Easter

2005. It's Saturday night before Easter, so I decide not to get drunk. I leave the bar early and stop at a convenience store. There, I meet a drinking buddy who tells me there's a party right up the street. "You can leave your truck overnight and just crash on the floor. There's a keg!" Shit.
I dig my punk bar buddies, so I go. I remember going to the keg out back to get a beer for me and one for a friend...My next memory is they are sewing my face together in the hospital.
I try to say "what happened" with a bottom lip split in half like the bad guy from "Blade 2", and I'm told that I got jumped. This shocks me...not that a bunch of drunk and coked up punk dudes would kick somebody's ass, but that it was my ass that was kicked.
After surgery, I'm released out into the bright Easter morning. I'm wearing a straw cowboy hat spray-painted black, black western shirt, leather jacket, black jeans and black lizard skin boots held together with copious amounts of duct tape. I'm completely covered in dried blood and mud. I've got my sunglasses on, and I'm attempting to smoke out of the side of my freshly stitched face. I'm scaring the hell out of families bringing flowers and balloons to hospitalized loved ones on the way to church.
I call Shane, my roommate, and say, "I just got out of the hospital...I don't know which one it is or where I'm at. All I know is there's a highway and I can see Corvette Country, apparently."
Shane: "I know where you are."
When he picks me up, Shane says, "Hey." And that's it. No questions. I stare at him.
"Aren't you the least bit curious?"
"Well...I figured you'd tell me eventually."
That's Shane.
After two days of wondering why this happened to me, who did it, was it my hat...I find out what happened. That year it rained buckets in Central Texas in April. The keg at the party was in the middle of the yard on a bare spot that turned into mud. If you take mud and throw in footwear that is covered in duct tape, you get a little accident. If you also throw in the corner of a concrete slab to land on with your face...you get a major scar. When my drunk friends rushed me to the hospital, they were under the impression that if you told the ER that the patient was attacked, they had to treat him, regardless of their health insurance situation. Good call, guys.
So yeah...I curb-checked myself. I hadn't even had a drink.

2011. April 24th has a new meaning for me. I'm 90 days clean and sober, and I'm 2 weeks from getting out of Lifetime Recovery. Not only are my eyes clear but my brain is a fully-functioning pain in my ass. I think my thoughts...all of them. These thoughts generate emotions, and I feel every fucking one of them. Completely.
Truth be told I think I'm a little crazy now. I could probably use some prescriptions now I took recreationally in the past. No thank you, shrinks. I've been through worse.
While thinking this blog out in my head, I was sitting at a bus stop, just before 7 am. Right next to the bus stop is a McDonalds with two drive-thrus, and cars are cutting each other off to get their McGriddled Shit and force it down on the way to work. Everyone looks pissed to be awake...or to be at McDonald's. I, however, give them a glance but direct my attention back to the sunrise I've been watching. The simple act of doing nothing but observing calms my being. My brain shuts the hell up and I just enjoy the moment. I'm alive.
They say life is too short to be addicted to drugs. That's not true at all. The reality is that life is too long and painful when you're a junkie. Time crawls by allowing you to really feel how awful everything is and what you've become, and all you want to do is figure out how to score to forget.
With the support of my family, my friends, my girl...I press on. I hope I never forget that the worst case scenario for me clean is still better than the best case scenario for me as a junkie.

Weed

Me: I can't smoke weed.
Him: Dude, you know, I hate that they lump pot with all other drugs in society and in 12-step stuff. There are so many people who smoke it who are NOT addicted, who can keep their job, their wife and their house...it's a plant, you know? You can't O.D. on it. It's bullshit.
Me: Oh, I agree with you. It's basically illegal because of racism.
Him: And it chills me out, you know?
Me: Enjoy, bro.
Him: Why can't you?
Me: It makes me wanna do heroin.
Him: ...
Me: ...
Him: You shouldn't smoke weed.

Just What I Needed

It's hard to stay in a bad mood when you play with a puppy...especially when you really don't have a good reason to be in a mood to begin with.

"Look...I don't care how cute you are, I'm not going to pet you right now."
(see picture below)
"I'm brooding, okay? You can wag your whole body and have that retarded puppy coordination all you want."
(see picture below)
"I mean it! I'm angry! GRRRRRRRR!"
(see picture below)
"Fine. But I won't enjoy this."



"Dammit! I'm happy and shit."

The First 45 Days

Treatment feels like summer camp crossed with jail.
"Here you will develop the tools you need to change your life. Everyone comes here with lots of baggage."
That's goddamn right.
"You're minimizing, man. I think you need to open up and let those feelings out."
How long have I been repressing my emotions? Shit...
"Take your mask off, brother. Everyone here has been where you're at."
And I thought I was original.
"Can you see your ears? That's by design. When you share, your peers are going to see things that you can't."
Pain. Guilt. Remembering hurts.
"Positive affirmations aren't just empty things we say. Believe them. You are a good person who has done bad things."
Damn my legs hurt. Fucking softball. I've gained 8 pounds already. Time to hit the weight room again.
"Good game, guys. We're playing again tomorrow."
I'm really trying to get recovery this time. I need to help out with everything I can.
"You really listen to me, dude. That was good advice."
I'm here for you, brother.
"Read the letter you wrote to your friend. It's time."
Damn you for making me do this. Escaping grief with dope was a selfish, fucked thing to do. I can't let Hunter go.
"John, we don't forget those we love. We learn to live with the loss, but we can also honor their memory. Cherish the friendship...Use this opportunity to live...for you...and for your friend."
I'm tired of fucking things up.
"You remind me of myself when I got here. Have you ever forgiven yourself? It was the hardest thing I ever did, but you need to do it."
I've never done that. Wow.
"You deserve recovery. Don't forget that."
Is addiction a disease? I think it's more of a neurological disorder...does it matter? Treatment for it is the same, whatever you call it. Dive in.
"These arbitrary rules and the little bickering going on...it's all bullshit. Focus on what matters. I know I look like I don't care...truth is, I care about what truly matters."
I am powerless over other people's actions. I need to quit trying to control everything and just let go. Heh...Fight Club.
"You really like that meditation shit, don't you?"
I don't have to believe my thoughts. Feelings come from them...but I can challenge those thoughts and not immediately act on them.
"Time to go out there, look for work, go to meetings...be in the real world. Call someone if you feel like using."
There sure are a lot of bars downtown. Yeah...no thanks.
"Get up, asshole! We're going to a meeting!"
Hell of an alarm clock.
"I've seen a change in you, bro. You're not trying so hard...it looks like you believe it now."
I connected with something greater than myself. I can't explain it - spirituality, not religion. I feel it.
"They found Cage this morning. He's dead."
No. Of all people...God, why?
"Listen, vato...you're a smart motherfucker, know what I'm sayin'? Get out of your head, bro...you can do a lot out there. We need you, ese..you make me laugh. You care about people. Those are gifts, homey. Use that shit."
Damn, dude. I won't squander this, I promise.
"Halfway there, John. How do you feel?"
60 days clean. I've never had 60 days clean and sober before. I'm still scared.
"Being afraid is natural and healthy. It's when you're overconfident that you can let that guard down. Work your recovery. And don't ever forget."
Forget what?
"What got you here. The good. The bad. Your family. Your friends. Everything."
Thank you.
"What are you going to do? You going to stay in San Antonio or go somewhere else?"
I'm just walking the path. We'll see where it leads.


The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. - Lao Tzu

My Friends Cage and Hunter

William "Cage" C. arrived at Lifetime Recovery the day after I did. He was 21 years old, from Alamo Heights, an avid reader, a film and music elitist, one of the smartest kids I've ever met, and a heroin addict. He had been here back in November, but he left early to get into a sober house in Austin. He slipped back into using again and came back here to Lifetime for help. My buddy Rabi and I took an immediate liking to Cage.
He was young, but his face and the look in his eyes showed that he'd gone through some shit. It was the same look I had. He was beat down and needed some help.
After detoxing, Cage started to come out of his shell. He played Rummy and Spades with us, was a killer 1st baseman in softball, and didn't care what other people thought about him or his unmoving opinions on life, love and religion. Oh, and the boy liked hackeysack, Benjamin Franklin and the Wu Tang Clan. Go figure.
For the next 30+ days, I watched him open up in our small group therapy and individually to myself, Rabi and a few others. Rabi and I saw ourselves in him...saw the same pain, same issues with the same drug...we wanted him to succeed.
Cage and I completed the first phase (30 days) of our treatment recently. The second phase (60 days) is that we got to leave the center during the day to look for work, go to meetings, do service, eat fast food...whatever. Then we come back for evening classes and sleep at the rehab.
Cage was in great spirits. He hung out with his dad his first day out...got a haircut and a shave. He looked like I felt - ready to take on the world.

He was found dead yesterday morning at home. He would have turned 22 today.

He and I were a lot alike...we both thought we were too smart for our own good. We both also thought that this treatment was our last shot. Addiction is progressive...we both felt that death would be imminent if we went back.
The thing is, while I wanted to teach him, he ended up educating me. He embodied the phrase "to let what does not matter truly slide". He acted like he didn't give a shit, but the truth was he just didn't care about little meaningless crap. He helped me let go of my attempts to control things or other's actions of which I had no control over. I couldn't thank him enough for that. I will miss him more than this blog entry can express.

Today Hunter would have been 42. He had a big heart and his personality lit up a room. He could even make me less cranky, believe it or not. He loved photography, live music (watching and performing), his wife Jennifer, his blood brother Erik, his dog, his friends, and for some reason, me. Oh, and the fucking Seattle Seahawks, who I still watch to this day.

I had to work through some unresolved issues with grief and guilt about him over the past month, using his sudden passing in 2008 as an excuse to bury myself further into heroin. Our last conversation was him being concerned about my drug use. Sitting here thinking about Hunter and about Cage certainly makes me keenly aware of my mortality and of the pain that is part of life. I try not to dwell on "why them and why not me," even though it's natural.

I made a promise to Hunter and to myself: I will not waste the life that I still have. I will carry the memory of my best friend Hunter with me for the rest of my life. And I will not be forgetting my friend Cage and what he has taught me through his life...and death.

Happy Birthday, Hunter. I have 53 days clean...I'm doing this for both of us. I love you, man.

Rest in peace, Cage. I love you too, brother.

Treatment Center Moment

(Out at the smoking area)
Me: What's the problem, man?
Ryan: The Spurs tip-off is in like 15 minutes, but the dude in there is watching "Smallville."
Me: It should be over soon.
Ryan: Pinche Superman. He can't even fly, güey.

Until That Day Then.

You don't get an award for kicking booze and drugs on your own vs. with help. So why decline outside assistance?

I'll tell you why...because you think you know everything...or because you think you can handle it. When you think about it, it's pretty damn ridiculous to think you can deal with shit on your own, especially when you consistently suck at self-control.

I've never had a problem with "cravings" when it comes to addiction...I've always had a problem with giving a shit whether I'm sober or not. "What does it matter..."

You become very self-centered when you're a drunk or a junkie. You don't care about others or how you make them feel. When you clean up, all those emotions and thoughts regarding yourself and others come rushing back...and you feel like the asshole you've become.

Addiction. Hospitalization. Job loss. Love loss. Dead best friend. Worried and hurt family. Alienated friends. No direction. Broken spirit. Physical fatigue. OD. Loneliness. Nervous breakdown.

Go ahead, John. Handle it all on your own.

Not anymore. I'm going to get help. Treatment. I leave Monday...and I'll be back in May. Time to pull out of the nose dive. Time to take a step back from the edge.

Time for hope.

I'll see ya.