THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ & THANK YOU FOR YOUR GHOST STORY STEVE!
THIS IS MY BADASS FRIEND STEPHEN RESSET. A LOCAL INFLUENCER BOTH SPIRITUALLY AND AS A FATHER!
- HE WANTED TO BREAK THIS DOWN INTO AT LEAST TWO PARTS AS HE REALLY LOVES IMPACTING OTHERS IF HE CAN WITH HIS STORY.
ALTHOUGH HE IS NOT A LICENSED PROFESSIONAL, LIKE THE MAJORITY OF US HERE AT MENTAL GHOSTS, STEVE HAS TAUGHT ME THE ART OF LISTENING & GENUINELY CARING FOR OTHERS. HE HAS HELPED MY MARRIAGE WITH MY WIFE & HAS PLAY A HUGE IMPACT IN OUR LIVES! HE IS AN AMAZING CHURCH LEADER, A WONDERFUL SALESMAN & AN EXCELLENT FATHER.
THANKS STEVE AND LOVE YOU SO MUCH!
PS. WITH THIS QUICK MESSAGE BELOW, YOU WILL UNDERSTAND WHY HE IS THE BEST!
Do you love me? Pt 1 -
QUESTIONS AND VICES:
AM I WORTHY OF YOUR LOVE? This question has haunted me for the past 20 years. The question that has driven most of my behavior and motives. Am I worthy of your love? I’ve spent 20 years trying to find out if I can get everyone to admire and adore me. I didn’t know that I wanted this question answered. But as I’ve discovered my mental ghosts… I know that I’ve been driven by this question… The reality is that I’m consumed by a fierce desire to get approval from EVERYONE. This desire has made me absolutely miserable...
VICES: People pleasing, drugs, alcohol, tobacco, bad relationships, changing jobs/careers often so that I don’t disappoint people. Not letting people see that I’m having a bad day.
In 2011 I woke up in a pile of my own piss and vomit. As I rolled over and tried to make sense of what had happened. I realized I had fallen asleep (passed out) in the dirt next to a campfire. I was up at an elevation of 9000 ft in the mountains of Montana in March for an annual Spring Break trip. It was f’in cold out and my body felt like I was 80 years old. I was shivering and had no idea where I was or what had happened the night before. As I stumbled to get some water, I realized my ass felt incredibly tender and sore. I pulled down my pants and realized that I had been branded with burning hot metal rods the night before. My ass literally looked like hamburger meat. I would like to say I was totally surprised by this experience. However, scenarios like this were becoming quite common. At 21 years old I was a drunk. Not just a partier. I was totally out of control in my addiction and the consequences were starting to become physically harmful and devastating to my emotional wellbeing.
I roused up some of my friends and asked what had happened last night. They laughed as they retold the story of the nights proceedings. They howled as they recounted all of the alcohol they had fed me and how inebriated I had become. They narrated the story of me pulling down my pants and them searing my ass cheeks with burning hot metal rods as they took turns pissing on my legs. Everyone laughed and couldn’t believe that Steve had took it to another level last night. I laughed with the group. But I felt dead inside. Why would people do this to me?
The semester before I had dropped out of college because I couldn’t make it to class. I partied 6 days a week. I had mounted up debt and creditors because I didn’t pay my bills or keep a job. I was totally lost. I felt the pressure of no future or hope. I couldn't keep a solid relationship because I was unreliable and untrustworthy. Even though all I wanted was to be loved by a girl. I would routinely pick partying over being with my girlfriends. I hurt a bunch of quality women because I didn’t want to disappoint or let down my drinking buddies. I was also scared that if a girl got to close that she would see who the real Steve was. The one I tried to hide from the rest of the world. I loved my drinking buddies. They were assholes. But they were my assholes. Plus, I could trust that they would never ask me personal questions. They would never ask me about the darkness that was inside my heart. As long as I kept them laughing they didn’t much care about who I was.
My nickname had become “Drunk Steve”. The guy that you could depend on for a great night. The guy that would drink anything at any-time. Everyone loved drunk Steve. He was the life of the party! I loved to party. Or at least I loved the release from reality that it gave me. The more I medicated. The more I could escape the hell that existed in my past. This lifestyle worked well for me. Until anxiety, depression and feelings caught up with me.
In 2013 I hit the limit of my denial of emotions, trauma and thoughts. I became suicidal and couldn’t be left alone for 3 weeks as my family and friends feared I would take my life. I fantasized about ending my life all day/every day for those 3 weeks. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I had bottled up so much pain and disguised it by being the fun guy. I had never dealt with my past. I had tried to outrun the darkness that now had overcome me. I wanted to stab myself in the heart because I hated what and who I had become. I didn’t know what these emotions were or why they were trying to surface. So I drank more. I drank alone and I drank a lot. In June of 2013 I planned to end my life.
How did I get to this moment?
In fact, I feel a little silly that my story isn’t so messy. That my past is actually quite common. It saddens me that others have had far more trauma than myself. It makes me feel weak that I didn’t overcome my childhood to thrive. Some would guess that I grew up with alcoholic parents or that I was abused as a kid. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, it was quite good for the first 10 years of my life.
I grew up in Dillon Montana. A great and safe place to explore, adventure and grow into a man. I grew up in the ideal Christian home. I remember being a 5-year-old and saying prayers with both of my parents and reading the classic bible stories from my children’s Bible with my siblings. I was the youngest of 3. My older siblings were popular, smart and good at athletics. I went to church every Sunday and was taught the bible by my mom in children’s ministry and watched as my dad led worship for our worship team. When people asked, I would tell them that my family were Christians. This gave me so much pride! We looked like the perfect family! It was all I ever knew! My parents were incredibly generous people. Our home was always buzzing with people we barely knew because my parents had an open-door policy. Anyone who needed a meal, a place to sleep, or fellowship was welcome to come to our house at 504 Walnut. It was such a healthy environment. Until it collapsed.
My parents divorced on my tenth birthday. The stresses of family and financial struggles wore down my mom and dad. I didn’t understand what was happening. How could our perfect family end in the blink of an eye? What did I do wrong? How could I get my parents back together? (THE BEGINNING OF MY PEOPLE PLEASING)
My dad moved out of our house and I began the process of a new world that I hated! The next few years were brutal. My mom began to separate from the community of people that were once so prevalent in our lives. My sisters rejected their faith first, but I soon followed. They found partying, boys and outlets to handle the devastation of a divorce. They set the example of what it looks like to rebel against morals. I couldn’t wait to follow. My mom soon left our family and moved to Utah. This meant that I had to live alone with my dad. Who I blamed for the demise of my family. I was disgusted by him. My moms departure was taken out on him.
Middle School and Highschool became an outlet for my rejection of Christian beliefs and morals. It became the space where I gave the ultimate “fuck you” to my parents and to God. I discovered alcohol and then girls and then drugs. These temporary satisfactions held my attention beautifully. I didn’t have to deal with my pain. As if anyone ca
red anyways. Or so I thought. I could become the most rowdy and crazy kid possible and see if anyone would notice the hurting boy inside who just wanted his life back. Who just wanted the family together that he had lost in May of 1999. I spent the next 15 years hating my parents with all my heart. I let that h
atred for them lead me down some dark and scary roads.
I didn’t actually hate my parents. What I really wanted to know was “if they actually loved me.”
... TO BE CONTINUED ...
YOU WILL HEAR BACK FROM STEPHEN A LOT, SO I HOPE YOU LIKE HIM.
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CHEERS STEVE & TALK TO YOU SOON