"May Today There Be Peace Within..."

As many in this world stand poised foul-footed & faulty, skeptical of “so-soon-should-be” stability and drowning in the dim dark dawning of a new decade of hopes, nope & never minds, some may very well find themselves focused unflinching on the rightful remonstrance of their real, wrong, reprehensible ruination. And, others still may presume themselves victim of obviously obtrusive, abject, awful circumstance, such as so-called “calamity” or worse yet still, “catastrophe.” 

But in sharp contrast to these many multitudes of madmen who moan in misery when met with mindflux & mayhem, I myself stand poised on solid ground, garishly gleaming in the glow of great gifts of good tidings and telling tales of betterment, blessings & beatitude…”Plentiful Beatitude!”

With the arrival of the new year and the end of an old, I’ve witnessed a coalescence or convergence of some commonly, characteristically distinct threads of thought that are now together guiding me toward goodness in the graces of my Greater Power. These thoughts, these systems of reasoning, these philosophies, maxims or mores divergent to a degree in my mind until now, seem today to be bound together by one common cord – a theme best expressed in a simple statement that once seemed to me to be a clichéd convention, but which I recognize now as an almost divine truth: “Faith without works was dead.”

Those fateful words are bracketed and emboldened by the glimmer of graphite marks carved onto page fourteen of the most recent addition to my fledgling “Religion & Recovery” library. This is the Fourth Edition of the Big Book, the Basic Text of Alcoholics Anonymous, the hardcover book reads on its glossy paper jacket.

During the last week and a half, I have made an enthusiastic effort specially to celebrate in proper fashion the blessed spirit of the Holiday Season, having invited many a friend into my home for a festive dinner party and the presentation of miniature stockings stuffed with candy and perfectly well-chosen and appropriate gifts.  

May I boast a bit? Permit me, please! I must say, the satisfaction and appreciation expressed by my guests tells me that I am quite the host and played well the part of not-so-secret Santa.

I am confident that each of the close friends I invited into my home for the holiday were tenderly touched by my gesture of gregarious generosity and hospitality, and that they are indeed grateful.  But more importantly, I am grateful. Extremely grateful! And I’d like to believe that this my guests would most gladly appreciate to know.  

I wish I would have remembered to document the occasions in photos, but I forgot to borrow the digital camera from my neighbor, who was in fact a guest at both events. The two resoundingly intimate and joyful dinner parties I hosted for the holiday were quite the success and a perfect way to end the decade.

While I did nothing of significance to celebrate the actual eve of the new decade, I did however commit the first day of 2010 (in its entirety) to a very significant and commemorative exercise, introducing myself finally to the canonical tome of Twelve Step literature that my sponsor has been pressing upon me to read.  I read from the preface to the final pages of the first chapter of the Big Book, and scribbled copious notes into my recovery journal from them.

In irregular, sporadic intervals I would break from reading and return to the computer to check email or to chat it up with buddies online.  To one particular “buddy,” I ended up elucidating extemporaneously an elaborate plan in which I expressed an interest to involve myself.  

My intention, as I described to my friend this morning and inspired by the seeming convergence or coalescence of certain variant themes on Religion & Recovery in my life at the present moment, is to reinvigorate my efforts to post regularly to my blog during the new year and to coordinate my spiritual and sobriety work into thoughtful written ruminations on these convergent themes.

Coincidentally, this morning a striking, peculiar, and poignant convergence of these themes manifest itself in my email inbox, with a blessing sent from my loyal, loving chaplain, Reverend Father Stephen Barlett-Ré [+]:

May today there be peace within.
May you trust your Higher Power that you
Are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities
That you are born of Faith.
May you use those gifts what you have received,
And pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be content knowing
That you are a child of God.
May Thy presence settle in thy bones,
And allow your soul the freedom to
Sing, dance, praise and love.
     Saint Teresa de Ávila (1515-1582)

This blessing is in absolute accordance with the themes common to both the preaching of my pious priest and the very relevant first chapter of the Big Book: “Bill’s Story” (pp.1-16).  The idea that “Faith without works [is] dead” resonates so powerfully with me in this moment of convergence that I must leave my own indelible mark on both the ecclesiastics learnt from my chaplain and the parochial piety of the “Program,” through rumination, reasoning and a reworking of this wide-eyed wisdom.

But, I’ve no talent in comparative literary analysis; or at least, I’ve not the time and energy to commit to such a studious examination of these separate texts and teachings.  I will however simply cite some single passages that cohere conveniently to this wisdom, and courageously collect my thoughts around the words I find most enlightened, revealing and inspirational.

I’ve already presented the text of the blessing of Saint Teresa de Ávila above, but I’d like to draw my readers’ attention (as mine was so drawn) to the specific sentiment similar to the revelatory “Faith” statements of Big Book Bill.  As the blessing rejoices, “May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you,” so Bill’s monstrance of a similar theme is told in his eloquent narrative, as such:

These were revolutionary and drastic proposals, but the moment I fully accepted them, the effect was electric. There was a sense of victory, followed by such a peace and serenity as I had never known. There was utter confidence. I felt lifted up, as though the great clean wind of a mountain top blew through and through. God comes to most men gradually, but His impact on me was sudden and profound

…the thought came [to me] that there were thousands of hopeless alcoholics who might be glad to have what had been so freely given me. Perhaps I could help some o them. They in turn might work with others.

My friend had emphasized the absolute necessity of demonstrating these principles in all my affairs. Particularly was it imperative to work with others as he had worked with me. Faith without works was dead, he said. And how appallingly true for the alcoholic! For if an alcoholic failed to perfect and enlarge his spiritual life through work and self-sacrifice for others, he could not survive the certain trials and low spots ahead. If he did not work, he would surely drink again, and if he drank, he would surely die. Then faith would be dead indeed. With us it is just like that.

(Alcoholics Anonymous, Fourth Edition; pp.14-15)

Clearly this idea of “self-sacrifice for others” is the central paradigm of all that I have learnt from my priest, my sponsor, my program and “in the rooms” during the past six months of my sustained and assured sobriety. Reverend Father Stephen often preaches to me that the very real possibility of divine Salvation lies solely in the manifestation of our Faith through an imparting of that faith onto others and through a retelling, a sharing of the glory and love of God. 

In understanding the significance of these words and of the convergence of this common unifying thematic thread of wisdom in Faith, I find myself more readily willing to comply with the urgings and pleas of my sponsor to demonstrate my commitment to the Program through sustained, accountable action and service.

After the cycle of another six months of sobriety, I will soon be allowed to share my story (my “gifts”) in the Rooms, and I eagerly anticipate the opportunity I’ll have received to impact profoundly the lives and perspectives of others through an expression of my faith, love and trust in my Higher Power.  I have a story of such spiritual significance to share!!

And, I imagine that this exercise in rumination, reasoning and rewording of wisdom here and now will greatly influence the shape, structure and spirit of my message to others when the time comes for me to share my story.  I may even use the blessing by Saint Teresa as the prayer of my choosing to adjourn the meetings during which I eventually will share. God willing! And for now, Godspeed!

Respectfully submitted,
Matt(e)o | QHereKidSF
Matthew D. Blanchard
San Francisco, CA USA
[2010.01.01@21:34PST]

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KINDNESS IN WORDS CREATES CONFIDENCE.
KINDNESS IN THINKING CREATES THE PROFOUND.
KINDNESS IN GIVING CREATES LOVE.
— Tao Te Ching

CONTENTMENT IS NOT THE FULFILLMENT

OF WHAT YOU WANT, BUT THE REALIZATION 

OF HOW MUCH YOU ALREADY HAVE.
— Anonymous

LIFE ISN’T ABOUT FINDING YOURSELF;
LIFE IS ABOUT CREATING YOURSELF.
— Anonymous

Rough Draft : Retelling My Ruination

I am a young gay man living with AIDS, who has already on numerous occasions fallen to the detriment and devastation of this horrifying disease. And, I am only 30 years old! This rough draft retelling of my ruination serves a specific intention: to catalog both the tender touching and terribly traumatic moments of my miserable mayhem, for the sake of both posterity and universal accessibility.

My intention here is to be brave and bold in the broad casting of my courage, contentment, and collected wisdom through written narrative, while refining my eloquence through an evocative enunciation of the eternal conflict and reconciliation between external/internal beauty and ulteriorly ultimate, indomitable integrity inspired by such doomsday devastation as disease(s) and disfigurement(s).

In late 2007, I was living a very isolated, lonely life... addicted to crystal meth and ignoring the obvious signs of the deterioration of my health, when I acquired PCP pneumonia (but didn't know it!), fell unconscious (for what my doctors now believe was between ten to twelve days!) alone in my stark, sterile studio apartment. Laying face down on my pillow in bed, I allowed eminently dangerous bacteria to enter my mouth through the constant streaming of saliva and drool that dripped from the curl of my lips and cheek.

At some point during my apparent coma, I was infected by a poly-microbial bacterial infection similar to, but much more destructive, aggressive and incurable than, say, MRSA (staph infection) or Gangrene. This bacterial infection invaded my face and began necrotizing the flesh and bone of my upper jaw, mouth and nose.

On October 7, 2007, I was found less than a few vacant steps away from death, by the San Francisco Fire Department, who came and busted down my door. I remember being woken by their inexorably loud pounding, so I peeled myself out of my urine- & blood-soaked sheets, in the daze of dying, and stumbled to the hallway that directly faced my front door. I saw the door collapse, the fire fighters and my property manager standing there calling my name. Then I in turn collapsed, fainted, again unconscious and was rushed to the hospital, where I remained in medically induced coma for eight weeks.

During this time, my doctors attempted to cure a pervasive PCP pneumonia, as well as the ultimately incurable bacterial infection in my face. While they succeeded in curbing the affects of the pneumonia, the heavy, heavy doses of antibiotics that they were injecting into me had no significant affect on the bacterial infection, which kept eating away at my face. Tragically, during the third week of my hospitalization, while i was still unconscious, my doctors were forced to amputate my entire upper jaw & palette, my upper and left lower lips, my left nostril and septum.

Five weeks later, I woke form the coma and was presented a mirror by a terribly awkward and forcibly compassionate student doctor. He told me to take it into my hands, directed me to lift the mirror above my head and to bring it down slowly, with calm and reserve, so that I wouldn't be too terribly "terrified." So, I did what he said.

I gazed through the mirror, first at the top of my head, where wisps of hair stuck out in all directions, noticed that it was getting long...longer than I had remembered it to be, and that it was pretty awfully disheveled. I brought the mirror down to my eyes and stared intently into them, begging to know what I was about to see, and then I slowly dragged the mirror down the length of my nose.

Before I had any chance to gasp for breath, I saw the start of it: my nose had been cut in half at it's tip; I could see inside of it. Suddenly, I experienced an astounding jolt of excitement, awe and curiosity in such a way that I had never experienced before; so, without fear, i continued to pull the mirror down the length of my distorted, disfigured face, and I saw the rest of it. From the edge of where my nose had been cut off, a large gaping hole obliterated, obscured and obstructed what were once the familiar features of my beautiful face and awkward, crooked smile.

I could see through to the back of my throat, to my uvula. I could see my tongue flinching hesitantly, reluctantly, with reserve, itching the few bottom teeth that remained. I realized just then that I had never once noticed nor recognized how gargantuan my tongue is: just a testament to how big my mouth once was, and still was just then.

I hated what I saw. It certainly intrigued me, but it horrified me very much just the same. So much so that I remained expressionless: my eyes void of emotion, as I continued to stare. I felt so many diverse, painful emotions in that one single instance, that I could not even bear to cry; however, the student doctor was determined that I should. He grabbed my hand and held it tightly, with angst and force; although, I did not want him to touch me. He explained the trauma I had experienced and stressed stoically that with modern advancements in the science and practice of plastic surgery, my face could...would...be restored.

I wouldn't, couldn't find the grace and courage and hope within myself to believe him, so I pulled my hand out of his and tenderly touched it to my my teeth and tongue, trembling. As if, with a single touch, I could denounce and defy the reality of my destruction. He noticed that no tears were coming out, and his eyebrows slumped downward in obvious concern. He said that he wouldn't leave my side until I cried. Almost whimpering, with a quivering lip and trembling eyes, suffering himself the agony of the moment, he desperately cajoled me: "You are supposed to cry, Matthew. What has happened to you... It's devastating."

I realized just then that I hated that word: "devastating," but that from that moment onward, it would be one of the only few words I could ever find to describe the full magnanimous force of the mayhem and misery that had befallen me. I was angry. I was puzzled. I was horrified. I was immensely, terribly, devastatingly saddened by what I saw staring back at me in that mirror: a ghastly, grotesque, gruesome grimace gone awry. And, I was very frustrated with this man who was just sitting there, watching me suffer, urging my suffering on, expecting me... asking me... telling me... to "CRY!!"

So, to appease and abet a little the young student doctor's dutiful determination and perhaps, in one way or another, to see if his sympathy was sincere, I let a tear tarry a second on the tip of my lashes, then drip down my swollen, scarred, scarlet cheek to fall into the chasm at the center of my face. And Goddammit! Then, do you know what he did? He immediately swiped the mirror from my tight grip, stoop up, began shuffling backward towards the door and muttered, "So, I guess we're done here. I'll check in on you tomorrow. Don't let this get you down, Matthew. Try to smile!" TRY TO SMILE!! That's what he said to me. The bastard! Then, he walked away, and I never saw him again. To this day, I don't know if I have ever hated anyone in one moment more than I hated that student doctor then.

It's been almost two years since my eight-month hospitalization came to an end. I eventually returned home, again to be isolated, alone in my studio apartment, where I began the tedious, depressive struggle of trudging onward through five consecutive surgical reconstructions, so far. My face is a tattered tapestry of flesh and bone taken from my lower left leg and hanging from my forehead. I'm currently awaiting with great anticipation my next surgery: "a division & revision of the left nasal flap," scheduled for January 4, 2010. Reconstructions will continue well into 2011, progressing at a steady six week pace if, and only if, I remain sober.

One redemptive aspect of my story: a "Saving Grace," per say, is that while my addiction resurfaced just after I returned home to isolation and to a $350.00USD baggy of crystal meth laying next to a dirty, used bulb-pipe at the center of my desk, I have fought long and hard to conquer this ulterior disease of drug dependency, ever since. As recent as July 14, 2009, I entered a ninety-day triple diagnoses residential rehabilitative recovery & transitional housing program called Ferguson Place, through Baker Places, Inc. of San Francisco.

Rehab was an immensely transformative, successful experience, and I have remained sober since graduating the program on October 11, 2009. I feel very secure in my recovery, thanks to my very strong support network, which includes doctors, surgeons, nurses, a psychiatrist, a therapist, a L.I.F.E. coach, a Care Navigator, a sponsor, friends, family and other sober members of my recovery community.

My concern during this tedious time of continuously tentative transformations, is the temptation that will doubtlessly seep through the walls of my studio apartment as I sit alone, day in and day out, in isolation. Isolation and inactivity can only lead to a progression of my disease(s). In fact, that is exactly what got me into the this predicament in the first place, I believe. Truth is: It's difficult for me to get up and get active, and to exercise with lots of strenuous motion, because I'm missing my left fibula.

The majority of the bone (save an inch & a half at either end, where the tendons and ligaments attach) was removed during my first extremely invasive, debilitating (although, quite successful!) maxillofacial reconstruction, only to be sawed, separated, screwed and secured to my face in an effort to recreate my upper jaw. So, I have a lot of trouble walking with stability and speed. I'm also only about five months clean and sober, as I alluded, previously.

For these reasons (and many more!), I am in need of the companionship and responsibility that comes with caring for a supportive service/assistance pet: in order to 1.) maintain sobriety, 2.) to get some exercise on a daily basis, and 3.) to venture out into the world, where I might encounter real people; instead of being always shut up at home.

The next two years of reconstructions are going to be long and arduous, but I maintain hope, determination and ambition. I'm looking forward to going back to school to get my Master's in Social Work (MSW), as well as either an NPA Professional Certificate (Non-Profit Administration) from U.C. Berkeley, or an only Master's in Nonprofit Management (MNM) from Regis University (based out of Boulder, Colorado). I intend to fully utilize all the various resources at my disposal as a resident of San Francisco, California, such as benefits I expect will be awarded to me by the Department of Rehabilitation: a state-run bureaucratic social services division that funds eduction and training for disabled peoples whom are aiming to return to work.

I am fully committed to positively impacting my community through expressions of compassion, courage, empathy & autobiography. I anticipate the moment when I am able and invited to share my story with the broader recovery community, to down my mask and recount the wretched horrifying lowdown depths to which addiction can thrust someone with utmost turbulence, and without the slightest pause in consideration of one's imminent trepidation and trauma.

For now, I practice my telling narrative nearer to the people, passed along via the ebbing, flowing tide of cyberwaves, broadcasting my story to the world here via this dynamic social media infrastructure in the off chance that some solitary sober someone may stumble out of the "ROOMS" and into my "WORDS," before I sound off for once on my own back where we both are bound to face my face, face-to-face, together. C'est à dire, « dans des SALLES!! » At which point, I will always end in saying, "Thank you for your acceptance. Thank you for listening. Next time, I'll be sure to bring some lil' smoked sausages to go with those NUTS!!" ;oP

Respectfully submitted,
Matt(e)o | QHereKidSF
Matthew D. Blanchard
San Francisco, CA USA
[MDB2009.12.06@19:31]

30TH Birthday BASH!! (Flickr®)

This has been very slow in the making, given the tedium of scribing 56 or so individual captions and cutting/cropping even more photos than you'd first expect from a birthday celebration, but it was a time to be celebrated. To introduce my Flickr® Photostream™ Slide Show below, I'll simply say that I am blessed to have been able to celebrate my 30TH birthday with such pomp & circumstance.

It was a celebration of pure decadence and lavish living, for a newly sober sane man, leaving behind his old face and his youth for a future filled with promise, potential and profound friendships. From the bottom of my heart, I thank every person who came to Ferguson Place on September 18th, 2009 to celebrate with me my birthday. I will always keep these memories dear to my heart! God bless you all as he has blessed me!!



The evening certainly did not begin with the lighting of the candles and the cutting of the cake, but I thought that framing these photos first would at least be a good introduction, with the bright bold thirty candles and all the sprinkles to shots of me slicing and serving.

Then we were in the kitchen for eats, and from there it's pretty much chronologic: the photo display. Next came the opening of the gifts, and boy, were they a delight!! My favorites (and I mean no harping on the lesser than gifts for being "oh, lesser than!" -- Just Kidding, of course!) have got to be the black and white OldNavy™ bamboo-rayon scarf I got from my nurse from UCSF 360: The Positive Care Center, Patrick F.; my bright royal blue SNUGGIE® from Timothy V., a Ferguson Place alum; and my box o'condoms from Thomas C., a previous graduate from Ferguson Place who was a client for about 2/3 the time I was there!! What a great surprise they all were!! Thanks guys!

But the one person I have to thank above anyone else is my sponsor, Jeffrey J., who I was linked to through John Olesen, MA: my Shanti L.I.F.E. Coach. To my great fortunate, Jeffrey J. just happens to be a very talented professional pastry chef, king of Cakedom® and an all around amazing person. I'm a really lucky kid to have him as my first sponsor in any 12-Step Program. He's been sober for over 5 years, and stays sane and stable by devoting his life to service, mostly baking cakes from original recipes for his closest friends' (and he's got a lot of them!) sobriety birthdays.

Jeffrey, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for investing so much of your time into baking me such a decadent chocolate cake, but mostly for all the strength of spirit and teaching you will bring into my life as months and years go on. Thank you for letting me into your life, even though it may not be easy for you sometimes. I look forward to working with you!!