First day of 2025. It’s a Wednesday. Today is a Wednesday. The first Wednesday of the next 365 days on Earth.

Yesterday during a support meeting someone shared about writing a personal behavior inventory. That speaker talked about the loneliness and isolation they felt early on in their addiction recovery. That share reminded me of a couple of things: the loneliness I felt during most of my life and, how much I’ve changed over my lifetime. The thought that came while the speaker was sharing was this: What was the story I wrote about myself early on that led to that feeling of loneliness and isolation in my late thirties?

My life was fiction. I made it up as I went along and eventually I believed it. The marijuana and the beer helped a lot, as a coping mechanism, a social lubricant, and a way to believe the stories I told. I never wanted anyone to know the truth about the house I lived in, the fear we felt or the helplessness we experienced. I experienced. So I made up a new, powerful version of myself. All my stories, that truly ended in tragedy or heartache were transformed into epics where I was the hero. I said the things I was thinking to the people who needed to hear them. I kicked the asses. I fired the weapons. I had the best adventures. And it was all fiction. Well, most all of it.

I did steal a car when I was fifteen. In fact, I stole that car twice. (That’s not actually true, stealing the same car twice. I meant to steal it a second time – I still had the key from the first time – but we got picked up for breaking curfew before we could go get the car.)

I ran away a handful of times and put my trust in people who couldn’t be trusted.

I brawled once with my stepbrother in our garage on a day when we’d both had quite enough of what our parents were modeling as appropriate behavior. The fight came to a draw and we both felt a lot better. Afterward we went back into the house to play a board game.

The point to this post is this: I made up my life to impress you and to protect me. And when I experienced that loneliness, that isolation, that LACK of connection, I realized yesterday, sitting in that room, that I created that. How COULD you know me? Everything you thought you knew about me was a lie. I didn’t know who I really was. How could I expect to connect with anyone?

I spent that first year of my sobriety trying everything that I knew I’d once enjoyed. I tried cross stitch and crossword puzzles, and regular puzzles; painting and card making and photography. I read more. I discarded the things that no longer lit me up. And I did more of the things that I enjoyed.

I also learned how to make friends and discern real friends from folks who were still working an angle.

Over a decade I uncovered all the stories I’d told that I’d enhanced to shed me in a beautiful, badass light – like when I told people that in high school I kicked the asses of these two guys who spit on my friend’s sister because she was different, awkward, not outwardly attractive – factually, there WERE two guys, and they DID spit on my friend’s sister, but I did nothing, and I suppose I wish I had, so I told the story differently. So many little lies like that, so many tweaks, that I had to correct within myself, share with those who understood, so I wouldn’t have to carry that crap around anymore. I still run scenarios in my head about what I could have said to sound brave or courageous or cool, and sometimes when I tell people the first part of a story, the true part, I also tell them how I wish I’d responded, followed by, “but that was just what I thought. I didn’t actually say it.”

I’ve learned how to say what I need to say, to stand up for myself and others, without being mean or shaming or demeaning to others. I live a non-fiction life now. It not nearly as exciting sounding, but it is real.

When you talk to me today, you’re gonna get ME. You can take it or leave it, and I hope you’ll realize I’m a work in constant, never-ending progress. And if I do slip and tell a tale, I will correct it most likely before I even finish telling it.

That’s about it for today.

Oh, before I go: Last week SIX people “liked” my post “Depression, Grief and Holidays” which is more than the week before so I want to acknowledge them here: Storyshucker, Inner Peace, Object Relations, Tiny Hearts, Coach Esther, and Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha. Check them out and share the love!

Thanks for the read! See you when another idea strikes me.