Birthday Best Missed
I don't usually count my 'birthdays', until tonight I forgot that I had one go by - which, in and of itself, is a very nice thing for me.
After abusing prescription narcotics for more than 10 years, about 1/2 of those years, using every day, I have been clean since July 9, 2001.
I remember the first AA meeting I went to, (there was no NA meeting in the area at that time that met daily), and the Serenity House above the bar in downtown Ypsilanti, MI was crammed full of alcoholics, crackheads, heroin addicts, every color of skin and flavor of culture I could imagine. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
I went to my first meeting on July 8, 2001 - the day my then wife told me that our marriage was most definitely over, adn should couldn't care less whether I lived or died. I did everything I could to convince her that I really needed help, that I was going to get help, blah blah blah... Anybody who has sat at tables knows all of the negotiations that addicts go trhough.
I got to the Serenity House about 30 minutes before the meeting, I didn't know anyone, the place was a dump; the walls were tobacco and coffe-fume stained, it smelled like an ashtray, and was full of homeless and poor people - I was wearing more than $1000 worth of almost brand new clothing, and they eyed me like I was an edible alien. I wanted to leave, needed to, and I sat there, held down to the chair by my hands gripping the arms so tight my knuckles were popping and my fingers were bloodless - I had taken a couple of vicodin earlier that day, which was nothing, and i wanted to bounce all over the walls and run out the door. But I sat and ground my teeth and didn't even smoke until I went into the big room with all the tables.
That first meeting taught me three things that I am very grateful for.
First, that the people in that room knew me - that they were like me, they would steal, lie, cheat, degrade themselves, their families, and use whoever came near them to score whatever it was they needed. And I knew, somehow, that I could not lie to them because they knew The Real Me. I realized that I could not even think of them as they, because they knew me, and I knew them - they became we at that first meeting. All I could do was stand up and say "My name is Brandon, and I am a drug addict, and I don't want to die like this." It took me almost an hour by bus, each way to get to and from the meetings I went to for the first three weeks of my sobriety, and I usually shook all the way there, and wept all the way home.
Second, I learned that there were three types of people (in terms of addiction) in that room; the ones who fought getting sober - these people don't relapse they retreat, and they don't care, the ones who feared getting sober - these are the ones who see their peril, but relapse and usually lie about it until they're almost (or completely) dead, and the ones who would die trying to live sober, if that's what it took. As I listened to the people at the tables speak about themselves, their pasts, their present situations; some would speak on their step-work, or lack thereof, weep and shake with fear and withdrawal becasue they didn't believe they could make it another hour, much less another day, some would admit errors they had committed that day, and offer their thankfulness to their Higher Power for their lives and their ability to stay sober after the shit hit the fan. One guy would only say "The f*ckin' judge made me come here, and when I get my paper signed, I'm leaving and I'm giong to go home and drink." That's all I ever heard that man say, for three weeks, every night he was there, he boldly said the same thing - and I was grateful for him, because he reminded me where I could be.
The third thing I learned at that first meeting was that I had a choice which group I wanted to belong to, and that, if I was going to get sober and (so I thought), (save my marriage, my kids', the shame of divorce - see? I didn't know anything about living sober, I wanted to have my 'old life' back the way it was, and if I had to give up the drugs, well, I'd figure out a way to do it.)
But I knew I had to choose anger, fear, or acceptance - and I knew, from that first meeting that it was a process that I could only choose if I stopped using narcotics - there was no other way.
On July 9, 2001 I woke up in what would become my last bout with withdrawal. I knew withdrawal very well, had gone through it hundreds of times, and I knew how long I'd gone, how much I had taken, and how sick I would get. The last episode only lasted three instead of the usual five days - I knew I could handle it. I dragged myself to meetings during the process, cranked up on caffeine and chainsmoking Marlboros to keep my brain from snap-crackle-popping right through my skull. I went to meetings and babbled and cried and raged, and they jus sat and listened and told me I was a f*ck-up and that I should shut up and listen to the old-timers. But, I couldn't - I had to let it out, and it came in floods of emotion that I had supressed for years - and it all meant the same thing - "I will not die like this!"
I went to Serenity House for three weeks before I found an Alano club within walking distance of my old-west-side Ann Arbor home. By then the physical withdrawal, and (what I thought was) the worst of the psychological withdrawal was over. I went to meetings, sometimes two or three, every day. I read The Big Book (there were NA meetings, but only weekly, so, I stuck with AA), started looking for things to read that talked about getting sober - and I dreamed every night of finding pills hidden everywhere, even in my body cavities, tearing myself open to get the pill that I knew was there - waking up sweating next to my estranged wife.
I went to the Alano club for two weeks, and moved out of town with my kids. My wife moved in with her 'friends' and held me to my promise that she would get the children when she could find a place. I moved 206 miles away to a small town that, when I got there I found had no AA, NA, I was SOL - but, I had the internet, and found EGNA - I spent the next year there, after my wife had come to get the kids, and I was alone - after she started using crack cocaine, and bringing the barflies home for sex and drugs - my kids didn't tell me a lot of this until after I finally managed to get custody in 2004. I'm glad I didn't know - I've never been a violent person - but, I think everyone has limits to what they can rationally deal with when their children are living in an ignorant, dangerous situation. I would visit and talk to my kids, and they were "Fine, dad, wer're fine." I saw them every other weekend - the three hour train rides were nice, I got a lot of reading and writing done.
I moved to the next town over in early 2002 and went to some AA meetings there - staying with EGNA, and doing a lot of writing. I 'remembered' that I had written poetry, I 'remembered' how much I enjoyed playing my guitar... How can you forget things like this? Well, slow death makes you forget life, a little at a time. I then moved back to Ann Arbor because my wife had been charged with negligence and marijuana possession. I moved in with her and the kids, and took care of them - the condo they lived in was destroyed. I couldn't stand the drugs and drinking, and so I found a place of my own; small, quiet, and moved there. It was a few blocks from my kids, and I saw them regularly. It became apparent that this quiet room with a fireplace and my own porch was in a crack house. Check it out.
I still had the dreams, but I didn't miss the drugs - I would wake, write in my journal until I felt better, and then get on with my life, I stopped going to meetings in May of 2002, and started working my own program. I think now that going to AA would have been easier on me. I had to find my own inspirational materials, I had very little support, I worked with a longtime friend proofreading advanced math, physics, and statistics textbooks, and I would go home or to the café and write – alone. I minimized my working hours as much as I could. I became isolated, started meditating for up to 6 hours per day, didn’t eat much, didn’t want to. I had no friends, my $200,000 plus income was gone down to about $20,000 and then half that, then I was selling blood plasma to buy food so I could eat to sell more blood to buy more food. My weight bottomed out at about 125 pounds, and … Something changed. I realized that, through all of this misery and difficulty, I had somehow become happy. I wrote poetry, I read books, I talked to my children, I helped my wife, I started talking to people, found a poetry group, got involved with homeless people who were trying to make it, started playing my guitar on the street for something to do, and realized I could make cigarette money just by doing what I really loved.
I took a job as the night manager at a residence facility, and the joy just kept on building - even when I became very angry, realizing how much time I had wasted being wasted – it was an awesome experience just to experience emotions on such a clear level.
]…
Broken like a window
I see my blindness now
I need love
Not some sentimental prison
I need God
Not the political church
I need fire to melt the frozen sleet inside me
I need love
-Sam Phillips
I felt like I was waking up, sober!
I took a job as night manager of a residence facility populated by people with mental and substance abuse problems – people on the edge of relapse, prison, homelessness, institutionalization. I started holding AA meetings at the desk, all night, whenever someone came in and needed a meeting I’d pull out something to read or share – I did what I could.
The meetings were not formal AA, but the Big Book saw a lot of use – and I had other books that I would take to work – [I]Illusions[/I], [I]The Prophet[/I], the desk had a KJV bible which I’ve been familiar with since my childhood – I had a copy of the Qu’ran, and there were Muslims who wanted to talk Allah – fine – I learned, and enjoyed helping people.
As I said, I quit going to AA, and followed my own road, and still do. I am sober today, AA helped me get there, and I’ll always consider myself a friend of Bill W., if not a follower of his plan – I’m not much of a follower, nor am I really a leader, I just do what I do, and find people who want to that, too. People – family, friends, lovers, my children, have helped me find ways to stay sober, but I am sober by my choice to find inspiration, to use my imagination, and to learn and practice living sober. My X wife and I are not very good friends anymore, even though, after all that has happened, which I won’t go into here, she’s sober now, too. Even though I don’t like her very much, I trust her a lot more than I did when we were sleeping in the same bed and exchanging fluids. Our marriage was based upon ignorance, fed on lies, and is better left in the ground where the Utah courts finally gave me sole custody of my kids in March of 2004, and buried the marriage’s desiccated copse (and gave me full custody of my kids (again)) last August 1st . And now, five years after my marriage ended, the miracle of a [i]soul mate[/i] has touched me - and I cannot even go there right now – but, she is a blessing, a gift, a guru, and a muse.
There are lots of things I have left out – but, I’m exhausted, and they’re just life things, anyway.
I am sober today, not because I followed steps, those steps gave me clues to how to find myself – I am sober today because I found that spark of higher power within me, the one that connects all of us, even those who don’t care, who want their pain, who want to die. I am sober because, I was fortunate enough to be able to clearly see that the choice was mine, and nobody could make it but me.
Five years and 11 days sober, I don’t have a single chip, token, or pin to show for it, but, I have this happy, sometimes difficult, but amazing life. So, I’m just going to quit counting for awhile, and go back to one day at a time – maybe in another five years I’ll do this again.
It’s just a bunch of days, some easy, some difficult, some sad, all wonderful and alive!
Peace / Namaste
-b
After abusing prescription narcotics for more than 10 years, about 1/2 of those years, using every day, I have been clean since July 9, 2001.
I remember the first AA meeting I went to, (there was no NA meeting in the area at that time that met daily), and the Serenity House above the bar in downtown Ypsilanti, MI was crammed full of alcoholics, crackheads, heroin addicts, every color of skin and flavor of culture I could imagine. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
I went to my first meeting on July 8, 2001 - the day my then wife told me that our marriage was most definitely over, adn should couldn't care less whether I lived or died. I did everything I could to convince her that I really needed help, that I was going to get help, blah blah blah... Anybody who has sat at tables knows all of the negotiations that addicts go trhough.
I got to the Serenity House about 30 minutes before the meeting, I didn't know anyone, the place was a dump; the walls were tobacco and coffe-fume stained, it smelled like an ashtray, and was full of homeless and poor people - I was wearing more than $1000 worth of almost brand new clothing, and they eyed me like I was an edible alien. I wanted to leave, needed to, and I sat there, held down to the chair by my hands gripping the arms so tight my knuckles were popping and my fingers were bloodless - I had taken a couple of vicodin earlier that day, which was nothing, and i wanted to bounce all over the walls and run out the door. But I sat and ground my teeth and didn't even smoke until I went into the big room with all the tables.
That first meeting taught me three things that I am very grateful for.
First, that the people in that room knew me - that they were like me, they would steal, lie, cheat, degrade themselves, their families, and use whoever came near them to score whatever it was they needed. And I knew, somehow, that I could not lie to them because they knew The Real Me. I realized that I could not even think of them as they, because they knew me, and I knew them - they became we at that first meeting. All I could do was stand up and say "My name is Brandon, and I am a drug addict, and I don't want to die like this." It took me almost an hour by bus, each way to get to and from the meetings I went to for the first three weeks of my sobriety, and I usually shook all the way there, and wept all the way home.
Second, I learned that there were three types of people (in terms of addiction) in that room; the ones who fought getting sober - these people don't relapse they retreat, and they don't care, the ones who feared getting sober - these are the ones who see their peril, but relapse and usually lie about it until they're almost (or completely) dead, and the ones who would die trying to live sober, if that's what it took. As I listened to the people at the tables speak about themselves, their pasts, their present situations; some would speak on their step-work, or lack thereof, weep and shake with fear and withdrawal becasue they didn't believe they could make it another hour, much less another day, some would admit errors they had committed that day, and offer their thankfulness to their Higher Power for their lives and their ability to stay sober after the shit hit the fan. One guy would only say "The f*ckin' judge made me come here, and when I get my paper signed, I'm leaving and I'm giong to go home and drink." That's all I ever heard that man say, for three weeks, every night he was there, he boldly said the same thing - and I was grateful for him, because he reminded me where I could be.
The third thing I learned at that first meeting was that I had a choice which group I wanted to belong to, and that, if I was going to get sober and (so I thought), (save my marriage, my kids', the shame of divorce - see? I didn't know anything about living sober, I wanted to have my 'old life' back the way it was, and if I had to give up the drugs, well, I'd figure out a way to do it.)
But I knew I had to choose anger, fear, or acceptance - and I knew, from that first meeting that it was a process that I could only choose if I stopped using narcotics - there was no other way.
On July 9, 2001 I woke up in what would become my last bout with withdrawal. I knew withdrawal very well, had gone through it hundreds of times, and I knew how long I'd gone, how much I had taken, and how sick I would get. The last episode only lasted three instead of the usual five days - I knew I could handle it. I dragged myself to meetings during the process, cranked up on caffeine and chainsmoking Marlboros to keep my brain from snap-crackle-popping right through my skull. I went to meetings and babbled and cried and raged, and they jus sat and listened and told me I was a f*ck-up and that I should shut up and listen to the old-timers. But, I couldn't - I had to let it out, and it came in floods of emotion that I had supressed for years - and it all meant the same thing - "I will not die like this!"
I went to Serenity House for three weeks before I found an Alano club within walking distance of my old-west-side Ann Arbor home. By then the physical withdrawal, and (what I thought was) the worst of the psychological withdrawal was over. I went to meetings, sometimes two or three, every day. I read The Big Book (there were NA meetings, but only weekly, so, I stuck with AA), started looking for things to read that talked about getting sober - and I dreamed every night of finding pills hidden everywhere, even in my body cavities, tearing myself open to get the pill that I knew was there - waking up sweating next to my estranged wife.
I went to the Alano club for two weeks, and moved out of town with my kids. My wife moved in with her 'friends' and held me to my promise that she would get the children when she could find a place. I moved 206 miles away to a small town that, when I got there I found had no AA, NA, I was SOL - but, I had the internet, and found EGNA - I spent the next year there, after my wife had come to get the kids, and I was alone - after she started using crack cocaine, and bringing the barflies home for sex and drugs - my kids didn't tell me a lot of this until after I finally managed to get custody in 2004. I'm glad I didn't know - I've never been a violent person - but, I think everyone has limits to what they can rationally deal with when their children are living in an ignorant, dangerous situation. I would visit and talk to my kids, and they were "Fine, dad, wer're fine." I saw them every other weekend - the three hour train rides were nice, I got a lot of reading and writing done.
I moved to the next town over in early 2002 and went to some AA meetings there - staying with EGNA, and doing a lot of writing. I 'remembered' that I had written poetry, I 'remembered' how much I enjoyed playing my guitar... How can you forget things like this? Well, slow death makes you forget life, a little at a time. I then moved back to Ann Arbor because my wife had been charged with negligence and marijuana possession. I moved in with her and the kids, and took care of them - the condo they lived in was destroyed. I couldn't stand the drugs and drinking, and so I found a place of my own; small, quiet, and moved there. It was a few blocks from my kids, and I saw them regularly. It became apparent that this quiet room with a fireplace and my own porch was in a crack house. Check it out.
I still had the dreams, but I didn't miss the drugs - I would wake, write in my journal until I felt better, and then get on with my life, I stopped going to meetings in May of 2002, and started working my own program. I think now that going to AA would have been easier on me. I had to find my own inspirational materials, I had very little support, I worked with a longtime friend proofreading advanced math, physics, and statistics textbooks, and I would go home or to the café and write – alone. I minimized my working hours as much as I could. I became isolated, started meditating for up to 6 hours per day, didn’t eat much, didn’t want to. I had no friends, my $200,000 plus income was gone down to about $20,000 and then half that, then I was selling blood plasma to buy food so I could eat to sell more blood to buy more food. My weight bottomed out at about 125 pounds, and … Something changed. I realized that, through all of this misery and difficulty, I had somehow become happy. I wrote poetry, I read books, I talked to my children, I helped my wife, I started talking to people, found a poetry group, got involved with homeless people who were trying to make it, started playing my guitar on the street for something to do, and realized I could make cigarette money just by doing what I really loved.
I took a job as the night manager at a residence facility, and the joy just kept on building - even when I became very angry, realizing how much time I had wasted being wasted – it was an awesome experience just to experience emotions on such a clear level.
]…
Broken like a window
I see my blindness now
I need love
Not some sentimental prison
I need God
Not the political church
I need fire to melt the frozen sleet inside me
I need love
-Sam Phillips
I felt like I was waking up, sober!
I took a job as night manager of a residence facility populated by people with mental and substance abuse problems – people on the edge of relapse, prison, homelessness, institutionalization. I started holding AA meetings at the desk, all night, whenever someone came in and needed a meeting I’d pull out something to read or share – I did what I could.
The meetings were not formal AA, but the Big Book saw a lot of use – and I had other books that I would take to work – [I]Illusions[/I], [I]The Prophet[/I], the desk had a KJV bible which I’ve been familiar with since my childhood – I had a copy of the Qu’ran, and there were Muslims who wanted to talk Allah – fine – I learned, and enjoyed helping people.
As I said, I quit going to AA, and followed my own road, and still do. I am sober today, AA helped me get there, and I’ll always consider myself a friend of Bill W., if not a follower of his plan – I’m not much of a follower, nor am I really a leader, I just do what I do, and find people who want to that, too. People – family, friends, lovers, my children, have helped me find ways to stay sober, but I am sober by my choice to find inspiration, to use my imagination, and to learn and practice living sober. My X wife and I are not very good friends anymore, even though, after all that has happened, which I won’t go into here, she’s sober now, too. Even though I don’t like her very much, I trust her a lot more than I did when we were sleeping in the same bed and exchanging fluids. Our marriage was based upon ignorance, fed on lies, and is better left in the ground where the Utah courts finally gave me sole custody of my kids in March of 2004, and buried the marriage’s desiccated copse (and gave me full custody of my kids (again)) last August 1st . And now, five years after my marriage ended, the miracle of a [i]soul mate[/i] has touched me - and I cannot even go there right now – but, she is a blessing, a gift, a guru, and a muse.
There are lots of things I have left out – but, I’m exhausted, and they’re just life things, anyway.
I am sober today, not because I followed steps, those steps gave me clues to how to find myself – I am sober today because I found that spark of higher power within me, the one that connects all of us, even those who don’t care, who want their pain, who want to die. I am sober because, I was fortunate enough to be able to clearly see that the choice was mine, and nobody could make it but me.
Five years and 11 days sober, I don’t have a single chip, token, or pin to show for it, but, I have this happy, sometimes difficult, but amazing life. So, I’m just going to quit counting for awhile, and go back to one day at a time – maybe in another five years I’ll do this again.
It’s just a bunch of days, some easy, some difficult, some sad, all wonderful and alive!
Peace / Namaste
-b
posted by b at 2:00 AM
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