Courage

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CANNOT OR WILL NOT COMPLETELY GIVE THEMSELVES

February 24, 2008 in Living in Recovery by Chris | 13 comments

2007_02_06t141103_338x450_us_italy_embrace.jpgembrace

c.1300, from O.Fr. embracer “clasp in the arms, enclose,” from en- “in” + brace “the arms,” from L. bracchium (neut. pl. brachia). Replaced O.E. clyppan, also fæðm.
Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2001 Douglas Harper

Last night, late, I stepped out on my front porch to smoke a cigarette. I still smoke cigarettes. For some reason cigarettes have been harder to give up than booze and crystal meth, but I digress. I was standing on my front porch in a cold fog, looking across the street, watching two neighbor couples embrace.

The first couple live in the yellow clapboard house with the white picket fence on the corner across the street. I’m guessing they entertained last night because at this unusual hour the wife, a petite blond in her early 30s, was in the kitchen washing dishes. I saw her husband walk up behind her and place his arms around her and nuzzle her neck while they swayed. It was a picture of the kind of domestic happiness that I have often longed for but never really had, at least not for any meaningful time. I’ve never really touched life that deep. It feels like no one has ever really loved me like that -all the way through. Perhaps it is that I have never loved them back. One would think I could get the direction right since in some ways it is my most obvious and most painful disappointment.

At the same time, two doors down, the shirtless figure of the muscle boy who my friend Lindsey is engaged to, was on the front porch of their house being held, the way you hold someone who has suffered a sudden and terrific loss, by a woman I didn’t recognize. Behind him was a tall, older man with his hand on the boy’s shoulder, telling him he was fine. It’s OK. You’ll be alright. The older man opened the front door and asked if muscle boy had a shirt. It was, after all, only about 40 degrees outside. A hand reached out a shirt from inside the house. “Dad? What are you doing here?” the boy slurred as his father dressed him. Father and mother held their drunken son up as they walked down the steps and to the car and drove away from the young couple’s house. I see this boy in meetings. My friend Lindsey just celebrated 2 years clean and sober. Obviously she’s no Lois Wilson. She told me this morning that she’s broken off the engagement.

One couple clasped in the arms of love, the other in the grip of this disease.

I guess it has had me thinking about which is worse and how; to long for the embrace of an undiscovered beloved or to be in the embrace of hopelessness and futility. They are both awful. They are both lonely. At times I’ve felt like both were killing me. Lately I’ve watched people I love struggle with each of these and I’m finding it harder and harder to watch the struggle in a detached way -probably because the struggle still exists within me. The examples are all around me but two of them in particular seem to have ‘embraced’ me. One of these young women is pretty and smart and sweet and she is sensible in many ways. However, she is obsessed with what she cannot have. I think my suffering over the IFX demonstrates that I know something about obsessing over what I can’t have. Unlike my own experience though, the object of her obsession suddenly became available to her. She responded by running away, forcing this amazing man who loves her to retreat. She has responded by chasing him again.

The other young woman has been in and out of the rooms for over two years but can’t seem to stay sober for more than 30 days at a time. Yet she insists on calling on herself at every meeting and actually giving people advice. She yammers on endlessly about having a wonderful relationship with her higher power (lower case mine and intentional) and how she is working steps and has a wonderful sponsor and how much she has endured and remained sober and “what this program has given” her. Her first or second sentence always begins with the words, “I can honestly say.”

I must care about the first woman more because I haven’t pulled her aside to say, “You stupid, selfish bitch. Can’t you see what you’re keeping yourself from?” I wasn’t so well behaved with the second woman who I did pull aside last night. I believe my words were, “You don’t know shit about shit. You can’t “honestly say” anything. And shut the fuck up. You need this as bad as anyone here and you’re not going to hear it if you’re talking.” The rule I observe about not sharing in a meeting unless I’m called on or unless I’m dying has saved me more than once from either being her, with something to say on every subject and on every occasion- or unloading on her at meeting level. G-d seems always to make sure that I am not called on or (on a couple of occasions) called out of the room for some reason right before my head pops.

Why, I wonder, can’t they simply embrace the truth? Then again . . .

why can’t I?

Photo Credit:  unknown

Life in the Past Lane

January 28, 2008 in Living in Recovery by Chris | 9 comments

312“Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.”
-Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love

Great pain and great love are called the disciplinarians of recovery in Alcoholics Anonymous. In my life it seems that point of origin from which willingness to grow spiritually springs is tremendous pain. “Pain is a root, not a flower.” When the pain gets bad enough I take action. Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes tremendous love is operating in the origin of my willingness to persevere.

This is a story about love.

I have written about my unwillingness to carry on with the last part of my 4th step; my sex inventory. I have discussed it in more detail with other spiritual men. I have shared about it in a very general way at meeting level. I seem to have been in the grips of the faulty idea that I am so defective and so broken that I don’t deserve God’s help in forming the right ideal and seeking it. “No one will ever really love me,” became manifest in my life as a result of nurturing that faulty thought. “No one ever really did love me. No one ever could.” I see now how gigantically arrogant that thought is even though it has not completely been purged from my consciousness. Just like the drugs and alcohol, just like any area of my life that requires divine help, application of the principles of the steps is the solution and the solution is not really available to me until I have the first 3 steps down. I am powerless over people and the way I have related to them. A power greater than I can heal that secret wound, and that power, that I variously call God or my Creator or the Underlying Fabric of the Universe, wishes for me better than I wish for myself. It is the eternal power of Love that wishes for me to manifest the glory of that power which lies within me.

Though we had spoken of it before, this was not on my mind Saturday when I sat down with Brian, whom I consider to be my most spiritual friend. Where Jim, my sponsor, has great spiritual force (which is inspiring and exciting), Brian has great spiritual reserve (which I find breathtaking and clarifying). Out of the blue, Brian said, “You’re going to make an incredible companion for someone one day.” He went on to tell me about a writer who had profoundly influenced his own spiritual path and the relationship that had with becoming the kind of man who could have a wonderful intimate relationship. I kind of filed the information away in the mental folder marked ‘New Agey’.

Sunday morning I had my 8th step list out; the list of all people I had harmed. I started googling the names of some of the key people in my life in the 80′s. Some, I thought, might still be around, but I knew I was really looking at the result of the great plague that decimated the gay community. One who had been important in my life was Rick Saslaw. I met Rick in 1983, the first time I was exposed to Alcoholics Anonymous. He met my requirements for Rescuer status at the time. He drove a green Jaguar. He owned a 4-plex behind Canter’s Deli on Fairfax Ave. He was intelligent. He was politically active. He was a huge man; warm and safe. And he was amazingly kind to me. My life spun off in a completely different direction but while I was seeing Rick he impressed upon me that there was a spiritual life and a way to seek God that had nothing to do with being a mormon. The last time I saw Rick was in a parking lot on the south east corner of La Brea Ave. and Sunset Blvd. It was slightly awkward. I was married — to a woman — he had begun the heroic ordeal that was treatment for HIV in those days.

The next time I heard about Rick I was at a gay AA round-up in Salt Lake City, Utah in 1998. The guest speaker, Ira S., told his story of what it was like, what happened and what it’s like now. I was especially caught by a couple of things that Ira said about his turning point and the man who was there in his office when that happened. That man became Ira’s first sponsor. I approached Ira after his speech and he confirmed what I had imagined. His first sponsor was Rick Saslaw. He got sober while Rick and I were dating.

So Sunday, while I was dodging doing my sex inventory and instead was googling old flames, I came across only 2 listings for Rick; his obituary in the New York Times, and this blog post from another man who was also sponsored by Rick. It seems that Rick’s memorial service was officiated by the woman who my friend Brian had said was so influential in his own spiritual growth.

“Marianne (Williamson) paused her [Return to Love book] tour and officiated at Rick’s memorial at this postage stamp of a park tucked below Sunset Strip. All of Rick’s eccentric friends and AAs — crowded onto this petit lawn. . . Marianne salvaged the hour’s empty disposition, basically giving us an ACIM lecture, a discourse on Rick Saslaw. It was the most fitting tribute Rick could ever have had.”

The result of a thorough sex/relationship inventory is the clarity needed for one to ‘return to love’. That part of love that is eternal clearly wants better for me than I can understand. Needless to say, I have picked up my pen and started diligently working on my inventory and I dare say that a copy of ‘Return to Love’ will be in my near future. (Thank you, Rick. Thank you, God.)

312, originally uploaded by impala.1970.

You Can’t Get Arrested for Being Awesome

January 26, 2008 in Living in Recovery by Chris | 7 comments

Arrested at the TexacoThis morning’s post is probably more anecdotal and personal than most of what I write here.  I know I tend toward a rigorous focus on ‘the solution’.  It is , really, an essential part of my recovery as well as being an entertainment.  It is a few minutes spent with close attention to my spiritual geography.  You would probably be surprised how many of the people I know only consider me to be almost silly, certainly self-amused and a bit of a, well, maybe a great bit  of a goof-ball.

In days of yore, when Shep was a pup and the pigs ate my brother, back at the very birth (perhaps a badly chosen word) of my involuntary bachelorhood, more that a decade ago, I used to quip that not only could I not get a date, but “I couldn’t get arrested in this town.”  Obviously that was an exaggeration.  I have hardly been without arrest in recent years.  (Frankly I’m grateful.  Getting my hair washed before a cut and getting searched by the police is about the most intimate contact I’ve had in quite some time.  Well, there was the dentist.  I can’t believe I said that.  I’m going to just leave that there, though.  YES!  Having a good looking, well educated man cram his hands around in my mouth turned me on.  Don’t you dare judge me!)  Lucky for me you can’t get arrested for being awesome!

Well yesterday afternoon it came to my attention that I needed to stop by the jail before the week was out and before I had to take the next steps in this judicial process.  There had been another, not unexpected, warrant for my arrest issued.  The information garnered from the Ada County Sheriff’s web site, indicated that the warrant, which was issued on the 16th of this month,  and as the prosecuting attorney had agreed to, only called for the arrest to be processed.  I was to go in, be ‘booked’, and be released on my own recognisance.   This is tremendous courtesy on the part of the prosecution and a formality of the process that I am happy to be able to oblige.

I left work, the new and horrible job, early and boarded the bus to the public safety building where I presented myself at the jail.  For some reason or other there was an extraordinary line at the information desk, a line so long that the public defender, an attorney assigned exclusively to murder cases, vociferously complained about the inmate population being doubled and the information desk remaining the same.  There were several people in front of us, mostly attorneys, process servers and bail bondsmen.  But some of the people were ordinary citizens there to buy phone cards for their loved ones, inquiring about sending books in to the jail, getting information about visiting, etc.  The first ones in line though, a family of 4, seemed to be especially problematic.  There was a language barrier.  There were complicated questions.  They were strenuously engaged in the task at hand, whatever that was.  It took a long time.

When finally I presented myself to the information officer, I handed her my identification and explained to her that I noticed a warrant for my arrest and that I was there to surrender.  Taking my ID she said, “Have a seat.  Someone will be with you in a while.”  I sat down in the austere lobby and soon engaged in a conversation with three other men there doing the same thing.  I settled in for a long wait.  A long, long wait.

When at long last the did summon me back to the window it was only to say, “We haven’t got any paperwork on you.  Come back Monday.  Call first.”  I thanked them, wrapped up my scarf and put on my hat and walked home.  Funny how when I want to I can’t get arrested.

There are other things on my mind, too, of course; some of it even serious.  But for today I’ll just laugh and try again Monday.

Photo Credit:
Copyright 2007 by WRAL.com. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
Reporter: Melissa Buscher
Web Editor: John Conway
“Officer Kenneth Alston says he was driving his cruiser early Monday morning when he spotted King and another person at the Texaco on the corner of Owen Drive and Cumberland Road. Alston says the men appeared to be using drugs, so he stopped to investigate.”

What if I Was Truly Full?

January 18, 2008 in Living in Recovery by Chris | 10 comments

Ambler's Texaco - Rt. 66 “I wonder what it would be like if I really lived like I knew everything was going to be all right. Or if I really lived like I knew at all times I was loved and am love. Or if I really lived like I knew that I had access to a power that is unlimited and can do anything. I was considering it as I was making it through another cacophonous few minutes in my life where my thoughts were doing a victim conga line in my mind. I just know that life is not meant to be this way. But I also keep forgetting.” – My Agapic Life

We alcoholics and addicts seem to be especially endowed with that; with forgetfulness. In the absence of a complete restructuring of our psyches most of us have a difficult time telling the difference between what is objectively real and what is only real in our minds. At least that has been my experience. I forget that the underlying fabric of the universe is a part of me. I forget that my finite self as marshaled by my will is insufficient to solve my problems. And every time I forget those things I place myself a little farther away from Grace and a little closer to Destruction. Every time I forget to pick up the tools and balk at the work that leads me toward my Creator, I suffer. Every time I suffer, I forget that it is temporary.

On good days, on days I remember to pray, on days that I do an honest 10th step, the consciousness of the Love and Presence of my Creator is clearer to me. I seem, however, to go along in life thinking that I’m doing it; I’m carrying the message, my life is becoming manageable (ish) and I remain focused on the work I have already done. Inevitably something throws an unexpected log in my path and I have to exhaust myself trying to move it on my own.

The couple of things recently that have been particularly troublesome both involve entitlement. They involve my ego telling me that I should be treated differently, that I’m special, that I deserve better and they both involve the real (or I suppose imagined) wrongdoing of others. Good evidence suggests that doing the work provides me with a path to at least, at least, take a kindly and tolerant view. Yet, here I am, balking at the work.

I’ve been balking for some time on doing the work of my sex inventory. I had written so much on the other aspects of my fellationship with the IFX and in so doing had been relieved of so much of the pain that has plagued me these many months. It was a new harm, or rather just rudeness, that has prompted me to wallow in self-pity and animosity and to allow myself to forget that God can solve that problem, too. Stepping off the “I flippin’ deserve to be treated better than that” treadmill for only a moment allows me to see that there is a solution to the problem, yet I have been unwilling to take the necessary action. I’ve been enjoying the treadmill.

I have an astonishing need to be right, to be attended to and to receive the approval and acceptance of others. I have marched around being ‘right’ and soliciting endorsement of my ‘rightness’ since December. I have wallowed in my ‘rightness’ to such an extent that I went home from a meeting a couple of nights ago, climbed in bed at 7 o’clock and cried myself to sleep. I have considered ditching all my friends and changing all my meetings. I have half talked myself into believing that the only solution is to move away. By failing to pick up the tools I am hardly acceptable. It is hardly what God would have me do. I don’t approve of it and cannot expect others to approve, either. I forget that a little willingness goes a long, long way in this program. I forget where I put the willingness to act in faith until I’m out of ideas and have nowhere to turn but to God.

The other area I still think I can manage on my own stems from my indignation about the copyright to my work being infringed upon by an organization with a paid staff and whom I have offered a license to use my work for free but who have not complied with that simple request. Instead their paid staff are insisting that I spend my unpaid time to

“submit a notification pursuant to the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (“DMCA”) by providing our Copyright Agent with the following information in writing (see 17 U.S.C. Section 512(c)(3) for further detail)”

This is an arduous and time consuming task. Not only that, but they also assert that

“The compilation of all content on this site is the exclusive property of (unnamed site) and protected by U.S. and international copyright laws.”

All they had to do was ask me. That one bit of “I deserve to be treated better” has disturbed my serenity enough for me to march around being ‘right’ about that, too.

To some extent, perhaps even to a great extent in each of these situations, I am right. I do deserve better. I am worth more. It is not my ‘fault’. My fault lies in being miserable about it. My fault lies in the idea that I can manage these things without the steps and without God. I just know that my life isn’t meant to be this way, that I have a spiritual answer to these problems, that I do not have to suffer over things like this or to allow them to cut me off from the ‘sunlight of the Spirit’. I have unlimited access that connects me to the fullness and grace of my limitless and loving Creator.

But, I also keep forgetting.

Ambler’s Texaco Gas Station, originally uploaded by jimfrazier. www.dwightillinois.com/history.htm

The Tao of Texaco

January 13, 2008 in Living in Recovery by Chris | 5 comments

Yield and overcome; bend and be straight; empty and be full; wear out and be new; have little and gain; have much and be confused. Therefore wise men embrace the one and set an example to all. Not putting on a display, they shine forth. Not justifying themselves, they are distinguished. Not boasting, they receive recognition. Not bragging, they never falter. They do not quarrel so no one quarrels with them. Therefore the ancients say, “Yield and overcome.” Is that an empty saying? Be really whole and all things will come to you. (verse 22. tr. Gia Fu Feng)

Clearly (clearly) there remains much for me to overcome and much for me to yield to; much to harmonize my personal will with the natural harmony and justice of Nature, what I refer to as God. ‘The World is ruled by letting things take their natural course. It cannot be ruled by going against nature or arrogance.’ (Tao Te Ching; Verse 48).

As an alcoholic and addict, even in recovery, I find myself forever in opposition the the natural order of things. I am “almost always in collision with something or somebody, even though [my] motives [are] good.” I have the delusion that [I] can wrest satisfaction and happiness out of this world if [I] only manage well.” “[E]ven in [my] best moments (I am) a producer of confusion rather than harmony.”

Not all of the character defects of a lifetime of addiction are gone yet, but I “have recovered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body. To show other alcoholics (and addicts, especially crystal meth addicts) precisely how [I] have recovered is the main purpose of this [blog].” I share my experience, strength and hope with readers here to aid me in the path of my own recovery and hopefully to help other addicts find or improve theirs. It is plain to anyone who read me one year ago today that I am hardly recognizable as the same person. That change came about by taking simple steps, which embody simple, specific, spiritual principles. I took those steps in specific order. I learned to practice those principles in sequence. I do it in the loving guidance of someone who did exactly the same thing before me as he was taught by someone before him.

In the process many of my major character defects have lessened if not been removed entirely, just as the obsession to get loaded was removed. “There is a long period of reconstruction ahead.” I was struck sober, not perfect. I still suffer from a compulsion to be ‘right’. I still become hopeless. I still fear change. I still seek recognition and fear discovery. I am still judgmental, unkind, faithless; just not as much today. I lack perfect ability to at all times put into practice the principles I have been taught. But when these things do crop up I have tools to handle them.

The path I follow, the Tao of the Texaco if you will, are the steps of Alcoholics Anonymous and the principles (or virtues, as they are sometimes called) they teach. There are various interpretations of the steps and lists of their underlying principles. The one I use is the one that was taught to me by my sponsor, who’s sponsor taught him, and so on, all the way back to someone I personally know who has been sober 37 years and who received it from someone before him. Corresponding with each step, those principles are:

  1. Honesty
  2. Hope
  3. Faith
  4. Courage
  5. Integrity
  6. Willingness
  7. Humility
  8. Brotherly Love
  9. Justice
  10. Perseverance
  11. Spirituality
  12. Service

And I don’t know about any other serious addict but the thing that set me on this path, most honest thing I ever told my self and could no longer deny was, “I’m fucked.”

The Tao of Texaco, originally uploaded by Todd Robert Petersen.

Hooray!

January 10, 2008 in Living in Recovery by Chris | 5 comments

I don’t care what the book says. If it’s not on the first 164 it’s hearsay. Acceptance is absolutely not the key to all my problems today. Honesty, open-mindedness and willingness play a much bigger role. So do humility, courage and perseverance. All of those played a critical role in helping me solve an overwhelmingly difficult problem – specifically my underemployment.

I got a new job today and it will actually pay me enough to live on. It’s something that I have had success at previously. I have a friend in recovery who works there. It’s really close to home (a 15 minute walk or a 5 minute bike ride). And equally important is the fact that while my new job offers no health insurance benefits, I can maintain my health benefits at the Clown Palace with as little as 9 hours per pay period. Totally do-able.

That’s one of the greatest things about a 12 step program. Taking the steps, applying the principles contained in them, has given me a life that, while it’s not perfect (heaven knows) it is totally do-able. The life that a year ago I prayed would end did end, not the way I expected, but it did end. Instead of being replaced by death it was replaced by a life worth living. Today life is totally do-able.

Thank you God!

Texaco – Fall Check-up, originally uploaded by Shannon C..

 

Signs of Damage

January 6, 2008 in Living in Recovery by Chris | 6 comments

Texaco SignsI am a head injury patient. I am. There is hardly another explanation. I sat in a meeting and shared about it and of course I was told to work the steps. Of course there is some truth in that, truth I sometimes ignore out of an objective bias against people who ‘work’ steps rather than ‘take’ them. One ‘takes’ steps on a journey. Just the same I did listen and there is truth in the idea that some of the symptoms of traumatic head injury are also the symptoms of pathological selfishness displayed by addicts and alcoholics.

I’m back at work at the Clown Palace and grateful to have a job after my dramatic exit a few weeks ago. I’m especially grateful because I really need the (pitiful) income to keep a roof over my head, food in the fridge and the liberty to remain as involved as I am in working (there’s that damn word) for my recovery. I had my schedule. I recalled that I was supposed to go to work on Wednesday at 6 or 8 o’clock. Knowing that with that schedule the only meeting I would be able to attend would be the noon, which I went to. At noon. When I was actually supposed to be at work. I didn’t even realize this until 4 o’clock when I checked to see if it was 6 or 8. Of course I went to the 5:30 and ran into my boss who blessedly told me not to worry about it. I made sure I was there on time the rest of the week. I have checked and I have verified that I work tomorrow at 2 o’clock. I think. Yes. 2 o’clock. Very well then.

In addition to not remembering times and schedules I have had particular trouble with numbers, adding and subtracting, and especially if that includes fractions. I’ve ruined, well damaged, really, three meals in the last two weeks by not being able to add fractions correctly. I know how to add fractions, for crying out loud. So lately I’ve been struggling with anything related to dealing with numbers.

Historically I’ve had more trouble with names, both proper and common. I never remember actors names, even the ones I like. I have names in my cell phone for people I don’t remember. I don’t recall ever having met a Susan in my life and yet her name is in my phone. I have often forgotten what “that stuff” with “those things” are really called. “What?” and “where?” are the kind of stupid questions I would ask more often if I had not learned to wait a beat and allow the understanding to percolate to the surface.

I was pleased to learn that this phenomena is scientifically documented by much smarter people than me. It is encouraging to learn that in two more years the healing that can take place likely will have taken place. And I believe it is taking place, in spite of the symptomology I’m experiencing. I believe it’s taking place because last night, for the first time in probably 5 years, I suddenly remembered the name of the man I lost my virginity to. (There’s another stupid word. ‘Lost’. I didn’t lose it. I threw it away. I turned my back on it and pretended I didn’t know what it was.)

I’m taking that as a sign from God. Now that I have a point of origin I can start my sex inventory.

Photo Credit: Texaco signs, originally uploaded by naterade81.

Holiday Follies

December 11, 2007 in Living in Recovery by Chris | 7 comments

All men may err; but he that keepeth not his folly, but repenteth, doeth well; but stubbornness cometh to great trouble. -Sophocles, Antigone

14DwightAmbers1930.jpgIt is hard to understand how someone so clever, so witty, so completely charming and attractive as I am, someone so devoid of malice, someone through whom goodness and beneficence shines like the morning sun (yeah, WHATEVER dude!) could find himself in such a mess. For any real addict or alcoholic, someone, say, like me, the answer is simple. I did it to myself. Every true difficulty that I face today I face because I placed it in my own path. Every time I have made a decision or taken an action which originated in fear, self-delusion, self-seeking or self-pity I have harmed myself.

If you’re new to recovery or haven’t been able to reach out for it yet then everything I just said probably makes no sense. I want you to know that you’re not alone. I was just like you. Life had not given me a fair shake. I had been dealt a shitty hand. I had done the best I knew how to do with very little and shit had not worked out the way it should have. I’m not even the only one who thought so. Outsiders and family members alike assured me that the things I felt about my situation were entirely justifiable. Any reasonable person in a similar situation could easily end up where I was and those who loved me were cautiously supportive.

Without going in to any kind of unnecessary detail (and giving away my best material before I have a chance to polish it and submit it for publication at Random House) you’ll have to be satisfied to know that I was accidentally conceived while my parents were in high school, grew up in a town of 25,000 people that makes Salt Lake City look like Sodom and Gomorrah, the first people I ever knew who got divorced were my parents, my mother ditched us in Europe for a year while she “moved”, got back to the states a year behind in school and in a new city and the first person I met off the plane was my step-father (she hadn’t been dating anyone when I talked to her the week before), flunked out of high school, ran away from home, had a series of horrible boyfriends and a wife and somehow discovered that drugs made me feel better. If none of this happened I wouldn’t be an addict.

Or would I? When you’re new, the whole 4th step thing seems impossible. Fearless and searching? It’s simply too scary. Who knows what might really be at the bottom of that cave, right? And then to look resolutely for my part? Some of that stuff hardly seems like I could even have a part in it. And then in the 5th step we have to share all of that with another person, put the whole thing on the table in front of another person. Subject ourselves to the kind of embarrassment and criticism that will surely follow? WHY would anyone ever attempt such a thing? In the real life examples I sketched out I found that I did have a part in some way or other. I found that by going back over my life carefully I could discern patterns in my behavior; ways that I routinely responded to life that were not working and that kept me miserable. Sharing all that crap with another trusted person, someone who’s story was similar to mine, I found that while I am certainly flawed I am by no means unique. When I thoroughly searched for the flaws in my makeup which had been my downfall and subjected myself to a drastic self-appraisal I found nothing in me that cannot be corrected with God’s help. Nothing.

Once you’re sober it becomes a matter of how we deal with now and what we can do to correct the errors we’ve made in the past so that it doesn’t trip us up in the future. Like most of us who are new to recovery, I have some past. Some big past. Some scary past. Some hungry scary past just itchin’ to bite my ass. It seems that about 17 months ago, when I didn’t think I was being treated well enough by an organization I hated anyway I decided to just start pretending that they didn’t exist. I would go about my life the way I saw fit (wanted to) and if they had a problem with it they could come to me. I was sick to death of trying to reach them. I believe the words I used in my head to cement that justification were, “Fuck them.” It was an action which originated in fear, self-delusion, self-seeking and self-pity. It was a mistake and it was a mistake that I have to go about righting.

Friday is the anniversary of my ‘moment of clarity’, that point in time when I realized that everything I had tried and everything I had done to take a little happiness from life had netted me nothing and that unless I was willing to do something completely different it would never change. Friday I also get to go to court to be accountable for that particular decision to blow off the Department of Corrections in favor of doing what I wanted to do. Since it is only an arraignment on the violation and since my bond is currently set at $100K, there is little chance that I’ll be walking out of that court room on Friday. I could be gone for only a few days. I could be gone, it’s unlikely, but I could be gone for 7 years.

The outcome of the situation is clearly in God’s hands, not mine. I just have to show up, be accountable for my part, and be willing to do whatever it is I need to do to set it right. And I am willing to do that. It is not something that I believe I need to do alone, however. My sponsor, my roommate, a former employer and friend (who’s home I was staying in last January while I detoxed), and several friends have all agreed to show up in court with me that morning. Some who are unable to make it have sent letters.

I haven’t asked before for tangible help from those of you who read this blog regularly. I know there are quite a few of you out there who read but never participate in the comments. If any of you who read this with any regularity, who have been following for some time, particularly those of you who have seen the transition from MethedUp to Texaco wish to express your support or share what you’ve gained here please feel free to post a comment today.

I will get in at least one more post before Friday. I’ll try to stay on the light side. I really don’t want to believe that I’ll be gone for any length of time, but since it is possible, I want to say thank you. This has been great. And till we meet again may God bless you and keep you.

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