My Mind Has a Mind of its Own

By Gordon Rouston

A memoir/autobiography that chronicles my life from social drinker to full blown black out daily drinker, The gas explosion that nearly ended my life,the many bots of drunken escapades, trouble with the law, Vietnam Veteran, recovery, finding faith in God, turning my life around 180 degrees, author, speaker and voice over talent. Accolades fro many prominent people including Presidents, volunteering time with many clubs, groups and organizations to spread the message of sobriety,:HOPE," giving back. The book describes the entire process from addition to recover, twenty weeks in a treatment center, thousand sou AA meetings. I take the reader on a thrill ride filled with drama and horror, my innermost struggles and thought, followed by an in depth description of the Twelve Steps of recovery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Jul 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781619844995

Book preview

him.

Preface

I sought my soul, I could not see.

I sought my God and He eluded me.

I sought my brothers and sisters

and finally found all three.

I first read this while being dragged into a treatment center, and something clicked. I was all alone, I had been trying in vain to get my drinking under control, had no idea what was wrong, my life spinning out of control, had no idea what to do, where to go, who to see; something was very wrong.

My mother, God rest her soul, informed me years earlier that I was an alcoholic. I accepted that on its face, because I loved to drink, escape through the use and abuse. It worked for me for a very long time, or so I thought. I was not powerless over alcohol; I had power over it. Alcohol served me well from the onset. Alcohol had never really let me down. I let me down and had to find out where I had gone wrong. Maybe, just maybe somebody out there can help, guide me, get me back on track, but who?

I tried the self-help books—an oxymoron. Everything that crossed my path, all to no avail. I sought help from the so-called experts: counselors, clinical psychologists, psychiatrists, with all their fancy degrees, fancy plaques and plush offices. I always came away disillusioned, disappointed, let down, because they knew less then I did about my problem. No help at all!

Church, God, religion, another port in the storm, they appeared to be fakes, phony, spouted a lot of garbage they failed to practice in their own lives. I called them Jesus freaks and shunned them at all costs.

I could spot a phony a mile away even through the drunken haze, because I had been there, done that and got the t-shirt. It is very hard to con a con. I was certainly very good at conning people, especially myself. It became an art form, my life, what I lived for in my world of make believe. A great actor, if fortunate, will receive one Oscar or Emmy in a lifetime; an addict can receive several everyday.

Please do not get turned off here with the word alcohol. Replace alcohol with whatever your addiction or addictions are. My drug of choice, however, was alcohol. I was addicted to anything that would alter reality to suit my fancy to include people, places, things, money, power, sex, drugs and alcohol, not necessarily in that order. Addicts are addicts and it really does not matter what you are addicted to. Some may be addicted to working, or running, working out, you name it. If you get into trouble doing it or if you have ever tried to control it, it is out of control and an addiction.

Alcohol was my best friend, although I began to doubt that after it had failed me, failed to keep working its magic like I thought it did in the beginning. Alcohol became the tangible symptom that I could grasp, a gift if you will,that pointed out other underlying problems which eventually led me to the halls of Alcoholics Anonymous, starting the recovery process. This was what I was looking for all those years—a place to start. Hallelujah!

I thank God today that I am an alcoholic, that I finally found out what was wrong and that I used and abused it until there was nothing left to hang onto. I wish there had been another way, another less treacherous road, one that didn’t adversely affect so many lives outside mine. I cannot go back and change the past, nor do I wish to morbidly relive it with regret and remorse; I had to do everything I did to get to where I am today. I can, however, retell or recount it so that others can identify and find what I have found—freedom from this terrible obsession of the body, mind and soul.

Obviously, you have picked up this book and started to read because you too have this soul sickness, this addictive behavior. You’re troubled, but still have a ray of hope that there is an answer. You’re a survivor and haven’t totally thrown in the towel. Thank God for that! Keep reading.

I do not pretend to have all the answers and nothing I say in this book is an original thought or some startling revelation that I came up with all on my own. This book is a culmination and compilation of my life, my experience, strength and hope. I give willingly, with the deepest gratitude, all the credit to God Almighty for saving me in spite of myself and for leading me to the halls of Alcoholics Anonymous and Sacred Heart Rehabilitation Center, where I have learned to live all over again without the drugs.

I mistakenly thought that if I had to give up alcohol, my drugs and my escapes, that I would be the hole in the donut, a spiritual void would exist, and that I would be a non-entity just fumbling around in life with no real meaning or direction. That is certainly not the case, as the spiritual void was filled, that big hole in my gut was filled with something much bigger and better, more meaningful and lasting.

This book has taken a lifetime to write—many years of suffering, not knowing, what seemed insurmountable emotional, spiritual and physical pain, feeling hopeless and helpless, going down a dead end street, living in a bad neighborhood, not thinking I would ever get out, out from under the tremendous weight of my addictions, The Monkey On My back.

Chapter 1

THE EXPLOSION

Hung over, tired, depressed, just waking up midmorning with the usual hangover, my wife already at work, lonely and just plain tired. When will all this end? The drinking, hangovers, remorse and guilt, not knowing what I did the night before or why I did whatever it was. Remembering that I vowed not to drink, or if I did that I would not get drunk and pass out and make a fool of myself again, hopefully treat my wife with more respect, not get so angry and take out my frustrations on her. I wanted so desperately to blame someone or something, escape my reality, get it all fixed and feel good again. I dreamed this dream so often, but deep down I felt it would never really happen, at least not today. Others could drink in safety, why not me? What was wrong with me?

The usual day was in store: get up, clean up, make something to eat, maybe my wife would come home and join me for lunch, then go to work at the hotel where I held a very responsible position. Maybe just one drink to take the edge off this morning. No, not a good idea. Sure would help though. I’ll just wait awhile.

Hi Honey! Are you coming home for lunch? Good, I’ll fix something. See you soon. At least she is still talking to me; good sign.

This gas stove is a pain in the a**. Never lights . . . Where are those blue tip matches?

I distinctly remember the flare up of the match, the blue white flame at the very end, being launched straight up in the air. I was literally blown out of my socks and shoes, feeling the intense heat, then falling to the floor in a heap. Looking up to see the sky where the roof was, burning timbers, the bathroom falling. I struggled to get up, run out, escape. Something was stopping me, the pain, the blood, the burning flesh, smoke, that awful smell, I couldn’t move. My ankle was limp, hanging there, lifeless, so I grabbed it with my left hand, tried to get up, hobbled as best I could to the door, or what was left of the door, just a burning door frame, flames licking the edges, smoldering timbers everywhere you looked. No safe place to go, to land when I fell, just falling forward into that pile of burning rubble. Hopping, falling, yelling for help, falling forward into that mass of destruction, helpless. Someone was yelling, Hang on. Hang on. Looking up, a very blurred figure was heading my way.

Was I seeing clearly, this person coming toward me, dressed in white, falling through the rubble, yelling at me to hang on? She was holding me up, cradling my head in her arms. It felt so good, comfortable in all this burning rubble. She told me it would be alright, relax, let go. I asked her about my face, but she would not reply. I lost consciousness for a second or two. When I awoke, I was in the arms of firemen carrying me through the twisted, burning pile of lumber. The lady dressed in white was gone.

Waking up on the front lawn, looking up, feeling water running over me, concerned looks on the paramedic’s faces. Everything at this point was a blur, faintly hearing the sirens, radios and voices of hard working firemen doing their jobs. Then out of nowhere my wife was leaning over me, her face streaked with soot and tears, trying to console me, her pretty face wrought with pain, concern, bewilderment. Attempting to touch me, the firemen pushing her away so they could work. My arms and hands were bandaged lightly, all wet, remembering what they looked like a few moments ago, bacon, was all I could recollect. Where am I, what happened to me, was anyone else hurt?

The paramedics and the firemen had their work cut out for them carrying that stretcher across the front yard, or what was once a yard, through the rubble, across the lawn strewn with hoses, lumber, bricks, a rocking chair in one piece just sitting there on the lawn. . Remembering that at one time in my past life I had been a paramedic, doing what they were doing, making the mad dash to the hospital, driving the ambulance. Now here I was, the patient in the back, strapped down, helpless. Funny the things that enter your mind during trauma, the things you remember that seem to come out of thin air and envelope your mind. Probably God’s way of helping you along, because the trauma and pain are way too much to endure for any length of time, more than the mind and body can comprehend.

Lying there on the stretcher trying to keep my eyes open, two paramedics feverishly working, my eyes swelling shut, the pressure on my head was enormous, like someone clamping a vice shut around my head. It was getting harder and harder to see, to think straight or focus. I turned my head to look out the window to see my father, standing in front of his furniture store, watching the ambulance streak by. I noticed he was standing in broken glass, the huge picture windows on either side of him were shattered. This was a couple miles from where I lived. Little did he know, his son was the patient and soon he would get that call that all parents dread.

The ambulance screeched to a halt, the back doors flew open; out I came, trying to make sense of it all. Looking around as my head swelled several times its size, my eyes closing, the doorway and halls were filled with nurses and doctors anxiously awaiting my arrival, waiting for all the victims of this explosion which were surely on their way. Speeding down that hall, looking up as the ceiling whizzed past, knowing now what it was like to be the patient after so many trips down this same hall, me in charge, wheeling the patients to the emergency room. The attendants whisked me from the stretcher to a gurney, on a count of three, the doctors yelling out orders, nurses cutting off my clothes, or what was left of my clothes. I could not see much, heard and understood some of their orders and concerns, knew I was in bad shape. The nurse could not find a good vein for the intravenous tube. They did a cut down on my ankle, cutting across the vein, inserted the IV, started the fluids and waited to see how I would respond. The prognosis was dim, watch and wait, they did all they could, the severe trauma, second and third degree burns, broken and twisted ankle, blood loss, shock, burned lungs, smoke inhalation, fingernails literally melted off. Three and one half hours later my parents and wife were called in for a very brief visit.

The doctors held a meeting, passed along the grim news. His chances are slim, only time will tell, 80/20, if he does recover then the road will be a long one, skin grafts, permanent scarring and possible loss of function. We do not advise transporting him to the burn center, his condition is too grave. We’ll keep him here, watch and wait.

The gas explosion was on all the local news channels, even made the national news, as it was the largest residential gas explosion of its time. The reports were somewhat sensationalist, however, the facts stood for themselves. Witnesses reported seeing debris flying 400 feet in the air; the sound and shock waves were felt miles away. Windows were blown out of homes and stores quite a distance from the explosion. The three adjacent condos were a total loss, damage sustained to others extensive, damage in the millions is my best guess. My car parked on the street was gone, nothing left but a fender well, scattered over thousands of feet. The man across the street was walking to his car, down the front walk; the explosion blew him back up his walk, through the front door and back through his condo. Thank God he was not hurt. The neighbors were all at work, a miracle no one else was hurt. The newspapers reported three persons hurt, not seriously, thank God.

The Birmingham-Bloomfield Observer, Eccentric reported, September 5, 1974, Town House Blast Injures 3.

"BIRMINGHAM-A giant gas explosion ripped apart two townhouse apartments Tuesday morning, injuring three persons and scattering pieces of wood, glass and roofing for blocks. The blast, which blew out windows and rattled furniture throughout the Williamsburg Village apartments, occurred at 11:35 a.m. and was heard for miles. Gordon Rouston, 28, was reported in serious condition Wednesday morning but improving. He suffered second and third degree burns on his face, chest, hands and arms.

"Lynn Heinzerling, who lives across the street from the Roustons, was on the telephone when her front windows blasted out and her screen door flew apart. She rushed outside to help her neighbor’s children, who were outside. Although pieces of the apartments swirled in the air in what one spectator said looked like a massive dust storm, the children were unharmed.

"E. Lee Carless, who lives blocks away, arrived at the scene before firemen. He reported debris shooting 400 feet in the air and flames of 40–50 feet rising from the rubble.

Bob Miller, an employee for the Williamsburg apartments, said he was almost a block away when the explosion occurred. He was taking a break, sitting down when his chair suddenly jumped six inches from the impact of the blast.

Later I would learn from the experts there was a gas leak, where, they could not pinpoint. Gas escaped for some time and built up in the enclosed apartment. The fire department investigated and found a stove just like ours from the next door apartment with three burners and the stove in the on position. There was some speculation that a bomb or incendiary devise was used, no evidence of any scenario was proved conclusively. There was so much gas built up when I lit the match the explosion was like a bomb being ignited; had I been any further from the epi-center of the explosion this book would not be published. I would literally have been blown to pieces. The explosion was so intense the nails in the roof were blown out like missiles, the insulation in the attic was blown through those very small holes, then the entire roof blew off. The building then imploded, not exploded, followed by an explosion that tore the entire house apart leaving only a few sticks. The outside of the building was brick, so the explosion was even greater in intensity, completely demolishing three two story, two bedroom brick structures. The explosion, the worst to occur in Birmingham in 25 years, attracted hundreds of spectators. Shaken by the loud boom that sounded like a plane crash or a sonic boom, a few concerned neighbors and at least one stranger rushed to the scene to aid the trapped victims.