Sct/Rae ..My Story

[sct]

Ahm. I'd like to start off by saying that I'm nervous as hell. Sara asked me to share when I got 6 months... and I wrote out what I wanted to say in advance. So that I could just post it (or someone else could if I chickened out.) And, I didn't do that this time, so if I ramble a little... bear with me.

A couple of caveats... really the only orignal thing I have to talk about is my story, and even that isn't unique. The longer I stay clean, the less unique I get. And, if I offend, or say something off color- well... Most days I'm still sicker than others. If I say something particularly meaningful, thank your HP for that, I'm just the messenger.

I have all the earmarks of an addict. Poverty- check, family history of addiction -check, childhood abuse - check... I'm kind of of lucky, in that actually. It made it very easy to accept that I'm an addict.

I remember, that at home, because of how I grew up, I always felt that I was an imposition. Than my existence was an inconvenience, because there wasn't enough for me. Whatever there was- food, time, energy, space- there wasn't enough to go around. Going to school was something of a relief because it got me out of the house, and away from my father, until it occurred to me that I was still pretty different at school.

I didn't really like kids, even when I was one. And there were a lot of them in school. I was always kind of uncomfortable, around both kids and adults. I had learned that adults were probably to be feared, and I didn't understand how to be at ease with anyone around me. The more that I didn't fit in, the more ill at ease I felt.

I spent some time in the hospital, when I was eight, because of a great sad thing that happened in my family. I had a younger sibling, who died of sids, and my father beat the **** out of me (for a lack of a better And made it very clear, that he thought that it should have been me, and not her who died at that time. He was, and is, very much entrenched in his disease, one of several reasons I don't have any contact with my family at this point.

Anyway, he kicked me in the face and broke my jaw and some other things, and I got to hang out in the hospital for a few weeks. And I discovered that I liked very much being away from home, and that the doctor's and nurses were very nice, and I could read all day, and had my own bed, and didn't have to talk to anyone. (one of the dubious graces of having my jaw wired for a while ) I also found that being on some pretty serious painkillers... even if I did have to communicate, or if people came and went- that I didn't really give a damn.

And I *really* liked that.

When I came home, it was pretty easy to maintain that same level of uncaring haze, thanks to the fact that I was not the first nor last addict in my family. And it made school more bearable, I was usually too hungover to care whether or not I was picked for any teams, or had to do homework, or if I got detention. And I really stopped caring if other kids talked to me, because kids have loud squeaky voices, and that was pretty much torture.

Later on I found that using could also make me feel accepted, when I wanted to. I hung out with my older sisters' boyfriends (and hopefully I'll see some of them in the rooms someday.) And I used what they used, and they would laugh about how 'hardcore' I was. Because at 11, 12, 13 I could drink most of them under the table. About three weeks after I turned fourteen, I got hit in the head with a frisbee. Some college kids playing frisbee golf, and I was so used to living outside of my own skin, that it was natural for me to answer 'eighteen' when they asked how old I was. And 'I'm just working right now,' when they asked if I was in school or what.

Just like that, eighteen, just working.

And I got to prove to them how hardcore I was too- because they had alcohol, fondue with alcohol in it, and drinks, and they asked me to party with them. And they were cute, and had what I wanted, and I said 'hell yes.' (The rest of that weekend is kind of a blur to me, but I very much enjoyed hanging out with college kids and having access to the myriad substances they used.) But, you know, I had a head start on most of them. My using outgrew their using, because they had classes to go to- and I didn't really have anything I was attached to at home at all. And if I could manufacture and sell, I could have as much as I wanted, whenever I wanted. I went into periods where I wouldn't go home for days at a time, or a week or so. Another thing I learned from those college kids was that I was cute. And that I could use that just as readily as any currency if I needed a little something, or if I needed a place to crash.

Sometimes I was awake for days at a time, and I started to see people, and shadows at the edges of my vision sometimes- And that wasn't really a problem, until one of them was a cop, who picked me up for possession. And I was graciously invited by the judicial system to a stay in a rehab facility for 60 days when I was sixteen. So... it took me 8 years to put together 60 days, and another four years to make it to 61.

I don't really consider relapse as a part of my story, despite that period of enforced clean-time. Because I didn't really have any recovery to lapse from. I was pissed off, and mute, and very angry that I was there. And I did not want any part of any meetings, or reading, or any of that bullshit. **** that, you know? I could appreciate that *maybe* I had a problem, but it was *my* problem, and I would take care of it myelf thankyouverymuch. I walked out of that rehab, supposedly my parents had been called, but they didn't have much interest in seeing or talking to me.

So, I went out, and I got loaded, and did what I had been doing, I just decided I wouldn't go back to that one particular substance- because it made me see Night people, and that made it hard to tell who was real and who wasn't. I got to prove how hardcore I was, over and over. To prove that I could hang.

Sometimes I won, sometimes I didn't.

(I'm using "won" as a relative term, obviously.)

I got my ass beat a few times, to prove that I could *not* hang, because I was gay, because I was a different color, because I did not have the right shoes, jacket, whatever- In a lot of ways, the street isn't that much different than elementary school, everyone is trying to fit in in some way, to have the 'right' stuff to blend in. Other times, I demonstrated that, yes, I could hang (just fine, thankyouverymuch) either by out-using, or hitting someone over the head with a chair, or pulling a gun on them, doing what I thought I had to do to keep my head above water.

I did some time in prison, and someone who knew me was gracious enough to be my collateral contact. And her rule was- if I could stay clean, I could stay with her. And if not, I would have to find somewhere else to be. And after staying with her for a couple of weeks, and detoxing, and deciding that I would manage my problem on my own, she let me know that I would be welcome to find somewhere else to stay. She took my keys, locked me out.

And I figured well- I will do just fine, and take care of my ****- And about a month later I was waking up with people I didn't remember from the night before again- And being informed of amusing things I had done that I couldn't remember- again. And about a month after that- I was waking up on the street, behind nightclubs and in alleys... again. And it occurred to me that I had maybe a month, before I couldn't control my using enough to duck my PO anymore, and I'd be back in prison.

And I was so. tired.

Because I didn't see any way out of my life.

And again, I was doing what I've always done when the drugs aren't doing what they're supposed to anymore- I was praying to God to please, please kill me. Please let me overdose, let something happen so I just don't wake up any more. And that didn't seem to be happening. For whatever reason or another, God was *making* me live. (Which is what I thought at the time... that he was making me, rather than letting me.) (A lot of the time the God of my understanding gives me what I need... not what I want. Thankfully.)

And I came back to that woman, who said I could stay with her if I could stay clean. And I begged her to let me inside, that I wanted to stay clean because I just didn't know what else to do- I figured I probably needed counseling, or that maybe I would try rehab again and let them talk to me. And I checked the internet- because it was 2008, and if you want to know anything... ask Google. And I ended up... here.

In this chatroom, at about two in the morning. There was one person here, and he was exactly the person I needed to talk to that night. Who could tell me that he was an addict. And the with the help of Narcotics Anonymous, he had been clean for 24 years and 10 months. And I would like to say, that I've been clean since that night (which was January 1st) but I still had some on me, and the next day I got a kick in the ass and a very clear definition of "powerless." Which is why my clean date is today, and not yesterday.

And I don't really think that I've had a 'model' recovery by any stretch of the imagination. People said go to meetings, and I said 'I'll try." And they said "Did you go to a meeting today?" and I said "I'm trying Friday, I'm trying next week, I'm trying later-" That's not wholly true- my first few weeks, I did find a meeting, and I made it inside, and I had a panic attack and threw up outside. And after the third week in a row of that happening, I thought- maybe I need some help.

And because I was on parole, I was eligible to talk to a counselor, and again, he was exactly the person I needed in my life at that time. Because he ALSO was a member of narcotics anonymous. And he said with the help of God and Narcotics anonymous, he had been clean for 15 years. And all this NA stuff was getting kind of creepy to me at that point because I couldn't seem to get away from you people, even without meetings...

(the God of my understanding also appreciates I'm a little thick headed, and will hit me with a railroad tie if necessary for me to wake up.)

I did get help, and some treatment for anxiety, (among other things.) and at about 110 days clean, I got to tell that first addict I talked to- that I made it to a face to face meeting... and stayed for the whole thing. And I am so glad, that I was able to do that, because that man, who in actuality, saved my life by carrying a message to me, passed away a few weeks later with 25 years clean. And of course, that has really ****** up any thoughts of relapse since then. Because any time that thought comes up- I realize that I would have to explain to Richard what happened when I used myself to death and ran into him in another life.

So... needless to say, I didn't quite make 90 meetings in 90 days.

I did get a sponsor, several weeks after starting to go to meetings, which meant I got to fire my counselor/temporary sponsor, and let him just be my counselor. And I got to go over my first three steps- again, with my new sponsor. And I thought I had a decent handle on step three until I got to step four. And I was going insane, trying to face my past and avoid it at the same time. And I didn't think that I could look at it again, and I didn't know what to do. Because there was so much hurt. And I had heard people share- on their way back into the rooms- about how they had skipped their fourth step the first time around. And I couldn't use, and I couldn't do it, and I couldn't NOT do it- And I found myself sitting on top of my apartment building staring at a loaded gun. And I couldn't decide if it would be better to jump or shoot myself. (sometimes the God of my understanding also gifts me with indecision.) I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually I climbed down, and I had a meeting with my sponsor the next day.

And after two weeks of hearing 'I'm ok.' he was about ready to club me. And a friend here, probably saved my life again, by asking if I was okay. I wasn't... but I said I was. But I realized that I was not fooling people as well as I had hoped. When I finally talked to my sponsor (about two weeks later I managed to actually say, 'oh yeah, by the way a few weeks ago I almost killed myself-') he asked if I was still ready to turn my will and my life over to someone who has actually been in charge the whole time... And I said yeah... And he gently reminded me that- my higher power hadn't let my life kill me the first time around, and wouldn't have brought me so far to let it do me in now. And that if I really, really wanted to be done with that hurt, I needed to keep writing, and that we would get through it.

My counselor thought I was a danger to myself and offered to have me committed for my own safety. (such is the difference between NA and psychiatrics...)

And no, my fourth step didn't kill me- living it, or writing it. Although it did take forever... and thankfully so, because it was time that I needed to build my faith, and to build my relationship with my sponsor. It was also time that I needed for treatment of some of my psych issues, so that I could be mentally stable enough to really look at my part in my life, and write about emotions without them being so blindingly overwhelming.

My fifth step, all the **** I had done- I got to let go. I trusted my sponsor enough to share with him, and to have faith that he wasn't going to reject me, or look at me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears, or like I was a freak- ... and my sixth step brought it all back. ;} And after- seven, eight, nine months of recovery, character defects start to get very uncomfortable. And mine are *right* up front, because I always spent so much energy trying to ignore them. And I said, yes- I am SO ready to be rid of these defects- I want to be free from lust- and my sponsor said, then how come you still flirt with cute boys when you have a boyfriend. And I invited him to go somewhere very warm... And I said I want to be free from dishonesty- and he suggested that I be more real with myself and others. And I told him to **** off. he was right about those things... I just didn't want to hear it. and he let me know that the my Higher Power would remove my defects when I could become willing enough to be ready to stop acting on them. In other words... if I wanted God to make me less of an *******, I had to stop acting like an ******* and waiting for it to happen.

I had to ask for help to stop acting like an *******, or to stop chasing after cute guys, or to stop lying, or to stop isolating myself out of fear of rejection- because sometimes my willingness isn't enough, when my disease bites my ass, I need some help. Because I'm not perfect-- and I'm never going to be. But I can be a little better than yesterday, if I remember to get out of my own way, and let someone stronger than me, who loves me more than I do take care of things.

One other thing, my sponsor did, while I was in the middle of my fourth step, was to have me read about the traditions. I am a huge fan of our traditions. They work so well- they even work for non-addicts. Which I know- because the guidelines at my house are based on the traditions- and that wasn't even my idea. It was the idea of a non-addict, who knows I'm in recovery and suggested they could be applied to any group of people working toward a common goal. Whether that goal is to share a household, to stay clean, to work together peacefully-

And it's not so much that the steps keep me from committing suicide, and the traditions keep me from committing homicide- I am still very sick, and there are still some days when I would cheerfully smack another addict with a brick if I had one... But the steps teach me how to be more at peace with myself, to let my Higher power love me, and to let me love me, and to forgive others and myself. The steps teach me how to live with me-- the traditions teach me how to live with others. And that I don't have to agree, or blend in, or be more hardcore, or badder than or better than anyone. I can just be Rae, an addict among addicts, working with one another to stay clean. Just for today. I'd like to close with something that I use as a prayer. Because I find recovery all over- from Allen Ginsberg to Pixar...

Hey, don't write yourself off yet
It's only in your head you feel left out or
looked down on.
Just try your best, try everything you can.
And don't you worry what the bitter hearts are gonna say.
It just takes some time [...] you're in the middle of the ride.
Everything will be just fine, everything will be all right.

Thanks for letting me share. Done.