what follows is a series of threads i have posted recently in the member forum. i wanted to share them here because of the journey we are all sharing. they are my personal journal entries. it is a very long post, and for that i apologize, but to me, it had to be complete. there are disturbing and possibly triggering images so please read cautiously if need be.

journey ever well,



If I had no one to live for, I had no knowledge of how to live…for it was always drummed into me that I was only there for someone else. How could I live for a self that was never known to be?


The above entry was an insight I had at work that I could only jot down as a quick note to come back to later…which, in time, I did. I just now came back to the above note as I was going through my driver logbook.


In the end, I survived the only way I could. In ignorance, the drug of choice turned out to be the most dangerous one to quit, alcohol. But in retrospect, it was the only one readily available. After losing everything through no fault of my own I had no way of coping other than the oblivion of alcohol. Looking back, I know that without the alcohol, I would not have survived because there was nothing I could turn to help me get through the devastation of losing all I loved. How could I have faced the terrors of isolation and abandonment when everything that gave me strength as I knew it was ripped away?

The night so long ago when I was going to take my life, I was stone cold sober. Under the influence of nothing more than my own despair and loss of self. There was nothing to live for, even though my family was all in the living room for Thanksgiving. I walked through the small crowd of the children, my nieces and nephews, my sister, and the one who gave me birth, without a word and slowly walked out the door.

The night of the miracle of my Father’s intervention, when he once more came to me. I still could not face the night alone, in sobriety and terror. Just one more day of mere survival till I could find some other road to my redemption. The alcohol was my holding pattern, the way of getting through the night alone. I was never known to be a stupid man. I knew alcohol was not the answer…it was a crutch, the only one I believed I had to survive one more night alone, where the terror could not touch me because I was gone.

The alcohol kept me barely functional for six of the past eight years. Without it, I would have died for I had no other perceivable coping strategy. During my waking state, I would just go through the motions of daily living, till the night rolled around and my next bottle. Trying not to think of the pain and desolation of the isolation of losing all I had loved for what had been my fault simply for being the man I was. The three-year-old boy was left in the dark to be sodomized by the only one who could have protected him. I never forgot that, deep down. I carried that belief of being worthless. When even my own mother would walk away to let her husband rape her young son…what worth could I have?

When Gina left me…she cited many things that constituted the man I was as being reasons for her leaving. The very things that defined the man I was trying to be were the reasons she quoted for her departure. How could I find solace in my adopted faith when that adopted faith was for the benefit of the family I was trying to build with the one I loved? How could I find strength in the man I tried to be when those very qualities were what drove her away?

I was trying to survive until I could once again stand as a man and find strength to face the terrors as the man I wanted to be. I could only do it in the bottle. Sobriety without good alternatives for facing the isolation and the terrors that I could see would have meant my death for I could not deal with it sober. The pain, loneliness, and loss of self were too much to carry in sobriety.

Eight long years. Eight years of dealing with trauma that repeatedly happened from ages three to early adolescence through alcohol when alone. It was Gina’s betrayal and abandonment that started the road to recovery of what had long been buried. The road poorly traveled, yet one still survived. Questions I could not face at the time…why would those I love simply throw me away like so much trash? I had to be trash to be discarded so easily. Eight years to finally begin to find the man I have always been…the innocent boy and the man I was, and am. Eight years to finally be able to start the journey of embracing both. Eight years of finally finding a road I can begin to traverse, sober, even with the terrors of the night and its loneliness.

I still fight those>
journey well,
theo dewolfe

- It is gift, and gift will find its way
- I inherit through my choice. I build through my affirmation. It is through my freedom that I nurture, or fade into autonomy
- I was not given to serve life, but to embrace it