Brian Cuban's Blog, page 9

A Lawyer’s Tragic Slide

I  wonder how many looked at my friend and colleague Gary and said nothing as he struggled with addiction.  I often replay the months leading up to his death like a feature-length motion picture.

Summer 2013.  A muggy, hot morning headed over the 100-Degree mark.   Ten minutes into my drive to Starbucks. I can feel the heat overpowering my air conditioning settings. The sweat-stains taking form on the back of my dress shirt.

My quest for my venti-Blonde Roast Coffee takes me past the same bus stop daily.  To the average commuter,  It may have nothing to set it off from any other.  Another anonymous city-hub. There are people waiting to go to different parts of their lives: jobs, family, shopping, and school.

This particular stop catches my attention because to me, it symbolizes more.  I know it as a “way-station” for those in various stages of drug and alcohol recovery and descent. The apartment complex sitting ten yards behind it houses many dealing such issues.  A decades-old, faded and rain-worn, wooden structure complex.  The rent is cheap. It within walking distance of a local AA group. The line also runs close to several sober-living homes.  There are different stories from all walks of life. Fallen lawyers. Blue-collar workers. Service industry employees. Confirmation that addiction does not discriminate.

As I drive past, my head once more turns to take stock of one of my possible futures.  I see a slouching and skin- weathered familiar person waiting for the bus. It is Gary.  Gary is about my age but at a glance has aged a decade since I last saw him.

I’d met Gary in 2003 (four years before I got sober) when we both worked of-counsel to a Dallas, general practice law- firm.  I was trying to hold my life together. Addiction, failed marriages, and an eating disorder made it difficult.  I had not spoken to him since we had worked a case together about a six-months earlier. The last lawsuit for which I would appear in court as an attorney.  I was the second chair. He was lead.  — A bench trial, contract matter.  Gary was sober and brilliant,  I admired his skill but didn’t envy him. Being in the courtroom made me sick to my stomach. Nausea that at one time only alcohol and cocaine could cure. I couldn’t wait for the case to finish. We had an excellent result.

Then Gary disappeared. He’d had gone “radio-silent” over the years.  A  full voice-mail. I knew what it meant. Gary would go through stretches of stellar representation of his clients. Then came complaints of neglect. Client accusations of being under the influence during legal proceedings. Federal marshalls arresting him on an outstanding drug warrant at the courthouse. A myriad of consequences finally catching up to the problem, including disbarment.

I pull a U-turn, drive up alongside and offer him a ride.  Some quick curbside small talk as I see the bus coming in my rear view mirror.  Asking in a tone of familiarity and friendship as if he had been on a Caribbean Cruise, I said,

“Gary! Where have you been? Do you need a ride somewhere?”  

He glances at the bus coming up fact behind me. His facial muscles relax. Some of the lines disappear. He looks more like the Gary I remember.

“Great to see you, Brian. A ride would be great, thanks.”

Where ya headed? I asked.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him shift in his seat while his sunburned face began to glisten with sweat.  Searching for an answer.

“Was at a meeting and headed down to my place.  Had to sell my car”  he said.

Great to hear you’re going to meetings. How much sober time do you have?  Are you hungry?  Let’s grab some lunch and catch up.

“Thanks, Brian, lunch sounds great.”

“Cafe Brazil sound good?  I love their Taco Salads”, I said

That’s great Brian, love that place. 

The restaurant is only a ten-minute drive. The first five tic by in silence. I struggle to find the right words to tell him what I know. I decide to push the elephant out of the car.

“I read about your disbarment in the Bar Journal. I’m sorry Gary.”

“Yea, there was a misunderstanding over some checks written on my trust account. There was some correspondence with the bar, then I got a default notice of disbarment. My lawyer and I decided not to fight it.”  It wasn’t my fault, but I am ready to move on. I need a change.  I’m moving back to New York.”  I will move in with my family until I get up and going again.

During lunch, we engage in spurts of small talk followed by silence.  We discuss going to AA meetings together before he moves and taking things “one day at a time.  I know his version of his disbarment is bullshit but what’s the point. It’s done.

I pull out my wallet to pay the check. The familiar question comes.

“Do have a spare twenty? I am short this week. I will be on my feet and repay you when I get back to New York.”

“Sure thing Gary. Don’t worry about it. Not a big deal at all.”

He motions me to pull up in front of an apartment complex I recognize as a sober living half-way house.

“Thanks, Brian, see you at the noon meeting tomorrow?

Sure Gary, do you want me to come get you?

Nah, I will see you there.

Then, he’s gone again.  His voicemail is full. He’s tested positive for drugs and kicked out of the sober home.

July 2013: My cell phone rings. A 516 area code — Long Island, where some of Gary’s family lives. He’s moved home.

“Gary! Great to hear from you. I wondered if you had moved home. I worried about you.”  I said.

“Yea, sorry about the disconnect. I’ back home and settling in. I have a good support system here. “I have an interview coming up to work as a paralegal for a while. At some point, I will start my practice back up.  I am also licensed in New York.’,

My stomach twists as I digest the ethical issues surrounding the revelation.

“Are you allowed to do that since you lost your license here?  You might want to check with an ethics lawyer up there.” 

No need, it’s all good. 

My stomach contents churn in my intestines like I’ve woken up from an all-night bender.  I was not counting on being in my own ethical bind. Do I have to tell?

November 2013:  I am having a watch party for my appearance on the Katie Show.  I  get a facebook message from Gary. His is coming to the party. He attaches a photo of his plane ticket.  It is the last time I hear from him.

A Facebook message from his ex-wife. The Google explosion of his name tells the story. At age 54, Gary is dead. Hit by a tractor-trailer. He was walking along the middle of the highway when it happened. It’s unknown whether he’d been drinking, but it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. He never “got it” in recovery. It’s not that he didn’t want it. He tried. He tried every day.

What A “Blackout” Feels Like

The “Boom Boom party room” at the Palms Casino in Las Vegas seems to be swaying back and forth. The Suger Hill Gang hit, “Rapper’s Delight”, is blasting. I grab the edge of the bar for balance. There is no bartender. Only hands moving in and out of my booze-clouded field of vision. Grabbing half-empty bottles of Grey Goose and Jack Daniels.


 


I dig into the right pocket of my coal-black Z- Cav’s. Looking for the elixir my outgoing, mask of confidence depends on. My cocaine stash, hidden beneath un-folded wads of cash and casino chips. A needle in a haystack of unsteadiness and confusion. Unable to focus on even the smallest task, panic sets in. Where is the damn blow! Frustration overpowers caution. A spastic, shovel-like movement into my pocket. I yank the contents out with the imprecision of a construction backhoe pulling tons of dirt out of a ditch. Along with dollar bills, the cocaine baggie flutters to the floor. I can do nothing but watch as it floats towards my feet like a wintertime snowflake.


 


A tap on the shoulder. I was not the only one watching its free-fall.


 


“Any to share?” He hands me a bottle of Jack Daniels. “Do you want any mixer”?


 


“Nah,” I said, give me the bottle.


 


Taking a swig from the bottle, my foot stomps on the floor in escalating frustration. It is unable to land on top of the baggie.


 


“I’m not feeling well where is the bathroom,” I said.


 


“I will show you, and we can do a bump. I will trade you”


 


I drop to all fours to pick up the baggie. He grabs me from under my right arms and yanks me upright.


 


” I will pick it up. Let’s go.”


 


He begins to move toward the back of the room. I grab on to his arm to steady myself and not lose him in the crowd.


 


“I’m not your date, stay behind me.”


 


He is no longer moving. I am. Propelling him into someone else.


 


“What the fuck Brian,” he said.


 


“Sorry, whats the slowdown.”


 


“There’s a line to get in. “


 


“So what’s the trade,” I asked.


 


“I have something that will rock your world,” He responded.


 


“Have you ever taken “GHB“? 


 


“The date rape drug? No. Why would I?”


 


“It’s also a great party drug. It’s incredible. A thimble for three lines. Is that cool”?


 


“That doesn’t’ sound like much,” I said.


 


“Believe me, it’s all you need. I promise.”


 


I don’t remember moving, but we are in the bathroom. Yanking the last of the toilet paper off the cardboard cylinder, he wipes down the commode.


 


“Who knows what nasty crap people have been snorting off this,” he says. You’re up, handing me a rolled up twenty dollar bill.”


 


As the cocaine fights its way through inflamed nasal passages, I am thinking about a thimble.


 


He pulls a travel size shampoo bottle out of his pocket. He unscrews the cap and pours a clear white liquid into it.


 


“That’s not even a thimble,” I said


 


“This is your first time, and this is enough. Believe me. Here you go. Chug it. You will feel it pretty quick.”


 


” I will take your word for it. You already did my blow.”

I chug. “How long does it take”? 


“You should start feeling it pretty quick.”, he says.

We make our way back to the bar.  Seconds pass. Minutes. I’ve been scammed.  I hear a voice.


“Brian.. Brian.. you ok…? I am fifteen years old. My brother coming to save me. The echo of my childhood becomes subsumed into the all-consuming self-love.


 


I’ve .. never.. felt.. this .. wonderful…


 


The late-afternoon sun penetrates the hotel-room window like a laser beam aimed directly at my eyes and forehead. The innermost reaches of my throat is stinging as if I have swallowed a beehive. My tissue membranes explode in agony with my first breath. The passage of air blocked by nasal passages filled with cocaine residue. My legs and arms begin to thrash as if I am underwater, trying to hold on my last gasp of oxygen. I roll off the bed, onto all fours as my throat erupts in pain. I gasp for air, then forcing it out with a massive exhale through my nasal passage.


 


The content of my stomach begins its climb to my throat and into my mouth. One hand and one leg in front of the other to the toilet. One knee in front of the other. No time to stand up.  I don’t make it.


 


Walking through the casino lobby thinking through priorities. Find my wallet. A trip to the gift shop for aspirin and Pepto Bismo. The elevator might as well be in free fall. The slow descent is pulling on what’s left in my stomach as if I am on an amusement park roller coaster.


 


Focusing on calming my insides distracts my brain from it’s confused search for my past. There are flashes of a room with a pole. Echoes of Rapper’s Delight. Concentrate! Processing… Processing… Nothing there… Take it back further in time. A few drinks and a quick hand to hand exchange with my dealer at the casino bar the previous afternoon. Two black, one hundred dollar chips for an eight-ball of cocaine. About three hours at the tables. Won three hundred dollars. More drinks. Hooked up with a couple of friends. Back to my room. Party for a couple of hours. Told about the party at .. the Boom Boom Room! Yes, I was there. Showered, changed clothes. More cocaine in the room. Back to the casino. ..


 


A voice from the gaming area interrupts my cognitive gymnastics


 


“Cuban, over here.”


 


Turning towards the voice. A guy at the blackjack table. I know him. From where. Processing… Processing…


 


“Good to see you up and about. You were a mess last night.” He said.


 


“Good to see you as well. I’m sorry, forgot your name.”


 


“I don’t doubt it. You were on fire last night. An absolute riot. It’s Dave.”


 


My intestines twist and churn with the fear of what will come next. I don’t want to know. I want to remember on my own.


 


“Yea, wild night. Lost my wallet and room key.“


 


“I have your wallet. You left it in the bathroom.”


 


“What bathroom?”


 


“You don’t remember?”


 


“I remember being in several bathrooms. Which one?”


 


“The Boom Boom Room.”


 


“Now I remember. You gave me that shit to drink.”


 


“You didn’t object. You looked like you were having a much better time after you drank it. You were pole dancing and trying to take your clothes off. It was hilarious.”






“What else did I do? 


 


“Other than the pole dance, you were bouncing around the room, telling anyone who would listen you are Mark Cuban’s brother. I lost track of you.”


 


My eyes roll upward.


 


“Great, so I was an asshole. Thanks. I need to get some aspirin and Rolaids. I feel like shit.“


 


“No doubt,” he said. “See you later.”


 


“Yea, later.”


 


Moving through the casino. The pumped-in oxygen is not helping me remember. After a good nights sleep, it will come to me. Walking into the gift shop, another voice from the gaming area. A loud, sarcastic yell.


 


“Hey…, Mark Cuban’s brother. You were a real idiot last night!


 


I keep walking.

Brian Cuban (@bcuban) is The Addicted Lawyer. Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at brian@addictedlawyer.com.

 

 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

A Troubling Indifference To A Major Problem In the Legal Industry

Patrick Krill, the author of the seminal study on problem drinking and mental health in the legal profession recently partnered with ALM Intelligence on a confidential survey to get a feel for how law firms view these issues within their walls and the industry overall.  This is on the heels of a new American Bar Association(ABA) initiative getting firms pledging to do more and take specific steps to better deal with lawyer wellness within their domain.

Here is the good news. Thirteen(to date) AM Law 100 and AM Law 200 law firms have signed on to the pledge. Here is the bad news. Only thirteen law firms have signed on. Here is even worse news. Only thirty firms responded to the confidential survey.  Too busy? Indifference?  Don’t think there is a problem within the firm?  Maybe not wanting to know if there is a problem.  Ignorance is bliss. Maybe the stigma plays out like this:

“It’s a confidential survey, but it will surely get out that we think there is a problem in our firm  and clients won’t hire us.”

Maybe the views echo an email that I received from a long time member of the Florida Bar. He believes the problem is overstated and has only seen one problem drinking lawyer in his long career.

Of course, his anecdotal observations are not predictive of the profession overall, and the ABA study tells a much different story. During my shorter time as a member of the Texas Bar, I’ve seen many lawyers in firms large and small who are problem drinkers, dealing with clinical depression and have substance use issues beyond alcohol.

I could have sent him the incredibly disturbing alcohol-related photos texted to me from the most recent annual gathering of Florida Association Of Criminal Defense Lawyers or the emails I received about the flow of alcohol and inebriation in “private rooms” at the ABA Mid-Year in Vancouver. That is not meant to be an indictment of the very progressive Florida Bar or the ABA. Both are doing a lot to change the messaging and culture on these issues.  We are also not a profession of teetotalers.  Years of culture reinforcement does not change in months.

It’s about being a responsible profession and acknowledging and opening our eyes a little wider to acknowledge what is at the tips of our noses. These issues stay hidden when we don’t ask questions. There are solutions. Time for a cliche. If you are not part of the solution you are part of the problem.  Just taking the time to answer that survey was being part of the solution, not an indictment.  It’s heartening to see some firms willing to be part of that solution be we need to do better.

Let’s forget the studies and survey for a moment. Instead, simply pay attention to the people around us.   Think about people in your office. People whose offices you walk by and those you make small talk with. Their lives extend beyond the firm, courtroom and billing pressures  They have childhoods, families, pets.  They laugh. They cry. They love. They marry. They divorce. People in their lives die. Their pets die. They grieve.

Let’s talk about economics. All of these environmental variables can impact both their mental health and the quality of work. It affects risk. There is no such thing as a high functioning lawyer who is struggling. There is only a decrease in functioning that may be imperceptible at first but becomes cumulative until it’s costing both the lawyer and the firm on multiple levels.

These are complex issues that won’t change overnight as a profession, but they can begin to morph into a positive culture at a human level right now one firm at a time and one person at a time.

Let’s start with this. Find that ALM survey you moved to trash and take it. No need to even send it in. You might be surprised by what it tells you about your own beliefs. One person at a time starts with you.

Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption . A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery on April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession but on recovery in general. He can be reached at brian@addictedlawyer.com.

 

Pledge To Lend An Ear

It seems that at least once a month I read about a lawyer dying by suicide. Tragic but unfortunately, not-surprising in a profession that is 3rdth ranked in terms of suicide (out of professions adjusted by age). I  may see it on Facebook, Twitter or a news article. It is rare that suicide is specifically mentioned, but there may a request to in lieu of flowers for a donation to a mental health organization or and there will be commentary about the person’s struggle with depression, substances or both.

We just can’t bring ourselves to say the word. We make the donation. Grieve for our friend or colleagues. Maybe we tweet out or Facebook post a suicide crisis line.  We talk about reaching out. Then we lose another. And another.

Of course, whether its depression, addiction or any other mental health/environmental variable that plays into these issues, the hard reality is that we can love, monitor and even intervene if everything comes together at the right moment as it fortunately did when my friend and brothers saved my life.  We, however, can’t be there every moment and those tragic and life changing/ending thoughts can come quickly, without warning.

What to do? Not only about our profession but against the backdrop of overall suicide rates that have risen twenty-eight percent over the last twenty years. According to the study, middle age adults are at the highest risk.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a magic cure for what ails the human condition and I don’t see that solution, if there is one, happening in my lifetime. I, however, do believe that we, as a profession and society can do little thing that can have a huge impact whether it’s a struggle with depression, anxiety, addiction or the next crisis we will face, supporting our baby-boomer legal colleagues for whom aging has taken a toll on mental acuity.

Action must begin at the most basic human level. We can look within ourselves and pledge to pay attention.  To not mind our own business. Here is a simple method I use to engage when I suspect someone is struggling even if I have no idea what the issue may be.

“(Frist Name) you looked stressed today, everything ok? Anything I can do to help?”

 Possible response “Appreciate it, I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

Don’t walk away!

Repeat the message.

“Glad to hear that, but I want you to know that if you want to talk, I am a good ear” (or something like that).

 What you have done is providing a message that could get someone thinking about getting help and with the quick repeat message, you have reinforced it and provided a window for the person to change, his/her mind.

In those few seconds, people do change their minds. The tap on the shoulder comes, as you walk away.

“Now that you mention it, can we talk?”

September is National Suicide Prevention Awareness Month and National Recovery Month. Pledge this month to ask someone how they are doing let them know you are there for an ear. When you see how easy it is, think about doing it again, and again. It costs nothing but some time. Those few seconds can change the course of a life. The benefits can last a lifetime.

Brian Cuban (@bcuban) is The Addicted Lawyer. Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at brian@addictedlawyer.com.

 

 

 

You’re In Recovery And Starting Law School-Now What?

When I walked through the doors of Pitt Law as a 1-L in 1983, I was deep into alcohol use disorder, also known as an “alcoholic.” I was also dealing with traditional and exercise bulimia. Throw in clinical depression as well.  I felt completely alone in my struggle. I would tell no one. Not my parents, my roommates or my dean of students. I had no concept of 12-step recovery(Alcoholics Anonymous is the most well known) or any other type of peer support that might have been available. I was simply surviving the rigors of law school and my disorders on a moment to moment basis.

Times have certainly changed. Today, as an incoming 1-L either in recovery or perhaps terrified of seeking help, there is a wellness path for you. When I wrote The Addicted Lawyer, one story used, was from a law student in recovery, Melissa. She graduated and is continuing her recovery in the practice of law. Who better than to offer some insight and advice to incoming students.  Pay attention. It’s great advice.

On August 19th, 2014 I arrived at law school orientation, In the preceding year, I endured the loss of my father to pancreatic cancer, survived the LSAT, applied to law school, and packed my life to move 250 miles to Boston. More noteworthy though, was that on that date I was just shy of three sober and about to commence one of my most challenging pursuits yet in recovery– becoming a lawyer; a lawyer in long term recovery. Long term recovery means for me that I have not had to put a drink or a drug in my body since August 30, 2011. A huge accomplishment for someone like me and still shocking reflecting on that point in my life seven years ago.

Right before that pivotal day in August 2011 I was nineteen years old living in a homeless shelter in Easton, Pennsylvania, intravenously consuming 50 wax-folds of heroin and cocaine a day, and completely isolated from everyone who loved me. I was broken, hopeless, and felt as if I had dug myself so deep into a hole via my addiction that I had no way out. Luckily for me something shifted and propelled my into a life of recovery.  I was blessed to be guided through a continuum of care of detox, inpatient treatment, a halfway house, sober living and entered into a twelve-step fellowship. Slowly but surely, I began climbing out of that hole and into a life beyond my wildest dreams.

How did I get where I am now?  Many of us have been asked what we want to be when we grow up.  For me, at one time, an outlandish question, believing the only thing I would ever amount to was a criminal and a person with a debilitating addiction. Fortunately, people around me saw something that I couldn’t see in myself– potential. I met thia questions with the answer that I wanted to be a lawyer. Those same individuals who questioned me, supported me to not only continue to pursue my rehabilitation but also to embark on the journey to become just that. A sober lawyer. There I stood in the middle of law school orientation absolutely enamored with the love and support behind me but also horrified that I wouldn’t make it. How was I going to do this?

If you’re reading this article I assume that you are entering law school and have a similar pit in the bottom of your stomach. But don’t worry, if I could do it, you most certainly can too. The work you have put in thus far is tremendous and you should be very proud of yourself– you deserve to be exactly where your feet are. Now for the bad news, you’re about to be launched into the microcosm that is law school abundant with stress, anxiety, and isolation from the outside world. Yet there is hope. The following advice is not only for those who are currently or previously suffering from a substance use or mental health disorder but for anyone entering into three (or four years) of law school. The truth is whatever brought you here will keep you here if you heed the following advice and work hard.

Be yourself and enjoy the ride (with some friends)!

One of the most important things I considered when entering law school was if I was entering into an environment that was going to accept me for who I am. My unique past and my vision to help people who were similarly situated as me was the only reason I was even going to law school. I wanted to become a lawyer, I wanted to become an assistant prosecutor, and I wanted to make a difference in a world where so many people with mental health and substance use disorders enter courtrooms across our country every day. Why could I not be a representative of what recovery and perseverance looks like– not as a defendant, but as a lawyer. I could and I would. I just needed to be myself and find some people who understood who I was and what I was trying to do. 

It wasn’t always easy. In my first year of law school I approached a faculty member to help with my law school’s annual wellness day and in response she said to me, “No, I don’t think that is a good idea. What if you relapse?” A full-fledged example that the stigma of being a person in long term recovery or recovering from a mental health disorder is alive and well in our legal profession. Thank god for the people who guided me to not only seek out other faculty and students to collaborate with to bring what was needed to the school in terms of wellness but to use those actions to shape the minds of those who don’t understand what it means to be in recovery or to live a balanced healthy life in law school.

My first piece of advice as corny as it is is to keep going no matter what.  Don’t let anyone tell you that your dreams are to unrealistic or that you should “tone down” who you are or that you may not make it because of whatever preconceived notion they have about “people like you”. Be yourself and go be the person you want to be and find those who will support you. If you don’t find those people right away don’t give up. We are out there.

It’s okay to be not okay!

Again, it’s okay to be not okay. Hundreds of pages of reading a night, legal jargon that makes absolutely no sense, and a highly competitive environment will eventually drive even the most well balanced of law students to their wits end. Keep a core group of people inside and outside of law school no matter what. Let them carry you through the high school like drama of 1L year, the stresses of finals, and the complete defeat you will feel when you put in everything you have to come up short of what you hoped. Law school is a marathon, not a race even though it can feel like that sometimes. Stick with the people who love and support you– you’ll be alright even when you’re not okay.

Reach out to your LAP and find out what’s available.

Help is available to you if it is from your law school, affiliated university, or your local lawyer’s assistance program. Pay attention in law school orientation or ask your 1L advisor or mentor to help you locate what resources are available to you. Most lawyer’s assistance programs offer some sort of counseling, twelve step based lawyer’s meetings, or wellness workshops that law students can attend. These services are often free and even if you are not someone who has a mental health diagnosis or a substance use disorder you are never too well to take advantage of these amazing services. Know what you have so that you can utilize them when needed.

Pro tip: If you have a mental health or substance use disorder and you are worried about character and fitness for the bar exam your local lawyer’s assistance program can be a great resource for you to start proving that you are “sober enough” or “healthy enough” to become a lawyer.

Have fun!

Last but not least, have fun! But not to much fun. Some of my greatest memories are spending time with the people I went to law school with, attending Barrister’s Ball (aka law school prom), and trudging through the hard times that I faced in law school to prove to myself (and others!) over and over again that just because I wasn’t a cookie cutter law student didn’t mean I wasn’t just as worthy of that law degree. You are totally worthy of that degree– now go get it!

Reflecting back on my time in law school over a year after graduating, ending a year judicial clerkship, approaching seven years in long term recovery and mere weeks away from being sworn in as an assistant prosecutor I am telling you that you can do this. No matter where your from, what you did, or what you do there is a way to get through law school. Enjoy the ride, you got this.

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

 

The Non-Traditional Recovery

Now and then I come across an interesting story of someone in recovery doing it differently than the mainstream of Alcoholics  Anonymous, residential treatment etc. I believe it is important to look outside of what makes us comfortable and the recovery road society tells us we should take. There are many different paths. Here is the path of Tawny Lara, whose recovery journey has been out of the mainstream but inspiring and may particularly interest the millennial demographic of our profession.  This of course, may not be the appropriate path for you. I’m not sure it would have worked for me, but when I began my journey in 2007, her path was not an option regardless. Times change. It’s a big recovery world  in 2018.  Tawny’s unique journey is part of it.

“The traditional support group model never spoke to me. Perhaps because I’m rebellious by nature. I convinced myself that I didn’t drink like those people so I don’t belong in those groups. Like me, my sobriety journey can be described as non-traditional. I got sober – and stay sober – without AA or working the 12 Steps. I’ve never been anonymous. In fact, I’m quite the opposite. My sobriety began as a year-long *public* social experiment.

I’ve flirted with sobriety on and off for years. A week here. A month there – just to prove to myself that I could do it. I just went a whole month without alcohol! I definitely don’t have a drinking problem. Let’s celebrate with shots of whiskey! That exhausting form of mental gymnastics kept me busy for years. As a bartender in Waco, Texas, partying was the only thing I knew. If there were other opportunities to socialize I didn’t care to learn about them. When I wasn’t behind the bar serving drinks, I was on the other side of the bar, chugging drinks. Each night wasn’t a question of “Should we go out?”, it was a question of “Where are we going tonight?”.

This was my lifestyle for 12 years – from age 17 to 29. At age 29 I moved to New York City to pursue my passion for music journalism. I arrived with two suitcases and a head full of hot pink curls. I was ready to take on Manhattan and find a way to write for my dream publication, Rolling Stone magazine. Within weeks I’d made new friends. Writer friends. Writer friends who knew how to socialize without getting wasted. We’d go out for a drink or two and that was enough for them. When I was ready to order shots, they were ready to go home. This whole “drinking responsibly” thing was new for me and it freaked me out. It made me question my own relationship to alcohol. Why are they ready to go home and I’m just getting started? How did they learn how to stop after one or two drinks? Can I drink like this, too?

If my new friends didn’t drink much, then I wouldn’t drink much. I watched them live their lives with balance while accomplishing their goals. Alcohol was a small part of their exciting, New York City writer lives. I wanted that, too. While drinking until I blacked out was happening less frequently, it still happened occasionally. Around this time, my pink hair had transitioned from hot pink into blue and purple. As my external appearance changed, something shifted internally. I started to realize I wasn’t one of those people who could have a beer and walk away. My all or nothing mentality was subconsciously ready to see what nothing was all about.

The thought of giving up alcohol for the rest of my life scared the hell out of me. So I started flirting again. One week turned into two. Two weeks turned into a month. Then I realized my thirtieth birthday was coming up. What if I don’t drink for my entire 30th year and I blog about the experience? So that’s exactly what I did. I bought sobrieteaparty.com and created social media handles for @sobrieteaparty. The rest is, I guess you can say…millennial history.

After my first blog post and Instagram post, people started reaching out to me. Friends from back home in Texas. New friends I’d made in New York City. Strangers from the overwhelmingly supportive sober internet space. I received messages and comments from people telling me that being open about my relationship to alcohol has inspired them to think about their own relationship to alcohol or empathize with a family member who struggles with addiction.

I was blogging a few times a month and posting on Instagram several times a week. My intention was just to share my story and learn about myself over a 365 day time span. I truly didn’t think anyone other than my close friends and family would care to follow my journey. I found an incredibly loyal, supportive community of people who truly cared about sobriety – all by accident. Looking back I can see that I had found online what most people find in traditional support groups, accountability and peer support.

Eventually my blog got press. People reached out requesting podcast interviews and quotes for sobriety-related articles. Huffington Post reached out to ask if they could share one of my blog posts that went viral. Then that article went viral and was published in several languages.

As my 30th year came to an end, the thought of picking up a drink didn’t even cross my mind. I found what I came to New York in search of: my voice as a writer. I can now see how alcohol was an unnecessary roadblock that prevented me from living my best life and tapping into my creativity on a deeper level.

That year-long social experiment evolved into my lifestyle. I still haven’t been published in Rolling Stone, but other groovy things have happened. Sobrieteaparty.com is now an organization led by a team of strong women in recovery. I still blog occasionally but we are more focused on creating spaces for people to connect IRL. We host two types of events: SobrieTea Parties and Readings on Recovery. These events hold space for people to meet like-minded individuals and share their recovery stories OUT LOUD and PROUD. I’ve collaborated with my friend, B. Rae, to make an award-winning documentary about our recovery called Fixed Up. I’ve adapted my poetry into song lyrics and recorded a song at the legendary Power Station recording studio thanks to Road Recovery. I’ve started a podcast with Lisa Smith called Recovery Rocks. I’ve spoken at conferences and other events, sharing my story. I’ve spent a month in Bali getting certified to teach yoga and meditation.

These accomplishments show how productive my life has been since I ditched booze and did it my way. Staying true to myself is proven to work. If I listened to people who told me, “Unless you admit that you’re an alcoholic and you attend meetings, you’re going to relapse”, who knows what my recovery would look like. Now me and my natural brown hair and I feel grounded in sobriety. I’ve found what works for me: weekly talk therapy, music therapy based support groups, writing, and yoga. I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter how those people drink.

 

Bio – Tawny Lara is an entrepreneur, writer, and public speaker. She’s the founder of SobrieTea Party and Readings on Recovery , co-host of Recovery Rocks podcast, and an award-winning filmmaker of her recovery documentary, Fixed Up . When she’s not working on all of the things, she’s doing yoga or eating tacos – sometimes simultaneously. Follow her at @tawnymlara. For more info on her NYC sober events, follow @sobrieteaparty.

 

 

 

 

 

Traversing The Terrain Of Grief

“This isn’t right. It’s not like this. We have to go back.”

Go back where? Back to the present in which my dad is gone? My grandfather long passed.

I awaken.  Heaving gasps of panicked breath. The only time I will hear my father’s voice again or feel his all soothing embrace again is in my dreams. How can I verbalize the emptiness of waking up every day to that reality?  How can I cope? I am certainly not alone in that my dreams and loneliness are difficult to articulate even to the ones we love and who want to support us.

I not only have to allow myself to grieve, but I also need the self-awareness to recognize the signs of it becoming something more.  Grief is a powerful trigger for addiction relapse. It can also turn into an all-compassing depression that can be difficult to pull out of.

Here are the things that have helped me cope during this process:

Talking to my dad. I talk to my him every day. I tell him about my day. I cry for him and myself. I tell him how much I miss him. How the family is doing. I am fortunate that he is physically nearby so I can go there. I bring a lawn chair. I have some long conversations. The irony of this is that prior to his passing, I never really considered myself a particularly spiritual person.  I hope he hears me.

 

I see a psychiatrist weekly. I have been seeing him for about 15 years so he knew it was coming and it helps to hear his perspective on what I am going through.  I also  make sure I am vigilant taking my prescribed anti-depressants. When grieving, it can seem like the medication is not working. The goal of my meds is not so that I do not feel and I need to be self-aware of that.

 

I stay in close contact with my family and especially my two brothers. They are grieving like me. I feel so fortunate that our dad instilled the bond of family in us like his parents did with him.  I talk to my wife. It is important for those who love us to understand the process so they do not feel helpless or guilty.

 

I try to keep my mind occupied. I have begun working on my third book. This time, fiction. It is hard for me to write when the mind is in a grieving fog. I compensate by spending a lot of time reading and listening to audio books about the art of writing so I stay engaged in some way.  I have also decided to work hard on refining my public speaking skills. I recently presented at the American Bar Association Annual Meeting.  I had to change my recovery presentation because of my father’s passing. Something that may seem so minor was very emotional. The fact that he lived next door to me was integral to how family played a role in my addiction recovery. I know there will be many of these “firsts.”

 

I force myself to stay in my exercise routine. I love Flywheel. When it’s hard to get out of bed, it’s hard to motivate to exercise but I always feel better after a good spin session.

 

I share photos and videos of my father on my Facebook page and Instagram. I personally have found that type sharing/ expression helpful.

 

That’s how I personally have been traversing the process of grief. There of course is no blueprint, plan, tweet, or YouTube video that will tell me how to grieve but there are ways to cope as we go through the process so that it does not become something more. I reached out to Kelly Jameson, PhD, LPC-S. I hope you find it helpful.

Grief is hard (like, really hard) and we avoid it all costs because it is straight up pain-pain in its purest, most emotional form.

To grieve simply means that you have loved, but even more that you have loved, but that you were somehow changed because of the love. Grief is about the loss of a person, but also how that person made you feel about yourself. This sounds selfish, but it’s true. Most often, we are affected most by the people who made us feel intensely, either good or bad. Of all the people in our lives, it is no surprise that parents are responsible for our biggest, most intense feelings early on and throughout our life. I bet if you give yourself a minute to really think about your parents, you can still remember how they made you feel about yourself, either good or bad. This is not a coincidence, parents are our first and most important attachment, and that bond only intensifies as we age.

When a parent dies, we are forced (whether we want to or not) to process ALL of the emotions they made us feel about ourselves. That is the primary reason the loss of a parent is so profound on us. Did your parent make you feel like the most capable, confident version of yourself? Maybe they made you feel small and bothersome? Did they teach you about forgiveness, gratitude, unconditional love, or self-love even when it was difficult? Of course they did, sometimes with words and sometimes actions. No matter what style of parenting you received, they shaped you. When that attachment is just a memory, it is like a part of you is gone, because it is. Like many things in life, we don’t necessarily appreciate something until it is no longer available to us. Then grief can transform into regret and guilt – but only if you let it.

As a therapist, I often work with people who are sitting in grief. So many times, a patient will say, “Is it weird that I wear his clothes around the house?” or “Is it normal that I want to rearrange her make-up table over and over?” Because we try to avoid grief at all costs, we are totally unfamiliar the behaviors that are associated with this emotional process. People want to know, “Am I doing this grief thing correctly?”  The answer is always yes. Grief has no handbook. You want to wear his clothes around the house? Ok. You want to listen to her favorite song 1,000 times before you go to work in the morning? Great. Whatever helps you though the pain is a definite yes. (Side note: I’m only approving positive behaviors here. The misuse of drugs, alcohol or tobacco is always a solid bad idea in my book. If you are using these things as a way to numb your grief, please get some help. This avenue will undoubtedly lead you to more pain.)

People spend so much time avoiding pain and grief, that when we are forced to sit with it, we assume other people have been here before and have spent time figuring it out correctly. Outside of experts like Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (The Five Stages of Grief) and her successor David Kessler, not many people are out there spending extended amounts time with grief. So guess what? You forge your own path on this one. Only you know what makes you feel better and only you know when you are feeling really stuck in your grief. If you are struggling, help is out there.

If you feel like your grief is overwhelming your day-to-day life and, in your heart, you know it’s becoming a larger problem, please call a therapist. We can help you sort out some of this and find a balance. For example, I might tell a patient to set aside time in the day to grieve. If you are having to go to school or work and your grief is overwhelming, I would tell you to choose a discrete time of day to grieve.  For example, tell yourself, “I’m going to grieve tonight from 7:00-7:45 p.m.” If you are trying to get through your day and the grief starts to bubble up, you can remind yourself, “Not now. I’ll see you tonight at 7:00 p.m.”

Other ideas might include a personal ceremony you perform for that person, such as letting a balloon go into the sky, writing them a letter telling them how much they meant to you, plant a tree or bush in your yard so you can remember them every season when you see that foliage grow and change. These are behaviors that might feel foreign or ridiculous, but they can be so important for your mind to process the loss and also express gratitude for their impact on your life.

If you are looking for even more support, I recommend “What’s Your Grief” on social media. You can find them on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. They also have a podcast and a website. www.whatsyourgrief.com. In the meantime, take care of yourself and keep on loving people, it’s all worth it.

Kelly Jameson, PhD, LPC-S, is a licensed therapist in private practice in Dallas, Texas. She works with teens and adults on life’s tough issues, both big and small. More info can be found at www.drkellyjameson.com.

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

Think Adderall Will Make You Smarter? Think Again.

A new study, pours some cold coffee on the assumption within student communities that ingesting the drug, “Adderall” will make them smarter and  provide a competitive advantage in that regard. The article states:

“People who take these medications can certainly feel more alert and on top of their game, but there is some doubt about whether or not these agents actually improve neurocognitive performance for people who do not struggle with ADHD in the first place”

Here is what I know anecdotally from talking to law students on this issue:

1. Are there students who have a legitimate medical diagnosis taking the drug? Of course.

2. Are there students who have shopped for a diagnosis to get the drug because they believe it will give them a competitive advantage? Yes.

3. Are there students with no prescription, purchasing the drug on the black market because they believe it will give them a completive advantage? Absolutely. They have told me they are doing it.

4. Do some students resent that others may be misusing the drug for a competitive advantage? Yes. Again, they have told me they do.

5. Are law administrations generally aware of this issue? It is not at the top of the list of concerns, but yes, they are aware

6. Can someone misusing Adderall become addicted with devastating results? You bet. It does not get discussed publicly much but it happens. Adderall addiction is real and it’s serious.

Anecdotally, all one has to do is look through law school message boards or talk to current students and recent grads to get a feel for how prevalent Adderall use is. Empirically, there is some data on the topic.

The study, “Suffering in Silence: The Survey of Law Student Well-Being,” published in the Journal of Legal Education and co-authored by another contributor to The Addicted Lawyer, (David Jaffe), found that 14 percent of students responding reported they had taken a prescribed drug without a prescription within the last 12 months, and 79 percent of those students reported the drug taken as Adderall followed by Adderall XR, and Ritalin.

Here is Ali’s story and observations on Adderall use. Ali is a millennial West Coast attorney not long out of law school. She starts with her bar exam observations.

Ali says:

When I took the bar exam, we were limited as to what we could bring into the testing area. A small zip-lock bag that could hold identification, a pen or two, and individual tablets of medication. A memory that stands out was taking a look around after finally sitting down in the massive convention center exam room and seeing a sea of colors through those zip-lock bags: the unmistakable hues of Adderall, categorized by dosage. Everywhere I looked, the vast majority of those around me had at least a couple, ‘just in case.’

Seeing every exam taker’s personal stash out in the open only served to echo and what was the norm in the law library around finals time: You could walk up to any given study group in the library and it was almost guaranteed that at least one person in the group either had a prescription for Adderall or knew somebody who did and merely bought that person’s pills and shared with the group. Adderall was such a staple of studying in law school that it was easy to forget the fact that all of us who partook without a prescription weren’t only doing so illegally, but were also dosing ourselves with an addictive substance — an unwise choice for the subset of law students already prone to addictive tendencies and substance issues. And while I personally knew a few classmates who had a legitimate ADD diagnosis requiring a prescription for Adderall, those people were the minority.

For me, I survived law school finals during my first two years without ‘needing’ an Adderall prescription of my own. I outlined early and often and also had the self-discipline to stay in the library for long hours studying. When I would bum a few pills from a classmate though, studying seemed to fly by. Adderall made the outlining, note organization, and repeated reviews easy to do, and it made me confident in doing it. Moreover, Adderall is a stimulant, which also made it a perfect sidekick to study groups where we could debate hypotheticals for hours on end.

While initially these side effects were more fortuitous, by 3L year, Adderall was almost mandatory for my study group. Rather than a study aid, the effects of the drug served as our required motivation that once came naturally. By this point, I had secured my own prescription, too. I never took the required test and was never diagnosed with ADD by my longtime family doctor. ‘Just to get me through graduation,’ soon turned into, ‘Just to get me through the bar exam.’

When I returned to the small law firm I clerked at as a newly licensed attorney with a crazily disproportionate workload, I hadn’t gotten legal work completed without the help of Adderall in over a year, and I was convinced I required it in order to stay on top of work. My tolerance had also gone up, which meant I was taking more pills than prescribed and running out of my script early each month. Luckily, the attorney in the office next to mine had his own prescription; we’d often have to pool our resources. Unlike law school though, my workload never got lighter. Like any first-year associate in a litigation setting, the competitive and adversarial atmosphere was intimidating deep down, but taking Adderall always made me appear confident and in control.

In practice, this meant that I attributed a lot of my hard work and success to the fact that I had help in the form of a pill. This had a terrible downside, though. If I forgot my Adderall at home or ran out of pills, I would often find myself staring at my calendar and to-do list seemingly frozen and not knowing where to begin. I didn’t think I could accomplish the work and meet my deadlines without taking a pill. As a person who always has had a stellar work ethic in school, this was an unfamiliar feeling for me, and an undoubtedly unhealthy one at that. After only being in practice for one year, taking Adderall as often as I did had also caused me to lose 25 pounds when I did not have 25 extra pounds on me to lose. Mentally, Adderall wreaked havoc on my natural self-confidence and work ethic. I now looked physically unhealthy as well.

After changing jobs, lowering my dosage, and getting sufficient experience to keep the courtroom jitters away, I was able to wean myself off of the high dosage I was prescribed. To date, I still always keep a script filled, ‘just in case,’ but no longer working in a job environment where my coworkers and direct superiors also used the drug (and its cousin, cocaine) took a lot of my personal focus away from thinking that I needed to be taking Adderall daily to succeed and I am doing well without it.

I know old classmates and coworkers who came out on the other end of the spectrum, though. A prior coworker ended up graduating not just from Adderall to cocaine, but from cocaine to crack. Another classmate is currently in outpatient treatment.

The casual use of Adderall that I was introduced to in school became a much more slippery slope than I had imagined. And while I eventually did call it quits on taking the pill every day, not everybody has been able to do this and the pill itself has been proven to be very addictive.

Anecdotally, I know of quite of few stories of woe related to misusing Adderall including DUI prison time.

The reality is that studies and blogs are not going to change the “Adderall culture” to the extent it exists. “Just Say No” has been a proven failure in that regard on a number of fronts related to drug use. It is incumbent on law schools to take a look at this issue and create a student learning and wellness experience that empowers students to turn to healthy ways to improve their studying and testing experience so they do not feel the pressure to turn to “cognitive enhancing” drugs. That topic is more of a book than a blog and may involve re-valuating the very core of how students are taught and tested.

Are You A Lonely Lawyer?

Lawyers are a lonely bunch.  At least that is what a recent survey found, as reported by the Washington Post.  Using a “loneliness scale,” lawyers beat out more than 1,600 other professions.

There are many aspects and triggers to loneliness but one many in the legal profession can identify with is social isolation.

Here is how one lawyer deals with that issue.

Miriam is a practicing criminal defense attorney in the Washington, D.C., area. She says:

When I went out on my own, it was pretty jarring. There was no one to ask a question of, no one to just vent frustrations to. And criminal defense is an incredibly frustrating area of law. There was no reason to take a break, because who was I going to socialize with? Myself?

Miriam then joined a listserv called SoloSez (part of the American Bar Association), and it turned out she wasn’t alone: “There were lots of us solo practitioners struggling with the same thing. Who do you talk to when you are literally all by yourself all day long.”

As to how isolation impacted her personally and professionally, Miriam says:

I realized the value of human interaction in professional settings and how important it is as a stress relief. Water cooler talk may be lame but it is important. I ended up renting an office inside a larger firm. Lots of solos in that office space and we became friends. My productivity increased and I was just generally happier.

Today, Miriam has a small law office with employees, and they all have an open-door policy. She says:

We eat lunch together, we talk about our cases on a regular basis, and we are able to talk to each other freely. What’s the point of working with people if you can’t talk to them? I recommend renting an office in a suite – having someone else there to vent to is incredibly important. And while you may say oh I can talk to my wife when I get home, etc., it really isn’t the same. Being at work and bitching, then being able to go home and not feel so frustrated, is a great thing!

I also reached out to a treatment provider who deals with social isolation issues in his practice. Dr. David Henderson is a psychiatrist practicing in Dallas, Texas.[1] One of the issues I asked him to address is the difference between damaging social isolation and the simple desire to be alone. He says:

There are two states of aloneness: the physical state of being alone (solitude) and the emotional state of being alone (loneliness). Solitude is not always painful. In fact, it may be quite pleasant for those who are confident and comfortable with themselves, and who understand that it need not be a permanent experience. A stable balance between solitude and time with others is necessary for mental and physical well-being. Even when we are forced to be alone, knowing that someone is with us in spirit helps.

Conversely loneliness, the emotional state of being alone, is the belief that no one else understands our circumstances, our thoughts, or our emotions, nor do they care. Social isolation is the combination of these two states, experienced by an individual for an extended period. The length of time in social isolation for any individual can vary, but both the emotional state and physical state feed off of one another, creating a perpetual inability within the individual to reengage society in a meaningful way.

Here are Dr. Henderson’s tips for dealing with social isolation:

Plan ahead. Isolation and loneliness can result from procrastination. When an individual fails to anticipate future isolation and plan for it, it never gets better. Individuals must carve out time in their schedules for social engagement like they would carve out time to study or complete a task for work. Waiting until the last minute always ends with missed opportunities.

Confront the mind-games you play. We all have a script that plays over and over in our heads that dictates our actions. The most successful individuals are the ones who recognize the script and make the hard decisions to act contrary to it. The key to overcoming social isolation is being able to acknowledge the very real pain that exists in engaging others and then working to develop the confidence within oneself to know that you have the power to endure and overcome it.



Seek out accountability. For many, this accountability starts with one person: a trained professional counselor. A professional can challenge you to think outside the box, provide you with resources that will help you overcome the struggle, and check in with you to measure your progress. Overcoming social isolation is like any other challenge. In order to break the cycle, we must reach a point at which the pain of staying the same is worse than the pain of changing. If you are struggling to reach out and find help, simply ask yourself one question, “What do I have to lose in reaching out for help?” Make a decision today that you are going reengage one step at a time. Fight discouragement with true statements about your abilities, and recognize that with each decision to think and act contrary to what you feel, you are getting stronger and closer to your goals. You are not alone. Keep reaching!



What’s the common thread here to either becoming or staying connected in a healthy way? Reaching out! Regardless of the genesis of your feelings of loneliness and isolation. It all starts there.

[1] David L. Henderson, M.D., is a board-certified psychiatrist, author, and professional speaker. He is the owner and president of Four Stones Collaborative Group, a mental health practice in Dallas, Texas, treating a wide range of psychological issues including depression, anxiety, substance abuse, and trauma. He is the author of the book My Teenage Zombie: Resurrecting the Undead Adolescent In Your Home. For more information about his practice or for further resources, you can visit his websites at www.drdavidhenderson.com and www.fourstonesgroup.com.

Brian Cuban (@bcuban) is The Addicted Lawyer. Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at brian@addictedlawyer.com.

My Dad, My Hero

My father, my hero, Norton “Norty” Cuban passed away on July 10, 2018.  He was 92 years old.  He was born in New York City to working class Russian-Jewish emigrants. The middle of three brothers. His father, Morris, sold baked goods door-to-door in the Bronx. They would later move to New Jersey where Morris would open a grocery store.  There was a lot of anti-Semitism in his neighborhood.  The “Bund” would throw stink bombs made of burning film into the store. This drove away the customers and eventually forced the store to close. They would then settle in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, living most of their lives in the predominantly Jewish, Squirrel Hill area.

My dad would go on to work different types of labor jobs and in 1944, at 18 years old, was drafted to fight in WWII where he would serve as a Seabee and participate in the Battle of Okinawa. He returned home and settled into his life managing a National Record Mart and chasing girls. He was recalled to serve in the Korean conflict.  He was not happy about it, but did his duty.  A duty in both wars that exposed him to horrors that he rarely talked about later in life, and would bring him to tears every time he tried.

Upon his return from Korea, he went into business with his older brother Marty, operating an automobile “trim shop” called Regency Products.  He would meet and marry my mother Shirley, and eventually settle in Mt. Lebanon, Pennsylvania.

My dad did not have a college education.  He wanted all of us to have one. We fulfilled that dream for him and for ourselves. My older brother Mark went to Indiana. I went to Penn State, then Pitt Law. My younger brother Jeff earned his bachelors degree from  Southwest Texas State, then his masters from the University of Texas.

My dad wanted each of us to forge our own unique path in life. Mark went on to be an internationally known entrepreneur, sports team owner, and television personality. My younger brother Jeff became a psychologist, then transitioned to sales, and is now is a vice president at a major media network.

I, however, struggled to find my path and identity. Addiction, eating disorders, depression, and two trips to a psychiatric facility were stumbling blocks that I hid well from my dad. I was ashamed and did not want him to be ashamed of me. I hid them as I had hidden during three short-lived marriages. The fear of releasing shame is one of the gatekeepers to recovery. A concept foreign to me in April of 2007 when I finally found long-term sobriety.

A few days after I began that journey, I walked over to my father’s house in tears. He lived just down the street from me. I sat down on his couch. I bawled out a lifetime of pain, shame, and fear.  Things that as a little boy, I kept to myself for the same reasons I hid them as an adult. I did not know what my father would say, but I could not hold it in anymore and I needed to feel loved. I was in that moment, a 13-year-old boy asking for his father’s love with as much fear of the unknown as that little boy.  My father, whose knees had long degenerated from decades of stooping and kneeling in cars and the rigors of two wars, limped over and sat next to me. He held me. He cried with me. He said, “Brian, I love you, move in with me and we will get through this together.”

We did get through it together, along with the support of my now wife and two brothers, who like my father, lived(and still do) walking distance from me. Through the decades and miles from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, we stayed together. That was the bond of family my father instilled in his sons. The bond that his father instilled in him and his two brothers.

That day in April, my father loved me a lifetime. He saved my life. My recovery goes on today.  I am grateful my dad and I got to share our love in sobriety. That love was sitting at his condo just talking or watching Pittsburgh Steelers games. That love was Thursday dinners.  That love was traveling the world together.  That love was holding his hand and whispering in his ear as his earthly existence wound down.

The last words my father said to me two days before he slipped into unconsciousness and a week before his passing, were, “I love you, Brian.”

I love you Dad. I always will. I will see you again. Thank you for being my hero.

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