Rock Bottom

I had life by the balls, and I fucked it up. I had a great wife, great kids, even great dogs. I had a thriving dental practice in the same town that lived. I had respect. I didn't do drugs, until around my 40th birthday that is. Retrospectively I drank too much. I'm not sure if I was born into the disease of addiction or if life took a few turns in the wrong direction and molded me into who I am. When analyzing my life I can pinpoint two traumatic events in my early years that veered me down the path to self destruction: 1. My high school vice principal (a man) propositioning me after my parents divorce and subsequent depression. 2. My fraternity house burning down in college and being the last one to see my dear friend Doug alive. They both have haunted me for years, and it wasn't until recently that I truly understood why. Understanding the "why" has helped me heal, but it was a long and painful road to get here. Initially, and immediately afterwards, my mindset changed. I had an air of indifference to life. I drove people crazy, especially my ex-wife, by saying "I could get hit by a bus tomorrow and die." I was filled with resentment. I resented my high school vice principal, I resented the fire department that wouldn't listen to me as I attempted to tell them where to focus their efforts. I began to resent authority and anyone I felt had crossed me. I didn't realize it until now but I resented myself for allowing myself to be in these situations. This was the most harmful of my resentments. Especially because I didn't realize it's existence. Holding on to feelings like these is an extremely unhealthy way to live, but I did so for the majority of my life. Why would someone who has tasted the benefits of success shoot himself in the foot so many times? I couldn't figure it out for years, nobody could; or maybe they did, and I just refused to listen.

Here's the weird thing: I felt better first and realized why afterwards. I knew I felt better after accepting me for me. Yet when questioned why I felt better, especially considering all that I had lost, I was unable to pinpoint it. I was/am happier than I should be and truly had only a faint idea of why. Is it the chicken or the egg? Does it really matter? Life is a puzzle and it doesn't matter what order the pieces go in, what matters is putting the pieces together.

Now this is going to sound self promotional, but it is true and one of the many reasons that I love my workout: My time is spent when I'm walking in between sets thinking about my failures in the past, my goals for today, and how I can work on my shortcomings in order to be a better version of myself. The other morning it hit me like a lightning bolt. I'm quite certain I lost an accurate count of my pushups, a common casualty of my self analysis. But I came to this conclusion: I blamed myself for getting depressed enough that a predator thought he could take advantage of me. I hated myself for being weak, and consequently put up a shield of defense built on self loathing. I was wrong to do so. People have their ups and downs, it's normal. It wasn't my fault that a sick individual thought he could benefit his warped mind at the expense of my depression, yet for years I subconsciously felt it was. My sour feelings with regards to my parents divorce were normal. My vice principal's feelings toward me were anything but normal.

At the same time I recognized that my second trauma had been relieved in a similar fashion. I had spent more than my fair share of living life resenting the firemen and police that had beat me nearly unconscious as I frantically attempted to tell them how to do their jobs. But what if they did so in order to prevent me from entering the inferno and facing certain death myself? I secretly resented myself for not staying longer with him and his girlfriend and for not conveying my message to the authorities. A survivor's guilt of a sort. I was a human powder keg with a lit fuse. Albeit a slow burning one, lit nonetheless. This was all concealed by my drive to power on. I was "thugging it out" prior to even knowing it was a thing. When it comes to the body, being a thug is an acceptable short term solution. When it comes to the mind, being a thug is no way to live. It blocks the healing process and serves to bury your feelings in a very unhealthy manner. It serves to create a very self destructive person.

I've heard the expression "I had/have a me problem" before but never really understood it until now. I did have a me problem. I was uncomfortable with myself and almost everything that came with me and quite frankly didn't really even know it. As a result of this insecurity my actions and emotions could be quite impulsive and come out sideways. The alcohol and drugs provided an avenue for me to escape from myself rather than face the reality of who I had become. The ascent from my rock bottom began with finally accepting myself for who I am and realizing, like everyone else, there are consequences to my actions. Something I had neglected to recognize in the past.

You see, consequences meant very little to me, because I truly believed that I might die the day after next. I lived life on my terms, not as a "normal" person does, which is on life's terms. I now understand how selfish this was for me to think that I might live and not die. Not only do I have to face the consequences of my actions, but my loved ones have to face them as well. My poor kids. I put them through the ringer with this whole shit show, and hopefully the damage I caused is not beyond repair. They did not deserve to be saddled with the consequences of my actions, in fact nobody but I did. I love my children more than words can express, and hope nothing but the best for them. They do not deserve the pain I caused them.

This whole ordeal is on me. However anyone else chooses to deal with with the situation is up to them and they are correct in however they choose to move on with their lives. Consequences. I finally realize they apply to me.

I didn't choose to become an addict but I DID choose to do drugs. This is the worst choice I've ever made in my half century of existence.

"Look Back At It"

I've never been the best at saying no. Circumventing my 40th year, two things happened: I was offered an oxycodone 30mg tab on a golf course by a "friend" (Kevin Baker), and I was offered some cocaine by another group of "friends." Both of these events opened doors I will never be able to close. Kevin knew exactly what he was doing. A week later he showed up at my house for the first time and over a beer he asked/stated, "You can prescribe those things Doc, I have chronic back pain." I responded "Yes, but I don't want to go to Jail." If I only knew then what I know now.

Being a people pleaser to a fault I said, "Yes, but we need to be careful." Kevin agreed in word only and my descent to hell began. You see, once you do it once you're fucked because they can tell on you; and that fear along with my growing taste for opioids only increased.

I didn't appreciate the responsibility I had as a prescriber. Family and friends tend to come to you for favors; antibiotics for a friend of my wife with a UTI who didn't want to bother her OB/GYN but thought nothing of bothering me, steroid dose packs for a neighbor with wicked bad poison ivy, etc. All of these weren't within my scope as a dentist and seemed harmless enough, but I should have known better. I should've said no. It's a slippery slope.

The next thing you know, your "friend" that you prescribed Oxycodone for his chronic back pain is robbing banks to pay back the money he owes you, that you gave him so they wouldn't cut the power at his house. As he flees the police and drops some "hot" money in your mailbox he then texts you "the money is in place." Thanks for leaving a trail of breadcrumbs Kevin!

The article in the Hartford Courant with regards to my sentencing sums it up best. The last line reads, "Kevin Baker told police Delaney was his source of narcotics." My prescriptions to him were more of a patch if he ran out of money and showed up dopesick in my office. But those prescriptions added up over time. And his "backpain" was not within my scope as a dentist. My staff became uneasy at his presence and the easiest way to move him out of the office was to write a script (and give him money for the copay). Hell, I even knocked off the charges on his wife's dental bill!

I'm no saint. What I did was wrong. Way wrong. I didn't realize the full extent of just how illegal and wrong until I was well into my incarceration. I guess I'm a slow learner. I should've said no on that golf course. It's a day I can never take back no matter how hard I wish I could. This whole thing is on me. The prosecutor and judges had an attitude of "You should've known better" and as much as I detested their feelings, I SHOULD have known better. They were right. I SHOULD HAVE SAID NO.

I had no idea he was robbing banks. Hell, if I was his source of narcotics, why would he need to rob banks? That's a question for another day. I do remember the day I saw his face on the news like it was yesterday. I was outside playing with my kids in the snow when I heard a blood curdling scream from my wife, who was happily enjoying the warmth of our house. I thought there must be an intruder or one of the dogs got injured. But it was Kevin on TV. Life was soon gonna have me by the balls, and considering the poor choices I made, I guess I deserved it. My family did not. I can never apologize enough.