Forgiven: One Man's Journey from Self-Glorification to Sanctification (10 page)

If I didn’t play the game I would have been chewed up and spit out

— again, it was survival of the fittest. In many ways I had no choice.

But I didn’t like it; it was flat-out wrong. College kids whose parents were paying beaucoup bucks to send them to school had no idea how corrupt many of these professors were. To this day, it is one of the best-kept secrets in faculty lounges across college campuses in America. In time I knew I had to get out of the business. My conscience was just weighing too heavily on me.

It’s just amazing to read the above passage. Today, there is just no way I would be able to be a part of that. These days, every morning when I wake up I make myself accountable for everything I do — from throwing a piece of paper on the floor, to yelling at my kids, to not greeting somebody with a warm hello. To live in Jesus you must be ready, willing and able to align yourself with him 100 percent — no exceptions.

If you fail to forgive somebody, not gonna happen. If you cheat on your income tax, forget it. If you cut someone off in traffic, take two steps back. Living your life in Christ is the
ultimate
commitment. Yes, it’s difficult — perhaps the hardest game I’ve ever played. But just look at what your playing for. Not money, a car, a plasma tv, or any other unnecessary luxury that’s going to break down after a few years of wear and tear. But rather the greatest gift you can ever be offered — the gift of 56

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eternal life; the gift of spending every minute of every day with the one who loves you the most. You’re playing for God’s gift. Take all your chips and push them into the center of the table — in your entire life there will never be a hand more worthy than this . . . not even close.

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Chapter 10

WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?

As I began my career with cbs Publishing in the summer of ’83, Amy was tying up loose ends at home in Evansville in preparation for our wedding day. I knew Alta would do everything possible to make Amy have second thoughts, but to Amy’s credit she withstood the pressure.

Our wedding date was set for September 10, and I wasn’t going to let anything stand between my love for her and the altar. But inside, I was never more scared in my life. I was 22 years old, what did I really know? Things were moving faster than a Randy Johnson fastball.

Between my new job and the build-up to the marriage, I was beginning to lose it — literally. Just days before my wedding during my flight to Evansville — it all hit me at once. That two-hour flight would change my life for the next four years.

I remember it as if it were 10 minutes ago. I was flying back to Evansville to see the bride-to-be, and I was overcome with a feeling that the plane was going to crash. Suddenly I was in somebody else’s 58

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body, living someone else’s life. It was surreal. This was a dream. This wedding just wasn’t going to happen — it couldn’t. As we (my grandfather, John J., took the journey with me) glided over the Midwest, I calmly waited for the plane to nosedive into farmer Green Jean’s har-vest. I wasn’t at all nervous — this was just my fate. Something drastic had to happen — there was no way that this wedding was going to take place. But the crash never came. . . . At least not right away.

It’s hard to put into words. Looking back, it was as if I were watching this whole scenario from above. Mentally, physically, emotionally, I just wasn’t there. I had absolutely zero control. It wasn’t a case of cold feet, because if it had been, I would have just pulled the plug.

From the bottom of my heart, I wanted to marry Amy — I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. But I was scared out of my mind. I remember asking everyone if I was doing the right thing, and they all said
yes.
Of course they did, they’d bought plane tickets and gifts. I guess that’s also what they thought I wanted to hear. But inside I was begging somebody to tell me otherwise. I was begging somebody to stop the madness.

Reality? Nothing was going to stop it. I was in church, my friends were all in tuxes, even my fraternity brothers (Beans, Flouder — they were all there), and this marriage thing was going down. I remember, about one minute before showtime, pulling out the old Chevy Chase line from
Vacation
, saying, “This is crazy, this is crazy,” but it fell on deaf ears. My friends laughed like I was kidding. If they’d only known what was going on inside . . . but nobody did, not even those closest to me. On the other hand, how could they have known? I was always the most together one of the bunch, the most level-headed, the most responsible. I began to ask myself, “Who is this guy standing here, because it sure isn’t Vince Russo.” Man, I was in a bad movie. I was pleading for somebody to yell “Cut” and get me out of there.

Cue the organist.

It was a full house. The boy from New York City had packed them in. All these people, and not one with any idea what I was going through, including Amy. I tried to keep my composure, because the 59

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last thing I wanted to do was embarrass myself in front of everyone

— remember, pride was always a big deal to me. This thing wasn’t going to end up on
America’s Funniest Home Videos.
No, I was going to get through it, without any help from Amy, my parents or my friends.

As I stood there saying my vows, my voice was cracking like a child’s. I remember the crowd being touched by this — if only they knew what I was going through mentally and emotionally. If only I had a clue that the worst days were yet to come. Somehow, some way, I made it through the ceremony, but from that day forward I was a different person. It would be four years before the old Vince Russo would return.

In reading those last few paragraphs, it’s now as clear as ever to me that at a time when I needed God the most I never even asked for his help. I never attempted to talk to him — not even once. I think my reasons were twofold: first, I was too proud — I didn’t need anybody’s help, I could do it on my own. Second, I was ashamed and embarrassed because I didn’t even know him. There wasn’t even an informal relationship — no lunch, no walks, not even a hello. He was a stranger.

Or so I thought.

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Chapter 11

DEATH ON TWO LEGS

Whereas my college years were perhaps the best years of my life, the four years immediately following my marriage were no doubt my worst. To this day I don’t think anybody realized how serious my situation was. For the first time in my life I understood why people committed suicide. Think about that. Was I suicidal? Maybe not, but I wasn’t far off. It’s hard to explain. It brings back memories I’d rather forget. I just felt like I was trapped inside some kind of a shell. I could see, hear, taste and smell, but I couldn’t feel. The real me was screaming to get out, but I was a prisoner, chained in this awful place. There were many times I truly believed I was going crazy. I was scared to death that I was just never going to be the same person again — that I was going to feel this way for the rest of my life. I became a stranger to Amy, my family and whatever friends I had left. I visited my family doctor frequently, but all he could do was prescribe these little blue pills that were making me crazier than I already was. I even 61

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spoke to God, asking him, over and over again, “Why are you doing this to me?” But there was no answer.

I couldn’t understand at that time that God owed me no answer, no explanation. I had never spoken to him before, unless it was to ask him to assist in a Giants’ win. I had no relationship with him — I didn’t even know him, my own father. Why should he have answered my prayers when I hadn’t been there for him for 22 years? Was he going to help a guy who never even thanked him? Not even once? That’s a misconception many people have — that if we pray to God, he will answer those prayers. Unfortunately, it is not that simple. He will answer if it’s his will to do so. God isn’t going to bless us — any of us — if we don’t deserve his grace.

If we live our lives, in our world, our way — then obviously we are telling God we don’t need his help, just like I did. However, once we make that leap of faith, once we make that commitment — once we pack our bags and move from our world to his, we will be blessed with his gifts and promises for the rest of eternity.

Again, I had to rely on myself to get through. The problem was that the end of the tunnel offered no light. I was crawling through the dark depths of hell without as much as a penlight. It was my worst nightmare. I had no idea what was going on. Perhaps I had just taken on too much in my life over a brief three-month period. I’d started a new job, bought a co-op and gotten married. Remember, I was only 22. I had gone from no responsibilities to carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. The truth was, I was just too young to handle the situation.

Looking back, there is no question I was suffering through a deep depression — one fueled by horrific panic attacks. Every morning I would wake up, shower, shave, blow-dry my hair and get dressed.

Before I would even leave the house — less than a half-hour after I showered — I would be sweating through my clothing. From there, I would drive to a college campus to do a job I despised. The driving 62

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part really sticks out. I don’t even know how I got to my destination.

My mind was just a haze. Many times I would go into the men’s bathroom and just talk myself through the day. When I would sit down and talk to a professor I’d be sweating, unable to catch my breath. I knew the easy way out would have been to just stay home. I was a sales rep — nobody knew where I was. But I was petrified to make that choice, not because I cared about the job, but because I realized that if I began to stay home I might end up confined to my room forever. Every day I would force myself out the door, and every day would be worse than the last. But I needed to push myself. I understood that nobody was going to get me out of this but myself.

My situation put a tremendous amount of strain on my young marriage. Amy and I were becoming strangers. Suddenly she was alone and a thousand miles away from home. All she talked about was going back to Evansville to be with her family — needless to say, that wasn’t helping my situation. The fact was, she was driving me deeper into the void. I have no idea how our marriage stayed together. At the time we just had no business being married.

For four years, I lived my life that way. After a while I didn’t even want to drive because I was afraid something terrible would happen to me. You’ve got to understand —
I wasn’t there.
I had no control; this was just happening to me. Up to this point, my whole life had been based on control. I was always in control of every situation. Now I had control of nothing . . . I was an infant. Deep down, I knew that it was simply a case of mind over matter. I had to beat it. I couldn’t live the rest of my life like that. I wouldn’t go to a shrink, because that would have just confirmed that I was losing my mind, so I had to reach out from within. I had to pull myself off Elm Street.

In August of ’86, something happened that saved my life: Amy got the news that she was pregnant. In nine months there was going to be a child in this world who would bear my name. I was going to be a father. This was the motivation I needed to pull myself together. Amy and I were going to bring a child into this world, who was going to be depending on me. I couldn’t fail this kid. My child’s father couldn’t be 63

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bound in a strait-jacket. Over the next nine months, I literally “fixed” myself. I became more alert, and caught myself every time I began to fall back. By the time my son, William James Russo, was born on May 1, 1987, I was more or less back to normal.

Man, I cried like a baby when Will was born. When the doctor did the old snatch-’n-scoop from out of the canal and onto Amy’s stomach — I just lost it. This was my kid . . . my son. Your whole life just can’t prepare you for that moment. In an instant, everything changes.

What mattered before meant nothing now. It was immediately all about that kid blanketed in goo. After four years of playing the lead in the worst horror movie I’d ever seen — this was far and away the greatest single moment in my life. And at that very instant I realized more than ever how much I loved Amy. I’ll tell you one thing though

— childbirth, I could never do it. Though I’m a male chauvinist, I give women all the credit in the world for having babies. Being a practicing hypochondriac all my life, I say, “Thanks, but no thanks.” Looking back, that whole day was a miracle from God. A life gave me life

— it’s just that simple. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, I now know that God was right there. As Will was pulled from Amy’s womb, I was pulled from my eternal hell — there’s no other explanation. Unfortunately, I still wasn’t getting it. I still didn’t understand. As clear as it is to me today, my pride blinded me back then.

It was all about me. I pulled myself out. I made myself better. I
fixed
me. I, I, I.

Man, did I waste a lot of time.

Getting back to childbirth, I would just to like to say something to all those who have children. When the bills stack up, when your job stinks, when you’re fighting with your wife, just go back to that day . . . the day, or days, when you saw a child — your child — come into this world. It took me a long time to understand that, second to God, nothing in this world matters more than those kids. Money, success, your job — when you’re old and retired you’re going to reflect back and realize that even though that’s where all your energy went — none of that meant a thing.

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It just wasn’t important. But guess what? It’ll be too late and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. “Cats in the Cradle.” Trust me — don’t wait another minute — do something about it.
Today!