Waiting, adapting, changing.......
Today I will go give a lecture at an a treatment center. A treatment center where my son, who is in long term recovery like me, works. I will drive there in a car that is not stolen, with a driver's license that is current, and.....full coverage insurance. I will bring with me knowledge gained from an Master's level education I gained while in long term recovery. I slept in a home that is free of chaos. The mortgage is paid, utilities are current, and it is what I term my "sanctuary". I will go give this lecture after working the day in a career of my choice. A career that allows me to teach young people. A career that gives me a way to advocate for young people in recovery.
All of the above has been possible because of being a person in recovery. The saying "it takes a village" is very true for anyone walking a path toward, and then in, recovery. I could not be where I am today without the village effect. The many along the way who have helped guide me in my life journey as a person in long term recovery. For all of it, I am forever grateful.
So, here we are. I am at a turning point. You remember all the "stuff" I carried before.....the hurt in my heart for not being the dad I wanted to be, the massive internal shame for the things I had done, the financial mess that I was head in to, and the physical damage to my body. With all of that, add the knowing of the damage I had caused around me in so many ways. All of that, it was still there, and now, there was more to carry. I now carried with me the moniker of being a convicted felon. This was something that I would carry with me for the next fifteen years. In these early days, where I was battling getting back into recovery, it kept me awake at night. I spent many nights unable to shut it off. Whether it be the mental tapes, the physical pain, or the emotional turmoil, sleeping well wasn't something that happened a lot. The only thing that would help me sleep during this time was alcohol, a lot of it.
From that point in August of 1995, where I journaled how much of a mess I was living, I moved toward being a person in recovery again. Yet, it wasn't without it's pitfalls. I made concerted efforts to not use anything, even making attempts to quit smoking cigarettes. I was making attempts to change my environment. Moving from place to place to try to be in a safer environment. An environment free of the constant temptations that surrounded me. Looking back now, it doing all of this, even with returns to drinking and smoking pot along the way; it worked. It helped me get back to treatment. It helped me get right to where I am today.
I had applied through the state to get into treatment a second time. The issue, was the wait. I had to wait nearly six months between the time I applied and the time I went. In that time I did what I could to stay away from meth and crack. I maintained by just drinking and smoking pot here and there. Drinking proved to be pretty useless unless I drank a lot. By that time, it was to late. I have a massive scar on my right knee from a night I have no memory of what happened. I only remember the waking up in the worst pain of my life and looking down and seeing a huge bandage on my knee from an emergency room visit I don't remember. I am told it involved a stolen car that I was in and we flipped on Hwy 16. I am told I walked nearly two miles from the scene of the accident to a friends place who brought me to the hospital. Madness, pure madness. Pot smoking wasn't working anymore either. While it didn't cause me to do things like I just described, it had it's own ill effects by now. With all that was in my mind, smoking pot pretty much just amplified the worry, anxiety, and depression to levels that were excruciating. The using of most anything, except cigarettes, was not having the desire effect. Even cigarettes were not helping anymore I was at a point where I had a love/hate relationship with them too.
It was also during this waiting time, between that fateful journal entry in August of 1995 and going back to treatment in February of 1996, that my recent past came back to haunt me. I had been staying at a girls house and my step dad called me to say the police had came and were looking for me. I remember this phone call....when he told me this I went into a complete state of fear. Utter fear. He said a group of detectives were at his front and back doors and asking him questions. I have this journaled.....the fear that was inside me was nearly intolerable. I can feel it now writing this...it all comes back. I knew myself the things I had done, now, others did too........part of me wanted to run. Run far and never come back. What did they know? How much did they know? How long would I be in prison?
I made a decision to face the music. If this was it, so be it. I was already making moves toward turning my life around again, I can see that clearly in my journals. I must have decided to just do it. I went to the police department and asked questions myself. I was ready to turn myself in if needed. The response at the time was nothing. Complete silence. No warrants, no detectives wanted to talk to me....nothing. I carried on. I was baffled. I carried on in my quest to find recovery again.
All of the above has been possible because of being a person in recovery. The saying "it takes a village" is very true for anyone walking a path toward, and then in, recovery. I could not be where I am today without the village effect. The many along the way who have helped guide me in my life journey as a person in long term recovery. For all of it, I am forever grateful.
So, here we are. I am at a turning point. You remember all the "stuff" I carried before.....the hurt in my heart for not being the dad I wanted to be, the massive internal shame for the things I had done, the financial mess that I was head in to, and the physical damage to my body. With all of that, add the knowing of the damage I had caused around me in so many ways. All of that, it was still there, and now, there was more to carry. I now carried with me the moniker of being a convicted felon. This was something that I would carry with me for the next fifteen years. In these early days, where I was battling getting back into recovery, it kept me awake at night. I spent many nights unable to shut it off. Whether it be the mental tapes, the physical pain, or the emotional turmoil, sleeping well wasn't something that happened a lot. The only thing that would help me sleep during this time was alcohol, a lot of it.
From that point in August of 1995, where I journaled how much of a mess I was living, I moved toward being a person in recovery again. Yet, it wasn't without it's pitfalls. I made concerted efforts to not use anything, even making attempts to quit smoking cigarettes. I was making attempts to change my environment. Moving from place to place to try to be in a safer environment. An environment free of the constant temptations that surrounded me. Looking back now, it doing all of this, even with returns to drinking and smoking pot along the way; it worked. It helped me get back to treatment. It helped me get right to where I am today.
I had applied through the state to get into treatment a second time. The issue, was the wait. I had to wait nearly six months between the time I applied and the time I went. In that time I did what I could to stay away from meth and crack. I maintained by just drinking and smoking pot here and there. Drinking proved to be pretty useless unless I drank a lot. By that time, it was to late. I have a massive scar on my right knee from a night I have no memory of what happened. I only remember the waking up in the worst pain of my life and looking down and seeing a huge bandage on my knee from an emergency room visit I don't remember. I am told it involved a stolen car that I was in and we flipped on Hwy 16. I am told I walked nearly two miles from the scene of the accident to a friends place who brought me to the hospital. Madness, pure madness. Pot smoking wasn't working anymore either. While it didn't cause me to do things like I just described, it had it's own ill effects by now. With all that was in my mind, smoking pot pretty much just amplified the worry, anxiety, and depression to levels that were excruciating. The using of most anything, except cigarettes, was not having the desire effect. Even cigarettes were not helping anymore I was at a point where I had a love/hate relationship with them too.
It was also during this waiting time, between that fateful journal entry in August of 1995 and going back to treatment in February of 1996, that my recent past came back to haunt me. I had been staying at a girls house and my step dad called me to say the police had came and were looking for me. I remember this phone call....when he told me this I went into a complete state of fear. Utter fear. He said a group of detectives were at his front and back doors and asking him questions. I have this journaled.....the fear that was inside me was nearly intolerable. I can feel it now writing this...it all comes back. I knew myself the things I had done, now, others did too........part of me wanted to run. Run far and never come back. What did they know? How much did they know? How long would I be in prison?
I made a decision to face the music. If this was it, so be it. I was already making moves toward turning my life around again, I can see that clearly in my journals. I must have decided to just do it. I went to the police department and asked questions myself. I was ready to turn myself in if needed. The response at the time was nothing. Complete silence. No warrants, no detectives wanted to talk to me....nothing. I carried on. I was baffled. I carried on in my quest to find recovery again.
Comments
Post a Comment