The Melindaville Blog

Letting Go

Melinda Tyler — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 18:46:47 GMT

I rarely have nightmares anymore. When Les and I first began living together as a couple, I had them almost nightly. As he learned more about my life and experiences, he understood why I was so haunted but it made him feel helpless, nonetheless. It’s not easy to watch a person you love suffer, even if it is only in the grips of a dream.

I stopped having nightmares on a daily basis after I finally confronted my father several years ago. All of a sudden, I saw the larger-than-life monster of my childhood—the one who’d been the source of so much pain and torment to me, as a weak old man. When Les and I confronted him, he lost his power over me—and when that happened, I stopped fearing him. No longer terrified of him, I stopped having nightmares. Well, I’ve almost stopped having them.

I had a nightmare last night—and it was vivid. I’m sure our friend Sigmund Freud would have a field day with the manifest and latent meanings of this particular dream. I’ve had some fun analyzing it myself.

In my dream, I was running down a long, dark road. I was running away from someone or something—I’m uncertain what it was—but I was terrified. While running down the road, I looked down and saw I had a manuscript in my hands. I hadn’t realized I was holding anything—but there it was. I was having a difficult time holding on to the book—I kept dropping it on the muddy ground, which really upset me. Each time it slipped out of my fingers, it became dirtier and muddier. I kept thinking—I’m ruining this book! I have to stop dropping it! I cared very much about this book in my hands. I even apologized to this inanimate object. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to drop you,” I whispered.

Suddenly, I’d reached the end of the road and was now at a huge cliff, where below, monstrous waves crashed on giant rocks. It could have been Schoodic Point, in Maine—or perhaps it was Big Sur. It was a place of familiarity. I couldn’t really see the water below—but I could hear it. Still protective of the book, I kept switching it from one arm to the other—it was so heavy. All of a sudden, I dropped it. Helplessly, I watched it go tumbling down into the darkness . . . knowing it was gone forever. I’d lost my manuscript forever.

Now, it’s true—I am a psychologist—but it doesn’t take one to realize what the meaning of this dream was. Saturday, I printed my book for Eddie to take to the literary agent he knows.

It’s scary to send my manuscript to agents. Until now, it has been mine. As long as I held on to it, it was safe. True, a few of my friends and my mother have read and edited my book—and they’ve all liked it. But it’s quite different to send out for professionals to review.

As it dropped into the mail—it did fall off that cliff. And it’s true—it is gone—that purest form of my book. Because it will now be muddied with the criticism and opinions of others who will now judge it—and me. It’s more than a book, really—it almost feels as though it is part of me—a child perhaps—a child I’ve labored for two years to produce. Giving it up—well, it’s tough.

But at the same time, it feels good to finally let it go. It’s out of my hands—and whatever happens, I am ready to accept it. Writing this book was the most difficult—and the most cathartic thing I’ve ever done.

I’m on to the next phase now. And I’ve got to accept that it has left my hands and I can’t retrieve it, even if I wanted to. It’s hard letting go of something you’ve worked on and that you care about more than any other single person will. But sometimes we have to just let go—and accept whatever destiny has in store for us. And you know? I’m ready for that.

Peace,

Melinda

Hope Grows Everywhere (Even in Unlikely Places)

Melinda Tyler — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 17:49:16 GMT

My sister and me (she is on the right).

As I have discussed on my blog before, I’ve had a distant and strained relationship with my sister —pretty much throughout our lives. I’ve always wished it were otherwise—but one person cannot force a relationship. Relationships are only successful if both parties participate.

However, we can never allow ourselves to feel completely hopeless about anything, whether it is about global warming, the situation in Afghanistan, or a simple relationship between two sisters. After all, when there’s life, there is hope. And when you hope, you can dream—and anything can happen when you hold onto your hopes and dreams.

After finishing the major revisions and edits to my book, I felt so ecstatic and proud. So much so that I sent a copy of the last chapter to my sister.

Writing my book was an incredible journey on so many levels but one of the most profound effects was the forgiveness I found through writing it. As I wrote about my family’s dynamics, I had to analyze our relationships and as I did, I felt resentment give way to understanding. And with that understanding came a greater degree of forgiveness than I’ve ever known: I forgave my mother even more for the role she played in my father’s horrendous abuse. And as I wrote on, I felt the iceberg of resentment I’ve always felt toward my sister begin to melt away. I’d idolized her throughout my childhood, as younger siblings often do to their older ones. I always yearned for her love and acceptance but never really received it. While writing, though, I finally realized my father victimized her as he did me. Even if he didn’t molest her as he did me, she was still a pawn in a terribly dysfunctional family.

I sent her that last chapter because I know much of my book will be difficult for her to read. But I knew this one would be easier for her to read because it is a chapter of a reunion between an estranged mother and daughter—but more importantly, it is a chapter of hope and triumph. I wanted to share that with her.

Her return email warmed. In fact, tears came to my eyes.

My sister told me how beautifully she thought the chapter was written—and how moving it was. She said she could relate to it because she is a mother and can understand the mother-child bond because of it.

Emotion overcame me because I honestly couldn’t remember ever hearing my sister compliment me. Not once. In my entire life. I knew I’d succeeded with the chapter—but that wasn’t even the most important thing. The most important thing was this tiny flicker of flame on a newly lit fire of hope. And I felt hope for our relationship. I want to nourish that tiny flicker of a hope.

I love my sister. I always have—from the time that I can remember. I’ve not always been happy with her—and I’ve certainly not always liked her, but I have always loved her and I’ve always wanted to know her on a deeper level. I don’t know if we ever really will—but I remain hopeful.

I recently received an email announcing she and her husband had finished building their dream home in Gunnison, Colorado. I responded, saying how thrilled I was--that I hoped they’d enjoy many years of happiness and success in their new home. She wrote back with an invitation to visit them.

You know, I think I will.

Peace,

Melinda
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Mainely Wonderful

Melinda Tyler — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 17:03:00 GMT

Waves crashing at Schoodic Point near Winter Harbor, Maine

Les and I are vacationing in Maine, at our wonderful, “Corea-by-the-Sea.” It’s far up the coast of Maine—it takes a good six hours to drive here from Boston but the drive itself is lovely and I begin smiling widely, with anticipation, as we get closer and pass familiar signs along the way. There’s a small scrapbooking shop (I still find it amazing that a scrapbooking shop can survive on its own here), Pete’s creamery, which he advertises as having, “pretty good ice cream,” and Sullivan Harbor Farms, which has absolutely the most fantastic smoked salmon you could ever imagine.

This morning, I luxuriated in bed until ten o’clock, which I rarely do in Boston or San Francisco—even though I am not really a morning person. I love awakening in Maine, smelling the salty sea air, and listening to the waves gently slap up against the rocks, while lobster boats troll out in Gouldsboro Bay, which our house sits on. I feel my battery recharge here—and even more lovely, this is such a romantic get-away, I always leave feeling Les and I have made even more connections, which hardly seems possible to do at this point—but we still manage.

We’ve spent much of our time doing the usual things we love. We went to the Corea harbor and bought lobsters pulled fresh out of the sea that morning—so deliciously sweet, you don’t even need butter. We had a lovely picnic at Schoodic Point, where masterful waves crash on the rocks—and when gazing out at the ocean, you cannot help but be entranced at how huge it is . . . and how small you are. Tonight, we’ll feast at our favorite restaurant, Le Domaine, which really is a five star restaurant, secretly tucked away in the Maine woods. Oh the anticipation of that fine meal tonight.

Corea-By-The-Sea, Lobster Co-op--YUM!

But mostly, we’ve taken walks along the beach, had quiet days and nights of catching up with books that we are normally too busy to read. Just having time to connect with nature is pretty damn wonderful.

How I wish I could bottle up the feelings I have for Maine and pass it along to all of you I love so much. It really is Mainely wonderful.

Peace,

Melinda

Graveyard Of Memories

Melinda Tyler — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 14:42:17 GMT

During our brief trip to Cleveland, time passed so fast—too quickly really. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to do many of the things I’d wished to do. I’d hoped to track down more people who played such an influential role in my early recovery. I suppose I should not be surprised at the vast changes Cleveland has seen in the last sixteen years. After all, look at the transformation I’ve undergone. The changes in both Cleveland and in me are nothing short of astonishing.

However, while in Cleveland, I did accomplish a lot. One thing I really wanted to do was to bury some memories—memories I’ve not been able to put to rest because they are still frequented in my nightmares. I needed to see those places one more time. It was to face those ghosts and demons, knowing that if I confronted them, I could finally put them to rest.

So, on Saturday afternoon, after spending the morning visiting women residents in the Ed Keating Center , we took the GPS and plugged in several of my former addresses that Mom had managed to hang onto, and took a drive through some key parts of Cleveland—places from my past. One thing that struck me in virtually every area we visited was how poverty-stricken these areas are. This alone made me so grateful for my new life. Today, I never worry about my safety in any of the places I live. In those old Cleveland neighborhoods, danger was a constant companion. I never felt safe walking in any of those neighborhoods.

The first place we visited was the Tremont area, which has undergone a huge amount of urban renewal. When I lived in this neighborhood, it was seedy and drug infested—one of the most dangerous areas in all of Cleveland. When we first arrived in the area from the freeway, I barely recognized it. Passing what looked like a newly developed housing area, I commented to Les that I thought the new housing might have replaced the projects, where I once scored drugs. Quickly, I realized that assumption was correct; the city did tear down those depressing projects, replacing them with beautiful new housing that now accommodates both lower and higher income families.

At first, I was actually a little disappointed the projects had disappeared—just on a very personal (and even selfish) level. I wanted to see the exact place where a dealer had once used me as a human shield against a gunman who, while on a crack-induced high-had pulled out a shotgun, threatening to kill everyone in the apartment. That was only one experience I’d had in those projects. Any number of things could have snuffed out my life had it not been due to sheer circumstance or dumb luck.

Further up the hill, in that same area, was where I’d spent the most time during the last two years of my homelessness. I’d moved into a house with two Sandy’s—both raging alcoholics. The owner, Sandy, was a drunk whose behavior bordered on insanity when she was in the midst of a particularly nasty alcoholic binge. The other Sandy, an Alaskan native, was just as much a raging alcoholic but less violent and insane than owner Sandy. Eskimo Sandy was sexually out of the control, often bringing home complete strangers to have sex with in front of her three little boys, ages three to ten years old.

Sandy's condemned house was torn down; it would be in between here.

During the summer of 1993, my final summer in Cleveland (I would go to treatment in January 1994), the city of Cleveland finally condemned Sandy’s house. That last summer there, we spent without electricity or a phone. It was not too bad during those months because heat wasn’t such an issue. I remember a few November days, awakening shivering in the frigid cold, with every blanket or coat I could find wrapped around me for warmth. I’d had no other choice to leave because I would have died from hypothermia had I not.

For me, the most traumatic place in Cleveland was the intersection, where one of the worst experiences of my life occurred.

In late October of 1993, while out ‘hitchhiking’ and looking for tricks, a van of three young men pulled up and asked if I was "working." They looked well dressed and preppy, like college students. An agonizing episode of heroin withdrawal drove my decisions that day.

Normally, I never got in a car with more than one man. That’s a fundamental rule of the street. One man with bad intentions is hard to fight off but more than one is impossible. But that night, I was dopesick and desperate. Sizing up the situation, the young men seemed nice enough and I was in the throes of a torturous withdrawal. Against my better judgment, I got into the car.

As soon as the van’s door slammed shut, a fist that seemingly shot out of nowhere caught me off guard and slammed into my right eye. Stunned, I tried catching my breath but before I could begin to fathom what was happening, I felt hands ripping my stockings and skirt, as they pushed me to the floor. These three “nice” men took turns raping and sodomizing me for two solid hours. After they finished, they slowed down, opened the side door, and pushed me out onto the road. In agony, I managed to crawl to the side of the road, beaten and more disgraced than ever.

Even then, though, I had guardian angels that seemed to protect me through the worst experiences of my life. After lying on the side of the road for several hours, I felt a hand on my shoulder just as dawn was breaking. “Girl,” a voice whispered, “Are you okay? Who dotted your eye?” Looking up, I saw a concerned black face looking me over.

“I seen you every day, girl—I know you—you always walking around. Come on, girl—let me take you home and I’ll help you clean yourself up. You look like you could use a friend right now.”

And that was my introduction to Sweet Lou, who helped me the best he could during what were to become my last hopeless months of addiction.

Driving around the Tremont area, that place of so much pain and trauma during those last hopeless days of addiction, it began dawning on me: this place cannot ever hurt me again. In fact, no place can hurt me again. This is just a place—we cannot hold a place responsible for the pain or trauma of an experience. We keep those memories alive ourselves.

I realized then, with clarity, that Cleveland is a city where I happened to reach rock bottom. I could have reached that bottom anywhere I’d lived—in San Francisco, New York—anywhere. Places (or people) aren’t responsible for our unhappiness. We must take ownership of our lives and our experiences. And when we do that, we can free ourselves from our pasts.

Peace,

Melinda

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What Defines 'Successful' Recovery

Melinda Tyler — Thu, 05 Aug 2010 17:43:00 GMT

While I was in Cleveland this past weekend and talking to residents in the Ed Keating Center (a substance abuse treatment center), some of the women wanted to know what my life was like now, after so many years of recovery. Some wanted to know what meetings I went to and I answered those questions honestly and directly. In answering their questions, I realized I needed to clarify something about my recovery and there’s no better place to do that than on my blog.

When I entered treatment on January 18, 1994, life had defeated and beaten me to the point where I was hanging on with the most fragile of threads. I was at rock bottom. I had nowhere to go but up. Fortunately, though, I had reached a point where for the first time, I listened to others -- people who seemed to have a much better clue about how to live life than I did. For the first time, I was willing to follow others’ directions to change the direction of my life.

Freedom House told me to attend Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings, which I gladly agreed to do. Now you should know that while I had certainly done my share of drinking, drugs were always my main thing. It probably would have been more appropriate for me to attend Narcotics Anonymous (NA), but meetings connected to Freedom House centered on AA, not NA. After a couple of years of arrests, homelessness, and working on the street as a prostitute, I was desperate to change my life. Freedom House gave me a warm and safe place to sleep and a sliver of hope at a second chance at life. Going to meetings seemed a small thing to do in return.

I learned so much through AA (and later NA when I also attended those meetings). Through the programs, I learned to find the courage to face my past, to make amends to the people I’d wronged over the years, and to live one day at a time. I cannot tell you how many times the serenity prayer kept me from going out on the street to score drugs. “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Freedom House provided my initial opportunity and planted the first seeds of hope but it was in AA and NA that I began the long healing process. As a result, I am very grateful to both programs.

Now, as much as they helped me, even in my early days, I was never completely comfortable with certain aspects of AA and NA. However, I had begun to learn that with everything in life, you have to weigh the negative aspects of things against their benefits. For me at that time, the benefits clearly outweighed the detriments, and so I embraced the AA and NA philosophies and followed their teachings.

As time went on, though, I began feeling less comfortable with AA and NA and I honestly began questioning whether I really needed to be there. Listening to others talk about drinking and doing drugs, I found it so hard to relate. Unlike most of members, when I shared in meetings, it was not about drugs —in fact, I rarely thought about drugs at two years clean.

After my third year of recovery, I knew I never wanted to use drugs again. In fact, my reaction was the opposite—the mere thought of doing drugs made me feel physically ill. I had no euphoric recall. I only remembered the misery and I never wanted that misery again.

My world had changed drastically while I was in Montana and I embraced my new life. I was in school—a straight ‘A’ student, my life was rich with new experiences and the doors of education had opened up an exciting new world. I felt I’d moved on—my old life was becoming a distant memory. I knew I’d never return to my old life, no matter what.

My discomfort with the programs of AA and NA continued growing. I began questioning some of the beliefs of AA and NA. Certainly, with all the variability in people and experiences, there must be more than one path to a successful recovery. I began wondering whether all people must adhere to complete abstinence for the remainder of their lives as proof of a successful recovery. I’d met people who had recovered from addiction but weren’t completely abstinent.

Now I knew then, and still know now, that for some people, complete abstinence is mandatory to manage their lives.

But not all people are the same.

The reasons for becoming an addict or an alcoholic are as varied as the people who end up as addicts or alcoholics. In therapy, I began facing the root problems from my childhood. I realized these were what drove my own desire to use drugs.

Perhaps not surprisingly given my history, I was studying human development and psychology at Montana State University. I learned of the influential role genetics play in nearly every aspect of our beings. I researched further—looking at every study I found on addiction and genetics. Then, I looked at my own family tree; no one on either side of my family had a history of substance abuse or alcoholism.

I became convinced there are two different root causes for addiction: one is genetic (or biological), the other is situational or psychological. (This is the old “nature vs. nurture” question applied to addiction. And, like the answer to that question, the root causes for addiction are usually some combination of both: like most things in life, there’s a continuum between these two extremes.)

I believe a genetic addict likely must never drink socially or in moderation. For people like this, I believe AA is a solid island of sanity in a storm-tossed ocean of temptation. It’s not only a lifeline in early recovery but to keep a manageable life, AA must remain a constant. For genetic addicts, once problem drinking begins, it’s as if they’ve flipped a switch that once turned on, they cannot turn it off again. After that pattern has been established, even a single, social drink sets off a repeating pattern of abuse. For these people, usually, a drink does mean losing everything. And, while, a genetic addict may have experienced a trauma, psychological problem, or situation that triggered their addiction, their addiction, once started, becomes an end in itself. For them, the worst problems in their lives most often begin after they begin doing drugs or drinking.

However, a psychological/situational addict is different. I believe these types of addicts also need a program such as AA or NA, particularly in early recovery. I also believe abstinence is essential for every recovering addict in his or her first year(s) of recovery. But this is where the prognosis can change between the two because some of these people can and do learn to drink socially, once they deal with the psychological trauma.

I came to believe that I was a psychological/situational addict. I knew in my heart that if I had a glass of wine with dinner, it would not ruin my life. My problems began long before I began doing drugs—they began in my very early childhood, stemming from years of sexual abuse, insecurity, and shame. For me, drugs masked the fact that I hated myself. In Montana, clean of drugs, and with the help of a great therapist, I faced the early problems that I’d been running from. When I did that, my attitude, my thinking, my very life changed, and I no longer felt the need to destroy myself. And once I no longer wanted to destroy myself, the temptation towards drugs vanished.

So, thinking that perhaps AA and NA weren’t right for me, I questioned people who both stayed in the program and those who left. I talked to those who learned to drink normally in social situations and I also spoke to those who took one drink and whose lives really did return to hell. I discussed my findings and beliefs with friends, professors, and particularly my mother.

And, so after three years after leaving Freedom House, I decided I was going to have a glass of wine with dinner that night. I was taking a risk and I knew it—but I’ve always believed in following one’s heart. After much soul searching, I was doing just that. It was a red-letter day when I told my plans to Mom and she replied, “Honey, I trust you completely.”

That night, I went out to dinner with my good friend Eddie. We each had a glass of wine with dinner. We had a great time—wonderful conversation and fantastic food. Nothing else happened. It was truly anticlimactic. After dinner, Eddie and I both went home; I did a little studying, before going to bed. I woke up the next morning to head to the MSU gym at 5:00 a.m. as I normally did for my work out. Life was pretty much the same, except that I could add a glass of wine now and then to a meal.

After that, you know the rest. I graduated with highest honors from MSU, and then went on to graduate school. Since college, I began teaching, wrote several articles and a textbook. I married the love of my life and am in a wonderful, fulfilling relationship. I’ve now finished my memoir, which I hope will be published soon. I still drink socially on many occasions. Les is pretty knowledgeable about wine, so we have a wine cellar. We routinely have a glass of wine with dinner (we’re somewhat partial to California Cabs). Otherwise, and except for all that significant (and very satisfying) personal growth, life has remained pretty much the same for me as it was since walking out of the Freedom House. And, by the way, I haven’t touched heroin or cocaine since I was checked into the hospital after trying to kill myself.

So, when people ask, “Melinda, are you in recovery?” I answer with certainty “Yes, I am in recovery.” For nearly seventeen years, I have been in recovery, healing from a past of sexual abuse, trauma, and addiction to heroin and cocaine. For me, recovery is not defined by my abstinence from alcohol but from the success of my life and my personal growth and happiness.

And, this is consistent with how mental health professionals define recovery. When you ask substance abuse counselors to define addiction, they say that if your life is unmanageable as a result of a drug or alcohol habit, then you are addicted. And of course, that should be the definition.

Many paths to recovery exist. Ultimately, the life one lives is the ultimate measure of a successful recovery. A successful recovery is not defined by the programs to which a person belongs, or even by adherence to the teachings of a particular program. I continue in my recovery—learning, growing, and changing all the time.

I must give a word of caution, though. My own experiences are my own experiences. We are all different and each of our individual paths of recovery can be very different. My path of recovery may not work for another person; it all depends on one’s own unique circumstances. We should all be thankful that there are so many different paths to a successful recovery. If you are addicted, you must find the right one for you, and I wish you the best of luck in finding your right path.

Peace,

Melinda

Facing Past Demons

Melinda Tyler — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 15:55:00 GMT

I’ve spent much of the last sixteen-plus years trying to forget the misery that was my life when I lived in Cleveland, Ohio. This weekend, I decided to face that past when Les and I took a Friday evening flight there.

I haven’t stepped foot in Ohio since I left Freedom House—and I even went to great pains to avoid it while driving to graduate school from Montana. Right before heading off to graduate school, I remembered that I might have warrants for my arrest in Cleveland and this threw me into a panic. I called Cuyahoga County’s CJ system at that time and learned I did indeed have warrants. Moreover, there was no statute of limitations—not even for the misdemeanor charges of solicitation of prostitution (which is what the warrants were for).

As soon as I heard about the warrants, I was terrified of getting stopped by a cop for some innocuous reason, while driving through Ohio on my way to graduate school, getting locked up in jail, and missing my first day of grad school. I couldn’t let that happen!

Now, of course, I started working on clearing up those warrants immediately, but it took several months. Mom hired an attorney, who represented me to the judge. My Mom sent a letter to the judge bragging about how great I was doing (thanks Mom!) and she even included a picture of me graduating from MSU—pointing out to the judge that the gold tassel on my cap indicated highest honors (I love you, Mom).

But in the meantime—I had to avoid Ohio. So, I actually took a looooooong detour, taking a ferry across one of the Great Lakes, driving up into Canada, and then dropping down into New York. This was all done just to avoid Ohio, which tells you something about how terribly afraid I was and how bad my jail experiences were there. The happy news is that I did make it to the first day of graduate school without incidence and the warrants are now long since cleared up.

But even with them cleared up and many years later, I simply couldn’t fathom going back to a place of so much trauma and pain. But I felt compelled to now. While writing my book, I had to dig down deep and hard, remembering every nook and cranny of my former life and examining it under a microscope. Some of the most difficult parts of my book were experiences I had in Cleveland, because that’s where my life really took that final downward turn, which landed me at a bottom so brutal, it nearly cost my life. After finishing my book, I wanted to face that past and that’s exactly what happened this weekend.

This freeing, empowering experience was similar to the one I had when Les and I confronted my father a few years ago. I wish I’d done it before. As with the confrontation with my father, having my beloved Les by my side made this experience so much easier. Les is truly my rock—I lean on him hard and often. I’m a lucky woman to have such a steady man backing me up. He’s a man who loves me so unconditionally that it still astounds me. I’ve never been loved so thoroughly, purely, and completely. He’s the president of a company yet he’s never wavered in his support for me and my book, even knowing it will give people reason to talk. In fact, even more amazing—he’s even prouder of me for it.

Les and I arrived in Cleveland late Friday night—so late, we simply checked into our downtown hotel. However, we hit the bricks early the next morning; time was precious, as we had only thirty-six hours in Cleveland and much to do.

Early Saturday morning, we headed over to the Ed Keating Center (EKC), which is the ‘new Freedom House.’ I’d recently learned the Freedom House disintegrated in the late 1990’s and at first, I was so sad to hear that. However, then I learned that the founders of Freedom House had opened a new recovery community—the EKC. The Center's is grounded in the same philosophy as the old Freedom House: they turn no one down regardless of ability to pay and the only requirement for entry is a desire to change one’s life.

In our world, so driven by money, this philosophy is so refreshing.

At the EKC, I met Marty, who is now the director of the Center. Marty told me that Jack, one of Freedom House’s original founders, had died not too long ago. I was saddened to hear of Jack’s death but happy to hear that Marty and Phyllis (Jack’s founding partner in the original Freedom House) are carrying on the torch with the same philosophy. I told Marty I wanted to visit with some of the women in their new residence and he was kind enough to give us an invitation and provide directions. We headed over there next.

What happened next was incredible.

The women’s new residence center is huge compared to the old women’s residence. When I was there in 1994, the women’s residence was an actual house, with a living room, dining room, bedrooms, etc. It was wonderful but the one negative was that it only housed ten to twelve women (with twelve, two had to use cots). The women’s new residence was previously a nursing home and much larger than the house I remember—it houses over thirty women. The EKC remodeled it with areas for chapel, group meetings, community-gathering places, and of course the bedrooms shared by residents (two per room).

I had the pleasure of meeting and talking with some of the women residents. I met the housemother, Laura, who offered to take me on a tour of the place, showing me around the rooms and pointing out the various places the women spend time.

When we walked out onto a patio, I was totally gobsmacked when a woman pointed to me and said, “I know you.” She looked vaguely familiar but I just couldn’t quite place her. She continued pointing at me, saying, “You were at Freedom House on Triskett Street with me before.”

Then I realized who she was. Denise was in Freedom House when I was—back in 1994. Wow. Just WOW!

Hold on to your seats because my entire relationship with Denise is an amazing example of how connected our small world really is.

You see, when I met Denise back in 1994, we hit it off right away—I could tell she was an intelligent, interesting and talented woman, so we spent quite a bit of time getting to know each other after we first met. During the course of one of our first conversations, she mentioned she had a boyfriend, Anton, who was an artist from San Francisco. Something clicked and got me thinking—because I knew an artist in San Francisco named Anton—and that’s not a common name. So, I asked if this artist’s name was Anton Gintner and she replied, “Yes, that’s him!”

I was completely shocked! Not only did I know Anton, he was actually a very good friend! I’d met him years earlier, through the punk rock community, when I was about twenty years old. His former wife, Heidi, had been a good friend also. Now, I’d heard Heidi and Anton had split up but I had no idea Anton had moved to Cleveland, of all places—but then I remembered that’s where he was from.

So, of course, after that—Denise and I became close friends and through her, I caught up with Anton, as well. I visited him in his family’s home in Cleveland several times after reconnecting and we stayed in touch for several years after I moved to Montana.

Now, to make a long story short, Denise and Anton were married and spent many years together. He died quite tragically (and quite young) several years ago but he did leave quite a legacy. Some of his paintings still hang in the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) in San Francisco. And I still have a postcard painting he sent me several years after I caught up with him through Denise at Freedom House.

This last Saturday, I spent quite a bit of time talking with Denise and learned her story. Apparently, she had her life pretty well together for many years but after caring for her mother who was suffering from dementia, she fell off the wagon, and started drinking again. Some can leave AA and even drink normally after facing past traumas but some people cannot. Apparently, Denise is the type of addict/alcoholic who cannot risk taking even one drink without it affecting her entire life. For some people, the only road to recovery is complete abstinence. Hence, this was why she was back at the Center. She’s now been in recovery for five months and it seems as though she’s really doing great. I wish her nothing but the best. I know she was huge in Anton’s life toward the end and I love her for that too.

Meeting with the women was great. I really wanted to give something back to them so I asked what kinds of things they needed. I thought they might like fun things like makeup and magazines but overwhelmingly, they responded that they missed having fresh fruit. So, before we returned the next day, Les and I had fun picking out tons of fruits and vegetables, as well as some of those fun things that are often hard to come by. It was great to give just that little something--but I hope to do much more. I'm really hoping that I will be able to offer far more than fruit and magazines in the future. I'd love to help some of these women find the second chance at life that I was so lucky to have--by helping pay for their college or training school or even helping them get set up for their new life in a safe environment. That's my overriding goal.

This weekend was one of the most incredible experiences I've had in the past 16+ years. Meeting the women started the entire trip off on a huge note of gratitude for me and really, I never forget gratitude. Every night, without fail, I say my gratefuls. But this weekend, my gratefuls were just a little more passionate and just a little more heartfelt. I am so lucky to have the life I do, living in comfort and safety, with a man who loves me so much.

Did I say I’m a lucky woman? Well, yes—I think I am. Stay tuned . . . there’s much more. So many things happened this weekend that I will need to write several posts to tell you all about it.

Peace,

Melinda

p.s. I apologize there’s no podcast this week—my recording equipment isn’t working well and I think I need to buy a better headset, which I hope to do before my next entry.

Back From Blogcation!

Melinda Tyler — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 19:03:19 GMT

I’m BA-AACK! Did you miss me? I missed all of you!

This was a great, productive break—and I have some exciting things to tell you about!

First, and most importantly—my book is finished. Completely! I’m way ahead of my September 1, (self imposed) deadline and I honestly wish I could send the book out right now but I’m told by my peeps who have connections to New York’s literary world, that no one is around in August and I should wait until September to start shopping the book. So that’s the plan—but on September 1, this book is going out to three agents I have connections with and I cannot wait for that next step. I’m so excited.

I’m incredibly proud of this book. Without a doubt, this is my greatest accomplishment, personally and professionally. I’ve never experienced anything quite like this—and my life’s been pretty full of awesome experiences. This process has wrung me dry. I poured a piece of my soul into every word, sentence, paragraph, and chapter of this book.

I now understand why authors sometimes say that writing a book is like a birthing process. I really do feel like I’ve given birth to this book, with all the blood, sweat, and tears that process requires. This book is my child—and I really do feel I’ve been in painful labor of ‘giving birth’ these last couple of months.

During the last couple of weeks, I did give a final push to deliver and I’m so grateful to the four people who helped me with the final edits. They are my wonderful friend, Eddie, Sweet Violet, my Mom, and my beloved husband, Les. Their work was invaluable; they each helped me push this book to the next level, and the result is amazing.

Words truly cannot even begin to express how I feel. I just finished reading it, cover to cover, and I feel I’ve met my goals: it is a gripping, fast-paced story, believable, full of heart, emotion, laughter, and tears. I so hope readers will like it and that it will inspire people to change if they desire change. Most importantly, I hope it will raise awareness about the need for accessible and affordable treatment.

The next interesting piece of news is that Les and I are going back to Cleveland this weekend! Now, many of you might remember (or you might not) that it was in Cleveland where I finally hit the rock bottom that became the catalyst for changing my life. I’ve not been back since and I cannot wait to go. I am going to see some old friends I knew in Cleveland (both from before my recovery and after). I want to thank certain people, in person—those important people who had such an impact on my future: Tim, Annie, Jackie, Sharon—each of them played a key role in my triumphant return to life.

I also want to spend some time in the (new) Freedom House. The old one doesn’t exist anymore but the same people opened up several new residences, which are founded on the same philosophy: that no one is turned down who desires change in her or his life, regardless of ability to pay. They operate solely on donations. I want to talk to them about how the Melindaville Foundation can possibly work with them to fund treatment for addicts still suffering. We need so many more places like the Freedom House (which is now called the Ed Keating Center).

I want to spend time with some of the new residents there this weekend. I remember how monumental it was for me to meet those success stories in my early recovery. They all gave me motivation to continue because they were living proof that one can succeed if one sets her mind to doing it. I hope to pass along some of that inspiration to those who are still struggling in their early days—when addicts don’t yet recognize how good life can be.

Along with the fun things, I also am going to face some demons. I experienced some of the worst things anyone could imagine while living in Cleveland. I spent time in jail, I was robbed by gunpoint, I was raped on two different occasions, and I drifted as a homeless person for more than a year. I’ve already faced those demons in my head—in large part through the process of writing this book. But now, I am facing them in person. And it will be incredibly freeing feeling, I’m sure.

Next week, I’ll give you all an update about my trip back to Cleveland! I cannot wait to see everyone there and share my experiences with you!

Peace,

Melinda

Melindaville Takes a 'Blogcation!'

Melinda Tyler — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 16:59:00 GMT

Summer means vacation and it’s been a long time since I’ve taken a couple of weeks off. I need a short break from blogging but I’ll be posting again during the week of July 18.

I want to take the next two weeks as a time for my final real push to complete my book. Now, I know what you’re thinking—‘didn’t she say she finished the book some time back?’ Well, yes and no. After I finished the major revision with my Mom as my primary editor, I sent the book out to four people for their opinions and feedback, as well as their proofing of my draft.

After hearing back from all four, I am so happy to say, everyone loved my book! YAY! They were also very helpful in pointing out punctuation, grammatical, and structural errors I missed during my revision. They’ve also given me some feedback on several sections I need to consider. I have had such an amazing life—so rich with varied experiences—it was impossible to bring up every interesting experience I’ve ever had. However, Les and Eddie each pointed out some stories I’d told them that definitely should go in the book. I’ll be adding those as well in my final clean up.

The last step, then, is for me to figure out where to insert the poetry, song lyrics, and excerpts of old journal entries and letters my mother saved from the 1980’s. It is my plan to highlight each new chapter with something personal and real from my former life.

I’ve set my own deadline of September 1. Those knowledgeable in this area have told me that’s the best time to send manuscripts out to agents and publishers. I know I can meet this deadline, particularly with Les in China and Japan for the next two weeks. When he’s gone, I tend to go into ‘workaholic’ mode!

I’ll be back to blogging very soon! I appreciate everyone’s wonderful patience through this final push to get my book ready for publication.

Peace,

Melinda

Happy Blogiversary Melindaville!!!

Melinda Tyler — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 15:48:34 GMT

The last two years have really flown by. It’s hard to believe The Melindaville Blog has now been around for two years!

And what a fabulous two years it has been. I first started my blog to document the progress of my book but then my blog became its own entity. Blogging is a terrific way to express yourself, to share experiences, and to gain a different perspective of your life through sharing your stories with others. I never imagined the journey of starting my blog would ultimately lead me to meeting so many interesting people through the blogosphere.

In the past two years, I have developed some amazing friendships with other bloggers—and of course, with my readers as well. I am so glad that I decided to blog and I am grateful to all the people who have helped me along the way. Here’s a big shout out to my favorite blogs/bloggers, which include Timethief from This Time, This Space , Svasti from Svasti: A Journey From Assault to Wholeness , Sweet Violet from A View from the Other Side , Dr. Jay from Yoga for Cynics , Erica from Each Day is a Present , Lydia from Writer Quake , TJ Lubrano from A Look Into a Creative Mind , Nothing Profound from Out of Context: Pieces of a Life , and All the Guys from The Guys Perspective . The following people have also helped me a lot along the way: Jennifer from Writing to Survive , John from A Storied Mind , my dear friend, Ibn Hanif, my closest and best buddy, Eddie Hemingway, my Mom, and of finally, my beloved husband and soulmate, Les Tyler.

Writing my blog also improved my writing skills, which has been critically important for someone who is writing a memoir. Like any art form, it takes practice to improve your skills. Writing my blog has definitely improved my writing skills—and it was very helpful in writing certain chapters of my book. Speaking of which—I am so happy to give a new update on its progress!

I finished my revision and sent the manuscript to four people I trust and love. I haven’t heard from all of them but I did hear from my good friend Eddie Hemingway, who said he couldn’t put it down and who loved it. Of course, he loves me too and perhaps that colors his opinion but he is a voracious reader, an excellent writer in his own right (and a published one), and I truly value his opinion. Of course, he did have some good critique for me—the book isn’t perfect and it needs some tweaking. But what I really wanted to know was: is this book good enough to give to a publisher; is this story compelling enough to sell. I’m so happy to say his resounding answer was: yes!

I’ve found that at this point, I’m just too close to this book to be objective. I can understand why some writers feel the process of writing a book is like being pregnant and giving birth. And I think that might be particularly true for this book since it is the story of my life and it involves sharing the most personal and often very traumatic experiences. Exposing yourself in a memoir is like standing naked with floodlights on you. It is uncomfortable.

But at the same time, I feel it is important to tell my story—warts and all. It is crucial for our society to understand that people who were once as desperate as I was—who did many illegal and immoral things can successfully change that very destructive and illegal lifestyle to do good things and contribute to society.

And the reason I was able to change was because I was finally given a chance at treatment—a place called Freedom House was open to a person who had no money and no insurance—a woman who had lost her desire to live. I so want people to understand that we need many more places such as Freedom House— treatment can and does work. I am willing to stand naked in the spotlight because I want so want to raise the awareness that people can and do change. I am living proof.

Peace,

Melinda

Soul Mates

Melinda Tyler — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 15:13:06 GMT

Last Friday night, I was awaiting Les’s arrival home after he took a quick trip to Istanbul for business. He’d only been gone four days but even so, butterflies filled my stomach as I waited to hear his car in the drive. The butterflies caused me to smile widely and to also feel a certain degree of awe. You see, while Les and I will be married for three years on August 25, we’ve been together over ten years, which is quite a long time, after all.

Feeling those butterflies while waiting for him to come home to my arms was pretty darn special. After ten-plus years, he still does it for me like he did when we were first in love. In fact, I am still in love.

I waited a long time to meet Les. I was single for almost ten years and those were important years. In my first marriage, I was utterly dependent upon Michael for everything and when he was gone, I was devastated, both emotionally and financially.

While in Bozeman early in my recovery, I remarked to my Mom that I would never allow myself to be dependent upon a man again—at least not financially. It’s hard enough when you lose an intimate relationship but when you are left with the financial realities of being single, it makes the disintegration of that relationship even more overwhelming.

For a long time, I wasn’t ready for a relationship. I didn’t love myself and if you don’t love yourself, no one else can love you either. In those early days, I was so utterly confused by life and how I fit into it. I needed every minute of those ten years as self-discovery.

But on I plodded, working on me. I got to know myself, became comfortable with myself—and finally, I awoke one day and realized the affirmations I’d been mouthing each morning to my reflection had real meaning. I loved myself.

Enter Les Tyler. In a fairy tale, he would certainly make his entrance on a grand white steed and elegantly dismount in a deep bow, while charmingly saying, “May I help you with your life?” I have fought for strength my whole life—and many people would argue I’m one of the strongest women they know and in many ways, I am. But I am also insecure, vulnerable—and often naïve, in a surprising way considering I’ve seen much of the darker side of life. Les wants to be that person to shield me from any further discomfort or pain in my life and I realized that on critical level, the day we confronted my father.

I hadn’t seen my father for many years and I’d never confronted him about his abuse. When I began the soul searching that sent me in the direction of writing my book, I knew I must confront him or I’d never be able to undertake such a challenge. It was Les who finally stood up to my father and when he did, I saw the champion I’d always longed for.

Since I can remember, I hungered for a person to protect me and keep me safe from the monsters of the world, such as my father. Les is that man. I saw absolute pure love in Les’s shining eyes the day we confronted my father with all his terrible deeds. That day, I knew I’d found my knight in shining armor.

I’ve always heard women who have troubled relationships with their father have difficulty establishing close intimate relationships with men in adulthood. That’s not true here. Les is my champion. But he’s also my greatest supporter, my most trusted confidante, my closest friend and the love of my life. The proudest day of my own life was the day we were married—because I realized I had finally become the type of person that a man like Les would want to marry. And that truly is my greatest accomplishment.

This blog is a tribute to my partner—my friend—and the love of my life. He restored my faith in men and taught me the meaning of true love. Certainly the stars have aligned in some unkind ways in my life but our profound love is also written into those stars.

After more than ten years, I am still a woman in love.

I hope all of you have a Les in your lives because if you do, life’s burden will never be too difficult to bear. If you do—bless you and bless him or her. If you haven’t yet, don’t settle for anything less than what you deserve. Hold out for that brass ring. He’s certainly worth it.

Peace

Melinda

Another Birthday, Another Year Older

Melinda Tyler — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 16:16:38 GMT

Time to lighten things up a bit! God I’m getting old! This weekend, I will reach yet another birthday. I’m vain enough not to want to disclose the precise number but suffice it to say I’m old enough to have a very vague recollection of the Beatles first album (thanks mostly to an older sibling). Nuff said on the numbers associated with age (as well as the other gruesome stuff like hairs sprouting on my upper lip and chin—what’s up with that?).

Now, on to the fun stuff about getting old. The older I get, the more secure I get—and I have to say, that’s really great. When I was young, the opinion of others drove many of my values, attitudes, and behaviors. Now, I give much less of a damn. And that’s refreshing.

What’s more, I’m looking forward to those really ancient years (that I hope my past drug abuse doesn’t prevent me from reaching). I can’t wait until that time of ‘allowed eccentricity’ where we can all act a little loo-loo and everyone puts up with it with a smile. In fact, we all have certain stages in our lives when we can get away with bad behavior. For example, take temper tantrums:

When you have one when you are two, it’s expected.

When you have one in your teens, you are ‘an adolescent.’

When you have one in young or middle adulthood, you might get yourself committed.

However, if you have a temper tantrum when you are in your 80’s, people smile and let it go! And that’s not the least of it! You can get away with some really wild things, such as sneaking doggie bags off other restaurant goers’ tables when they aren’t looking or shoplifting at Tiffany’s. Sure, they might ask you to leave but it’s doubtful they’ll arrest a cute little eighty-year-old lady! No one wants to hassle an old lady, let’s face it.

You can also say outrageous things when you are older and totally get away with it. If I swear in public today, I’m a vulgar broad—but if I do it when I am 80, I am ‘cute as a button’ (think Betty White)!

Yes, I am definitely looking forward to the eccentricity my later years will bring me—but I am also interested to see how much different I might be twenty years from now because WOW—when I think of the changes I’ve been though in the last twenty, the results are truly astounding.

Twenty years ago, I was just losing footing on any normalcy of life and slipping into a deep abyss of addiction. Today, I am a respectable college professor and blogger with a wonderful life and husband, who has finished her memoir.

Now, believe me, I don’t expect (or hope, God forbid) the next twenty years to be as dramatic as the last twenty but I am looking forward to the lessons this next stretch will bring me. And I am not sad about aging—I truly am not.

Each birthday is like crossing another improbable finish line and each time, it’s a renewed triumph!

BOOK UPDATE: I finished the last chapter’s revision yesterday! I pretty much had to rewrite the entire last chapter because of my new ending. Interestingly, the last chapter just flowed right out of me! It was, by far, the easiest of all the chapters that I’ve written. Now, I will go through my mom’s edits, clean those up, and then send them out to a few trusted loved ones for their input. I’m not doing another major revision—I just want reaction and major comments about the structure of the chapters. I cannot go through another revision without a publisher again—so that’s the next step (although I am so glad I did this one, as the book is so much stronger than it was previously).

I’m so excited because I am now feeling very good about my book! And I’m happy—yes, I’m happy I’m another year older (almost, anyway!).

Peace,

Melinda

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An Amazing Journey of Growth

Melinda Tyler — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 21:38:35 GMT

I’ll tell you, my life has truly been such a journey of lessons, discoveries, and growth. Working on my book has been keeping me so wrapped up in knots that it finally took a few days of illness to make me step back and re-evaluate what I’m doing here! I needed to step back, that’s for sure. I realize now this book has me too wrapped up in myself lately. That’s not surprising in some ways since I am working on the story of my life. But at the same time, I’ll never forget what an old friend used to say:

“Melinda, when you are too wrapped up in yourself, it makes for a small package.”

How utterly true!

During most major life events, we go through stages. For example, in the breaking down the stages of grief using the Kübler-Ross model, we go through denial, anger, rejection, bargaining, depression, until we reach the ultimate stage of acceptance (note—not all people go through these stages in the same order and you may go back and forth—it’s not necessarily linear). The fact does remain though that these are stages of growth—to get to the point where you can deal with the grief.

Writing this book is a major life event for me, so it’s not surprising that I’m also going through certain stages. Of course, these are not stages of grief but stages of strong emotions, which I believe are crucial to exposing, embracing, and then releasing my past: the stages have involved pain, sadness, anger, becoming philosophical (which is where I feel I am now), until I (hopefully) will reach serenity. I do believe this is where the process will ultimately lead me.

I believe when I publish this book—and I will publish it—one way or another—I will have the peace to accept everything my life has been—both good and bad, to find peace with everything I’ve been—both good and bad. Who knows? I may reach a tranquility so profound I will be able to completely forgive those to whom I've never imagined giving complete absolution.

I’ve been so wrapped up in myself I’ve felt unable to blog about anything else lately (as I have mentioned before)—and when you are so wrapped up in yourself it is bound to have at least some negative effects. Therefore, I am going to be blogging about things other than my book (and my neuroses—lol!) in my next post but I wanted to update you on my progress (both personal and the book). In fact, I think Melindaville will start looking at some interesting current issues central to my values, beliefs, and principles. After I complete the book, look for some new directions in Melindaville!

For now, though—I want to end this post by giving you a book update: I originally ended the book when I left Montana after graduating college, where my mom sees me off at the top of the Montana Pass in the Rocky Mountains. The last words were, “Knock 'em dead, honey!” (I was on my way to graduate school). And there I go—off into the sunset.

However, I feel following me for four long years in Montana is too long (even though I've already written those chapters). Those years are ones of development and growth but they’re a little anticlimactic after the extreme stories from my earlier life. Therefore, I now think I am going to end the book when I have finished four months of treatment—when I return to Montana to see my mother after being apart for many years. One thing I know after doing this revision--the book is far too long. I have to cut out some major parts and this seems the most likely. Ultimately, though, the publisher is going to have the say on this, which is why I do feel this is my last revision on my own. I have to let this go because I cannot put myself through this again. It's been an emotional cup of coffee, for sure.

“Sitting atop Peet’s Hill with my mom, unfamiliar hope envelops me. I’ve been through a war. And I survived that war. I look to the valley below, feeling energized by the magnificence of the Rocky Mountains while breathing in the sweet, crisp Montana air. I feel a deep pull within. Wherever my destiny, first, I need to return to Montana to face the past I tried so desperately to escape. Instinctively, I know I need to build bridges to my future and heal from the damage of my life.

I tentatively smile at my mom. “I think I would like to come home.”

What do you think about the new ending?

Peace,

Melinda!

(and thank you all so much for hanging in with me!).

Pain and Catharsis in Melindaville

Melinda Tyler — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 18:55:00 GMT

Well, I have finally done it. I’ve gotten myself so run down that I awakened today fighting some bug, which has me feeling “off my feed” (as Les would say). I know I haven’t been taking as good care of myself as I should be so I’m not surprised I’m battling the flu. I apologize for not having a podcast today but I honestly don’t feel good enough to do one.

Writing this book is consuming and grueling. It’s hard to really describe what I’m going through—I honestly wish I could talk to another person who has gone through terrible things and who has had to relive it all by writing a memoir. It’s such a unique experience that it’s hard to put what I am going through into words.

The deeper I get into the book, the more emotions it wrings out of me. I finally realize how much I’ve suppressed and still suppress on a daily basis. Freud really did have a point—we bury our pain in our subconscious because it is too gut wrenching to deal with that kind of pain daily.

As the sentence, paragraph, and chapter fly off my keyboard, bandages are ripped away from the festering emotional wounds so many years ago. Going through them once was a nightmare; each time I write and do another rewrite, I relive it again and that is torture.

It is so strange—like reading the diary of someone I love very much—a person I know but who is not me. It is enlightening to gain such a profound understanding of myself on such a deep level. When I wrote the story this blog post was based on , I crawled into bed and just hugged myself. I realize now why drugs were so attractive to me—because they masked the terrible pain that was my world.

But at the same time, this is cathartic and I know the benefits will be so worth the hell. As I write this book, though, I have gained a new appreciation for my ability to overcome the worst of experiences. I am also grateful for my innate resiliency. That my life didn’t destroy me is a miracle in and of itself. That I triumphed in the face of such misery is beyond a miracle.

I can only imagine the terrible pain my mother must feel as she read the depths of where my life has taken me. Hearing of such terrible despair and hopeless in your child must be heart wrenching. But what both of us must remember—as I relive it again—and as she lives it vicariously through my chapters—is that the end is triumph and whatever the tragedy that was my early life has been overcome ten times over by the amazing gift my second chance at life has brought me.

Thank you for your patience my dear readers. I am struggling through and I am so grateful for all the support with your calls, emails, and comments. It means so much to me.

Peace,

Melinda

The Heart of the Matter

Melinda Tyler — Thu, 27 May 2010 16:14:05 GMT

As I said last week, my book is driving my life right now and I am so enraptured in its development, it seems impossible to blog on anything else (which I apologize for). At some point, I know other topics will inspire me again but right now, I am breathing, sleeping, and eating this book! Even after closing my computer for the night, the rewrites continue in my mind. I am now keeping a small notepad next to me so I don’t forget any of the ideas or thoughts that continue to crop up.

Working with my mother on editing is also rewarding and I feel so important for our relationship. My mom and I have shared an incredible journey together and as a result, we have formed an amazing bond.

When I returned to Montana to enroll in college in 1994, I remember sitting atop Peet’s Hill, feeling as though I’d been through a war. In making the decision to return home, I realized even then, so early in my recovery, that my mother and I needed to build important bridges in our relationships. That was one of my most compelling reasons to return.

Indeed, this is what happened when I moved back to Bozeman: my mother and finally developed the strong mother-daughter relationship we both always yearned for but it went beyond that; we each gained true respect and trust for each other. One most incredible discovery was learning I would want my mother to be my friend, even if she were not my mother.

Working on editing this book with my mother has been an incredible experience for both of us. I’m so lucky to have her help because as a former English teacher and prolific writer in her own right, her input and command of language is invaluable. I trust only one other person as much as I trust my mother and that’s Les. I know she always has my best interest at heart and I know that no one could be more dedicated to working on the book than she is.

My mother gains different benefits. She has said that in reading and working on my manuscript, she almost feels as though she is in my skin, which must be terribly brutal and extraordinary at the same time. I am part of her and I have been since my conception. I will always be part of her.

While my mother’s heard bits and pieces of my past, here and there, I think seeing how it all unfolded has been both overwhelming and enlightening. One thing is certain, I feel we will both be better, stronger people and that our relationship will develop even further when the book is finally finished. I think we will also both have less guilt, fewer regrets, and much more serenity when this process has played out.

Along with this, I am reliving my life, which is often very painful. One of the biggest reasons I need to complete this manuscript and get it off my plate is to close the book on my past, literally. Of course, the past will always be a big part of my life but I am hoping the anguish of the past will no longer haunt me and that old resentments I still do have will finally die, as they should.

Life always presents us with unique opportunities to grow, learn, and develop to our fullest. Certainly, the experience of working on this book with my mom is one such unique experience. And as I go along, I continue learning important lessons

Peace,

Melinda

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One Tough Week

Melinda Tyler — Tue, 18 May 2010 16:51:55 GMT

This has been a tough week for me, emotionally. I’ve been working on revising my book, which is great. My mom is my primary editor and the experience of the two of us working on the book together has been an interesting one, although difficult for each of us.

I know it has been so hard for my mom to read about the terrible pain my childhood brought me and for her to realize she played a role in that pain. At the same time, she was also my champion—and it is essential for her to know that as well. After editing ‘A Troubled Beginning,’ she wrote back saying how tragic she thought the chapter was. This is true but I hope she keeps in mind that triumph comes later. I do believe it is an important part of our journey of healing—for both of us.

Speaking of which, I’ve been on fire working on it—so much so that I find it difficult to blog about other things right now. One part I’ve spent a lot more time on (which really needed it) was my childhood years—the abuse, the social isolation, and the fantasy world I created before I found drugs. Working on these parts has left me raw. I woke up in the middle of the night last night and just started sobbing for no reason. I don’t remember what I was dreaming—but it had to have been centered on those very difficult years, I’m afraid because the floodgates opened last night and out it all came.

My mom had told me at one point she hoped I would find more peace with my childhood once I finished my book—and obviously, that still hasn’t completely happened. But then I have to realize I am still not finished with my book and until I completely finish it, I won’t be able to “close the book” on it (pun intended!).

I was visiting my friend, Svasti’s blog today and she wrote a great piece about her triumph over seeing her ex—the man who abused her—and how she felt NOTHING upon seeing him. I’ve watched Svasti’s amazing journey for close to two years now and I am so proud of her ability to heal and rise above.

I will say this—I feel more hope with the way this book is going than I’ve felt for several months. No doubt, it will go through more edits during the process but I really believe after this one, I’ll feel good enough to give it to publishers. I’ve had some challenges with revising it in the last several months—and I put it aside for a while. In the end, though, I think it was the right thing to do because coming back to it with fresh eyes has been great.

I also realized something else in the last few days. The purpose of my book isn’t so for people to hail me as a great new writer. That was never the purpose, although of course I want it to be written as well as possible. But the primary purposes have always been to help other people—both in inspiring others to change and to raise awareness about the need for available treatment—but ultimately, to fund treatment for those who aren’t nearly as lucky as I am.

In the end, I know it will be worth the pain I feel right now.

Peace,

Melinda

Fire, Serendipity, and Gratitude

Melinda Tyler — Wed, 12 May 2010 16:08:36 GMT

Where is the fire? It’s in me! I have been on fire with the editing of my book! My book is finally becoming what I hoped it would be! I’ve been working with a couple of different people on the editing and have gotten some wonderful feedback. Suddenly, it’s shaping up—for some reason, I have been able to view it in a far different light. I feel the first four chapters are so much stronger now.

Now, I’m currently working on Chapter 5, which centers on my childhood and the terrible abuse I endured. The first time around, this chapter was so difficult to write that I would have to stop, take a walk, and just cry. I actually left some parts out, thinking I would go back and complete them later, which I am now able to do. Because of this new burst of steam, I have been able to return to work on those parts that were originally too painful to write about and to clean up the rest of it.

Most importantly, I feel the heart of my story—the emotion that needs to drive it—is finally reaching the place it needs to be. I realize now hard difficult it is to get any piece of work to the point where you feel comfortable with it.

For me, to get to the real heart of my story—and the honesty within—I’ve had to peel back several layers of the onion. However, the result is that I am starting to believe in my book again. I won’t go into too many details, but I have run across some challenges with getting it ready for publication recently but I really feel I am back on track now.

Posting that first chapter had a remarkable effect on my confidence—because I really did lay it all out there. When you do that, you feel vulnerable and open to criticism but it also gives a person the opportunity to view a piece of work in a new light—and that helped me so much. I’m not even sure why. Somehow, the success I gained from finally getting those first four chapters right has given me the momentum to work on the emotionally difficult Chapter 5. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for this renewed fire.

Yes, I am grateful for the renewed fire, but I am also grateful for the gift my life has been these last sixteen years. Each time I work on the book, I cannot help but think of the experiences of which I am writing. I am struck by how being in the right place at just the right time can alter our paths forever. Truly, serendipity or perhaps just plain dumb luck can sometimes change our lives dramatically.

I realized after revising Chapter 2, which centers on the three suicide attempts I had that fateful weekend in January 1994. I almost certainly would have succeeded with the final suicide attempt had it not been for such serendipity.

The man who lived upstairs from the flat I was staying had found me with the pilot lights blown out and gas turned on earlier that day and stopped me from blowing up the entire house (which hadn’t occurred to me could even happen—I thought I was just trying to kill myself). After that, he kept checking on me throughout the day—although I thought I had finally convinced him that I would be all right and that he was gone for the night.

That’s when I drank the bottle of furniture polish.

I drank it, a fire began burning in my gut and I knew I would die—I just knew it instinctively.

The doctors at the hospital told me I would have died had it not been for that annoying upstairs neighbor, who decided he should check on me one final time. What luck it was that I hadn’t convinced him I was okay. He told me later that he didn’t even know why he went down to check on me that last time—he just felt compelled to do that at the time.

If he had not, I wouldn’t be writing this post right now—I would not have ever had any of the wonderful opportunities life has awarded me since beginning my recovery. My life did not have the tragic ending it might have had, had the neighbor taken my word that I was okay—that I was no longer thinking of suicide. I would not be with Les—I wouldn’t have discovered my love of psychology and teaching, and I would have never gotten the opportunity to mend my relationship with my mother.

There are other serendipitous moments in those early days as well. I met Tim Callahan who got me into the Freedom House, I returned to Montana where my mother extended me the invitation to enroll in Montana State University—and so many other doors opened, once I became willing.

When I think back to that terrible weekend, I am humbled with gratitude for my amazing second chance in life and all the miracles my life has consisted of since that dark day when death seemed the only solution to my troubled life.

I’m so glad to be here.

Peace,

Melinda

.

When Fear Takes Over

Melinda Tyler — Wed, 05 May 2010 16:31:38 GMT

It was a smart move to post the first chapter of my memoir, as it allowed me to get fresh eyes to take a look. God knows my own eyes were getting mighty weary with reading and rereading.

Since I posted Chapter 1, I have been on fire working on Chapter 2. I think posting and getting some feedback on that first chapter gave me renewed energy for going forward.

Posting the book was a way for me to move out of the writing/publishing rut I have been stagnating in for the past six months. I must confess—I have been sitting on the finished book for months now—and I know not doing anything with it has been a way for me to continue to hold on to it, which is a safe place to be.

But if I am honest with myself (which is not always easy for me to do), I must admit I have allowed fear to paralyze me. Interestingly, since the New Year, I’ve been talking to a good friend about just this subject: how our fear can lead us to self-sabotage. I realize now I should be giving myself this same talk—because I am in a position where I do have agents who are interested in my book and it has only been my fear of failure that has kept it in my grasp.

Failure is often the result of self-sabotage or a self-fulfilling prophecy. If we convince ourselves of something, that something is more likely to happen! My very wise mother-in-law, Gladys, who died several years ago, used to say, “Nothing is but thinking makes it so.” How perfectly true!

I have experienced a self-fulfilling prophecy before. I will never forget the day I realized I was a junkie. I’d been having legal hassles for several months and had a substantial amount of cocaine I was afraid to sell to anyone but close friends. A friend living down the hall was a small-time heroin dealer and we began exchanging trifling amounts of our respective drugs each morning.

Cocaine had lost most of its appeal to me by this point because it had a tendency to make me feel jittery, which was an unwelcome feeling with the mountain of legal problems I was dealing with at the time. Heroin was a relief. I’d do a shot of heroin and all those legal hassles seemed to fade in the rear-view mirror. After several months, I awoke one morning feeling horrible. My friend showed up at my door several hours later, wondering why I hadn’t stopped by for our usual morning exchange. I told him I felt I was coming down with the flu and probably shouldn’t get high. He started dancing around my apartment, bellowing, “You have the jones, Melinda! You have the jones (meaning I was strung out on heroin). I was stunned at his revelation and couldn’t believe it could be true. After all, I had seen friends become junkies—and I knew I was smarter than that. In fact, I didn’t believe him.

Therefore, we made a small bet. I would do a shot of heroin. If I felt better, it meant he was right and I was a junkie. However, if after that shot I still felt like I had a bad flu, it meant I won—that I wasn’t stupid enough to get addicted to junk. The wager? A small amount of drugs, of course!

I’m sure that most of you can see where this is going but I did that shot and immediately felt better. Moreover, the stark truth of my heroin addiction forever changed my world. As soon as the realization hit home, everything about my world changed—and most importantly, my view of myself became altered. I remember looking at my reflection, thinking, “I’m a junkie!” Just like Lou Reed, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin and all those other heroes of mine. I decided I was going to really experience being a junkie—and that someday I would write a book on it (Hello?!).

With that realization came the harsh reality of a six year decline into the abyss of heroin addiction—one that nearly left me dead. In fact, in those days, death was ultimately part of my destiny I made it happen—no one else. I almost became the destiny I prophesized. I almost died. We do have the power to do that to ourselves.

I’m not going to be a self-fulfilling prophecy with this book. I am not going to allow fear to paralyze me, never allowing myself the opportunity to succeed—or to fail—because I am too afraid to try. One of my favorite sayings, as many of you know, is: “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Well folks, I am venturing! Whether I succeed or fail—I’m getting this book off my desk and I am giving to the people who have expressed interest. I am going to rise above fear.

Peace,

Melinda

Chapter 1 Revised

Melinda Tyler — Mon, 03 May 2010 16:02:00 GMT

I have to say, I believe it was an excellent idea for me to post Chapter 1 and all of you can read my revision by clicking here.

I have to thank all the people who read the chapter and who left me valuable input and comments. Some of you posted your comments here and others emailed me. In particular, I want to thank Sweet Violet from the blog, A View from the Other Side and Erika from the blog, Each Day is a Present for the great editing and invaluable comments. As long as I am making a mention here—I really recommend people to read their blogs as both are strong women with interesting experiences who each have quite a gift for writing.

I also want to thank my mother for her editing of the first page. It made me smile when she sent me back her edited copy and reminded me (sweetly) of my undergraduate papers handed off to her for proofreading. (Mom—your assistance was as valuable here as it was in those papers that your sharp eye helped me earn ‘A’s’ in college).

A couple of you mentioned that the line, “I know I am a dead because I killed myself just last night” was a strong one—and indeed, a few people mentioned that perhaps I should use this as an opening line. I have wrestled with this—and while I agree that the line is strong, I don’t know if it is a good way to open the chapter because I really didn’t realize I was dead until I had lain on the brink of life and death for a while (and who knows how long it was). As I recalled the memory, it was like fighting through layers of gauze—it was a real struggle to regain consciousness.

One of the greatest benefits of posting this first chapter was that it allowed me to view it as a reader. I don’t know why this was so—but seeing it posted, I could remove myself somewhat and I really did see the problems with the first version. As my mother pointed out — this is a very dramatic chapter, so it is important that it not be too wordy. I feel this new version is a much cleaner, simpler version and I am so interested in hearing what all of you think!

Thank you again, for your help!

Peace,

Melinda

The Book is the Thing (Introducing Chapter 1)

Melinda Tyler — Thu, 29 Apr 2010 16:45:00 GMT

I have finished the major editing on my book and while traveling to Las Vegas and Montana, I read the entire thing from cover to cover. I forced myself to read it without making any edits (which was much harder than I imagined it would be). I printed it out so that I would not be tempted to start ‘track changes’ in making corrections here and there. When I got to the end, I felt uneasy and somewhat dissatisfied. I had thought I would feel enormously proud of telling my story. I have to be honest—if I am dissatisfied with the book, then I think my readers will be too—and I must do this book right the first time.

I didn’t get it right in the first or revised draft—at least some parts.

I believe that parts of the book are well written—and parts of it (I thought) were ‘laugh out loud’ funny. However, the heart of my story is an emotional one and I do not believe I have effectively translated the emotions that accompanied many of my experiences.

Nevertheless, dear readers, you have been waiting so patiently—although some of you nudge me with a gentle inquiry, “Melinda, when is your book coming out?” I keep saying soon. Soon is such a lovely word because it sounds more imminent than it has to be. It’s the perfect answer without really answering.

I feel that ‘soon’ has run its course and that perhaps I must be more honest by answering, “When it is ready to be out, it will be out” (although that could be literally years because I am famous for procrastination). I have decided to do something unusual. I am posting the first chapter of the book—and opening up a discussion for all of you. What are your thoughts? Of course, this is only one chapter but it is a critical one.

Or perhaps I am scared. Actually, there is no perhaps about it—I am scared. I am scared of rejection. I am afraid of being imperfect—I am petrified of blowing my chance with this book because it is so important that it do well because the proceeds will fund treatment for addicts and if the book doesn’t sell, then that doesn’t bode well for the addicts I hope to help.

Do I do another revision? Or do I give it the okay to go to publishers? Or do I just dither for another year or two? The thought of sending my book to actual publishers fills my tummy with butterflies! I know I am procrastinating here—because the revision is complete, which means the book is complete (supposedly). What am I waiting for? Maybe I am waiting for a sign from God. Therefore, I am throwing out the first chapter and handing it off to all of you for your thoughts. If I don’t get a sign from God, perhaps a sign from my readers will do.

So, click here to read my first Chapter (If This is Moses, I Must Be in Heaven). I'd appreciate hearing your thoughts.

Peace,

Melinda

It’s a Beautiful Day (and Melindaville is on ‘Blogcation!)

Melinda Tyler — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 20:58:00 GMT

I love San Francisco so much—from the moment I stepped foot into this city, I knew I was home. No matter what, I have always been happy to be in San Francisco. Although I have been working very hard this week, I have still managed to squeeze in some time, re-exploring some of my favorite neighborhood haunts in the city and enjoying watching the sun sparkle off the beautiful San Francisco Bay. Dorothy really did have it right: there’s no place like home. While I will always love Montana and I enjoy Boston immensely, no place will ever steal my heart as San Francisco did those many years ago and still does today.

I want to apologize for the lack of a blog post this week—I am taking a bit of a ‘Blogcation’ this week, as I work my way through grading almost 150 final exams (all with essay questions).

I will be back next week, when I plan to post something about my book—which is taking on a new and surprising direction (have I piqued your interest?). In the meantime, I hope you enjoy one of my favorite shots of my San Francisco neighborhood (which is in between Noe (pronounced No-ie) Valley and Glen Park. Glen Park even has an amazing Canyon, which no one knows but natives who are familiar with the area.

Peace,

Melinda