Not Yet Sleepy

So much
hidden in shadows
for so very long
now radiant
resplendent
in the full
light of day.

Please Read

Some of you know, some of you may not, my dear friend, actress, activist and recovering addict/alcoholic Kristen Johnston, is tirelessly working towards the creation of NYC's first sober high school through her organization SLAM (Sobriety Learning and Motivation).  This is a cause that is near and dear to my heart. SLAM is currently taking this campaign directly to the new Chancellor of NYC schools, Ms. Carmen Fariña, with a letter-writing campaign.  The following is the text of the the letter I will be sending.

Dear Chancellor Carmen Fariña:

My name is Kari. My brother's name was Jeff Feldman. I write “was” because on December 21, 2012, my mother came home from work to find Jeff lying on the bathroom floor, in a pool of his own blood, dead. An autopsy later confirmed what we already suspected. Jeff died of acute pancreatitis as a result of 20+ years of alcoholism and addiction. He was 36.

It breaks my heart when I recall Jeff approaching my parents and I, at age 15, to admit, for the first time, that he suspected that he had “a problem with drinking.” He, like I, like our mother, grew up in Carle Place, New York, a Long Island town of one square mile, home of what was the second smallest public high school on Long Island. I suppose there were perks to graduating in a class of 98 students, as I did in 1991, but there were also many drawbacks, one of which was the inability to reinvent oneself. Once you were pegged a “burnout”, as my brother was in high school, it was virtually impossible to escape that classification. You know the type, the kid who could often be found under the bleachers on the athletic field, drinking or smoking cigarettes or pot. Yeah, Jeff was that kid, as were many others.

At 15, there was still time. I shudder to think that a sober high school could have saved my brother's life. At 15, he wanted to get help, was ready and willing to work a program. The only thing was, there was only so much he could do in such a sheltered and small (in many ways) environment. Despite his best efforts and MANY attempts to detox and get rehab over the years (especially with my parents' limited resources and the very limited resources offered to him by the state of New York), he could not be saved. A sober high school could have made ALL the difference. The problem is, New York doesn't have any.

A school like SLAM could have saved Jeff Feldman. It could have saved his father, Doug, deceased since 1999, the heartbreak of seeing his son struggle for so many years. It could have spared his mother, Kathy, the devastation of finding her dead son in a pool of blood, despite all of her attempts to save him over the course of 20 years. It could have saved his sister, Kari, me, the pain of writing this letter to you right now, the years of guilt and misery caused by “would have, could have, should haves” and the ultimate realization that there was NOTHING I could have done differently that would have saved my only brother, my only sibling. A school like SLAM WILL save countless lives, not only those of the addicts themselves but their families, friends and loved ones. A school like SLAM MUST be a reality.

Thank you for your time and consideration. On behalf of all addict's families, I offer my heartfelt plea that this school becomes a priority for you like it is for so many others, like myself, dedicated to seeing this plague of addiction stop stealing away so many souls desperate for help.

Respectfully,

Jeff's sister, Kari Murphy

If you are an addict/alcoholic, love one or even know one (which you do if you are reading this post, my brother, Jeff), please help.  Send your letter to:
SLAM
332 Bleecker Street
New York, NY, 10014
** att: "SLAM letter campaign" on envelope***

Address the letter to either Ms. Carmen Fariña, the brand new Chancellor, or simply to NYC's Board Of Education.

Letters MUST be received by SLAM no later than February 1.

For more information about SLAM, please click HERE to visit their website.

From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for reading this and thank you for taking part.  Please pass this message on to your friends and family.

With love,
Kari

New Year, New Outlook

New year, new outlook (or rather, a new determination to embrace a healthier outlook).  Hold the ones you love close, cherish them, every minute of every day.  Release the ones who no longer make you feel like your best self.  Life is too short to live in regret and self-condemnation.

Sometimes, people grow apart.  Not everyone is going to like you forever or at all (in fact, most people won't).  That is okay.  It doesn't mean that there is anything wrong with you or them.  It just means that you are meant for different things.  Be grateful for the time you had together, wish them well in their journeys and continue yours, head held high, knowing that countless adventures await you.

Love yourself, the good, the bad and everything in between.  There is only one you in the entire course of history and there only ever will be. That's pretty damn special, don't you think?

No Shame

Because I am desperately trying to live above and beyond the shame spiral in which I have dwelled for most of my life, I am about to share something with all of you.  I am deeply disappointed in myself (which, I suppose, isn't much different being ashamed but I'll allow myself this, for now).  I really truly HATE quantifying weight based on a number on a scale but, such is life, and I'm going to do it.  I currently weigh 175 pounds.  Thud.  I am 5'6" (and, depending on the day, I'm told, 1/2, so I'll grant myself that as well).  If I felt good, was healthy and fit clothes well at 175, I truly believe I'd be okay with it.  But I, most definitely, do not.  I not only look but FEEL overweight, for me.

I have gained at least 10 pounds since being back in New York, if not 15, and I am not pleased about it.  I literally just tried on every pair of pants I own and put each pair that doesn't currently fit in my hall closet, which is good, in a way.  I fully believe that I WILL fit into them again.  I am not just going to sit around and bitch and moan and drown my sorrows in chips and chocolate the way I usually do.  (Gee, sensing a pattern here?  I sure am.) I despise exercise but I will figure out something I can tolerate, even if it's walking the chilly Long Island winter streets.

That is the key here.  I am going to change something I can.  Everyone, every last one of us, can put the Serenity Prayer into action in our daily lives and damn it, that is what I intend to do.  It startles me how relevant those words are to each human being on the planet, whether one is in recovery of some sort or not.

So, despite my gloomy beginning, I want to end this post on an uplifting note.  I CAN and WILL change my weight.  I WILL fit into those pants again, if not a smaller size.  I am not going to beat myself up about this (more than the little bit I already have, taunting myself aloud as each pair of pants went into the hall closet).  I am going to CHANGE.

I feel lighter already.

December

Rough time for me, December. It's hard to remember a time when December simply meant snow and vacation and Christmas and presents and my family the way I used to perceive it. Now there are so many more associations, new ones that have virtually obliterated the former.

I kind of dread December now and I hate that it has to be this way. I want to go back to that innocent carefree time it was in my youth. Although honestly, was it really so carefree? The more I ponder, the more I recall stressing myself out for most (if not all) of Christmas break about one term paper or another or whose house I'd be going to for Christmas dinner that year.

Of course, in retrospect, those were minuscule worries compared to the ones I face now like how will I get my mother through this, only her second Christmas without her son. He died on December 21st, Mom barely had time for it to register last year. Now, there is nothing but time for the reality to sink in. Then there's December 28, the fourteenth anniversary of my father's death, from which my mom has moved on in no way whatsoever.  This will be the first Christmas we have spent together since 2003 so it will be interesting, to say the least.

Rough time for me, December. I guess now I just wait and see.

Truth

I'm learning, albeit slowly, that the fact that not everyone in the world likes me is not only acceptable but kind of a gift. I mean, after all, it's not like I like everyone I encounter, far from it. I've become far more selective over the years about who I want in my life and I've decided that keeping my circle small is not only advisable but necessary to my overall well-being.

That being said, far worse than not being liked is being patronized by people who clearly have issues with me but lack the balls to address them. I can empathize with this plight to a degree because for most of my life, I lacked the courage to engage in much conflict and simply bit my tongue to avoid such. However, now that I've evolved into a self-loving (okay, not quite, not always) or at least a self-liking rather than self-loathing individual, I realize what a true disservice it is not only to me but to the other person to dance around that elephant in the room rather than engage in an honest discourse about our true feelings.

So, the point is, like me, hate me or anything above, below, or in between but please, whatever you feel, be fucking honest about it.

Safe

Wow. Clearly, blogging has not been a priority for me for quite some time. However, the lack of recorded musings does not stem from a lack of thought. My mind races at a hundred (thousand) miles per second, even when I wish it wouldn't (which is most of the time).

I'm well-acquainted with insomnia and I was long before I began taking new depression meds in August, (a story for another day, perhaps,) due to my unquiet mind.  Hell, here I am at 11:30 at night, knowing that my near-constant stream of thought will keep my mind unsettled for some time to come.

I kind of wish I could think a bit less but such is the lot of being me. Well, one aspect of being me. I'm learning, more each day, that we all have a myriad of dimensions, light and shadings, unique to ourselves and seemingly in constant evolution. I'm also learning that this is decidedly okay.

So, rest assured, dear readers (if there are any of you out there) that I am well, better than well, actually. I am pensive and introspective and bemused and 109 other things at any given moment (including this one) and that includes safe. I am safe in my home, in my bed, in my heart and in my head and right now, that is all I need to be.