All of us are suffering through something, our childhood, addiction, my blog. I’ve been writing for over forty years; stand-up, plays, novels, songs, as well as teaching writing. In all of these mediums, I’ve conditioned myself to write, what was out there, in the real world. It’s always been hard for me to be honest and vulnerable, to do a deep dive, into my story. And for the life of me; I don’t know why. This is what this blog is about. Me, cannon balling into why I’m such a chicken shit.

I call this blog, “Dry Drunk,’ because I’ve been sober for 26 years and a few years ago, a family member, called me a dry drunk.

Two things. 1) A dry drunk is someone who’s sober but not going to meetings and finding a higher power. And yes, I don’t go to meetings.

2) In the last 26 years years, I’ve written two books, three plays, several songs and a ton of jokes; and a lot my chunks are about a higher power. The things Iisted, are my meetings. Creativity is how I’ve worked on myself. I’ve gone to one AA meeting in 26 years. Sorry I didn’t stop more often for coffee, to bitch about my alcoholism. And sorry for bitching in my blog.

So, here it goes. I was raised in a house, where you were taught one thing, how to survive, because you’re on your own. Ever notice that our parents did the best they could, when we look back from this moment? But we never saw it when we were kids? I don’t need to get into the graphic nightmares I lived through, because I lived through them. What doesn’t kill you. And my childhood isn’t an excuse. But I had to figure out life, by running from it, until I had answers. That’s the thing about trauma, for me anyway; I did everything not to feel my pain, alcohol, drugs and eventually, gut laughter.

Thank my higher power, laughter pulled me out of my freefall. A few days after 911, I was on a plane, going to perform in a comedy club in Vancouver. I was travelling with an Iraqi comedian, who ( I swear to God) had a medical condition, where his jaw was fused, so he couldn’t smile! I mean he looked like he hated everyone but, he was a great guy and hilarious. Passengers on the plane were glaring at him, like he brought down the towers! Flight attendants were sneering at him and the whole time, I’m stirring the pot, telling him, there sure lots of anger on this flight. Why’s it so quiet in our section? Don’t react when the flight attendant spills a coffee on you. And you better hold it, they look angry by the lavatory. My buddy was laughing hysterically, inside!

The moment was spontaneous and unplanned and whatever that flight energy was, I’ve moved into it, trying to learn to let go and be myself. When I was first got into stand-up and still had a day job, I worked with a backhoe operator (Ron) who’d play practical jokes on me, like the buzzer in the hand trick. Really? Or, once I was sitting in the office, with a bunch of co workers. I was sitting under a window and Ron asked me to close it. I reefed it closed and the large packet of cream Ron hid in the window, exploded into my face. And they laughed. Ron was always trying to be funny because he was hiding something. Just like I tried to be funny because I was hiding my childhood.

Ron was the first person to make me feel welcome, like I got to be myself and not try so hard to get others to like me. And that’s an effect of trauma, endless need for approval. And what ever the bond was we had, it got stronger. I became friends with his special needs son, with Down Syndrome. We talked wrestling and debated who the best WWF superstars were. I went to Ron’s house and watched pay per view wrestling with his son. Then Ron was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

I sat with Ron many times and told him because of him, I decided to go full time into stand up. Many years later, his daughter talked to me after a show and told me how much my friendship meant to her father. That’s a higher power working through us.

I love to write jokes and since I’ve been sober, I’ve slowly made the shift from ego to my eternal self, my heart, soul and spirit. And this shift has allowed me to be more honest. I was talking about the house I was raised in, the place where I learned to survive. I’m sure everyone’s heard the whole:

“Stop crying because! If you want something to cry about; I’ll give you, something to cry about!”

“What are you thinking? Another ten straps with your belt, getting thrown down the stairs or straight to the closed fists?”

I’m pretty sure, living, like the best I could hope for, was to cope, was the reason I couldn’t show much emotion in a relationship, or in public. I’ve been thinking, maybe the next funeral I go to, I’m going to ask them if they could please turn off Amazing Grace and turn to the widescreen and play, “The Fault in Our Stars?”

I’ve been around grief my whole life but I’ve bottled it up inside and have learned to deal with it through humor.

“What I’ve come to know is, grief is like a snake. I’m not sure what kind of snake, but the kind that sneaks up on you, when you least expect it! Unless of course, you’re grieving the loss of a child. Then it’s the snake with a rattle.”

There’s five stages of grief. Six, if you lost someone on a swing stage.”

“If you find it’s difficult to share emotion at a funeral, see if they’ll move the service into rush hour traffic.”