Chapter 42
I am coming to the realization that rehab isn't going to "cure" me. I see a lot of the people in here who I know just aren't going to make it.
It saddens me but I have to almost ignore it.
In all honesty I am here for me. Only me.
I believe that is the only way this is going to work for me. If I start trying to get sober for my family, for my friends, for a woman or whatever other reason I can think of I know it won't work.
I have to do this for myself. I have to do it because "I" want it. I can't let other people dictate the way I am going to live my life anymore. I am terrified at this fact because I don't know where the road leads after I leave here.
Word gets around when people fail. Rehab is no different then school or work. People still love to gossip about other people's business.
More like, people LOVE to gossip about other people's pain.
That's really what it breaks down to. People love to talk about the failures of others so that their own failures can be minimalized or justified in one way or another. It isn't any different in here. People sit in the courtyard and talk about those that got out a week ago and hardly made it past the first convenience store.
Addicts can talk.
Addicts can justified ANYTHING. I often laugh at my thought process. How my mind can work overtime to convince me that I don't have to actually "quit" drinking and drugging. I just need to "control" it. I can't even explain how many times a day this gets tossed back and forth in my head.
Today I just sit alone and smoke.
I am tired. Really tired.
My time is almost done here and I am tired. I feel like my mind just needs a rest. All of this that I am facing, I am facing for the first time without drinking or using drugs. Just me. Just me and God.
What has all of it meant.
Why am I still here.
What does God want from me.
Who am I going to be when I leave.
That is the big one for me. Who am I. Really, who am I? Up to this point in my life I have made a few people smile and I have done a great deal of entertaining but all of that really hasn't brought me joy. In truth, it has brought me pain.
I know that there is so much more to me. I have so much more I could give if I just knew how to get myself out of the way. Get my ego out of the picture. Take what others think out of the picture.
As I watch the smoke rise in the brisk March air I want to scream.
The weight of these thoughts are just so heavy on me. I can't do this on my own.
I can't do it all alone. I will fail.
I will fail because I always have.
By the time I light my third cigarette I have company. Her name is Susan and she is maybe 40 years old. She is a housewife with 2 kids and she is an alcoholic. She cries almost every time I see her.
Tears, man, all these tears.
I met her family on family day. Her husband and her son and daughter. Her son was 10 or so and I could tell he was a kid after my own heart. He loved heavy music and loved skateboarding and the whole "extreme sports" gig. I instantly liked the kid and he liked me.
Susan has been just kicking the crap out of herself over her kids, and rightly so. She hasn't been a good Mom. She has been a drunk. It isn't the disease that makes her the bad Mom, it is the fact that she didn't get help sooner.
This is the same thing that makes me a bad Son. We both are lucky enough to have a second chance and make things right.
We talk about her family and we talk about God. She is scared just like I am about getting out and falling right back into the same patterns that defined us in the outside world. We prayed about it.
She cried.
She doesn't know what to do about her son because he, in her words, "hates my guts".
I don't know why but I asked her if I could write him a letter. She said she would love that. She told me that he thought I was "cool". He liked that I played music and liked the same things he did.
She was smiling when she walked away.
I went back to my room and grabbed a pen and paper and headed back out to the courtyard.
I wrote a letter to this 10 year old boy and told him that I understood why he was mad. I told him that he should be. I told him that right now I wasn't the best guy to look up to. I let him know that I started making really bad choices at his age and that he was going to have to make the same choices at some point.
The most important thing I told him was that his Mom loves him. She has been sick but is trying to get better.
I hate this disease.
It saddens me but I have to almost ignore it.
In all honesty I am here for me. Only me.
I believe that is the only way this is going to work for me. If I start trying to get sober for my family, for my friends, for a woman or whatever other reason I can think of I know it won't work.
I have to do this for myself. I have to do it because "I" want it. I can't let other people dictate the way I am going to live my life anymore. I am terrified at this fact because I don't know where the road leads after I leave here.
Word gets around when people fail. Rehab is no different then school or work. People still love to gossip about other people's business.
More like, people LOVE to gossip about other people's pain.
That's really what it breaks down to. People love to talk about the failures of others so that their own failures can be minimalized or justified in one way or another. It isn't any different in here. People sit in the courtyard and talk about those that got out a week ago and hardly made it past the first convenience store.
Addicts can talk.
Addicts can justified ANYTHING. I often laugh at my thought process. How my mind can work overtime to convince me that I don't have to actually "quit" drinking and drugging. I just need to "control" it. I can't even explain how many times a day this gets tossed back and forth in my head.
Today I just sit alone and smoke.
I am tired. Really tired.
My time is almost done here and I am tired. I feel like my mind just needs a rest. All of this that I am facing, I am facing for the first time without drinking or using drugs. Just me. Just me and God.
What has all of it meant.
Why am I still here.
What does God want from me.
Who am I going to be when I leave.
That is the big one for me. Who am I. Really, who am I? Up to this point in my life I have made a few people smile and I have done a great deal of entertaining but all of that really hasn't brought me joy. In truth, it has brought me pain.
I know that there is so much more to me. I have so much more I could give if I just knew how to get myself out of the way. Get my ego out of the picture. Take what others think out of the picture.
As I watch the smoke rise in the brisk March air I want to scream.
The weight of these thoughts are just so heavy on me. I can't do this on my own.
I can't do it all alone. I will fail.
I will fail because I always have.
By the time I light my third cigarette I have company. Her name is Susan and she is maybe 40 years old. She is a housewife with 2 kids and she is an alcoholic. She cries almost every time I see her.
Tears, man, all these tears.
I met her family on family day. Her husband and her son and daughter. Her son was 10 or so and I could tell he was a kid after my own heart. He loved heavy music and loved skateboarding and the whole "extreme sports" gig. I instantly liked the kid and he liked me.
Susan has been just kicking the crap out of herself over her kids, and rightly so. She hasn't been a good Mom. She has been a drunk. It isn't the disease that makes her the bad Mom, it is the fact that she didn't get help sooner.
This is the same thing that makes me a bad Son. We both are lucky enough to have a second chance and make things right.
We talk about her family and we talk about God. She is scared just like I am about getting out and falling right back into the same patterns that defined us in the outside world. We prayed about it.
She cried.
She doesn't know what to do about her son because he, in her words, "hates my guts".
I don't know why but I asked her if I could write him a letter. She said she would love that. She told me that he thought I was "cool". He liked that I played music and liked the same things he did.
She was smiling when she walked away.
I went back to my room and grabbed a pen and paper and headed back out to the courtyard.
I wrote a letter to this 10 year old boy and told him that I understood why he was mad. I told him that he should be. I told him that right now I wasn't the best guy to look up to. I let him know that I started making really bad choices at his age and that he was going to have to make the same choices at some point.
The most important thing I told him was that his Mom loves him. She has been sick but is trying to get better.
I hate this disease.
posted by steve at 10:07 AM
1 Comments:
Steve...it's been awhile since I have commented but I read faithfully...as well as laugh and cry depending on what I read. Thanks for continuing on this journey which has allowed you to share something so personal. You are touching people...young and old...with your story. My Chris still thinks you are oh so cool...he is learning a lot by reading your words...we read and then discuss....thank you for hopefully helping to keep a 12 year old from making those wrong choices!!
God Bless You!!
Paula(From plainville)
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