship ; was living in a battered womens shelter. She moved in within a month. Things went well for about 3 months, then she started to do crack, it got to the point where I had to put her out, gave her the choice me or crack. made her stay away for three months. I felt used, she just wanted me for money She gave up crack and moved back in.
age 31-38
We lived in VA, both with jobs. It was a stormy relationship, getting drunk almost ever night.
There were a lot of police calls. But I thought bad love was better than no love, and this was the best I could get or deserved.
age 39
moved back to WI. To be near my children. Things went down hill from then. Michele wasn't happy, My good job turned out to be a pain, bad boss. I started to drink before work.
I quit that job and went to another but promptly lost it due to drinking.
age 40
my unemployment ran out and I “ committed suicide.”
Well enough for tonight. But hopefully you have a better idea of my story. My recovery is a story of over coming.


(Here, Kevin asked if it was ok for me to do this work for so little money, given my background. I told him “full speed ahead,” I believe in you.)


******************************************************

Good morning Letty:
I hope your belief isn't misplaced.
Well I'll get back to work, but just didn't have it in me the last couple of days. I was completely surprised my how much the writing I did on Sunday took out of me. I was just emotionally flat the last couple of days.
And St Pat's day was more than a little bit crazy. Have I told you I work in a Detox facility? And there are a lot of stories I could tell you about that place. Most of clients are brought in by police, for being incapacitated.But we do get those who want to get sober and stay that way.
My working there is like 40 hour per week AA meeting. Nothing about people being drunk is funny any more. One thing that has happened from my working there is that I sometimes talk to people at three in the morning, when they can't sleep and are open to new ideas. I tell them my story and the fact that staying sober in not easy, But the rewards are more than they would believe. When I tell them about rewards, I talk about a nice little apartment and half way decent car.
But the biggest reward is the way my kids look at me. They have both told me how very proud they are of me. I have a much better relationship with them I deserve. And for me, a very big reason to work there is, every now and then someone will pull me aside after a meeting and tell me " you know you helped me decide to take a real chance and try to stay sober" and then they thank me for talking to them. It makes up for a lot of cleaning up puke and piss and shit.
About month ago a guy stopped me coming out of a board meeting and asked if I remembered him. I had to be honest and say no, sorry. Then he asked if I remember talking to him at detox, Again I had to say I talk to a lot of people at work. He told me not to worry he knew I talked to a lot of people. He was up from Janesville WI a town about 40 miles away for a young peoples meeting at my home clubhouse. And had hoped he would run into me. I laughed and told nope I didn't do it you must have the wrong guy. He got a very serious look on his face and said I gave him the courage to try and deal with life head on, and quit hiding in a bottle. I had to tell him that I may have shown you that it is passable, but the courage is all yours. He laughed and told me that if anybody as fucked up as you were can come back I had a chance( a left handed complement if I ever here one).
He got serious and said no really he credits me with giving him the nerve to try. Well I had to look away for a second, I was choked up. And that if he wants to believe that, who am I to tell him nay. It doesn't really matter in the long run. I may have been the spark but we both know he did the work.
So he says I was hoping to find you and thank you, I told him he was welcome to any help I gave him, after all the twelfth step to carry the message, "Again I wanted to tell you that because tomorrow will be 18 months sober" I felt like I was ten feet tall. And maybe I really did help some one up on to his feet again.
As you know I took what I thought was my last breath, after the stabbing. And that my life is now gravy.

People have told me that God has a plan for me. I'm an agnostic, and so I'm not sure if that even that could be true. But I feel compelled to try and help. And that is why I want to do this book. If I somehow make a little money it can help me pay off old bills from my drinking days.
I hope you can some how get a readable story out of all this stuff I have been sending you.
It's time for me to call it a night.
Thanks for saying you believe in me. AJ always did And I was so happy I could call her up and not ask for money and tell I'm sorry about all the crap I put you through, and oh by the way I have been sober for a year today. I'm very thankful for that opportunity
Well nite nite Letty
Kevin

*******************************************************
Kevin finally got to the recovery story: Here’ s how he formatted it:


THE STEPS

Step 1 We admitted we were powerless over alcohol- that our lives had become unmanageable.

This step wasn’t really very hard for me at the end. I did take some convincing though. I tried three times to get sober, but I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. I was trying to keep a relationship intact, I tried for my family. The third time I tried to stay sober I made it 18 months. But I was living alone, working to many hours. I worked an odd shift, 11 am till 7-8 pm. I got lonely, I got tired, I stopped going to meetings because I was different from all of those people. I didn’t have a sponsor; I never really connected with anyone. The people I went through treatment with, all fell by the wayside. I really didn’t have any friends.
I made just about every mistake you can make and stay clean, not sober, for any length of time.
When I was finally committed to Detox for three months, I came to believe my drinking and life was out of control. When I came out of high school, my goal in life was not, homeless street drunk. I had given this living stuff my best shot, and ended up here, committed by family and doctors.
I decided that maybe I should take some advice and direction.

Step 2 Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Now this step gave me a lot of trouble until I straighten some things out in my mind. Like most new people I thought they were talking about GOD. I’m an agnostic, which I define as, The universe runs too smoothly to be a complete accident, But I KNOW I don’t know how it works and I really don’t think you do either. I don’t think any organized religion has THE right answer. In fact I find it very arrogant for anyone to claim they understand the will of God. I know my mind is incapable of that feat.
But I’m a practical type of person. I really like cause and effect. I have trouble with things based on faith.
But being a practical person I could see some cause and effect, especially when it hit me in the face. This time around I kept going to meetings; I started to listen to the similarities instead of the differences. I heard people telling how they had been feeling as bad as I did. And by quitting drinking and doing the steps they now had lives worth living.
Well I wanted some of that; I wanted to feel that life might be worth the effort. These people were smiling and laughing, what did they know that I didn’t. Because, at the time I did not want to live. I was giving this living crap one more try, because my daughter still wanted me to be her daddy. So these people knew something I didn’t, and I believe knowledge is power.
These people had more power than I did, that made them a power greater than me, and for the most part they seemed some what sane. Maybe they could restore me to sanity. You only have to hit me with a brick a few times before I get the message. I should listen and follow their advice; these crazy people seemed to care about each other. They didn’t ask you to earn their love and care. And that was a completely new idea, up until now I felt I had to earn everything, anyone “gave” me.
So I took the second step.

Step 3 Made the decision to turn or will and our lives over to God as we understood him.
Another hard step for me at first. God I didn’t understand at all. Just a couple of months ago I took my last breath. Everyone said I should not be alive, and I agreed. So why was I still alive, I had been stabbed in the chest thirteen times, I shouldn’t be. People kept telling me God had a plan for me, my will to live was stronger than my pain. There must be a reason God kept you alive. I just kept telling them, okay, maybe. I had no idea, and still don’t.
I settled the issue in my mind by giving up, trying to answer the question.
I decided to just go with the flow, and try and not worry if there was a greater plan for me. I decided to just keep trying to do the next right thing. And the next right thing can be all most anything. Early on it was getting up cleaning my self up, and doing what ever I was supposed to do. In treatment it meant going to groups and really trying to participate. To be honest with
the group and especially myself. It meant to go to meetings and really trying to share. It meant gong to my shrink and having the guts to really open up and let another human see who I really was. This was frightening; I had never really trusted anyone for as long as I could remember. But to give sobriety an honest try I had to do it. And in my book an honest try means giving it your best effort. When ever I was unsure as to what the next right thing was, I asked some people I trusted and felt knew what they were talking about.
When there was no one to ask, I would sit as quite as my mind would let me and try to listen to that little voice we all have in our heads. That voice our parents tried to instill in us. We know right from wrong, and if we really listen to that voice and try to do our best by ourselves and others, we don’t go to far wrong.
Now my whole recovery program can be stated in just a few words. I’m just a guy who is trying to do the next right thing. And if that little voice comes from God well fine, I don’t care I going to give this living stuff my best shot. I’m going to do the next right thing what ever that means at the time, especially when it come to others.

STEP 4 Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
This step is the hardest one of all. To really look at ourselves, to see honestly just who we are, and what we have done. To look in the mirror and drop your pretensions, to drop self-denial.
This was, and is, one of the most difficult things I have ever done. We all hold a self image that we will protect to the end. We see ourselves as good and kind people, who care about others. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps us going. Some of us also hold a self image that we are the worse people out there. That we are not good or kind, that we don’t deserve to be in the company of normal people. That we deserve all the bad stuff that happens to everyone. That we don’t deserve to be loved, our families pretend to love us because we’re family and they sort of have to. Otherwise they would just ignore us. And others love us because of the stuff we can do for them, we see people who are just out for number one. They will use anyone who comes near, and why should we be any different. We have to earn our keep, like everyone else, there are people who seem to be loved by everyone. People who seem to just cruse through life on a pink cloud, and oh how we wish to be one of them, but we know it’s just dream, that it could never happen to us.
We see people who profess love for someone, but when their backs are turned they jump on them with both feet. We see a lot of people like that; we know we aren’t worth love. So anyone who tells us,” I love you”, we know what they are saying that behind our backs.
But to make a true inventory, we have to look at everything, both good and the bad.
When I’m trying to explain it to someone, who’s about to start doing their fourth step. I liken it to cleaning out a garage. When you clean out a full garage, you don’t start in the corners, you start with the big crap in the middle of the floor. You drag all the stuff out into the light of day. And spread it out all over the driveway.
And then start to look at what you have, both good and bad. And you have to rank things by how important they really are, some of the bad stuff we have done seems huge, until you look at it in the light. And when you look at the good things about you, it’s not hard to find exceptions. “I never stole a thing in my life” well what about stealing your time and affection from others in your life, so you could indulge in your addiction? What about that candy bar when you were ten. What about your time from your employer, and those office supplies you needed at home?
When you look at the horrible things you have done. Really how bad were they. I know we have all done things we’re ashamed of, the way we treated others are among the worse. And some people have done some very nasty things, esp. in relation to their addiction. But why did we treat others so shabby? Was it fear, we do a lot of things out of fear. Fear that people won’t like us, so hurt them first, and make them keep their distance. Keep them at a distance, they won’t be able to see the real you and thus they won’t be able to hurt you.
How many times have you been untrue to yourself, how many times have you put up a false front, so people will like you. So you will fit in? How many times have you gone against what you feel is right.
You also need to look at the good things you have done. How many times have you helped someone out with out thinking about a reward? How many times have you done the right thing, because it is the right thing?
Have you ever stopped to help a child? Have you ever resisted the urge to do something when you know it’s wrong, even though you wouldn’t get caught?
After you looks at all the stuff, while trying to be as honest as you can. I think you’ll find that you’re a mixture of good and bad, no one is 100% good or bad. You need to look at the stuff and decide, what you would like to keep and what needs to get changed about yourself. Remember that you’re not perfect and never will be .Instead of telling yourself that you’ll never tell another lie, remember little white lies make the world run smoother. Being brutally honest can often hurt others. Tell you self I’ll try and never tell a lie that will hurt someone. I won’t lie cover the fact I’m human, and make mistakes. And most of all promise yourself to never lie to you. You can’t change anything about yourself if you’re not honest. Make it a habit you examining your motives for doing what you do. When you come in conflict with what you know to be right, take action.
You’re going to find you’re a mixture of good and bad. You’ll find things that need to be changed now, and others that you need to work on. Don’t be afraid to give yourself a pat on the back for some of the good things you do, of course don’t sprain you arm in so doing.
This whole exercise is about finding out the truth about you. You can’t plot a course for changing your life without knowing where you are. This step in very hard to do, but you must do it, without it you’ll never change, and we need to change in order to stay sober. I not referring to being clean, I mean sober, to living life on life’s terms. To deal with the world in a healthy and hopefully a happy way. Maybe even to find some joy in your life. It was one of the big things I wanted out of my sobriety, just a little joy once in a while. You remember that feeling when you were a little kid, where you were just so happy and excited that you just had to go out in the yard and jump around, it either that or burst. This is the step that starts you on the path to real change, up till now you have just indentified the problem and the fact you need help, and decided to seek help.

STEP 5 Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs


Notes on Michele
I met Michele in 1984. I first noticed her at work. I was a supervisor at a big factory. Michele was working in the department next to mine. The factory made many different types of seasonal products. I was making swimming pools, the ones blue ones with the cartoons inside, and her department made coolers and surfboards out of Styrofoam.
I had been recently been dumped, by another black woman. It seemed as if she was more interested in my money and what I could do for her and her child. When I moved form Wisconsin to Virginia, Child support lost track of me for a few months, so I had some extra income, temporarily. But when they caught up with me, which I knew was going to happen, her interest in me faded away quickly. I found myself very lonely and hurt; I didn’t understand what had happened until later.
Which brings me back to Michele; she worked in plain view of my department. She was a good looking black woman, about 5’ 7” around 135 pounds with coco colored skin, and use to wear these stretch jeans. There seemed to be a lot of bending and stretching involved in the operation of her machine. Before long I had a great deal of interest in just who she might be.
After watching for about three weeks I finally screwed up my courage to talk to her. There was some danger in this because it was the south and I was a supervisor. I at least wasn’t her supervisor. I made some silly comment about the hat she was wearing. I told her I liked it , I didn’t, but it did break the ice .We talked about nothing for about five minutes . I then asked if she would care to have a beer with me after work. So we drank a couple of beers in my car, I worked the evening shift and you couldn’t buy beer after work so I kept some in a cooler in my car. We seemed to hit it off.
I was so lonely that I just sort of dumped everything on her. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. I found out much later that my becoming interested in her was a well planned out maneuver. She had been trying to attract my attention. My dumping my sad sob story scared her at first. She later said, she thought I might be more than a little crazy. But when I didn’t do anything else crazy, she decided to give me another chance.
I found out about three dates into it that she was living in a battered women’s shelter. I can’t really remember just how it came about. But after about three weeks, I was helping her move into a real dump; it was furnished in early junk. We finished hauling her stuff into her new place, and retired to my place for the night. Some where in that night I said you should just move in here, that I really didn’t like the neighborhood and the condition of her place. Before I really knew what was happening she was all moved in. It seemed awful fast but things were moving fast in her life and she needed to get out of the shelter.
Things were really good for a little while; it was more than a bit like a honeymoon. But about a month later, things started to get strange. She had called into work saying she was sick. She wasn’t sick when I left,. I started work earlier than. she did.. When I got home that night my place was all torn up. Throw rugs pulled up, the cushions on the couch thrown about the room. I had no clue what had happened. She explained that she had called in to go out with some of her friends, and the room was torn up because she had been looking for an ear ring, and didn’t have time to put the place back together. I bought it, but it just didn’t set well. The next Thursday night she didn’t come home from work, she rolled in about 6 am. Saying she got hung up with the girls from work, they had gone to get their checks cashed and just lost track of time. I was mad because she could have called; I had worried most of the night. But she said all the right words and actions to make me believe she was sorry. I was unaware that she had no money the next week, it just didn’t register with me. Nothing else happened for a few weeks and I just forgot about the whole thing. Until she was again a no show at work on a Friday night. When I got home after work the house was tore up again. This time I didn’t see her until noon Sunday. I way beyond mad, She tried to tell me some cock and bull story, about not being able to get home or call. I refused to hear it. After much arguing and crying on her part she told me that she had started to smoke some crack with a woman she had met in the shelter, and got lost for the weekend. I asked her what the hell did she come home for now, she had run out of money. I couldn’t really understand this, I drank some beer and in the past smoked some dope, even did some coke. It was one of the reasons I had moved to Virginia I started to like coke too much. But the idea of keeping going until I was out of money, was new to me. After many promises to never do it again, and to some how make it up to me for all the worry she had put me through. I forgave her. And we made do with my money the next week.
Things went on smoothly for about a month. We came home from work, Michele had been quiet on the ride home, I thought it was just being tired, our jobs were very physical. When I got home the first thing I wanted was a shower. I jumped in the shower; Michele came into the shower to talk for a couple of minutes. When I got out of the shower and had dried off I went out into the living room, She was gone, just gone no note no nothing. I looked out the window and her car was gone. After a while I went to throw my clothes in the hamper, I found my wallet wasn’t in my pants. I found it on the night stand, empty. I was very angry and hurt. That money was for the rent and other bills, not to mention food. And she had promised me. This was before I knew anything about addicts, and the things they will do for their drug.
I didn’t seem her until late Sunday night. By that time I had made up my mind, even though I thought I loved her, I couldn’t have this. I told her she had to leave, to move out. She begged and pleaded, and promised, but my mind was made up. I really hated the idea of being alone again. That somehow it was my fault that this was t I deserved. I was scared that I would be alone forever, that no one would ever love me. But I couldn’t have this lying and stealing, it offended everything I felt two lovers meant. I told her she had until pay day to find somewhere to live. She kept pleading to stay. I softened up enough to tell her if she could stay completely clean for three months I would take her back.
She moved out the next Friday. I really hated to see her go, I felt bad for her, but I really felt bad for myself. I felt like she was my last and best chance for love.
She managed to stay straight for the three months, She made work everyday, and even signed up for some classes at the local tech school. We talked everyday at work. She kept telling me she was doing all of this to get me back, that she loved me more than crack Of course It was just what I wanted and needed to hear. She went to class during the day before work. And a couple times a week would come over to my place after work. We were not intimate and she went home to her own bed. After the three months and some, she moved back in, I was very happy and so was she. It was also the last time crack entered our lives for a long time. She kept up with her classes and became a legal secretary. Things were good for a long time.


This was Kevin’s last explanation of the events in his life which led up to the stabbing.
I asked for some information about his grandmother, whom he said earlier was a great influence in his life, and about his AA life. Here are the two things he wrote.

He was anxious to finish this project. Me, too. I wrote that I’d convert the text into Adobe which anyone could download and read. He could distribute it that way, or he could have it printed from the Adobe text.

In either case, I figured my part was pretty well finished. I prayed I’d done right by him. He was a real example to me. I had been much more a guide and compiler than we both expected; but I figured the result was pretty durn good.


Letty Linhart
February 28, 2010


THE STEPS

Step 1 We admitted we were powerless over alcohol- that our lives had become unmanageable.

This step wasn’t really very hard for me at the end. I did take some convincing though. I tried three times to get sober, but I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. I was trying to keep a relationship intact, I tried for my family. The third time I tried to stay sober I made it 18 months. But I was living alone, working to many hours. I worked an odd shift, 11 am till 7-8 pm. I got lonely, I got tired, I stopped going to meetings because I was different from all of those people. I didn’t have a sponsor; I never really connected with anyone. The people I went through treatment with, all fell by the wayside. I really didn’t have any friends.
I made just about every mistake you can make and stay clean, not sober, for any length of time.
When I was finally committed to Detox for three months, I came to believe my drinking and life was out of control. When I came out of high school, my goal in life was not, homeless street drunk. I had given this living stuff my best shot, and ended up here, committed by family and doctors.
I decided that maybe I should take some advice and direction.

Step 2 Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Now this step gave me a lot of trouble until I straightened some things out in my mind. Like most new people I thought they were talking about GOD. I’m an agnostic, which I define as, The universe runs too smoothly to be a complete accident, But I KNOW I don’t know how it works and I really don’t think you do either. And not just you, I don’t think any organized religion has THE right answer. In fact I find it very arrogant for anyone to claim they understand the will of God. I know my mind is incapable of that feat.
But I’m a practical type of person. I really like cause and effect. I have trouble with things based on faith.
But being a practical person I could see some cause and effect , especially when it hit me in the face. This time around I kept going to meetings; I started to listen to the similarities instead of the differences. I heard people telling how they had been feeling as bad as I did. And by quitting drinking and doing the steps they now had lives worth living.
Well I wanted some of that; I wanted to feel that life might be worth the effort. These people were smiling and laughing, what did they know that I didn’t. Because, at the time I did not want to live. I was giving this living crap one more try, because my daughter still wanted me to be her daddy. So these people knew something I didn’t, and I believe knowledge is power.
These people had more power than I did, that made them a power greater than me, and for the most part they seemed some what sane. Maybe they could restore me to sanity. You only have to hit me with a brick a few times before I get the message. I should listen and follow their advice; these crazy people seemed to care about each other. They didn’t ask you to earn their love and care. And that was a completely new idea, up until now I felt I had to earn everything, anyone “gave” me.
So I took the second step.

Step 3 Made the decision to turn or will and our lives over to God as we understood him.
Another hard step for me at first. God I didn’t understand at all. Just a couple of months ago I took my last breath. Everyone said I should not be alive, and I agreed. So why was I still alive, I had been stabbed in the chest thirteen times, I shouldn’t be. People kept telling me God had a plan for me, my will to live was stronger than my pain. There must be a reason God kept you alive. I just kept telling them, okay, maybe. I had no idea, and still don’t.
I settled the issue in my mind by giving up, trying to answer the question.
I decided to just go with the flow, and try and not worry if there was a greater plan for me. I decided to just keep trying to do the next right thing. And the next right thing and be all most anything. Early on it was getting up cleaning my self up, and doing what ever I was supposed to do. In treatment it meant going to groups and really trying to participate. To be honest with
the group and especially myself. It meant to go to meetings and really trying to share. It meant gong to my shrink and having the guts to really open up and let another human see who I really was. This was terrifying. I had never really trusted anyone for as long as I could remember. But to give sobriety an honest try I had to do it. And in my book an honest try means giving it your best effort. When ever I was unsure as to what the next right thing was, I asked some people I trusted and felt knew what they were talking about.
When there was no one to ask, I would sit as quite as my mind would let me and try to listen to that little voice we all have in our heads. That voice our parents tried to instill in us. We know right from wrong, and if we really listen to that voice and try to do our best by ourselves and others, we don’t go to far wrong.
Now my whole recovery program can be stated in just a few words. I’m just a guy who is trying to do the next right thing. And if that little voice comes from God well, fine, I don’t care. I am going to give this living stuff my best shot. I’m going to do the next right thing what ever that means at the time, especially when it come to others.

I was afraid that Kevin couldn’t give a sincere account of going through the steps of the AA program, a process I found essential. I was also afraid he was losing his momentum for this entire project. I expressed these notions, and he replied:


Hi Letty
No not at all, I very much want to continue. Have been very busy of late. I'll work on the rest of the steps and have something for you very soon. I have been asked to speak to 140 nursing students tomorrow am; that will be the biggest crowd yet.
I have been through all the steps Letty. I never really had a normal sponsor. I did have about four people I would ask for advice.
I did the fourth and fifth step with a shrink. It tool me a very long time to open up. but it was that or die. It took about a year after I sobered up to find a reason to live.
The511 Alano Society owns the building that the AA groups meet in. AA is not allowed to own property, so the Alano society holds the building in trust.
I was asked to be on the board for my people skills, I was a care taker at the club. I knew most everyone. At the next election I was reelected and voted VP.When the then President resigned, I became the Pres. And at the last election I was reelected. Not too bad for a homeless street drunk. The board sent me to a leadership conference, put on by a state wide organization for 12 step clubhouses state wide. They asked me a couple of months later if I would become part of the steering committee. So I'm also on that as well; we laid down the by-laws for the new Wisconsin association of 12 step clubhouses. They did ask if I might be interesting in running for that board, I turned that down in no time.
Well it's time for me to crawl in for the night, remember I work third shift.
Thanks again
Kevin

________________________________________


Notes on Michele
I met Michele in 1984. I first noticed her at work. I was a supervisor at a big factory. Michele was working in the department next to mine. The factory made many different types of seasonal products. I was making swimming pools, the ones blue ones with the cartoons inside, and her department made coolers and surfboards out of Styrofoam.
I had been recently been dumped, by another black woman. It seemed as if she was more interested in my money and what I could do for her and her child. When I moved form Wisconsin to Virginia, Child support lost track of me for a few months, so I had some extra income, temporarily. But when they caught up with me, which I knew was going to happen, her interest in me faded away quickly. I found myself very lonely and hurt; I didn’t understand what had happened until later.
Which brings me back to Michele; she worked in plain view of my department. She was a good looking black woman, about 5’ 7” around 135 pounds with coco colored skin, and use to wear these stretch jeans. There seemed to be a lot of bending and stretching involved in the operation of her machine. Before long I had a great deal of interest in just who she might be.
After watching for about three weeks I finally screwed up my courage to talk to her. There was some danger in this because it was the south and I was a supervisor. I at least wasn’t her supervisor. I made some silly comment about the hat she was wearing. I told her I liked it , I didn’t, but it did break the ice .We talked about nothing for about five minutes . I then asked if she would care to have a beer with me after work. So we drank a couple of beers in my car, I worked the evening shift and you couldn’t buy beer after work so I kept some in a cooler in my car. We seemed to hit it off.
I was so lonely that I just sort of dumped everything on her. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. I found out much later that my becoming interested in her was a well planned out maneuver. She had been trying to attract my attention. My dumping my sad sob story scared her at first. She later said, she thought I might be more than a little crazy. But when I didn’t do anything else crazy, she decided to give me another chance.
I found out about three dates into it that she was living in a battered women’s shelter. I can’t really remember just how it came about. But after about three weeks, I was helping her move into a real dump; it was furnished in early junk. We finished hauling her stuff into her new place, and retired to my place for the night. Some where in that night I said you should just move in here, that I really didn’t like the neighborhood and the condition of her place. Before I really knew what was happening she was all moved in. It seemed awful fast but things were moving fast in her life and she needed to get out of the shelter.
Things were really good for a little while; it was more than a bit like a honeymoon. But about a month later, things started to get strange. She had called into work saying she was sick. She wasn’t sick when I left,. I started work earlier than. she did.. When I got home that night my place was all torn up. Throw rugs pulled up, the cushions on the couch thrown about the room. I had no clue what had happened. She explained that she had called in to go out with some of her friends, and the room was torn up because she had been looking for an ear ring, and didn’t have time to put the place back together. I bought it, but it just didn’t set well. The next Thursday night she didn’t come home from work, she rolled in about 6 am. Saying she got hung up with the girls from work, they had gone to get their checks cashed and just lost track of time. I was mad because she could have called; I had worried most of the night. But she said all the right words and actions to make me believe she was sorry. I was unaware that she had no money the next week, it just didn’t register with me. Nothing else happened for a few weeks and I just forgot about the whole thing. Until she was again a no show at work on a Friday night. When I got home after work the house was tore up again. This time I didn’t see her until noon Sunday. I way beyond mad, She tried to tell me some cock and bull story, about not being able to get home or call. I refused to hear it. After much arguing and crying on her part she told me that she had started to smoke some crack with a woman she had met in the shelter, and got lost for the weekend. I asked her what the hell did she come home for now, she had run out of money. I couldn’t really understand this, I drank some beer and in the past smoked some dope, even did some coke. It was one of the reasons I had moved to Virginia I started to like coke too much. But the idea of keeping going until I was out of money, was new to me. After many promises to never do it again, and to some how make it up to me for all the worry she had put me through. I forgave her. And we made do with my money the next week.
Things went on smoothly for about a month. We came home from work, Michele had been quiet on the ride home, I thought it was just being tired, our jobs were very physical. When I got home the first thing I wanted was a shower. I jumped in the shower; Michele came into the shower to talk for a couple of minutes. When I got out of the shower and had dried off I went out into the living room, She was gone, just gone no note no nothing. I looked out the window and her car was gone. After a while I went to throw my clothes in the hamper, I found my wallet wasn’t in my pants. I found it on the night stand, empty. I was very angry and hurt. That money was for the rent and other bills, not to mention food. And she had promised me. This was before I knew anything about addicts, and the things they will do for their drug.
I didn’t seem her until late Sunday night. By that time I had made up my mind, even though I thought I loved her, I couldn’t have this. I told her she had to leave, to move out. She begged and pleaded, and promised, but my mind was made up. I really hated the idea of being alone again. That somehow it was my fault that this was t I deserved. I was scared that I would be alone forever, that no one would ever love me. But I couldn’t have this lying and stealing, it offended everything I felt two lovers meant. I told her she had until pay day to find somewhere to live. She kept pleading to stay. I softened up enough to tell her if she could stay completely clean for three months I would take her back.
She moved out the next Friday. I really hated to see her go, I felt bad for her, but I really felt bad for myself. I felt like she was my last and best chance for love.
She managed to stay straight for the three months, She made work everyday, and even signed up for some classes at the local tech school. We talked everyday at work. She kept telling me she was doing all of this to get me back, that she loved me more than crack Of course It was just what I wanted and needed to hear. She went to class during the day before work. And a couple times a week would come over to my place after work. We were not intimate and she went home to her own bed. After the three months and some, she moved back in, I was very happy and so was she. It was also the last time crack entered our lives for a long time. She kept up with her classes and became a legal secretary. Things were good for a long time. Kevin had poured out his fractured heart in his proposal. His rough attachment told of a near-death stabbing after half a life of alcohol abuse. But I don’t want to tell his story. I just want to show why I bid $75 for a $2000 editing job on Guru.com.

Hi Letty
Thank you for responding to my posting. If you have been sober for 32 years you may very well have heard my story. It only differs from hundreds of other in degree.
My friends, my shrink, and many of the groups, I have spoken to tell me its worth putting on paper. That maybe my telling it will help the next guy.
I'm not a writer, and really don't know how to go about a project like this. So if we decide to work together you will have a clue as to what you will be dealing with.
I want to do this because, I should not be alive. the ex stabbed me in the chest 13 times. No one gave me a chance of pulling thru. But I'm here, I now consider my life all gravy. My old life ended just over five years ago, and I’m doing my best to make this one worth living.
My recovery program is simple and yet encompassing. "I’m just a guy trying to do the next right thing."
I'm attaching a little bit of my story, I wrote it to try and explain to someone what the stabbing was like. It was also was very diffult to write. I'm hoping you will get a feel for my story.
I hope we can find common ground and produce a readable story.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
Kevin

The Stabbing and its Aftermath

I’ll try to get through the story today. Last night it just wore me out to put it down on paper.
It all started long ago in a country beyond the sea; oh no that’s a different story....
About eight years ago, I was mentally in bad shape. I had lost a job that I had high expectations of. My fault that the job went away. My unemployment was about to run out, I was afraid we were going to lose everything, which we did.
I decided that my life was shit, and there was nothing I could do about it. I went and got sleeping pills and lots of whiskey. Tried to write a note, and couldn’t do even that correctly.
I took the pills and slammed the rest of the whiskey. After a short while I started to fall asleep, I was ready to go. There was no doubt in my mind that this was what I wanted. My wife got this feeling that she had to get home now! She left early and came straight home; the plan had been for her to go the store, after work. She found me just barely breathing; in fact I stopped on the way to the hospital. I was in ICU for three days before I came around, I was not happy; I had taken my final step in making my pain stop.
After wards I made promises to Michele (the ex) that I wouldn’t do it again. I never tried it again, but I gave up on everything, My life was going to be full of pain and there wasn’t shit I could do about it. So I just gave up, on everything. I just didn’t want to care about anything. After that my drinking really started to get bad, why try to control it. It didn’t take long before we were both on the streets, just a couple of months. After a few weeks on the street Michele found a room she could rent, they told her I wasn’t allowed to be there... So I stayed on the streets, working day labor when I was not too sick And getting paid at the end of the day. First stop the liquor store, for a bottle and some cigs was all set to stay drunk for the next couple of days. I would give Michele money when I had some. But I would run out of money and booze, and go back to the day labor, repeat for the next couple of years. I would go into find work so sick from withdrawals; I would be sneaking off to throw up.
I found out somewhat later that Michele was fucking the landlord, no wonder he didn’t want me around. I found out about it, and my dumb-ass took her back. But she didn’t move out of the house. I had gotten angry and had beaten the shit out of the guy. He was bigger, younger, and sober, But I still kicked his ass downstairs, he ran up to his room. He then started to talk about, not giving the old drunk, me, a break if I didn’t leave the house. I took that as a challenge, so up the stairs I went. Michele was yelling in my ear to stop, I’m not sure who she was trying to protect. Any way I kicked his door down and then kicked ass down the stairs again, out of the door he went. Again Michele was yelling for me to get out, that I had screwed up her place to live, and sure as hell she was not joining me on the streets. I left.
For your information, homeless in the winter in Wisconsin really sucks. I would stay in the men’s shelter when I could and when I could stand it, it smelled very badly in there. But you could only stay in the shelter for 45 days per year. So I slept outside in the winter, where I slept, I was at least protected from, the snow, wind. But not the cold.
After about a year and a half, my Aunt tracked me down. She knew what I was, but still would not let me stay on the streets, so she put me up in a very cheap hotel. I was warm and dry; I even had a TV to stare at while drinking... Now Michele wanted to move in with me, I had a place to live. I let myself be convinced that she had been with the landlord, so that she had a place to live. And how much better a lover I was and what a little dick he had, and she wanted nothing more in this world than for us to get back together. FYI, it was not the first time I had caught her. You must remember that I was the lowest piece of shit on earth; I knew very well what I was.
Anyway I took her back. Because I’m sure you know, any love is better than no love,
We were in the motel for about six months, really just drinking.
One night we were working on a 1.75l of vodka. About 9-9:30 I fell asleep, not pass out for a change, she kept drinking.
About 1:30 am she decided that I had to die, why? She claims long term abuse, I don’t remember ever hitting her, but I don’t remember a lot of things from that time so I couldn’t argue. She grabbed a steak knife, 6” serrated, and open me up from the sternum to my belly button, before I got my eyes opened and focused, she had stabbed me in the left side of the chest, As I reached for her arm I felt the stab in the left again, but this one I heard/felt the blade grate off my rib. I don’t how, but she got me one more time, before I got a grip on her arm. Then she switched hands, and before I could react had buried It into the right side. This one seemed to happen in slow motion. I saw her arm coming down I felt the blade sink in, no pain, and the worst part I could hear the air hissing out of my lung. She got me twice more on the right side, before I threw her off. She hit the end table, I hit the floor. Somehow I had the knife, in my hand. She took it away from me and started to stab me in the back. I was begging for her to stop. After 3-6 more wounds she did stop, I didn’t have the air to yell for help. This part is almost funny, smart ass to the end, I looked at her and asked if she was going to watch me die or was she going to call me an ambulance, I’ll never forget the look on her face, it was blank.
She sat there for a few seconds, then got up and left the room. As she left I lost color vision, I heard her dial 911 then all sound became garbled, I laid there for who knows, seemed like a long time to me. When she came back into the room, everything started to go black, like going backwards down a tunnel. I had enough time to think I’m going to die. My last thoughts were “oh shit here we go”.
I woke up, sort of, two days later in ICU I remember screaming, with a nurse holding my hand and making calming sounds. I have no idea what she may have said; I had no idea where I was. I didn’t know what had happened; I just knew I had to scream. I don’t know if they did anything but I sank back under in just seconds. I really came awake 3-4 days later, still in ICU. I was still very confused but it started to come back. I started to freak out. Again There was a nurse holding my hand and trying to calm me. I wasn’t awake for more than a few minutes, and off I went again.
The time after I died and the time I woke is a small story in and of it’s self. I have talked to everyone I could about it, I just had to know.
When the police got there, they thought I was dead so they went into homicide mode. Then I moved and they freaked. I was in such bad shape that a police officer drove the ambulance. The EMTs were busy trying to plug holes and get air into me, by the time they got me to the ER, both lungs had collapsed.
When they drove me away the police left at the scene were sure I would never make it to the hospital... When I did make it there, the EMT and the nurses thought I would never make it out of surgery. I don’t know what the doctors thought.
When they took Michele to detox, yes where I now work. They told the nurse on duty to keep a close watch on her because she was going up on first degree murder charges.
Any way back to the hospital, I don’t really remember much.
I do remember they took me to a different room, one where they check you every 15 minutes, instead of always. I was there for just a couple of hours; again I had help remembering this. I do remember that I couldn’t get any air. I remember Drs and nurses running around, it was like it was happening to someone else. I remember them running down the hall. At least I thought they were running. Then a Dr. was in my face telling me that they had found a mass in the bottom of my left lung, and they had to go back in to take it out, was that okay with me.
The one thing that stands out about this little bit is that the Dr. was holding up a fist when said a mass.
When I woke up this time it was 5:15am, I know that because there was a clock right in front of my eyes, and I couldn’t see much else. This time I was in restraints, and I had one of those tubes down my throat. Again there was a nurse holding my hand, trying to explain what had, and was happening to me... Every Dr. form every department wanted to look at me before they would take the tube out. I was in and out all morning. I would come awake, and in seconds, it seemed, another shot and it was nap time. At 1:30 pm they said we are going to pull the tube now, I was very happy to hear that, because I was gagging the whole time, or so it seemed. But before we do you have some gunk in the bottom of your lung, I was thinking AND....
And we are going to have to get it out. She grabs a long tube, and slides inside the tube that was already there, OK not so bad.
Then she squirted water down there to flush it out, have you ever sucked in a big mouth full of water and thought you were going to drown, yes well then you know how if felt. After a few hours (seconds) they stuck another tube down and sucked the water and some really nasty looking “gunk”out of my lung. Wow well that’s done, But up came another tube and more water, they did it five times. By the end my legs were drumming on the bed, I really thought I was going to drown, I couldn’t think straight at all, complete panic. That was the worst thing I went through.
Out came the tube, and I was moved out of the recovery room.
The next week or so is sort of a blur, at some point Katie and her mom, came to visit, they brought me some orange roses, god they were beautiful. They came to see me just that once, and no one else came to visit... After a couple of weeks I wanted a cig. I wanted one bad. I drove the nurses crazy, to the point that they gave in. Picture this; I have two chest drains in one on each side. I have to wear an O2 mask at all times, the lungs weren’t working all that well. I had a bag for the tubes to drain into; I had one of those pumps to keep the meds flowing. A O2 tank. So they loaded me up onto two wheel chairs, and away we went, both nurses smoked so they weren’t mad. They did ask me to turn, off my O2 so I wouldn’t start my head on fire. Shortly afterward I was back on solid food and could make my way down to the smoking lounge (outside) by my self. When the whole thing hit me. Some one, someone I loved wanted me dead. I was such a piece of shit that they felt I need killing. I was so bad no one wanted to even come seem me not even my kid. The one visit was duty, not because she cared.

Life at the Hospital and alone


I got real depressed. really fast, then I wished that Michele would have finished the job. My life wasn’t going to get better; it was still steadily going down hill. The nurses must have been looking for that to happen, because they, (RN, NA even candy stripes) were all over me, I was rarely left alone; they always wanted to talk about something up beat.
More than once I woke up in the middle of the night with my hand being held. I would look at her, see would say softly, you were dreaming again, and would stay and hold my hand until I fell back to sleep..
I have nothing but praise for the nurses; They treated me like a king, and were all ways in a good mood around me even when I was less than a model patient. As an example about three weeks in, the chest tubes were coming out, ALRIGHT! The next day they had to go back in. They did it right there in my bed, The Doc did one side and a student did the other. It took three of the bastards to hold me still, and that was with me trying to hold still. If I ever hear a Doc tell me “we are almost there” again, I think I will rip his lying tongue out by the roots.
They cut a slit in your lower ribs, ALL the way through, then take this ½ inch plastic tube and shove it up under and all the way to your shoulder. I think I was less than pleasant to just about everyone in the room, in the hall, their mothers, and any one else I could think of. AND to make it worse, my regular nurse came in laughing at me and the things I told the Doc he could do with his tube. People didn’t talk that way TO HIM, fuckem!
When they were ready to discharge me, they found out I lived alone with no one to help me, they kept me another week. I don’t think I was ready to go even then but no insurance.
In some way the following is the worst part, you may want to stop here.
They put me into a cab and home; to the hotel I went no choice. Even the cab ride was, very painful; I had to ask the driver to pull over a couple of times so I could get my shit back together. But that pain was nothing like what was coming.
When I got back to the room it was tore all apart. The police had taken the sheets away; I had a bare mattress blood soaked of course, and a blanket. The mattresses was soaked the walls were smeared, the head board and the carpet soaked with dry blood. I could really smell it, I was so tired from trip home I just laid down and pulled the blanket over me. Except for meals on wheels I just laid there for two days.
Then Katie and Betsy came over, they put on new sheets, tried to wipe up some of the blood. I could smell the blood through the sheets. But I was so drugged on pain meds, that I thought I didn’t care. I didn’t care then. After about A week the nightmares and the flashbacks started, I would wake up screaming knowing I was getting stabbed, I could feel the knife again. It would take along time to convince my self it was a dream, it was so real. That would happen three, four, even five times a night.
It really got bad when they started to happen in the day time.
I would be staring at the TV and the next thing I knew It was happening again. I could feel the knife, I could hear it again. I don’t know how long I was out of it, but it took a long time to come back. And I would be just shaking, had trouble holding a cig. There was never any warning; one second I’m watching the TV and the next I fighting for my life again. This happened two to three times a day. I would take a long time for my heart to slow down.
As they started to wean me off the pain meds, the dreams just got worse. I would take hours to fall asleep again. I was so wound up that any little thing would set me off. I was later told it was normal. Sure as hell didn’t feel like that to me.
After a month of pain meds I was taken off them completely. I still had a great deal of pain, and Alieve just was not working. They did not want me to be alone, on the meds. I’m sure they also knew of my history of suicide. They took me off. Now I had to deal with the physical pain, and the mental. The dreams were tearing me apart; I was not getting any real sleep.
My coming off alcohol also made the not sleeping worse. I was starting to get real tired, but I was afraid to go to sleep. The terror was waiting for me.
I had been sober for almost two months, I thought I would try and keep it going.
I was so depressed, I knew in my heart that I deserve to be killed. I was a waste of air. I have always known that I was not supposed to be here. It had to be my fault I was stabbed; I had done or not done something. If I had done it, I would still be apart of the world, well this time it was true I was not wanted by anyone. Even the one person I thought loved me thought I needed to die.
I could not face it any more, the mental pain was unbearable.
I had no where to go, not sleep, not even awake I was not safe. the TV I could not concentrate, I would try to watch and the realize that I had no idea what I had just watched.
No one came to see me there wasn’t anyone to come. So I was locked away, getting so freaked out that I was desperate for, I didn’t know. I knew no one cared, everyone, me including me would be better off if I had died. I just didn’t know what to do. There was no one to call. I couldn’t ask for help, real men stand on their own two feet.
I did know one thing that would help; I called a cab and went to the liquor store. The ride hurt like hell, every bump made me want to scream, it felt like someone was sticking a knife in me...lol when I got to the store I remember thinking I’ll buy a big bottle, then I won’t have to come back so fast. So I bought a 1.75i, thinking this will last me for 3-4 days.
I got home and hit the bottle hard, all the mental and physical pain eased up. I got very drunk. When I woke up the next morning, I needed a drink. I had the shakes and the pain was coming back, so I got drunk, when I woke up I needed a drink.... By the second morning I knew I was going to need more, so I called a cab and went to the liquor store. I did this for about a week I later found out Katie, my daughter, and her mother, Betsy, were checking up on me. They were getting very worried about me. I’m told I would be awake when they came over, I don’t remember any of that. I told them I want to die and to go away. I don’t know how many times they came over. The meals on wheels food was piled up next to the front door. I didn’t want food I wanted to just die. I even made Betsy, my first wife, go get me a bottle, it was either that Or I was going myself.
I don’t know if I could have made it. I hadn’t eating in days, I was still in physical pain, and I really wanted to die. I should have never been born, I was a mistake, and I needed to make all of this stop. And the dreams still came, or so I’m told. Katie stayed with me for some time. and witnessed a couple of them. That was when she decided that I had to be under professional care. They called 911, the police knew who I was, what the story was.
So September 16Th 2003, I woke up in detox, thinking how in hell did I get here. I had been in my bed. The staff gave me vague answers. They held me for the full 72 hours, when they were up and I wanted out, I had some drinking and dying to do and these people were in my way. I had been a guest there over a hundred times. They and every treatment center, had me down as untreatable, which mean the sober you up and let you go, they don’t even try to help you.
So I started to squawk about my rights, and that they could not hold me for more than the 72 hours, and it was up in 2 hours.
Right at the 72 hour mark, they told me I was going to be committed to Detox for 90 days; I asked how they could do that, they didn’t have any family to make the motion to the court. They gave me some bull shit about the court decided to step in. I yelled and which of my doctors signed, they told me three different ones. when asked who started it Betsy my ex wife did. I really started to yell then; She has no right to any say about me. SHE IS MY EX, don’t you understand. Again more vague answers. I went off. So much so that I ended up in four point restraints with an ass full of Haldol, a very powerful trank that they give to violent drunks, or drug users.
About three days later, at least I think it was three days, it all is very vague. I don’t think I was in touch with reality then.
After three days, they told me someone wanted to see me... I asked who, they told me Betsy and Katie, I went off again. “what does that bitch want, to rub it in? OH hell no I don’t want to see her. They went away, in a couple of minutes they came back, I was pacing around with two attendants watching me very closely. They asked if it would Be alright if Katie came in to talk to me. With that all the wind came out of my sails I said yes.
Katie came in looking frightened, I tried to put her at ease, until I found out it was me she was afraid of. If was feeling low and worthless before. it became a hundreds times worse. My Baby Kates was afraid of me. We talked for awhile, I have no idea what we talked about, my mind was screaming you worthless piece shit your baby girl is afraid of you. You’re supposed to keep her from harm.
Just before she left she put her arms around me and whisper “Daddy I don’t want you to die”, then she was gone.
After she left, I thought if she still wanted me to be her Daddy. I had to give this sober shit a real honest try.
That was just over four years ago.


The following day, my ridiculous proposal was accepted, but not before I had queried him about the unexplained incidents in his story, including where his funds for Meals on Wheels and a hotel room had come from, and he replied, like the earnest fellow I was finding him out to be.

My Aunt Judy

My Aunt Judy, AJ for short, was my father’s younger and only sibling. AJ was never able to have children, of her own. So she adopted me. She was also very smart and determined woman. She started out being an operator for the Bell Telephone co. even before AT&T was formed. The phone company sent her to school, for training. She got the equalivent of a college degree. And advanced is the engineering area of the phone company. She was sent all over the country helping to switch the phone company from rotary dial to touch tone. She was in charge of turning the whole city of Atlanta GA, to touch tone. She had invented a piece of equipment that would test every line in the city for its proper function. She was named employee of the year for that and nice bonus, plus a corner office. After the award she mostly taught others to use the equipment.
She was a very smart woman. You had better have your wits about you if you wished to cross swords with her. But hard to talk to sometimes, she was not afraid of silence. So there could be long breaks in the conversation, which could become uncomfortable when I was calling her for money. I could hear the wheels turning in her head, “is the kid lying to me”? Which, while I was drinking, I did more often than I care to think about. I also tried to lie to her by omission, I don’t know for sure, but I think she saw through all the bull, and helped anyway.
AJ was about 5’6” with auburn hair and hazel eyes. An had a half
smile that made you wonder what she was up to. She also had a look that made you think she could see deep into you. Her bullshit detector was always turned up high.
She also was the source of all good things. She was in high school when I was born. She more or less adopted me. She, and her first husband, Uncle Dan lived in Milwaukee WI. For most of my early life, they came to our house almost every weekend. And when ever they did come, something fun was bound to happen. She taught me all the fun things in life. She taught me about fun stuff like bowling and golf. She bought me my first new bike, it was a Schwinn three speed, and I loved it. And she gave me my first car, it was her old one, but she bought a new one and gave me her old one, A 1966 Ford Galaxy 500. I loved her a great deal and would get excited about their coming, by about Wednesday. I remember, when I was little, sitting out side when they were due to arrive, and then go running through the house yelling “their here “. Uncle Dan was my buddy; he and I got into mischief nothing serious. When I was old enough he would let me smoke, when I was with him. He never tried to be authority figure. We just had fun. Things like going to the store and me getting a treat that AJ and Grandmother, would not approve. He also talked my grandmother into letting me get a subscription to Playboy when I was about 14.
AJ, was also a buddy of sorts, she was he one who turned me on to museums, and some of the finer things in life.
She was and wasn’t an authority figure. I was taught very early on that she bought my new school clothes, and my bike, my coolest X-Mas presents and helped Grandma with money. So it was driven into my head to not ever make her mad. That without her we would be in trouble. We got to go on vacation because of her.
I don’t know how many times I was scare shitless, when I thought she was angry with me. I would get so freaked out that I would end up puking.
When I got divorced she helped me with my child support for a couple of years, until I got back on my feet.
When I got into financial trouble AJ would bail me out. I would get sick to my stomach, when ever I had to call. I tried very hard to not ask her help, but I had no choice. She never said no, I was terrified of her saying no. I didn’t have anyone else to call.
When I was drinking heavy, she would send me money, to keep me off the streets. I would start to shake and sweat when ever I had to ask. When I was homeless, I wouldn’t call her, I was too ashamed. Finally when my health was going down hill fast I called and she gave me money to stay at that hotel. And bitched at me for not calling sooner, that she was worried about me.
She insisted that I give her an address that she could get in touch with me. So she started to support me again. And after I got sober she supported me. So the only thing I had to worry about was staying sober.
It helped me do what I needed; I didn’t have to work, so I got involved with AA and ended up the current president of our club house and the weekly visits with my counselor. I didn’t have much money but was able to keep a roof over my head, and some spending money. All I had to do was get my head back together.
I was unable to keep a job. The PTSD and other issues had me ovewhelmed. In fact I spent three different weekends in the Phych ward in the hospital. I wanted the pain go to away, and suicide sounded awful good.
I did call for help, and the crisis center, would give me some time in order to help me get my head around all the stuff that was changing in my life. As my counselor told me, I had lost my best coping tool, alcohol. I would find myself over whelmed. And I need some place safe from my impulses.
For the first six months or so, I was a real wreck. The nightmares would wake me up screaming, I couldn’t sit still for more than about five minutes. I was hyper aware, I would get panic attacks. What really sucked is I knew what these feeling were about, but I was unable to control them. I would get just a bit freaked when there would be a knife in some show I was watching With time and medication those feelings have gone away, mostly. I still get tense if there is violence in a movie, esp. if it comes about in a in a sudden way/
Aunt Judy passed away, at 68 years old, in my third year of sobriety. She died in her sleep, from an aneurism. It’s what has killed most of the Setzers. It seems we have bad veins. She again helped me: She left me a nice little nest egg. It helped me to be able to work part time and work myself up to full time.
I owe Aunt Judy, so much more than I could ever repay. But at least she got to see me sober and standing on my own two feet.

I wrote Kevin that I hoped he was really thankful to have someone who believed in him, and who repeatedly helped and never gave up. But I wanted to know how he got to this spot of self-loathing, which he so graphically described.
Here is his reply.

My Mom


My brother Ron was conceived in the back seat of a car, coming home from a Christmas party. He was born Sept. 4th 1954. My Dad left and joined the Army. I was conceived when Dad came home for a leave. He left and went back to the army.
Mom was from the wrong side of the tracks. Trailer trash would be a good word for her.
I was born Sept.6 th 1955, just one year and one day younger than my brother.
So while Dad went back to Germany and the army, my mother Ellen was left at home with two young ones. I don’t know the story from her side; I have only talked to her twice in my life. But she neglected us to the point where we both had to be hospitalized for three weeks, for malnutrition. The only relative from my father’s side of the family who was allowed to come to see us was my great grandfather. And he told me the story of finding me in a diaper at least a day old and sucking on a bottle of curdled milk. My paternal grandmother sued for custody. She won, unusual in the 50”s, and was going to take both of us. But my mother begged to keep Ron and she could keep me. When I was about 5, I started to wonder what was wrong with me. When I was young my brother and I saw each other about once a year. My grandmother’s second husband (Abe) would track their family down; they moved about every six months. And I would get to see Ron for a weekend. But as soon as we took him home, I wouldn’t here from him until Abe tracked them down again.
I have only talked with my mother twice in my life. The first time was when my Dad went to see Ron, and took me along. I didn’t know what to think, it was over in about 60 seconds. I didn’t know what to expect but I thought there would be something, not just disinterest.
The second time I met her was at my high school graduation. I had sent an announcement to Ron’s last known address, just to let him know. Well about two weeks later I got a letter from my mother, asking if she could attend. I was more than a little freaked out; the rest of my family left it up to me,
So I answered back saying yes come if you wish.
I met her after the ceremony she walk up to me and introduced herself; it all seemed so surreal we talk about nothing for about ten minutes. I even invited her to the party going on at my house. She declined, and said she had to get going, and walked away. That is all the interaction I had with my mother. She was a small Woman 5’4” or so very dark hair and brown eyes. Which could describe my brother as well. Except he was a bit taller he very much looks like mom’s side of the family. Where as I’m a Setzer, no doubt about it I look a lot like my grandfather.
I found out that Grandma wasn’t mom around the age of 4.
I remember being called in the house, and sat down and told the story even then I remember wondering what was wrong with me? I was a good boy wasn’t I? I asked grandma about it and she told me what trailer trash she and her family were. I then asked why didn’t she want Ronnie. And being told that my mother begged for Ronnie and didn’t want me. It didn’t take long for me to be sure that there must be something wrong with me. After all mom picked Ronnie and not me.
I learned two big lessons from that talk, one that my needs didn’t count. And that there must be something wrong with me, for even my mom not to want me.


My Dad


I don’t remember much from the age of 6-7, they are a gentle blur of playing and going to school.
The next big thing that happened to me is in the summer of my seventh year I was shipped off to live with my father. How this all came about is lost. I guess that my Dad wanted me to come live with him. But there has always been a feeling that grandma wanted to get rid of me.
I was packed up and put on an airplane and 707 it was the latest and greatest at that time. I was excited by the whole process, looking forward the trip.
What I didn’t think about was living with complete strangers. I had no memory of my father. I don’t know if I had ever met him. So off I go, put on a plane in Chicago and picked up in LA., by strangers. Dad had married again and I had never met my stepmother. They had two boys, my half brothers. Bruce the oldest at three and Larry at 1 year old.
I remember them picking me up, I knew who Dad was from his picture. The rest of them were unknown. I went from being the only child to the oldest of three.
Everything was fine until some time had passed and I realized this was real. I started to get homesick, I felt like I had no one to turn to. My dad was busy with the navy, he had joined the navy after the army or he had his head under the hood of a car. He was also very taciturn, it seems to run in the family. After awhile I tried to avoid him, so he would have any reason to be mad at me. He also didn’t put up with much nonsense. I was shooed put of the garage many times.
My step mother tried to comfort me and do special things with me. But she had two and one on the way. There wasn’t much time left over for me. I understood that even then, but still wanted the attention.
I can’t ever remember my Dad hugging me or any show of affection. He seemed not want the kids around. Any homework help came from my step mother. She was not the evil stepmother
from stories and legends. I think she came to love me.
But late at night I would be in my bed crying, wondering what I had done wrong for grandmother to ship me out. I have no idea how many times I cried myself to sleep. Or how many promises to god to be an extra good boy if I could just go home. I enjoyed school and most of my time with them, but it never felt like home. I figured out that I must really bad, because no one wanted me. My mom wanted my brother and not me, My grandmother didn’t want me I was so bad that she couldn’t stand me any more. So she shipped me here. It sure didn’t seem like my Dad wanted me. But he had to take me. I knew I had done something but could never figure it out. I knew if I was a perfect little boy maybe things would change.
After a year with Dad and his family, Dad asked me if I wanted to live with him or go back to my grandma. Without any hesitation I said yes I want to go home. I think this might have hurt his feelings but eight year olds don’t think about stuff like that. He than asked if I wanted to go now or after the family vacation to see the redwoods. Again I said now. So in a couple of weeks I was back on the plane taking me home. But I also tried to figure out what I had done right in order to go home and how not to get sent away again

The Store

The picture was getting clearer and clearer. Were there any happy times growing up? Kevin answered that with “the store.”


When I was four, My grandmother and My aunt Judy opened up a bar/store in northern Wi near the town of Park Falls. It was a small bar about ten bar stools. The other half of the building was a little general story. We served the surrounding area, resorts mostly. If you did not want to deal with us for that loaf of bread or a pack of hot dogs fine, the next store was about 23 miles away over twisting lousy roads.
There was a bar area where we spent most of the time, the store The store where I played when the weather was bad. One bedroom, where my grandma and my Aunt Judy slept, and the kitchen.
I had an army cot to sleep on. It wasn’t a bad place to live; I had 40 acres of woods to call my back yard. People were coming in all the time. I spent a lot of time playing in the woods, mostly alone. The nearest neighbor was just over a mile away. And that was through wild woods. Just a little far for a four year old to wander.
My Great Great Grandfather, lived about a mile away and would walk to our store for his daily shot of brandy. And he would tell me stories about life in the lumber jack era.
My Aunt took a leave of absence from her job, to get the place up and running. So from opening day of the fishing season until after Deer hunting, we were open. This was the late fifties and there were no such thing as a snowmobile.
In the winter we went to Florida to live with my great Grandfather and great Grandmother. I have lots good memories of this time in my life. Of course I was around liquor all the time. And people drunk and acting the fool, after all they were on vacation. So I saw happy drunks and sad ones, even a few who couldn’t walk. At night I would sit behind the bar and listen. Told to keep quiet because no one wanted to hear what a four year old thinks. I can clearly remember running and opening a beer for someone, I was helping. I was sent to bed at a normal time, but would lay in bed listening. People drinking and getting drunk was normal for me, it happened everyday.
One thing happened when I was four a babysitter was watching me and reading me a story. And all of a sudden it clicked, the marks on the page stood for something. The first word I learned to read was “come”.
It opened a new world for me, I lucked out, my grandmother and aunt were both avid readers. They decided that it didn’t matter what I read so long as I read, so I had an endless supply of comic books and when I wanted, books as well. They both told me later, that they would encourage my reading and would work on my taste later.
From the age of four to the age of six we ran the store, Grandmother wanted to buy the land, but the owner wanted way too much and our lease ran out so we closed the store and moved back to Janesville WI. AJ went back to the phone company.


Hi Letty
I had the night off and tried to write something. To try and give you an idea about my early childhood and why I was sure that there was something wrong with me. It came out later, the perfectionist, the feeling, if people really knew me. I would be cast into the outer darkness.
This crap is hard to write without sounding like a cry wimp. It is supposed to be an explanation and not a pity party.
Look forward to hearing your thought.
I do plan on spend the most time on the recovery phase of my life.
Kevin


Dear Kevin:

I can see clearly that your early experience was simply awful and painful. You are good at telling the story poignantly but not asking for sympathy. I like that. That keeps the pity party under control. Keep working hard.
We'll plug in a bit of this letter.
Whoops, this is the first I've heard of Donner/Setzer. Who is Adeline's son's kid? I know its you, but who are the other characters? Just when I feel like I'm getting my arms around this task, up comes something from left field. Help.
________________________________________

Hi Letty
Thanks for the encouraging word. I have some more questions. Do you feel the dispassionate viewer, is the right voice to use. Some of this material is very emotional. It still upsets me, not like it used to but none the less.
I didn't add everything, for example when they would line up for family pictures, they just wanted the Donner family, and I was a Setzer. FYI the Donner family, I thought I was a member of is the same Donner's of a very famous mountain pass, out your way.
Does what I have written come across as someone looking for a pity party? I hope not I have written what I have in order to give a reader an Idea of just how much I felt like a second class citizen.
And what I would do to try and get back into the family. It's not supposed to be an excuse but rather a explanation. When I start to talk about AA and my recovery I have a tendency to get up on my soap box.
If I go with the dispassionate voice, can it be changed later. I think I can do dispassionate, but will that type of writing stir up emotions in the reader?
Does any of the stuff I have sent you, raise any feelings in you?
Do you get a sense of how painful all this was. To be over sensitive to everyone's actions and spoken words. Always looking for that frown of disapproval. you know tuck my tail between my legs and make myself as small as I could. Never taking anything upon my self Hoping that it would end with just a look. I knew that everyone else had a memory like mine, so they would remember everything I did wrong, and build a case to throw me out of the family, after all I was just tag along. Adeline's son's kid.
you know the one who got dumped on her. I haven't written about it yet but I over heard my grandmother say if she just didn't have the kid she would be able to...........you fill in the blank.
Right next door. and I heard it many times
Let me stop this for now
So if you can find my questions in all if that I would like your opinion.
Kevin
********************************************************


( I think I had made a mistake to mention “voice” at all; a fault left over from 8 years of teaching writing at the junior college level. He was doing just fine without knowing that.
Lots more correspondence followed about “was he doing it right, etc” but I was tickled pink. Reading his work was really the same pleasure I got when one of my students “woke up” and realized what a story was telling him.
I was waiting for his recovery story and his tying up of all the loose ends like Michelle and Kate and his son whose name I forgot. He replied:)

Good morning I'm just about to crawl into bed. But thought I could clear up some of your confusion
this is as much as I know about the Donner side of my family
Ben Donner was my great great grandfather. I had him in my life until I was 15
He used to tell me stories almost everyday when I lived in the store. He had three sons( I knew them all) Orly is the oldest. there was Orly Orvid, and Bernie
Orly Donner is my greatgrand father I had him in my life until I was 30. He is also the man who set me of the course of my life. He gave me the rule I try to live by He said " Kevin, try to do a good deed everyday, the best kind are the ones no one knows about, you may never get rewarded, but you’re building up brownie points in heaven"
I have changed that to say. everyday try to leave this world just a bit better than you found it this morning, and don't do it for a reward, do it because it's the right thing to do. So my whole recovery program is" I'm just a guy trying to do the next right thing"
Orly Donner and his wife Florence had five children. Adeline was the oldest( my grandmother)She married a Setzer.
Adeline and her first husband had two children Ronald Setzer, my father, and Judith ( my aunt)
Ronald and his first wife had two children Ronald Joseph and Kevin
As a side note when I was born we had five generations alive, made the local papers. And when my son Forrest was born we had five again, also made the local papers.
I guess I never did tell you my son Forrest in now 28 and a whopping 6'7" and weights 275
My baby girl Katheryn is 24 and a long 5'10"
I'll be up for about another 1/2 hour .
So any questions?


(.Kevin, dear: Tell me about the time from High School graduation through your first marriage.)


age 15
Spent a night with a shotgun under my chin, I wanted the pain I was in to end. Never told anyone about it. I never felt like I fit in, I was a burden. Vowed to do better, The problem was me I had to be a good kid, in order to stay. I was a good kid, very good grades, track star, had a job making fair money.
age 17
Went to college, partial scholarship for track. But I discovered pot, this was a whole new ball game. I felt free. I loved how it made me feel, I smoked a lot. Joined a Frat, I lived the movie Animal House. I was never really a joiner, I knew if people “found out who I really was” I would be banned from society.
age 19
Met my future wife Betsy. I felt like someone loved me, really for the first time in my life. But I knew if she found out who I really was ............
Moved in together over the objection of her parents. I wasn't doing well in school so dropped out got a job bar tending and paid our expenses. while she finished school.
age 23
Married Betsy, after she had finished school. I had a good job and we had lots of fun. drank a lot. But it was good.
age 24
The time was right, we were set up in good shape. I went back to school. half way thru first semester came home on a Tuesday night to find the table set for a nice dinner, Half away through dinner she told me that "we're pregnant". Rather a shock because we had agreed that No kids until I had finished school. She had quit the pill without telling me.
age 25
We had lost the home set up, because of the kid coming we were resident manger of a 85 unit apartment complex. And Betsy wanted Maternity leave. We sued and won but we were still out on our ass. Move to another city, I found a very good job. So things were looking good, Healthy son (Forrest). But the trust was gone. I started to drink more.
age 28
Katherine was born, again unplanned. Betsy refused to go back on the pill. I came home drunk and refused to use a condom.
age 29
Betsy and I seperated lots of reasons. My drinking a big one. there is a long story here. I moved in with a cousin, really started to drink and do drugs. Lost my good job from drinking.
age 29
After my Grandmother's death, and my father's offer. I moved to VA. I needed a fresh start and to get away from all the drinking and drugs. never really did drugs after that and cut way back on my drinking for a couple of years. I had two jobs while in VA both very good ones.
age 31
Met Michele, at work. She was coming off of an abusive relationship ; was living in a battered womens shelter. She moved in within a month. Things went well for about 3 months, then she started to do crack, it got to the point where I had to put her out, gave her the choice me or crack. made her stay away for three months. I felt used, she just wanted me for money She gave up crack and moved back in.
age 31-38
We lived in VA, both with jobs. It was a stormy relationship, getting drunk almost ever night.
There were a lot of police calls. But I thought bad love was better than no love, and this was the best I could get or deserved.
age 39
moved back to WI. To be near my children. Things went down hill from then. Michele wasn't happy, My good job turned out to be a pain, bad boss. I started to drink before work.
I quit that job and went to another but promptly lost it due to drinking.
age 40
my unemployment ran out and I “ committed suicide.”
Well enough for tonight. But hopefully you have a better idea of my story. My recovery is a story of over coming.


(Here, Kevin asked if it was ok for me to do this work for so little money, given my background. I told him “full speed ahead,” I believe in you.)


******************************************************

Good morning Letty:
I hope your belief isn't misplaced.
Well I'll get back to work, but just didn't have it in me the last couple of days. I was completely surprised my how much the writing I did on Sunday took out of me. I was just emotionally flat the last couple of days.
And St Pat's day was more than a little bit crazy. Have I told you I work in a Detox facility? And there are a lot of stories I could tell you about that place. Most of clients are brought in by police, for being incapacitated.But we do get those who want to get sober and stay that way.
My working there is like 40 hour per week AA meeting. Nothing about people being drunk is funny any more. One thing that has happened from my working there is that I sometimes talk to people at three in the morning, when they can't sleep and are open to new ideas. I tell them my story and the fact that staying sober in not easy, But the rewards are more than they would believe. When I tell them about rewards, I talk about a nice little apartment and half way decent car.
But the biggest reward is the way my kids look at me. They have both told me how very proud they are of me. I have a much better relationship with them I deserve. And for me, a very big reason to work there is, every now and then someone will pull me aside after a meeting and tell me " you know you helped me decide to take a real chance and try to stay sober" and then they thank me for talking to them. It makes up for a lot of cleaning up puke and piss and shit.
About month ago a guy stopped me coming out of a board meeting and asked if I remembered him. I had to be honest and say no, sorry. Then he asked if I remember talking to him at detox, Again I had to say I talk to a lot of people at work. He told me not to worry he knew I talked to a lot of people. He was up from Janesville WI a town about 40 miles away for a young peoples meeting at my home clubhouse. And had hoped he would run into me. I laughed and told nope I didn't do it you must have the wrong guy. He got a very serious look on his face and said I gave him the courage to try and deal with life head on, and quit hiding in a bottle. I had to tell him that I may have shown you that it is passable, but the courage is all yours. He laughed and told me that if anybody as fucked up as you were can come back I had a chance( a left handed complement if I ever here one).
He got serious and said no really he credits me with giving him the nerve to try. Well I had to look away for a second, I was choked up. And that if he wants to believe that, who am I to tell him nay. It doesn't really matter in the long run. I may have been the spark but we both know he did the work.
So he says I was hoping to find you and thank you, I told him he was welcome to any help I gave him, after all the twelfth step to carry the message, "Again I wanted to tell you that because tomorrow will be 18 months sober" I felt like I was ten feet tall. And maybe I really did help some one up on to his feet again.
As you know I took what I thought was my last breath, after the stabbing. And that my life is now gravy.

People have told me that God has a plan for me. I'm an agnostic, and so I'm not sure if that even that could be true. But I feel compelled to try and help. And that is why I want to do this book. If I somehow make a little money it can help me pay off old bills from my drinking days.
I hope you can some how get a readable story out of all this stuff I have been sending you.
It's time for me to call it a night.
Thanks for saying you believe in me. AJ always did And I was so happy I could call her up and not ask for money and tell I'm sorry about all the crap I put you through, and oh by the way I have been sober for a year today. I'm very thankful for that opportunity
Well nite nite Letty
Kevin

*******************************************************
Kevin finally got to the recovery story: Here’ s how he formatted it:


THE STEPS

Step 1 We admitted we were powerless over alcohol- that our lives had become unmanageable.

This step wasn’t really very hard for me at the end. I did take some convincing though. I tried three times to get sober, but I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. I was trying to keep a relationship intact, I tried for my family. The third time I tried to stay sober I made it 18 months. But I was living alone, working to many hours. I worked an odd shift, 11 am till 7-8 pm. I got lonely, I got tired, I stopped going to meetings because I was different from all of those people. I didn’t have a sponsor; I never really connected with anyone. The people I went through treatment with, all fell by the wayside. I really didn’t have any friends.
I made just about every mistake you can make and stay clean, not sober, for any length of time.
When I was finally committed to Detox for three months, I came to believe my drinking and life was out of control. When I came out of high school, my goal in life was not, homeless street drunk. I had given this living stuff my best shot, and ended up here, committed by family and doctors.
I decided that maybe I should take some advice and direction.

Step 2 Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Now this step gave me a lot of trouble until I straighten some things out in my mind. Like most new people I thought they were talking about GOD. I’m an agnostic, which I define as, The universe runs too smoothly to be a complete accident, But I KNOW I don’t know how it works and I really don’t think you do either. I don’t think any organized religion has THE right answer. In fact I find it very arrogant for anyone to claim they understand the will of God. I know my mind is incapable of that feat.
But I’m a practical type of person. I really like cause and effect. I have trouble with things based on faith.
But being a practical person I could see some cause and effect, especially when it hit me in the face. This time around I kept going to meetings; I started to listen to the similarities instead of the differences. I heard people telling how they had been feeling as bad as I did. And by quitting drinking and doing the steps they now had lives worth living.
Well I wanted some of that; I wanted to feel that life might be worth the effort. These people were smiling and laughing, what did they know that I didn’t. Because, at the time I did not want to live. I was giving this living crap one more try, because my daughter still wanted me to be her daddy. So these people knew something I didn’t, and I believe knowledge is power.
These people had more power than I did, that made them a power greater than me, and for the most part they seemed some what sane. Maybe they could restore me to sanity. You only have to hit me with a brick a few times before I get the message. I should listen and follow their advice; these crazy people seemed to care about each other. They didn’t ask you to earn their love and care. And that was a completely new idea, up until now I felt I had to earn everything, anyone “gave” me.
So I took the second step.

Step 3 Made the decision to turn or will and our lives over to God as we understood him.
Another hard step for me at first. God I didn’t understand at all. Just a couple of months ago I took my last breath. Everyone said I should not be alive, and I agreed. So why was I still alive, I had been stabbed in the chest thirteen times, I shouldn’t be. People kept telling me God had a plan for me, my will to live was stronger than my pain. There must be a reason God kept you alive. I just kept telling them, okay, maybe. I had no idea, and still don’t.
I settled the issue in my mind by giving up, trying to answer the question.
I decided to just go with the flow, and try and not worry if there was a greater plan for me. I decided to just keep trying to do the next right thing. And the next right thing can be all most anything. Early on it was getting up cleaning my self up, and doing what ever I was supposed to do. In treatment it meant going to groups and really trying to participate. To be honest with
the group and especially myself. It meant to go to meetings and really trying to share. It meant gong to my shrink and having the guts to really open up and let another human see who I really was. This was frightening; I had never really trusted anyone for as long as I could remember. But to give sobriety an honest try I had to do it. And in my book an honest try means giving it your best effort. When ever I was unsure as to what the next right thing was, I asked some people I trusted and felt knew what they were talking about.
When there was no one to ask, I would sit as quite as my mind would let me and try to listen to that little voice we all have in our heads. That voice our parents tried to instill in us. We know right from wrong, and if we really listen to that voice and try to do our best by ourselves and others, we don’t go to far wrong.
Now my whole recovery program can be stated in just a few words. I’m just a guy who is trying to do the next right thing. And if that little voice comes from God well fine, I don’t care I going to give this living stuff my best shot. I’m going to do the next right thing what ever that means at the time, especially when it come to others.

STEP 4 Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
This step is the hardest one of all. To really look at ourselves, to see honestly just who we are, and what we have done. To look in the mirror and drop your pretensions, to drop self-denial.
This was, and is, one of the most difficult things I have ever done. We all hold a self image that we will protect to the end. We see ourselves as good and kind people, who care about others. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps us going. Some of us also hold a self image that we are the worse people out there. That we are not good or kind, that we don’t deserve to be in the company of normal people. That we deserve all the bad stuff that happens to everyone. That we don’t deserve to be loved, our families pretend to love us because we’re family and they sort of have to. Otherwise they would just ignore us. And others love us because of the stuff we can do for them, we see people who are just out for number one. They will use anyone who comes near, and why should we be any different. We have to earn our keep, like everyone else, there are people who seem to be loved by everyone. People who seem to just cruse through life on a pink cloud, and oh how we wish to be one of them, but we know it’s just dream, that it could never happen to us.
We see people who profess love for someone, but when their backs are turned they jump on them with both feet. We see a lot of people like that; we know we aren’t worth love. So anyone who tells us,” I love you”, we know what they are saying that behind our backs.
But to make a true inventory, we have to look at everything, both good and the bad.
When I’m trying to explain it to someone, who’s about to start doing their fourth step. I liken it to cleaning out a garage. When you clean out a full garage, you don’t start in the corners, you start with the big crap in the middle of the floor. You drag all the stuff out into the light of day. And spread it out all over the driveway.
And then start to look at what you have, both good and bad. And you have to rank things by how important they really are, some of the bad stuff we have done seems huge, until you look at it in the light. And when you look at the good things about you, it’s not hard to find exceptions. “I never stole a thing in my life” well what about stealing your time and affection from others in your life, so you could indulge in your addiction? What about that candy bar when you were ten. What about your time from your employer, and those office supplies you needed at home?
When you look at the horrible things you have done. Really how bad were they. I know we have all done things we’re ashamed of, the way we treated others are among the worse. And some people have done some very nasty things, esp. in relation to their addiction. But why did we treat others so shabby? Was it fear, we do a lot of things out of fear. Fear that people won’t like us, so hurt them first, and make them keep their distance. Keep them at a distance, they won’t be able to see the real you and thus they won’t be able to hurt you.
How many times have you been untrue to yourself, how many times have you put up a false front, so people will like you. So you will fit in? How many times have you gone against what you feel is right.
You also need to look at the good things you have done. How many times have you helped someone out with out thinking about a reward? How many times have you done the right thing, because it is the right thing?
Have you ever stopped to help a child? Have you ever resisted the urge to do something when you know it’s wrong, even though you wouldn’t get caught?
After you looks at all the stuff, while trying to be as honest as you can. I think you’ll find that you’re a mixture of good and bad, no one is 100% good or bad. You need to look at the stuff and decide, what you would like to keep and what needs to get changed about yourself. Remember that you’re not perfect and never will be .Instead of telling yourself that you’ll never tell another lie, remember little white lies make the world run smoother. Being brutally honest can often hurt others. Tell you self I’ll try and never tell a lie that will hurt someone. I won’t lie cover the fact I’m human, and make mistakes. And most of all promise yourself to never lie to you. You can’t change anything about yourself if you’re not honest. Make it a habit you examining your motives for doing what you do. When you come in conflict with what you know to be right, take action.
You’re going to find you’re a mixture of good and bad. You’ll find things that need to be changed now, and others that you need to work on. Don’t be afraid to give yourself a pat on the back for some of the good things you do, of course don’t sprain you arm in so doing.
This whole exercise is about finding out the truth about you. You can’t plot a course for changing your life without knowing where you are. This step in very hard to do, but you must do it, without it you’ll never change, and we need to change in order to stay sober. I not referring to being clean, I mean sober, to living life on life’s terms. To deal with the world in a healthy and hopefully a happy way. Maybe even to find some joy in your life. It was one of the big things I wanted out of my sobriety, just a little joy once in a while. You remember that feeling when you were a little kid, where you were just so happy and excited that you just had to go out in the yard and jump around, it either that or burst. This is the step that starts you on the path to real change, up till now you have just indentified the problem and the fact you need help, and decided to seek help.

STEP 5 Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs


Notes on Michele
I met Michele in 1984. I first noticed her at work. I was a supervisor at a big factory. Michele was working in the department next to mine. The factory made many different types of seasonal products. I was making swimming pools, the ones blue ones with the cartoons inside, and her department made coolers and surfboards out of Styrofoam.
I had been recently been dumped, by another black woman. It seemed as if she was more interested in my money and what I could do for her and her child. When I moved form Wisconsin to Virginia, Child support lost track of me for a few months, so I had some extra income, temporarily. But when they caught up with me, which I knew was going to happen, her interest in me faded away quickly. I found myself very lonely and hurt; I didn’t understand what had happened until later.
Which brings me back to Michele; she worked in plain view of my department. She was a good looking black woman, about 5’ 7” around 135 pounds with coco colored skin, and use to wear these stretch jeans. There seemed to be a lot of bending and stretching involved in the operation of her machine. Before long I had a great deal of interest in just who she might be.
After watching for about three weeks I finally screwed up my courage to talk to her. There was some danger in this because it was the south and I was a supervisor. I at least wasn’t her supervisor. I made some silly comment about the hat she was wearing. I told her I liked it , I didn’t, but it did break the ice .We talked about nothing for about five minutes . I then asked if she would care to have a beer with me after work. So we drank a couple of beers in my car, I worked the evening shift and you couldn’t buy beer after work so I kept some in a cooler in my car. We seemed to hit it off.
I was so lonely that I just sort of dumped everything on her. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. I found out much later that my becoming interested in her was a well planned out maneuver. She had been trying to attract my attention. My dumping my sad sob story scared her at first. She later said, she thought I might be more than a little crazy. But when I didn’t do anything else crazy, she decided to give me another chance.
I found out about three dates into it that she was living in a battered women’s shelter. I can’t really remember just how it came about. But after about three weeks, I was helping her move into a real dump; it was furnished in early junk. We finished hauling her stuff into her new place, and retired to my place for the night. Some where in that night I said you should just move in here, that I really didn’t like the neighborhood and the condition of her place. Before I really knew what was happening she was all moved in. It seemed awful fast but things were moving fast in her life and she needed to get out of the shelter.
Things were really good for a little while; it was more than a bit like a honeymoon. But about a month later, things started to get strange. She had called into work saying she was sick. She wasn’t sick when I left,. I started work earlier than. she did.. When I got home that night my place was all torn up. Throw rugs pulled up, the cushions on the couch thrown about the room. I had no clue what had happened. She explained that she had called in to go out with some of her friends, and the room was torn up because she had been looking for an ear ring, and didn’t have time to put the place back together. I bought it, but it just didn’t set well. The next Thursday night she didn’t come home from work, she rolled in about 6 am. Saying she got hung up with the girls from work, they had gone to get their checks cashed and just lost track of time. I was mad because she could have called; I had worried most of the night. But she said all the right words and actions to make me believe she was sorry. I was unaware that she had no money the next week, it just didn’t register with me. Nothing else happened for a few weeks and I just forgot about the whole thing. Until she was again a no show at work on a Friday night. When I got home after work the house was tore up again. This time I didn’t see her until noon Sunday. I way beyond mad, She tried to tell me some cock and bull story, about not being able to get home or call. I refused to hear it. After much arguing and crying on her part she told me that she had started to smoke some crack with a woman she had met in the shelter, and got lost for the weekend. I asked her what the hell did she come home for now, she had run out of money. I couldn’t really understand this, I drank some beer and in the past smoked some dope, even did some coke. It was one of the reasons I had moved to Virginia I started to like coke too much. But the idea of keeping going until I was out of money, was new to me. After many promises to never do it again, and to some how make it up to me for all the worry she had put me through. I forgave her. And we made do with my money the next week.
Things went on smoothly for about a month. We came home from work, Michele had been quiet on the ride home, I thought it was just being tired, our jobs were very physical. When I got home the first thing I wanted was a shower. I jumped in the shower; Michele came into the shower to talk for a couple of minutes. When I got out of the shower and had dried off I went out into the living room, She was gone, just gone no note no nothing. I looked out the window and her car was gone. After a while I went to throw my clothes in the hamper, I found my wallet wasn’t in my pants. I found it on the night stand, empty. I was very angry and hurt. That money was for the rent and other bills, not to mention food. And she had promised me. This was before I knew anything about addicts, and the things they will do for their drug.
I didn’t seem her until late Sunday night. By that time I had made up my mind, even though I thought I loved her, I couldn’t have this. I told her she had to leave, to move out. She begged and pleaded, and promised, but my mind was made up. I really hated the idea of being alone again. That somehow it was my fault that this was t I deserved. I was scared that I would be alone forever, that no one would ever love me. But I couldn’t have this lying and stealing, it offended everything I felt two lovers meant. I told her she had until pay day to find somewhere to live. She kept pleading to stay. I softened up enough to tell her if she could stay completely clean for three months I would take her back.
She moved out the next Friday. I really hated to see her go, I felt bad for her, but I really felt bad for myself. I felt like she was my last and best chance for love.
She managed to stay straight for the three months, She made work everyday, and even signed up for some classes at the local tech school. We talked everyday at work. She kept telling me she was doing all of this to get me back, that she loved me more than crack Of course It was just what I wanted and needed to hear. She went to class during the day before work. And a couple times a week would come over to my place after work. We were not intimate and she went home to her own bed. After the three months and some, she moved back in, I was very happy and so was she. It was also the last time crack entered our lives for a long time. She kept up with her classes and became a legal secretary. Things were good for a long time.


This was Kevin’s last explanation of the events in his life which led up to the stabbing.
I asked for some information about his grandmother, whom he said earlier was a great influence in his life, and about his AA life. Here are the two things he wrote.

He was anxious to finish this project. Me, too. I wrote that I’d convert the text into Adobe which anyone could download and read. He could distribute it that way, or he could have it printed from the Adobe text.

In either case, I figured my part was pretty well finished. I prayed I’d done right by him. He was a real example to me. I had been much more a guide and compiler than we both expected; but I figured the result was pretty durn good.


Letty Linhart
February 28, 2010


THE STEPS

Step 1 We admitted we were powerless over alcohol- that our lives had become unmanageable.

This step wasn’t really very hard for me at the end. I did take some convincing though. I tried three times to get sober, but I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. I was trying to keep a relationship intact, I tried for my family. The third time I tried to stay sober I made it 18 months. But I was living alone, working to many hours. I worked an odd shift, 11 am till 7-8 pm. I got lonely, I got tired, I stopped going to meetings because I was different from all of those people. I didn’t have a sponsor; I never really connected with anyone. The people I went through treatment with, all fell by the wayside. I really didn’t have any friends.
I made just about every mistake you can make and stay clean, not sober, for any length of time.
When I was finally committed to Detox for three months, I came to believe my drinking and life was out of control. When I came out of high school, my goal in life was not, homeless street drunk. I had given this living stuff my best shot, and ended up here, committed by family and doctors.
I decided that maybe I should take some advice and direction.

Step 2 Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Now this step gave me a lot of trouble until I straightened some things out in my mind. Like most new people I thought they were talking about GOD. I’m an agnostic, which I define as, The universe runs too smoothly to be a complete accident, But I KNOW I don’t know how it works and I really don’t think you do either. And not just you, I don’t think any organized religion has THE right answer. In fact I find it very arrogant for anyone to claim they understand the will of God. I know my mind is incapable of that feat.
But I’m a practical type of person. I really like cause and effect. I have trouble with things based on faith.
But being a practical person I could see some cause and effect , especially when it hit me in the face. This time around I kept going to meetings; I started to listen to the similarities instead of the differences. I heard people telling how they had been feeling as bad as I did. And by quitting drinking and doing the steps they now had lives worth living.
Well I wanted some of that; I wanted to feel that life might be worth the effort. These people were smiling and laughing, what did they know that I didn’t. Because, at the time I did not want to live. I was giving this living crap one more try, because my daughter still wanted me to be her daddy. So these people knew something I didn’t, and I believe knowledge is power.
These people had more power than I did, that made them a power greater than me, and for the most part they seemed some what sane. Maybe they could restore me to sanity. You only have to hit me with a brick a few times before I get the message. I should listen and follow their advice; these crazy people seemed to care about each other. They didn’t ask you to earn their love and care. And that was a completely new idea, up until now I felt I had to earn everything, anyone “gave” me.
So I took the second step.

Step 3 Made the decision to turn or will and our lives over to God as we understood him.
Another hard step for me at first. God I didn’t understand at all. Just a couple of months ago I took my last breath. Everyone said I should not be alive, and I agreed. So why was I still alive, I had been stabbed in the chest thirteen times, I shouldn’t be. People kept telling me God had a plan for me, my will to live was stronger than my pain. There must be a reason God kept you alive. I just kept telling them, okay, maybe. I had no idea, and still don’t.
I settled the issue in my mind by giving up, trying to answer the question.
I decided to just go with the flow, and try and not worry if there was a greater plan for me. I decided to just keep trying to do the next right thing. And the next right thing and be all most anything. Early on it was getting up cleaning my self up, and doing what ever I was supposed to do. In treatment it meant going to groups and really trying to participate. To be honest with
the group and especially myself. It meant to go to meetings and really trying to share. It meant gong to my shrink and having the guts to really open up and let another human see who I really was. This was terrifying. I had never really trusted anyone for as long as I could remember. But to give sobriety an honest try I had to do it. And in my book an honest try means giving it your best effort. When ever I was unsure as to what the next right thing was, I asked some people I trusted and felt knew what they were talking about.
When there was no one to ask, I would sit as quite as my mind would let me and try to listen to that little voice we all have in our heads. That voice our parents tried to instill in us. We know right from wrong, and if we really listen to that voice and try to do our best by ourselves and others, we don’t go to far wrong.
Now my whole recovery program can be stated in just a few words. I’m just a guy who is trying to do the next right thing. And if that little voice comes from God well, fine, I don’t care. I am going to give this living stuff my best shot. I’m going to do the next right thing what ever that means at the time, especially when it come to others.

I was afraid that Kevin couldn’t give a sincere account of going through the steps of the AA program, a process I found essential. I was also afraid he was losing his momentum for this entire project. I expressed these notions, and he replied:


Hi Letty
No not at all, I very much want to continue. Have been very busy of late. I'll work on the rest of the steps and have something for you very soon. I have been asked to speak to 140 nursing students tomorrow am; that will be the biggest crowd yet.
I have been through all the steps Letty. I never really had a normal sponsor. I did have about four people I would ask for advice.
I did the fourth and fifth step with a shrink. It tool me a very long time to open up. but it was that or die. It took about a year after I sobered up to find a reason to live.
The511 Alano Society owns the building that the AA groups meet in. AA is not allowed to own property, so the Alano society holds the building in trust.
I was asked to be on the board for my people skills, I was a care taker at the club. I knew most everyone. At the next election I was reelected and voted VP.When the then President resigned, I became the Pres. And at the last election I was reelected. Not too bad for a homeless street drunk. The board sent me to a leadership conference, put on by a state wide organization for 12 step clubhouses state wide. They asked me a couple of months later if I would become part of the steering committee. So I'm also on that as well; we laid down the by-laws for the new Wisconsin association of 12 step clubhouses. They did ask if I might be interesting in running for that board, I turned that down in no time.
Well it's time for me to crawl in for the night, remember I work third shift.
Thanks again
Kevin

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