I woke up one day and realized I was never going to continue to live if I kept up what I was doing. My grandfather died of a heart attack when he was 45. That was nine years away for me and I was choosing that fate and welcoming it. I had out slept my kids for the first time since they entered the world and felt terrible about it. I had been pulling 20 hour work days and sometimes longer to keep my business momentum booming. I was counting solely on Carrie, my daycare/”nanny” to do the parenting of my children and was now relying on my prescription of Amphetamine Salts and massive amounts of “fake energy,” to push me through the grind of my responsibilities. On top of all that, it was much, much worse. I was overweight from years of consuming too much high sugar soft drinks, energy drinks and eating massive amounts of processed foods along with my children. If they were eating chicken nuggets, so was I. If they wanted McDonalds, that’s what I was eating.
The day before the “crash,” my son had begged me to hold him. And I couldn’t find the energy to do it. From five thirty to nine thirty I laid on a couch nearly unable to move. My life was over and my kids’ life was being compromised for my bad choices and all I could do was lay there letting the television babysit them for the first time in 4 years.
Sure, I was doing what not many fathers in the world are able to do and that is juggle being a single father and a business owner. In between jobs, edits, I was remembering to to buy gifts for birthday parties, go to the grocery store, clean their clothes, get them haircuts, coach their ball teams and do all the other little things that sometimes are missed when life is so chaotic. I was making enough money to pay the bills and give the kids whatever they needed without batting an eye, (even sometimes pay the ex-wife’s bills.) I was somehow managing it all which made me proud, but I had forgotten the big picture. The big picture of actually “being there,” mentally.
When my wife and I split, I broke the chains of negativity, constrain and a compromised life and my business blew up in front of my face and it never slowed down even as I did trying to keep up. My health was bad before success. My wife smoked. In fact, smoked through both pregnancies. I was a closet smoker. I hated it. Always did even before I realized how hard it was to kick. A heroin addict once said, “it was easier to kick heroin than it is to kick nicotine.” I have never done heroin but coming from a guy who has said, “addiction is not a sickness. It is mind game,” or a guy who practices, “there are no excuses only laziness,” I had become a hippocrite and had lost my battle with my fight on kicking cigarettes. I would lie to everybody. “No, I’m not smoking,” but I did. There were days I would buy a pack and smoke them all. There were days where I would just bum one on set here and there. My vice wasn’t consistent. It would just happen and if I didn’t smoke when my mind said smoke, I would sweat, crave and obsess about having one. The only times I never thought about it was when the kids were around. I would never, ever, smoke in front of my father or my kids. It was just something I didn’t do. Why? Because I was so ashamed that it was the only thing I couldn’t control or be strong enough to fix in my life. With every time, I vowed to quit would come another prescription to Adderall for a big edit, or a Red Bull buzz that would allow me to “postpone” quitting. I was a mess and as work got busier and busier, my habits worsened, and I was so wrapped up in the action and “awe” of what I had built, I never saw nor felt it until I decided to complicate my life even further.....
Life took a turn for the worse upon returning from New York from a 10 day stint. I had spent all 10 days sleep deprived but managed to stay away from fatty foods and energy drinks. I purposely left my prescription at home to keep me from relying on it and somehow managed to feel great the whole time. Maybe the aura of being in NYC was enough to make it work, I don’t know.
Upon returning, the hustle began. I got blitzed with work. Small jobs, but quanity over quality had suddenly entered my train of thought. Through all these, I decided to not only take on two big jobs, but become a boyfriend to a girl. The plan was to have all the jobs done by Football season and kick back. Well, that was hard to do when I continued to pick up every job that was put in front of my face. There were points where I didn’t eat because “I felt I didn’t have time.” When the kids weren’t there, I would eat one meal a day and it was Burger King, occasionally treating myself to my favorite Thai restaurant. In between it was 2 liters of Coca Cola, Adderall, Red Bulls, 8 Hour Energy pills, 5 hour Energy shooters, sunflower seeds, chewing tobacco and cigarettes. Some days when the kids weren’t there, I would down two 24 oz Bud Lights just to be able to sleep from all the stimulation I had served myself through out the day in order to sit in front of the computer and edit.
My work was complicated. I acquired half of the cost upfront which normally would go to pay my people, buy the equipment we needed and then the other half would be paid to me upon completion. I paid myself out of the completion money. If I didn’t get the job done in a timely manner, I would go broke. And about a week before the football season started, I realized just how bad a hole I had dug myself in. I had seven open jobs that were not complete. I was out of money due to paying out my debts, extra child care, and honestly blown money from eating out, buying smokes, four dollar red bulls etc..... I was so tired that I just threw money at every problem I had. There was no way to stop it. When the kids were with their mother, I would work all day. Then take the work to the girlfriend’s and would just keep going. Then I would come home and do it some more and never realized that it was taking me twice as long to do everything because I was so mentally and physically exhausted. When the kids were there, it was “try to be Dad,” but there were days where I literally found myself, “just trying to get through the day.” As soon as I put them to bed, I was back at it until 2am and repeat the process. This would go on for weeks at a time and with every passing day, there would be more ingesting of stimulants, caffeine, crappy food. My body was shutting down. My muscles were quitting and the worst part of it, my brain had stopped working. I stopped answering the phone, stopped showering when the kids weren’t there. I would sleep in my edit chair some nights. Kids would come back a couple days later and I would try and go right back into Dad mode but it didn’t work. It would take me at least three days to recover from the work binge. I would have to do laundry and wear the “Dad Pants” and play catch up while the kids just wanted to play and hang out with their Dad. I remember one night being so tired, I put the kids in the car after dinner to go to the store for “ice cream,” but it was really so I could get a Red Bull and a pack of Goody powders. I didn’t have a headache, I just wanted the quick release of caffeine Goody’s gives you when you stick it on your tongue. I was up til 4am because of the stunt but to me, it got me through the night with the kids. There were nights I would hang with the girlfriend and it would be exhausting to crack a smile. A couple months earlier, our faces and stomachs would hurt from lauging and having a good time. Now, it was hard to strike up a conversation for me.
My wife had moved in with her sister and her two kids, which really “disrupted,” the routines and stability of the kids when they were not home with me and their behavior took a nose dive. My son had always been a problem. He was a boy. He wasn’t speaking like he should have been and we had some serious issues with communication. This move had made it worse on him and even worse than that, my perfect daughter had also acquired some bad habits, but I was too exhausted to even deal with it. I found myself the push over Dad who just tried to keep them happy to avoid having to be consistent because I just couldn’t find energy to deal with anything.
Anger set in and I found myself pissed at the world. Pissed I was broke. Pissed I couldn’t get any help. Pissed at my wife. Pissed at my girlfriend. Pissed at the kids. I was done. My gut overlapped my pants because I was on my way to upgrading yet another waist size for the second time in 3 years. I looked and felt terrible. I wanted to quit it all.
The crash came fast. About two days before the girlfriend decided to get rid of me because well by this time I was a total wreck. I was home with the kids and we had the worst day we had ever had. It was a day that made me feel like I wanted to, drop them off at their mothers and be done with it. We were stuck at the house all day because I just couldn’t find the mental or physical fortitude to get these kids dressed and manage both of them outside of the house. They were awful to their Dad all day. So bad to the point that I put them both to bed without a story, and worse, without a kiss for the first time I could remember. I was furious. I retreated to my hole and turned the edit bay on and sat there for an hour just staring at the job in front of me. Couldn’t keep one thought in my head. My eyes burned. I opted to look at the other 3 jobs I had actually completed for the first time to run quality control and what I saw was sickening. The cuts were lazy. The effects were stock. The audio was not mastered. I had compromised it, just like I had compromised my kids the past 3 months. I had compromised it like I had my health for the past 10 years. I had officially become the guy I said I would never be.
I walked to the bathroom and looked at myself. I had fallen apart. The circles under my eyes were horrible. The arms plump. The belly fat. I walked into the bedrooms of the kids and watched them sleep, remembering, how much they counted on me. I remembered how much of their life in their current parental ordeal was in my hands. Remembering, how much I wanted the life I made for myself. Remembering that I had fulfilled a promise to do exactly what I was doing with my career. I also remembered how my Grandfathers had had heart attacks young. One of them didn’t live through it. What would these kids do if I died? What would I do if I woke up in ten more years and their life was screwed because I had been too busy chugging Red Bulls and working to do my real job?
I stayed up all night. The kids got up the next morning smiling. I gave them both a real big hug and cooked them a big breakfast. I sighed in relief, I had not ruined their life in the past three months. I was still exhausted but knew what I had to do so my direction was back and when I have direction there has never been any limitations. The only thing left was to catch up on my rest and then conduct a plan. Payton saw I was tired and sad. I sat her down and gave her an abbrieviated version of my story. I told her that she would never have to worry about her Dad not being able to be who she wanted him to be again.
“So what’s wrong with your heart, Daddy?” She asked. I kinda’ laughed that the “heart attack” part of the story is all she got out of it.
So I said, “well I don’t know but I want to keep it nice and healthy from now on for you guys.”
She walked out of the room and returned with a necklace I had given her. It was a hand woven necklace a friend in NY had made me to give to her. It had a beautiful pillow like heart on it that was woven into the string.
“Then you wear this. It will keep your heart safe,” she said smiling. I laughed until I cried. I took it from her.
“OK.”
She ran into the the play room to hang with her brother. I looked at the necklace. Stared, at the heart and just like that, the plan came to me. I put the necklace in my pocket and beelined to the cabinet, grabbed the Adderall prescription- flushed it. Took the family sized box of Goody powders- tossed it in the trash. Emptied the Coca Colas into the sink.
Project ‘Nine Years to Live’ was on. From here on out Life wouldn’t run me, I would run my life......
To be continued.
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