Almost four months sober and

the thing that lingers most, a long time after the urge to drink has passed, is rediscovering the person I was to begin with and lamenting all the beautiful things I've missed out on and / or continue to miss out on.

The old cycle would dictate that a pretty damn good reason to keep drinking. This new one dictates that I instead sip on my coffee, perpetually, wondering if there's anything I can even do to change that fact from here.

Still, as a person that was drinking more than a fifth of whiskey every single day, being more than a hundred days sober is no small feat and I should be proud of that. I mean, I am, but I'm also deeply ashamed. I knew that I had the proclivity for addiction hardwired into my genetic code before I ever stepped foot into a bar or a gas station or some random person's house at the ass-crack of morning. I have spent a lifetime watching my bloodline fall short of their potential behind the safety-nets of substance and I still became an addict myself. It's so wildly stupid and I can't make sense of my decision to throw such an obvious caution to the wind. But I did. Over and over again. I did it until it didn't feel like a choice anymore and then I kept doing it after that.

Such a fucking mess of things has been made in that wake and I have an extreme anxiety when I can think of nothing else outside of it.

The strides I've made give me just the faintest sliver of optimism, like a bright light through the slit of a doorway, but that may be just as dangerous if its rooted in fool's hope.

I can only conjecture that it's not. No evidence to the contrary. No burden of proof. Just a bullheaded opinion from someone that has to have it.

Anyway, yeah. Sober. Almost four months. Over a hundred days. Go me.

Sobriety Update #01 (For anybody that cares heh)

I took the first couple days of this effort to just be useless and allow myself to feel terrible. In my mind, it could potentially serve as a lasting reminder that I don't want to, "just have one drink with a friend" later on down the road. I now have empirical evidence that that ship has sailed for me. I cannot, in fact, just have one drink. Turns out, I can't even just have two, four, or six, either. I have a problem with alcohol and, from what I've heard, it's a sickness that doesn't go away. You don't struggle with alcoholism until you stop drinking. That's when the struggle starts.

Today was my friend's funeral and I don't think it was a major trigger for me to convince myself that I needed a drink. In some strange way, the whole thing made me want to take better care of my own mental health so I don't end up in a similar position. It doesn't take a lot to convince yourself of doing the wrong thing, but it CAN take a lifetime to convince yourself to keep doing it right. I'm sure that sounds like an empty platitude to a lot of you, but sometimes the stereotypes are stereotypes because they're the truth. I don't ever want my loved ones to be in that position.

I think that every single time that I have to bury a friend, but today was the first time that made something click about taking care of myself. I think I have spent a lifetime self-destructing.

That said, I did have one small trigger today. On the way back from the burial, we stopped at the gas station so I could grab some cigarettes and some potato chips or something, and I INSTINCTIVELY walked to the booze section and grabbed my bottle. It took me about five steps to realize, "What in the fuck am I doing?" It's become so common for me to grab a bottle that I don't even think about it when I'm doing it. And then there was a small voice in my head that said, "You can just start over tomorrow. Come on, man." And I assume it's always going to be there, which sucks, but I did it to my damn self and I should have said, "no" more emphatically all those years ago when I knew this would happen if I started to drink again. Instead, I didn't. I said it so quietly that nobody heard me; especially that first bartender.

I put the bottle down, though, and I left with just the cigarettes and some Doritos.

I'm not going to count how many days of sobriety I reach because I think that sets me up for a massive failure. If you're wanting to be sober, you don't count the days. Every day is a new day, a new cycle that starts over and over again.

I don't ever expect to be out of the woods, but I am confident I am seeing the forest for the trees. And I think that's enough inspiration for me right now.

-Cody

"They're just photos after all" I can't make you hang around. I can't wash you off my skin. Outside the frame, is what we're leaving out You won't remember anyway

I can go with the flow But don't say it doesn't matter anymore I can go with the flow Do you believe it in your head?

It's so safe to play along Little soldiers in a row Falling in and out of love Something sweet to throw away I want something good to die for To make it beautiful to live. I want a new mistake, loss is more than hesitate. Do you believe it in your head?"

I have buried twelve of my friends in the last six years. In the coming days, that number will be thirteen.

If you are struggling with your mental health, PLEASE fucking talk to somebody. I feel like men's mental health is not only overlooked, but it's actively encouraged against. We are expected to be strong ALL THE TIME. Any deviation from that is frowned upon and a lot of us suffer in silence for no fucking reason.

This could have been prevented. The world lost an insanely bright, gifted, and friendly human being this morning. And for what? No, seriously. For what? To be another statistic? To be another person incapable of asking for help they needed? To be another person I have to watch get buried? I will miss you, my friend. You were important and necessary. I wish to hell that you knew that.

SWOBODA & WEBER - THE WANT COLUMN In due time When fine lines have washed out Pressed down Held doubt up in her mouth Kill shot, the have nots What they've got still are equal parts numbed and blacked out Keep it ill Kept it locked up where it's safe Animate then Desecrate the only love I ever saved It wasn't me, but it always was honestly I’d give it all away just to set it free and so I did It’s coming Another Existence Uncovered Would you help me find me Or at least remind me how? I’m waiting You're checking in Existence Will soon begin Would you help me find me Or at least remind me how? The past tense is absent with this when adjusted, my breath caught on loose skin Don’t care. I do, don't, I’m impaired but I’d take the next plane Just to get there I’m so lost. Would you help me find me? I don't need existence to exist My misses define my insistence The loose lips came equipped with distance This just in: I miss you when I'm in deep.

blood in my phlegm, too scared to say something blood in my stool, too scared to say something blood from your womb, too scared to say something always scared of saying something.

A PHOTO A DAY FOR A YEAR March, 12th, 2023 Day 71/365

I have always had a love / hate relationship with existence.

On one end, I can see the forest for the trees and I am able to admire the beauty of just the sheer absurdity of it all. The fact that I get to exist is an anomaly that, even scientifically or mathematically speaking, makes little to no sense on paper or in practice. Every breath that I am blessed to experience is a proverbial middle finger to probability in, essentially, every aspect. I am the product of a seemingly endless series of circumstances that would have never happened unless they happened exactly as they did. You take away even a single instance of oversleeping or missing an appointment and I am not here to speak of it. I don't get to exist. And that's the case for all of us, too, which is equally absurd and unlikely. There is, in fact, nothing more unlikely than any of us existing and, yet, here I am typing and there you are reading this.

I don't think any of us are capable of understanding just how special and insane that is.

The other end of that feeling is not being appreciative of the fact and, at least historically speaking, I have found my own life to be very difficult and mundane to trudge through. Minor inconveniences totally uproot my being and major ones have resulted in extended manic episodes that I'm both ashamed of and reluctant to talk about. I've hurt myself more than any other person could possibly hurt me and I've oftentimes done it on purpose. Sometimes because I think I deserve it and other times simply because nothing else made any sense to me. Fact is, I've intentionally raised my own proverbial middle finger toward existence and I have found myself angry for the luck to exist and find misery at all.

I have asked myself in perpetuity with no finality in any of it. Is it better to exist with no quality of life? Is there quality in the lack thereof? Am I actually lucky to experience? Would I be luckier in the absence of it?

I can't say for certain.

I know that, in my life, there have been sunsets on either coast as thunderstorms rolled in that I wouldn't trade for anything. I know that I have held actual love in my hands in the purest, more raw form of it, and that has to be wholly worthwhile, too. I know how the best barbeque in America tastes. I know what the air smells like at the summit of Pike's Peak. I know what it feels like to read a great book and finish it, the strange melancholy of it all, and I know how oddly satisfying it is to watch a really bad movie on purpose. I know how it feels to think of my grandmother taking me to The Salvation Army and letting me pick out any book I want. I know how Christmas looks from the glee in my mother's eyes while we open gifts. I have been insanely blessed with a beautiful ride.

Conversely, I also know how it feels to be angry at cognizance itself. I am well-versed in depression and don't actually know if there's ever been a period of my life that I wasn't infected by it in one capacity or another. I know how it feels when the walls close in and my anxiety is so high that I can feel my heart beating through my teeth. I know how it feels to be anxious about death and then, paradoxically, still upset to open my eyes the next day. I know what a rope feels like against the grain of my neck and I know what it feels like to watch somebody you love leave the bar with somebody else. I know what it feels like to have your character assassinated and I know how it feels when you're unsure of yourself due to it. I know what it feels like when a police officer intentionally cuffs you too hard. I know what it feels like to lose everything that matters to you at all. Being lost in blessing is a very tough road to navigate. I often fail at it. I fail at it more often than not.

My intrinsic theory is this: it is worth it. If for no other reason than this:

We all have an eternity to be dead. I don't see the need to rush it. And there will surely be more beautiful sunsets, more mountains, more great books, good food, and bad movies. There will also be more love lost. There will be more anxiety. There will be, unfortunately, more cops than ever.

I'd rather ride the storm than lay down and let it define me. Stick around. Even if it's not worth it, the views are sometimes incredible.

i have never been made whole even though the hole keeps growing and who keeps tabs on the already ready?

this town seems to burn down faster than I can catalog it.

SWOBODA AND WEBER - FLOWERS FOR MY BRAIN

Track Listing (so far): 01. Sophistry 02. You Look Like Me 03. Rot Gut Eulogies 04. Northridge 05. Neo's Speakers 06. The Want Column 07. TBA 08. TBA 09. TBA 10. TBA 11. TBA 12. TBA 13. TBA

"I don't need existence to exist the misses define my insistence the loose lips come equipped with distance This just in: I miss you when I'm in deep."

New music coming soon.

Busy.

I have been trying earnestly to get my mental health in check. There's been a lot of good days and probably just as many bad ones, but I am making strides on things that are super important to me and that gives me motivation to keep trying at it.

I recently shot photos for a Sikh wedding in Peoria, Illinois and that was an incredibly interesting experience. It was a two day affair consisting of a family party on Saturday, a day of rest on Sunday, and an actual ceremony on Monday. Barely anybody spoke English and I had to photograph the entire event blind (or deaf, I guess?) due to that. There were dozens of rituals that I had never experienced before, but I finally finished the edits on those this evening.

The SWOBODA & WEBER project is nearing completion on our fifth track toward our sophomore record, "Flowers For My Brain". I think these tracks are blowing the last record out of the proverbial water and I am sincerely excited for people to start hearing them. I finally learned, after a decade or more of trying, how to scream the way that I want to.

And, oddly enough, I'm learning how to cook and it's becoming a neat little hobby for me on the side? I made a butterflied cajun chicken breast with sauteed onions and rosemary garlic potatoes tonight. I never saw that on my BINGO card of life experience, but I'm enjoying learning a new craft.

There's other things I can't really talk about, too, but best believe when I can that I'm going to shout it from the mountaintops. I'm making real strides on something that's been on my mind every day for fifteen years now. I am beyond optimistic about that.

So yeah, good days, bad days. I'm getting a lot better at finding more of the good. And, in doing so, finding the good in myself as well.

There's a light and I can actually see it.

SWOBODA AND WEBER - YOU LOOK LIKE ME

Somewhere on the inside she could never get lost 'cuz she's blinding a thousand years went behind me that's how it feels anyway from the back seat

No path to get back to the days and to say anything anyway wouldn't do it justice I admit that. I just wish I had a simple way to say, "I'm sorry."

But I don't, and I swear I can make it better if I just get a chance to say nothing. And let you speak. Nice to meet you Nice to be near you, let's drive through all these things like what you should've had back then: me.

"Don't cause a rift in her life." Yeah, that's what I've said every night and I convinced myself you were better without all the demons that crept up inside of my mind.

You look like me. I hope you're not like me. You look like me. You look like me.

Take me back to better times back when.

The apple is plucked from the tree. What I've seen in my years when I should've been preening and trimming and watering leaves. Instead, I just drowned in my grief.

But it's simple to speak in those metaphors. I don't want to convolute anymore. The message is simple and honest, and when it reaches your heart; I hope you accept it.

You've been in mine every day.

You'll be singing and happy and maybe someday I'll greet you and finally say that I feel the same.

I wait for the day to look at your face.

SWOBODA AND WEBER - ROT GUT EULOGIES

Final Master Lyrics: Open the door, you've seen me before but not anymore; the anguish is lost replaced by the floor you float on. I just can't see no more. It's always winter in my head. A beauty replaced by anger and grace The look on your face was nothing to the one that I recall: 4:30 AM Summer's end. Ending and ending again. Grief is a path I've followed and past The moment that lasts a while has the greatest comedown. The letdown lasts so long. Seeing in the nowhere sky again, it's always winter in my head. Your beauty's a temp, but never relent The time that I spent was nothing to the times I never really made a dent; leave a mark or a trace on your heart. Do I have to be another story in the past tense? Just another loose leaf or another late rent? A bottle in my hand is worth a couple at a dive bar I'd rather be alone than around them, around the corners of her lips, creases around the hips fabric as it rips -- they're all about the same. I am all or nothing, though my nothing is the most part Every ounce of energy I've wasted on the dead Gave a little money to the wealthy and the well-fed I'd rather be alone than around them. Or around the words I couldn't say that I could today they're worth a little less and worth about the same. and what I mean by that is: They're not worth anything. They're not worth anything. They're not worth anything. I don't know what to file this under.