You sending the wolf? Sheeet negro that's all you had to say!

Smart resourceful people don't give their respect, submission, loyalty and allegiance lightly.  That's what recovery requires...basically absolute surrender.  Turning your will and your life over.   And that's shit that's hard to do for guys like me who have been on their own and on the run from themselves all their lives.

It's a recent revelation that I'm not really a loner.  I  am actually, at my core, a pack animal.  And while I'm okay on my own for the most part when shit gets real I want to be part of the pack.  I do better in a group and I don't want to lead it... I want somebody much better than me to lead it.  I want to tuck in behind somebody insanely confident and competent... I want King Leonidas.  

 I want  Gunnery Sergeant Hartman. 

I want the Wolf who should be there directly.

The leader of the pack... 

That's how I stayed clean before.  Just dumb luck I found someone I could follow, someone I could trust someone who had what I wanted and had STANDING.   Someone who was walking the walk everyday.  

This was his license plate it was mine for a few years too I worked for him and inherited his car as my company car I surrendered to the program because I believed in him.  RIP Kevin A.

I had to believe in this guy really believe in him.  And that's not an easy thing for me. But I did it.  And I stayed clean for nearly seven years.

I think the reason it's so hard for me to trust is I had a destructive role model growing up.  The "leader" of my pack, my father, let me know he thought I was a worthless piece of shit from the time I was a toddler.

So I had no trust of authority I never believed anyone had my best interest at heart.  Every adult was going to turn on me.  So I just found ways to avoid criticism or I fought back whenever I realized I was smarter than the person that was criticizing me, which was often.

 My friends in junior high and high school used to say "Skip... make someone cry" and I could so I did.  Hurt people, hurt people.

So I was hard to teach, hard to coach.  But I was smart so I didn't need a lot of teaching or a lot of coaching to get by.

Mostly I could just show up and get by in almost any situation.  I was outsmarting and talking circles around my teachers from about second grade on.  They learned pretty quickly just to leave me alone... it wasn't worth it to poke the bear.

So when things got real and I needed help.... I needed to trust somebody, needed someone to show me what to do, I was fucked.

 I hadn't learned how to accept help or follow someone's instructions or follow the rules.   Hell I'd been making my own rules since the time I was about 7 years old.

Thank God Drill sergeants are absolutely Larger than Life.   They eat lightning and crap thunder they are awesome sauce personified.  I trusted them implicitly instantly.  And they never steered me wrong.  They are without a doubt the only reason I got through the army with an honorable discharge.   It would have been a disaster if there had been some half-assed non commissioned officers running the show.  Thank you sergeant first class Bledsoe Wherever You Are  oooh rah!

But I haven't found a Sergeant Hartman, King Leonidas or a Mr Wolf here in New Orleans to take charge of my pack and lead me.  All I found so far is a bunch of whining recovery karaoke singers regurgitating what they've heard someone else say in a meeting.  But to be fair I haven't looked very hard.

So if I want to survive the rest of my life, put an end to my suffering, be a father to my son and live happy joyous and free I have to find my pack.  I have to find my Mr Wolf.  My leader.   Maybe someday I can be Mr Wolf but not today.

On a personal note I think I found my leader for now.   He is a big swinging dick of recovery.  That is to say if his recovery were his dick his dick would have a blue ox named Babe.

He lives a little far away but we both have a phone and Spirit Airlines flies round trip for $109.

Did I mention he has a big recovery dick?  His recovery dick is so big when he flies his recovery dick has to take the train.

I could literally go on for 20 pages with the big recovery dick jokes....

But as he ( my temporary sponsor with the huge recovery dick) today pointed out I don't need to look further for the leader of my pack then the 12 Steps hanging on the wall in every meeting.  They have standing, they're tried and battle tested. After all it's the program that leads us.  And NA's recovery dick is so big...

Note to frequent readers:  I know I promised a Cheech and Chong song and it's coming this just came out first.  When it comes up it's got to come out.  SG