Chapter 18

I agree to look for help.

I do an intake interview at a treatment facility. They want me to sign up. I just want to get my parents off my back. I know I am sick but I feel like somehow I can handle it. I feel like I am not going to let someone else tell me how to live.

I agree to go to AA meetings with Joel.

I attend my first meeting and I admit for the first time that I am an alcoholic. I cry. I can't even believe I am crying. I want no part of this. I have got to move out of my parents house.

I am 24.

I end up living with my brother. He isn't home a lot so I can hide how bad I am.

Perfect.

********************************************

The first time I see her in the restaurant bar I know I want to get to know her. She is a brunette and beautiful.

I start talking with her each time she comes in. Her name is Rachael. She tells me she is moving to San Diego in a month. Instead of just letting it go I pursue her. We spend a lot of time together before she leaves.

Looking back on it I realize how much I was just trying to fill the emptiness inside my soul. I was a cocaine addict and I just thought that maybe a woman would cure me.

I don't think I could have ever been more wrong in my life.

She ends up moving to California and I visit her shortly after. I tell her to come back. She says she will think about it.

I come back to find that I have lost my job.

Drinking.


It was the Friday night before I went to California. I was upstairs before my shift started. The margarita gun was still on in the service bar upstairs. 4 or 5 of us decided to have a few before work.

This is nothing new. I am in NO fear of losing my job. I have snorted coke in the managers office. I have drank with all of them. People love me.

Bulletproof.

The evening starts off just fine. Lots of playing and lots of singing. There is a couple large parties in the restaurant that want me to hang with them. I do. One of them keeps ordering extra shots for me to join in. I just can't say no to that.

I am wasted. I am actually walking up to tables and letting them know that I might not sound so hot because of the amount of drinks in me.

They laugh. Must all be part of the act.

Near the end of the evening the large party downstairs is good and rowdy. There is a guy there that is in a wife beater and has a tattoo of a sun on his left shoulder. I advise him that he is a candy ass and that the sun tattoo I have is 5 times that size. They want to see it.

So I show them. It covers all of my left thigh. I drop my pants to my ankles and show them. They cheer. Classic.

Two ladies in the corner thought otherwise.

The corporate office got called. I got fired.

I blame everyone else but myself.

******************************************

I get a job waiting tables at another Mexican restaurant in Portland. It is located in Chinatown. Lots of drugs dealt out of this bar. One of the bartenders is a Meth Addict.

Perfect.

I start snorting meth with him before shifts. I hate meth. It is poor mans cocaine. It is a white trash drug and I am so above that.

I am making so much less money then I am use to. I start stealing money from the restaurant to help pay for my habits. I start stealing alcohol from stores. Anything I can do to help pay the bills, so to speak.

I end up getting fired from this job for stealing.

Again, I blame everyone else.

I am miserable.

Then I get the phone call that she is moving back.

Chapter 17

I just wish they would have let me bring my guitar.

I begged.

I talked with Joe in Portland on the phone a few times about this and the answer was always no. I play every day and I can't imagine going a month without playing. I understand why they won't.

I would do nothing else.

********************************

I started playing at age 12. I have always loved to sing and I felt like I needed something to go along with that. A piano is a little hard to carry around so guitar was the best option.

I didn't get serious about it until I got to college.

Guitar, not drugs.

I met a guy in college named Joel who was the most brilliant musician I had ever met. He could play guitar better than anyone I had ever heard. He could write amazing music. He was a Pastors Kid, a "PK". He was an addict. I think we were drawn to each other like a moth to flame.

We started playing in a band together. We started doing a lot of drugs together. I have an amazing amount of memories with Joel. He had a VW bus that we took on a cross country road trip. We had so much acid and weed. We traveled ten states in ten days.

We tripped hard in the Grand Canyon.

We hiked into the Grand Canyon really high on acid and the walls of the canyons were like waterfalls.

Joel got clean and sober out of college. Our band ceased to exist. I moved back my parents house while I figured out what I wanted to do with my life and for a short period Joel lived with us.

He was heavily involved in AA. I would attend my first meeting with him.

********************************************

I started playing guitar in a Mexican restaurant after college. It was a party restaurant and I was the "Captain", the guy who was responsible for all the music and the entertainment. Part of the job was always being full of energy. Cocaine made this possible.

There was a couple different cooks and busboys that were dealers. It was so easy. I was making so much money in tips that it made a daily Coke habit possible.

I cut more lines in that place then I care to remember. Half of the staff were addicts or alcoholics. It comes with the business.

After work we would all go out drinking.

One big party. Every night.

I was living with my parents and they were getting progressively worried about me. I don't think they really knew how bad it was but they knew I was drinking a lot. I had to get out of that house.

I crashed my truck a couple of times. Wasted.

The first time was something I will never forget. Haunts me in my dreams. Late night drinking with the crew. I get in my truck as I always do. I am a drinking and driving nightmare. You can't pry my keys away from me.

I am bulletproof.

I don't remember exactly what happened. I am driving. Fast. Blurred. I don't even hit the brakes when I see the red light I just feel the impact.

I slammed that car all the way through the intersection. They were sitting at the red light and I slammed them all the way through the intersection.

I didn't see them.

I drove away.

I check the paper for weeks after to see if I killed them. To see if I ruined someone's life. I find nothing. My mind runs too many scenarios to count.

How do I ever make amends for this?

The guilt is overwhelming.

It doesn't stop me.

I crash my car again a month later. I was at an outdoor concert. Handfuls of mushrooms, acid, Jagermeister... The whole bottle.

I passed out a mile away from my parents home and drive my truck off a hairpin corner. The impact is enough to break my axles. No seatbelt.

Not a scratch.

Divine Intervention.

I run home and wake my parents. My father drives me to my truck and takes one look at it and just says "Oh my God."

No police.

Slack.

He wakes me the next morning and wants to know if I am on drugs. He is terrified. My Naval Commander Father is terrified. I tell him that I am.

For the first time in my life I see my Father cry.

Chapter 16

Adam, the tall kid in my small group, is waiting for me when we get back.

We go to the dining area because there is always sandwiches at night. It's like they know addicts so well. Sandwiches and cereal. I haven't eaten this well forever and my body is loving it.

Adam and I just sit at table and enjoy the food for a while.

So what's up?

He looks at me and says that I look different.

I laugh.

Yeah, I cut off all my hair and shaved.

Looks good.

We talk about nothing for a while longer and I can sense that there is something he really wants to talk about. He finally just looks me dead in the eye.

I don't know how to pray and wanted to know if you would pray with me.

I started tell him about how my prayers started in here.

Jesus please... Jesus please...

I make it clear to him that I am not an expert at all. I just feel like the prayers are helping me. I feel like something is happening that is so much bigger than me. I have to make this clear to him. I have to make this clear to myself.

I don't know anything about God. I just know that He is calling to me. I have always felt it. I just never acknowledged Him.

I can bet that everyone feels that in their life.

That is how we are designed.

So Adam and I sit in the dining room at the table and we pray. He prays with me out loud. He prays for his kids and I can feel the weight of the prayer. So much guilt for being a drunk Daddy.

********************************

Fred the Jewish lawyer comes into the dining room and he is pissed beyond belief. He is holding his Big book and he is pissed.

He slams it down on a table and all eyes are on him.

I WANNA KNOW WHO THE FUCK WROTE THIS!

Silence.

IN MY BOOK! MY BIBLE!

Silence.

None of us have a clue of what he is talking about at all. Curiosity gets the best of all of us in the room and we walk over to him.

He is so angry that tears are starting to show.

What are you talking about Fred? What's up?

He says nothing and just opens up his Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. On the inside of the front cover is scrawled

Go home you Jew Kyke Bastard

It is scrawled in pencil.

We are speechless.

I can't even believe it. Here is a guy that is in rehab trying to get better and has to deal with some racist bastard who can only feel better about themselves by degrading others.

Addiction is fueled differently in each of us.

Just scratch it out.

It's pencil. Erase it.

Fred just looks up at us.

I can't erase this...

Chapter 15

I keep seeing her in the courtyard. The same girl from the phone booth.

She is adorable. Part of me really wants to talk with her and the other part says just to stay focused.

The first part usually wins every time.

Her name is Lacey.

Twenty-one year old heroin addict. She is in the extended program.

I talk to her for quite some time and it is completely refreshing. I meet a couple of her friends. Aaron is the one that I get the vibe from. He sends me that male territorial vibe. I know immediately that he likes this girl. I don't let it phase me.

Are you going to the store tonight?

What do you mean?

She tells me about the sign up sheet at the front desk. The first 8 who sign up can go to Drug Emporium. I laugh at the fact we would be going to "Drug Emporium". The irony sometimes is too much.

I run inside.

I actually run.

I want to get out of here for a little bit. Truth of the matter is we could be going to the dentist and I would still sign up. I just want to be around this girl for a little while. I have always loved being around beautiful women. Usually the wrong ones.

****************************

It is raining that night.

We all meet in the front lobby and find out that John, the front desk guy with huge glasses, is going to be our driver for the evening.

We all pile in the "Druggie Buggie" and we are off.

The Druggie Buggie is a big Ford Econo-van that is used to take all of us to outside meetings. We get to go to outside AA and NA meetings during the week if we want. One way or another you are going to meetings. Either at the center or outside of it.

I have control issues.

I don't like being a passenger in ANY vehicle whether it be a van, car, plane or tank. I just don't like the feeling of having someone else control my destiny. I am beginning to understand how this relates to my addictions and how it relates to God. I havent been able to trust God. I haven't been able to let Him take the wheel.

Let go. Let God


John looks like Mr. Magoo with his glasses. Those glasses tell me that he has trouble seeing.

It is raining.

Thank God I have Lacey to distract me. We laugh and tell stories and start counting how many signs advertising alcohol we see. It is amazing to me. I can't believe how many there are. Neon signs everywhere. Billboards. I never noticed before.

Now that I have spent 10 days sober they seem to be everywhere.

Advertising pain.

I am deep in thought over this when I hear her voice. Very soft and casual at first.

John... John... John.. JOHN! JOHN! JOHN!

I look up and we are fast approaching a red light and John doesn't see it at all. He finally does and slams on the breaks. We skid. We stop. Its all good.

Sorry.

Its Ok John just watch where you are going.

Nervous laughter from all of us.

************************************

The Drug Emporium has a barber shop in it and also a pet store. I go into the pet store first and just want to hold a puppy.

I spend about ten minutes letting this little guy just lick my face.

Puppy breath.

Beautiful puppy breath.

I decide that I want nothing more than to cut off all of my colored hair. It is copper colored and spiked. Cozmo has been calling me "Thunder Cat" all damn week. I have a nasty long goatee and unshaven face. I just want to feel clean.

I get a very short haircut and I get rid of the beard and goatee.

I can feel my Mom smiling already.

Chapter 14

We both see him.

New. Fresh out of detox.

Skin head. Full sleeves of tattoos. Combat boots. Black Harley shirt. Scowl

Cozmo and I just look at each other and smile. Perfect.

Hey man how you doing?

I really expected anger to come spewing forth. I expected a FUCK YOU! I expected an evil eye. Something.

What I got was what I expected least.

Shy.

My name is Steve and this is Bryce.

Eric...

We want to pray with you.

Wow did this take him completely off guard. So much so that he put his hands in his pockets and put his head down.

He looked at us through the top of his eye lids, eyes darting back and forth between Cozmo and I.

and then he just said "Ok".

We each put a hand on one of his shoulders and we prayed.

We asked God for the same things we had just prayed for out in the courtyard.

Peace and freedom. Sobriety.

I could feel the tension in his shoulders release. I could feel him relaxing.

We prayed.

Amen.

He looked at both of us and just said thanks and he walked away.

That's how it all started.

It wasn't that we thought we were some sort of spiritual kingpins or thought we were better. It was actually far from it. When God reaches you there is just a place inside you that just wants to grow and branch out to others. That is just the way He designed us.

When you live in darkness for so long a touch of Light is the most beautiful thing in the world.

Hope.


*********************************

By the time we get to dinner that night we have prayed with quite a few people. Standing in line for dinner before the prayer is said I feel a tap on my arm. I turn around and see a cute little old lady, the little old lady that I saw in the Detox wing screaming at her children. She looked different.

I heard you sing in a Christian band.

We broke up but, yeah, I did for a number of years.

Would you sing "Amazing Grace" for me before supper?

So I did.

I sang for all of us. Especially for her.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me
I once was lost but now I'm found
was blind but now I see

That's all I could do. Short and sweet. Enough to bring some tears of hope to a little old lady in rehab.

Its never too late.

The hour I first believed...

Chapter 13

I have never spend so much time with myself.

I hate it.

I am 31 years old and I have always lived with someone. Never could stand being alone. I am realizing that I am so uncomfortable in my own skin. I have so much built up crap inside of me that is haunting me. It fuels my drinking. Fuels my self hate.

So many things. So much shame.

I was in my Junior year of college. We went on a weekend acid adventure. It was my friend Perry and his brother and another guy that I don't even remember. We went to a Hippie festival up in the hills near Twisp Washington. Four day weekend. We were also going to hit up the apple blossom festival in Wenatchee.

Mostly we were just gonna trip.

The Twisp festival is a blur. Huge bonfire. Drums. Pagan paradise. I just remember the gatorade being passed around that had so many tabs of acid floating in it.

Big swigs.

The door swings wide.

We danced and the drums became the beat of my heart. The drums take on a life of their own. Hours and hours of this. At times it is the most beautiful thing you can imagine. Altered reality. Everything just melting into everything else.

To actually touch sound. To taste it.

I can't ever explain acid.

Acid can also bring demons. Often called "bad trips". I can never explain the terror. The moment you feel like you are stuck inside the trip. That you may NEVER regain reality again. When you feel the hands pulling you into the bowls of hell. When you see them.

Never ending screams inside of your head.

Unexplainable terror.

Godless void.


************************************

We were up For three days straight. No sleep. That in itself does wonders to a person. My face feels cold. I hum. The inside of my head hums. We have been driving for most of the morning. We are out of drugs and that isn't a great thing at this moment.

Perry's brother says he knows a guy in Snoqualmie.

We get to this guys house some time early Monday morning. He lets us in. He is there with his wife. He breaks out the bong and we get to smoke some weed. At this point it does nothing at all to me. There is a certain point that you can never get to again.

It will never be that again.

We sit for a while and the wife offers us some speed. I am crashing hard and I just don't want anything right now but my bed. I am in a weird state of confusion. Halfway between reality and dream. I am on the floor trying to hold it together and I turn to see them at the table eating breakfast.

A little boy and a little girl.

Eating cereal and staring at me.

Breakfast before school.

Elementary school.

What the fuck am I doing?

******************************

The rest of my group sits and listens to me retell the story. All of us share our shame in one way or another. It is all different but also the same.

I need a cigarette so bad after group.

I also feel like there is something else. Something more important.

Prayer.

I feel like praying. I feel like I need to pray. My soul has been feeling so empty that it is crying out to be fed.

I see Cozmo in the courtyard sitting at one of the tables.

I need to pray man. We need to start praying.

I just sat next to my brother and I placed my arm around him and we prayed. We prayed for strength and we prayed for freedom from all of this. All the guilt and all the shame.

It felt good.

Really good.

Cozmo looks at me and says the same.

That felt good.

I smile at him.

Lets go get someone else

Chapter 12

Where did it really start getting bad?

When did I realize I wanted out?

When did I realize no matter how hard I tried I couldn't?

Christian College.

I could drink up a storm and no one would care. I could do whatever I wanted. I didn't have to answer to anyone.

The question of why I chose a Christian College is one I have been thinking about while I am here in treatment. The program seems to rely so heavily on God and I have always believed in God.

I was in a youth group that traveled when I was in junior high and high school. I was a choir boy. I just remember how wonderful it felt to sing about God. I loved it. I loved to sing. Singing has been my escape for as long as I can remember and there was just something that happened to me when I sang about God.

I just never carried any of that outside of singing in the church youth choir.

Believe and follow are two completely different things.

I went to college to sing and play soccer. By my Junior year I was doing neither. I went to a Christian College and outside of being in choir for a while I didn't attend one church service.

Not one.

************************************

I got into quite a bit of trouble my freshman year at college. All of it because of the "No Alcohol on campus" rule. I actually get written up my first day. There is a threat of expulsion my first year.

Slack.

I start smoking pot every day. The day that I can't find any I scrape the resin from my pipes and smoke that.

I binge drink. Not everyday. When I do drink it is usually until I blackout. I lose big portions of evenings. The confusion of waking up and not knowing what I had done. Who I had done it with.

I sleep with girls that I don't even remember names.

or faces.

Most college guys wear these like badges of honor.

Each one for me is a tremendous guilt that builds like a giant wall around my soul. Brick by brick. All of it translates to guilt.

No outlet for my guilt. I drink to suppress it. I feel guilty for drinking.

Cycles.

I discover other drugs. Mushrooms. Acid. Cocaine. All of these I wish I had never taken. Guilt.

Acid is the one that still terrifies me. Some doors are shut for a reason.

All of this time I can feel God tugging at my heart.

Some doors we shut ourselves.

I am one giant party. College is one giant party. I am the guy that people love to party with. I don't have a stop button. I am funny. I am crazy. Inside I scream with more pain then I can handle and I don't let anyone know. I can't let anyone know.

I have to always appear to have a wonderful life. I need people to like me. I get a tremendous amount of satisfaction from the attention. I am who they want me to be. I am no self control.

To them I am free.

Chapter 11

We stand in silence.

Anticipation.

I have felt this feeling a thousand times. The painful but exciting feeling of waiting for a dealer to hurry their ass up.

Craving.

Today there is five of us waiting. Who knows how many will be here tomorrow. I look around at the other four and wonder who it is that keeps telling people about the caffeinated coffee.

Only one pot.

I have to get here a little earlier tomorrow.

***********************************

Today in lecture we have a guy that actually is a stand up comic.

An Alcoholic stand up comic. It hits me as a little strange but what the hell. I get a little humor to start my day.

I sit with most of the guys in my small group.

Jerrod is a guy my age who has been to rehab before. He really is rubbing me the wrong way. He is one of those guys that you can see right through the act. He is a compulsive liar.

Aren't we all.

Adam is a tall kid that is very soft spoken. He has a wife and a couple of kids. To hear him talk about his kids is both heartbreaking and wonderful. Being an addict and alcoholic with kids around is a whole other ball game. I thank God that I never had kids when I was married.

Eric, my roommate is sitting with us. Then there is Bill. He has half of his head shaved and there is a big half circle of stitches on the side of his head. He is always out of it. Crazy. I think he has had some sort of brain surgery. He is doing his stint here and then going directly to jail for breaking into drugstores for pills. When the police caught him he had a pillow case full to the top. He is impossible to figure out. Mostly because they have him on so many detox drugs.

After the lecture we all go downstairs and head to the courtyard. I look at the chalkboard and see that my brother has called me. I wish someone would have gotten me out of the stand up show. I would have actually enjoyed the cry much more.

*******************************************

Group is always interesting. We talk a lot about ourselves and our fearless leader Adam calls us out on our bullshit. We each have certain things we have to read each day. One of us reads the little motto we have about anonymity.

First rule about Fight Club...

We don't talk to anyone else outside our group about what goes on or what is talked about. This helps people feel safe.

Someone then picks a passage out of the Big Book and we go around and talk about what it means to us or how it relates.

We alcoholics are men and women who have lost the ability to control our drinking. We know that no real alcoholic ever recovers control. All of us felt at times that we were regaining control, but such intervals- usually brief- were inevitably followed by still less control, which led in time to pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization. We are convinced to a man that alcoholics of our type are in the grip of a progressive illness. Over any considerable period we get worse, never better.

That is the pain of it. Right there. What Eric just read was the pain and confusion of every addict and alcoholic. We lost the CONTROL. I am trying to figure out if I ever HAD the control.

I have never really looked at the progression of my using. I know that I started young but it isn't like the day I tasted alcohol in 4th grade I just became a raging alcoholic. I didn't start packing a pint in my lunch box.

It was different.

It was a very slow progression for a long time. I was an athlete in High School. Team Captain of the soccer team. All American boy. I didn't want to lose that by getting caught drinking. So I didn't drink that much in High School. I smoked pot.

So much easier to hide. I learned early that drinking was a hard habit to hide.

I had an older brother that liked to drink in high school and I had to listen to him argue with my parents about it when he would come home. I didn't want to have to go through that.

I think I only really got caught once. I can't really remember.

I know that Andy and I stole a fifth of vodka from his parents and went to the high school. I was a freshman and he was still in 8th grade. It was a Friday night and there was a dance. We drank most of that fifth with a couple other guys and jumped around like idiots on the pole vault mat.

I decided to go to the dance.

I was more than a little drunk. My sister was there and she tried to tell me to go home.

Then I ran into our vice-principle. She KNEW I was drunk. She just told me to go home. She liked me. My brother had been a popular athlete that had just graduated, my sister a 4.0 student and member of the National Honor Society.

Slack.

Always cutting me slack.

This same vice principle would catch me smoking pot at school my Junior year and do absolutely nothing about it.

I wonder if things would be different for me now if I would have had more consequences.



Over any considerable period we get worse, never better


I stumbled home that night from the dance. I ended up walking into my closed garage door and making way too much noise for my parents not to know something was up. They sent me to bed.

Have to be more careful.

Have to stick to weed for now.

The one thing I do know is I need SOMETHING.

Chapter 10

A man can only rise, conquer, and achieve by lifting up his thoughts. Man is made or unmade by himself.

I hear him speaking these words and I feel them.

By the right choice and true application of thought, man ascends to the Divine Perfection

I feel like saying "Amen". In fact I feel like shouting it Baptist style.

by the abuse and wrong application of thought, he descends below the level of the beast

Ain't that the truth.

Between these two extremes are all the grades of character, and man is their maker and master.

He speaks these words as if behind a pulpit. He is a massive black man with a powerful voice. He use to play pro ball and he is a recovering addict and alcoholic. He is the same man I met my first day here. He was the reason I didn't give my intake coordinator anymore attitude. He is huge.

His spirit spits truth.

He reads to us from a book called "As A Man Thinketh" by James Allen.

It is the first time I have heard of James Allen. His words penetrate the very core of my soul.

Hearing it read to me like the Gospel makes it all the more compelling.

This is men's group. All of us.

One giant circle of addicts and alcoholics that seem to hang on every word from his mouth. Such a gentle soul inside of a body that appears to be created for destruction and pain.

He is a gentle man. A thinker.

He talks to all of us about the power of our minds. How our thinking molds our actions. He speaks of a mind being like a garden. No matter what you do it WILL grow. If no good seeds are planted then it will run wild with weeds.

If cultivated it can produce more beauty then you can ever imagine.

I see the garden.

I smell the flowers.

I am having a moment. Sitting in a giant circle with criminals and addicts and lost souls, listening to a very large black man paint a beautiful picture with only words. I see his passion on his face. In his eyes.

I know he wants for all of us to have that garden.

Roses.

*****************************


Bryce and I sit in the courtyard and smoke. We talk about what we just heard. Both of us felt the same power.

Man did he spit knowledge or what?

Bryce gives me a look of complete and total agreement.

I want that peace. I want that garden.

We sat and smoked and we talked about our lives and what we really wanted. It all came back to the same words.

Happy.

Peace.

I talk to Bryce about my love for songwriting and music. He is a rapper like no other. He was the only white guy in a group of brothers that kicked it. They called him Cozmo.

Love it.

I call him Cozmo from now on.

What kind of music do you play?

I look at him and I pause.

I was in a Christian rock band for a number of years.

No shit. How did that work out?

I laugh.

Not so good. Tough to be in one the way I am. What about you? Do you believe in God?

Cozmo sits on that one for a while.

Yeah, I do.

I think that is our only hope. Faith...

I hear ya my brother, I hear ya.

******************************************

They were there that evening. Beautiful. They were an amazing contrast of color against the white walls of the nurses station.

Roses. Beautiful red roses.

They were sitting for all to see on the front counter.

The card was also still attached.


I am sorry for the names I called you guys. Please understand that guy wasn't me. With Love and so much Thanks, Steve

It was the start of my new garden

Chapter 9

I stand in the rain.

Cleanse me.

Take away these layers of filth. Wash away this facade.

Take it all.

Everything.

*******************************************

I walk past the phone booths and I see her crying. She is beautiful in her pain. She is a welcome distraction to all of my thoughts.

Dangerous.

I walk past and am greeted by John at the front desk.

How are you this wonderful evening?

It is impossible not to feel John's tremendous love of life and people. He is a goofy looking son of a bitch and at this moment he makes me smile from ear to ear.

I'm Ok. I am feeling better.

GREAT news!

I walk past him and I realize that he really means that. He means GREAT news that I am feeling better. What a trip.

There is a hallway to the left as you pass the front desk from the phones. This is a back way out of the building and also a place where we can get mail. I check and I actually have mail. It looks like my Uncle Laddy, my Mom's brother, has sent me a letter. I shove it in my pocket and go to dinner.

**********************************

Dinner is uneventful. No drama.

You really start to get to know people at meal time. Today I meet a new guy named Fred. He is a very talkative Jewish man from Portland. When I say talkative I mean that he just can't or won't shut up. He is a lawyer. A Jewish Lawyer who can't shut up. Imagine that. I love him instantly.

People always want to know what your drug of choice is or why you are here. People want comparisons. They want to see where they match up with you or where you don't. It is weird as hell but you get really use to it.

Bryce and I sit and talk like we always do.

He is an athlete. A damn good athlete. He tells me all about his history and we laugh at how messed up we are. We compare DUI stories and jail stories. The funny thing about addiction is that a whole lot of it is fun as hell. Some stupid shit happens to you when you are wasted.

I tell him all about "Naked Beer Guy" and we laugh our asses off.

I was 21 years old and in my last year at a private Christian college. It was the first weekend of school starting and historically a great party weekend. A buddy of mine was having a party at his parents home on a lake.

The great part about the first weekend parties is all the new freshman that show up. They are a fun bunch to watch try and fit in.

I get hammered.

I decide that swimming in the lake is a great idea.

Off go the clothes.

I decide that clothing isn't going to be necessary for the remainder of the evening. I don't remember a whole lot of it but the stories sure went around.

Hey aren't you the naked beer guy?

Yep. I just walked around a party full of new Christian College freshman naked.

All night.

I can only imagine the phone calls home the next day.

Bryce and I just laugh at how stupid we are.

Funny.

**********************************

I decide against watching a movie.

I just want to be alone and think about the week.

This has been one big emotional roller coaster of a ride so far. I am finally off of the damn librium and I am starting to feel like a whole person. It still is so hard not to want a drink. So damn hard. So I smoke. I smoke cigarettes like they are going out of style.

I head back to my room. I am really feeling like I need some time to start reading more of the Big Book. I am really feeling like this guy Bill W. who wrote the thing is a pretty good dude.

Eric isn't in the room when I get there.

I remember the letter.

I open the envelope and let the fact that it is addressed in care of a treatment center sink in.

It is a single piece of paper from a small notepad.

"FROM THE DESK OF NEIL MORFITT" it reads across the top.

My Grandfather. My dead Grandfather.

Steve, this is from one of my Dad's note pads from his desk. I know that he is pulling for you right now as much as I am. Love Laddy

It is too much for me and I break. I break in a way I have never broken before. Every ounce of my body cries out. Every part of me hurts in a way I have never felt and never want to feel again.

I broke.

He was the only real Grandpa I knew. He was everything to me as a child.

My sweet Grandpa.

Every visit would be the same. I would say my hello and go straight to his bedroom. He would spread change all over his floor and say that he might have dropped it and was too old to pick it up. Anything I found was mine.

I loved this game... I love the memory now of his smile at watching his grandson come out of his room with pockets filled with change. I understand that smile now. As a child its just a smile. A smile from your Gramps. Now it is a novel. A lifetime of memories that explode in one single perfect moment.

I feel that same smile right now.

I feel my Grandpa's touch.

I break.

I hit the floor face down and for the next hour and a half repeat the same words over and over and over...

Jesus please...

Chapter 8

I sat alone in the courtyard.

My body language pretty much kept those that wanted to say something at bay. Someone would approach and I would just look up and shake my head. They understood. They know that feeling.

Just leave me alone.

I am starting to feel like I need to make some serious changes. I have been here for almost a week. My head is clearing and I still am angry. I am angry for not fully understanding my disease.

It so easy for people to tell you that you drink too much. It so easy for people to say that you just need to stop drinking. It so easy for people to not understand the bondage and the confusion. How much I want to stop but can't. I am different then you. My chemical make-up, my genetic code or whatever it is that fuels this is different. If it was easy I would have done it a long time ago. My first car crash. My first blackout. My first broken heart.

Alcoholism and drug addiction is the only disease that people hate you for having.

Oh look at that guy. He is SUCH a fucking alcoholic...

I would love to see them say that shit to a cancer patient.

Steve would be such a great guy if he just wasn't so... so... CANCEROUS

The hard part for me is actually believing that it IS a disease. They keep telling me that here and I want to buy into that but I still want to have control over it. I want to be able to drink and not lose every bit of ability to stop. I know that under it all is deeper issues. I know that I am going to have to come to terms with all of it. My soul. My pain.

Me.

I sit here and smoke in the rain and I know that something has to change. I just don't want to admit that the something is "everything".

My exchange with Erroll this morning makes me realize that everything I hate about him is really everything I hate about me. I want attention. I will walk on people to get it.

I hate being alone.

When I am alone I have to face myself. I have to start thinking about how I am not doing anything of real importance in my life. I am drifting on a sea of Jack Daniels. I am searching for escape.

Escape from myself.

So much to think about. What am I going to do when I get out of here. I can't live the same way that I was. I can't be around the same people. The same places.

Everything has to change.

Tears.

Always the tears.

********************************

Chapter 7

Every morning after breakfast is a lecture. The whole rehab center gets together to listen to someone speak. Usually its a graduate who is coming back to tell their story of redemption. To tell us all how great the world is on the outside without drugs and alcohol.

They talk a lot about meetings and they talk a lot about God.

I have decided that I will listen. I am here for a reason and I need to realize that my ego isn't serving me well.

Today is Erroll. I can't stand Erroll.

He is the head counselor for the extended program. The repeat offenders. The people who just don't get it the first or second time. He is a hard ass and he carries himself like his shit don't stink.

Why I am threatened by him, I'll never know.

He is the type of guy that will call you out in a roomful of people and try and make you feel small.

Today he is discussing how men have trouble expressing themselves. How society has taught men that we have to be macho. To me right now this guy is a walking talking contradiction.

I lean over to Bryce to tell him what I think about Erroll...

DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING IMPORTANT TO SAY?

I look up and his eyes are right on me.

Who? Me?

Yes YOU! Something really important?

No.

My eyes are fixed on his now. We began that fucking male bullshit dance that I have done a million times. It has now turned into something I know I won't back down from. How DARE this guy. Call ME out? Bring it.

Do you mind if I continue?

I don't care WHAT you do.

Thanks.

The amount of sarcasm on his "thanks" was as thick as pipe resin and almost as black.

I sit in my chair and I am fuming. Bryce elbows me and throws a low peace sign my way. It almost calms me.

So King Jackass is going on with his rants about men and how we are always trying to be dominant and society breeds this behavior. To tell you the truth I am not hearing any of it because I want to shove hate into his face in the form of my fists.

The irony of the situation escapes me.

He is saying something now about how men hug each other.

I am going to need a volunteer. Let's see...

I am already 100% sure that he is going to pick me. I also know a little bit about how men operate.

How about you?

He points at me with a smirk. The kind that says "see what happens when you fuck with me"

I stand up and walk to the front of the room.

I want you to hug me.

what?

I want you to hug me.

I know where he is going with this. He thinks that I won't give him a full hug. He thinks that I am the type of guy that might get scared that if I hug him too close our male parts might.actually.touch.

Think again.

I wrap my arms around him. I hold him close and I lean back and kiss him on the forehead.

I wink at him.

People laugh.

I showed him.

He pulls me back close to him and in my ear whispers:

You will never make it. You are going to be dead or in jail. Congratulations.

My victory suddenly feels very very shallow

Chapter 6

There were two pay phones at the bottom of the stairs. They had the closing doors just like the old school ones on a street corner. Those were the only two phones. There was a chalk board to write incoming messages on the wall. This was torture. Either there was a message and you missed the call or there was no message because no one called.

There was a box of tissue in each booth.

There was hope.

There were lies.

This is the LAST time I put you through this...

Most of all there were tears.

I would bet that the floors to these booths had been painted in tears a thousand times over. Each time you would walk by there would be heartbreak. Each time a not so gentle reminder of how much it hurts to be an addict and alcoholic. The people you put through hell.

Being in the booth felt like being on display. People walking in from the comedy courtyard see you behind the glass. Exposed.

You get real use to baring your emotions in rehab.

The first time I called my parents was the worst. My mom tried to be strong but she just couldn't hold it together.

We love you.

It's going to be alright.

I lie and say I know. To be honest I don't know anything. All I know is I am in a treatment center because I can't live like a normal person in the outside world. I just want to be happy.

Happy.

I want to feel loved and I want to feel in control of my life.

I think about calling her. I want to call her. I know that the worst thing I could do to myself is call her.

I call my sister instead.

********************************


Night falls and tears flow.

That is just how it has been. I am getting so lonely at night and I don't know what else to do but just cry. I have a roommate now so I spend a great deal of time in the bathroom. I take showers at night so I can cry in peace.

I don't think I have ever cried so much in my life as I did the first week in rehab.

Sitting on the floor of a shower.

weeping.

My roommate is a guy named Eric and he is from Hawaii. He is also in my small group. Eric has the most eruptive and violent temper I have ever seen. When he gets mad you can see hell brewing in his eyes. Veins the size of my fingers protrude from his neck. He is an addict. He likes to smoke crack and do lots of meth. He ran with a gang that sold drugs in Hawaii and he told wonderful bedtime stories.

It's funny when you share a common pain with someone how attached you can become. Eric and I came from different upbringing but we were addicts and alcoholics. We were brothers in that shared hell.

Money, no money. Home, no home. Black white red whatever. In here we were all the same. Even if you didn't want to come to terms with that.

I started reading the Big Book of Alcoholic Anonymous. The Lushes Bible. Big Blue. I felt like it spoke to me. The "program" relies completely on the trust and faith in a "Higher Power". Without that it means nothing.

I had made a promise 4 years earlier.

A promise I had not kept.

A promise to God.

Man am I in trouble

Chapter 5

I had just moved from a small town in California to Lake Oswego, Oregon. There could not be two more polar opposite places on earth.

I came from a town of under a thousand people. A lumber community. I came to Lake Oswego, Oregon. Lake Big Ego... Lake No Negro... whatever name you wanted to use it was all true.

I was half-way through the 4th grade.

In California my best friends were my 2 dogs and nature. We lived on a river, surrounded by nature. I played with my brother and sister and we were all very close. I loved it there. My Dad knew that it was a dead end for his kids as far as education was concerned.

My Dad.

Naval Commander.

Leader.

Heart of gold.

My favorite times were playing hide and seek with the dogs. Barney was a springer spaniel and Libby was a black lab. I would have them sit down by the river and command them to "stay". They would. My dad trained hunting dogs to listen and listen they did. I would run away and try and hide far away in the woods. I would whistle for them.

They always found me.

Happy.

I was really happy.

***************************

nice overalls!

what?

Nice overalls!

He laughed at me. I remember my next door neighbor laughing at me for wearing overalls.

Lake Oswego.

I never wore them again.

There was a good group of kids in my new neighborhood. Across the street was my best friend Brad. He would be the kid that I first drank with and had my first cigarette with.

It was a Saturday morning. We had screwdrivers. That was the first moment I can remember alcohol working its magic. It fascinated me.

Next door to me lived John and his older brother Bill. I can still hear his fathers voice screaming. I had never heard verbal or physical abuse. My parents never abused me. Never.

Never.

I remember that voice. I saw first hand what it does to a kid. What it did to John. He was the first kid I smoked pot with. I was in 4th grade.

4th grade.

He was in his backyard under his deck with another kid named Kevin from a few streets over. They had weed. I remember them showing it to me. They had it in tin foil. I had no idea what it was. I had never heard of drugs. Never. They put it in a pipe and smoked. I tried it.

Nice overalls...

I don't remember it doing much. What I do remember is the feeling that I was doing something terribly wrong and that feeling both excited and scared me at the same time.

At the very end of the street was Andy. After Brad and his family moved away, Andy was my best friend. We were brothers. He was a year younger than me. His Mom and step Dad smoked weed. They kept it under their bed and they had a bong in the closet. Andy had two much older brothers that showed us how to use that bong.

Mother Fuckers.

We smoked and got high. We slapped ice cubes around and laughed. My pilot light was lit.

Then I almost killed my best friend.

I was in 6th grade I think. He was in 5th. We had gotten into the next door neighbors house and raided their liquor cabinet.

Everclear.

Pure grain alcohol.

Whatever. I had no idea. I made Andy take a shot of it. I remember laughing at his reaction. It was like it was painful.

Ha Ha.

pain.

We locked Andy in the dog kennel and sprayed him with a hose. He was drunk. He was in 5th grade and he was drunk. We let him out and he was laughing. We walked around the house and there was a flight of concrete stairs. He fell.

face first.

He wasn't knocked out but he had a hole in his forehead. We panicked. We can't get in trouble for drinking. My parents would kill me.

We carried Andy to his house and left him shivering on his back porch.

wet and alone.

alone.

*********************************

My first day out of detox and in with the rest of the lushes and addicts was interesting. My new room was in the quads. Think about really crappy college dorm rooms and you are getting close. My day was structured. This was a first for me. In the mornings we had the opportunity to go to the local YMCA down the street. I jumped all over the chance to start lifting weights and shooting hoops.

Then breakfast.

If you got into breakfast early enough you could get a cup of caffeinated coffee. They made one pot per day. That's it. One pot. The only drug they allowed in this place was nicotine. Even if you weren't a smoker you became one. Take away an addiction and don't treat it and another will take its place.

Breakfast was so good. I hadn't had 3 square meals a day for as long as I could remember. Before each meal there was a "prayer wall" that had prayers that fellow addicts and lushes had written. Someone would pick one and read it.

Then we would eat.

I sat alone at a round table.

what's up? Mind if I sit here?

Not at all man.

His name was Bryce. Good looking kid. Tattoos. Sweats. Cool beanie. Nice shoes. Instantly my best friend. We sat and talked like we had known each other for years. He spoke my language. He knew my pain. I knew his.

His pops was famous. Tough road for a kid.

After breakfast was free time. Basically that meant everyone went out to the courtyard and smoked. We called the place the comedy courtyard because it was so damn funny to listen to people try and out "addict" that others.

So fucking what... I passed out with the needle still in my arm while driving...

Bitch that's nothin...

On and on. Its a little like real life on crack. Wait.. it IS on crack. Everyone trying to impress everyone else with who they are and what they have done. Look at how fucked up I am. I am way more fucked up then you.

I didn't go there.

I came here to get better.

I smoked my 3 cigarettes and it was off to my small group.

Now small group is where the action takes place. The blood and guts of rehab. I think my group had six guys at any one time.

My counselor was a crack addict named Adam. He was straight forward, No bull shit. Called it as he saw it. Our first assignment is to write out our addiction history. When were the first times you can remember getting loaded.

We left him shivering on his back porch...

*********************************

There was knock on my door at around 6 PM. I remember that my Grandma Anne was staying at our house and she answered the door.

Steven, the police are here and they want to talk to you.

6th grade.

I walked to the door and they asked me to come with them outside. They asked about Andy and what we had been doing. As I walked to the street I could see the lights of the ambulance.

What is happening? Is he ok?

We went down the street. The first person I see is his Mom. A moment later she sees me.

WHAT DID YOU DO YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE? WHAT DID YOU DO?

terrified.

Andy's step father had found him on the back porch.

wet and alone.

He had choked on his own vomit and was blue. My best friend was blue.

I don't know who was the one to save him but he lived. He spent some time in the hospital and he lived.

the first of so many close calls

Chapter 4

The pen shook.

I wanted to write. I wanted to be able to capture all of it somehow so I could recall it all later. The smell. The feel. The hell.

The pen shook.

I had been in detox for over 24 hours. The librium cast an uncomfortable haze that I could not shake. I want out.

Run.

I was given a journal by a friend of mine at work, Beautiful and green. On the inside cover it read:

Steve,

I believe in you. I am praying for you. You have so much to offer. See you soon


I can't stop crying. Reality has not only crept in but it has set up shop inside my head. I want to feel good about what I am doing but all I can think about is WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING??

The pen shook.

I start to write. It will be my one and only journal entry during my stay.

So this is where my life is. I am in detox at my first and I pray only rehab facility. I am alone and I can't stop shaking. I can't stop crying and I know that I can't make it through one day without a drug or a drink. I hate myself. If I had the choice to live or die right now I honestly don't know which I would choose. Jesus, I am a mess. Help

I throw up. I could have grabbed my puke tray but for some reason I want to watch it splatter all over the floor. I am hate. I am alone

******************************

The next 2 days are a blur of Librium and cigarettes.

I have memories of swearing at the nurses. I know that I called them wonderful names and asked them nicely to GIVE ME SOMETHING! ANYTHING!

They asked me if I was up to going to a morning lecture. I wanted to be anywhere but this bed.

I was able to get out of my hospital gown and put sweats on. Trace of normalcy.

I entered a room that had 50 other people in it. I felt like every eye was on me. I felt ashamed. I sat in the back and to tell you the truth I went in and out of consciousness the whole time.

Librium.

It was a blur.

Blackness...

...holding onto your Higher power

Blackness...

...power greater than yourself can restore you to sanity...

I feel the nudge against my ribs.

It's over bro. How you liking the librium?

perfect.

He laughs.

It will get better once your head clears.

I hope so cause this just sucks.

Better than the alternative.

I want to say is it? but I decide I should shut the hell up for once and keep the smart ass inside at bay.

I walk back to my detox wing for more librium and sleep.

****************************

I get a transition room before I get a room in one of the quads. The nursing staff wants to make sure the entire detox goes smoothly. All I know is I want off the detox drugs. I am having what can only be described as hallucinations and I am not enjoying them. Not one bit. I somehow feel like I am losing my mind. I have been here for 3 days I think. I have smoked 2 packs of cigarettes and I am wondering how I get more. Nicotine is my new best friend.

I fall asleep and I have nightmares. I have using nightmares. I am filled with terror in these dreams. I don't want to use but I can't stop it. It is who I am. I wake up to discover I have shit all over my bed.

addiction.

lovely.

I have to get a nurse to help me. I am a grown man and I have to go to a nurses station to tell her I have shit my bed.

I cry as I tell her.

it has to get better.

Chapter 3

Morning came. Was it all a dream? All of it? If only I could be so lucky.

February 18th, 2002

I packed a bag with everything I thought I might need and I went downstairs for a morning beer. I rolled the last of my weed into a formidable blunt for the 2 hour drive. If this was going to be my last day as an addict and lush I was going to do it right.

Shot of Jack. Beer chaser. Time to drive.

I left pretty early because I wanted to spend some of that cash I had won on Saturday. Somehow spending money makes me feel good. I guess its all part of the fucked up world I have found myself in. Just trying to kill the pain any way that I can.

My first stop is a 7-11 to get a few needed items. Can of chew. 2 packs of Camels. A forty. Laffy Taffy and sour patch kids. I crack the beer as soon as I get in the car. I look at myself in the rear view mirror.

I still hate you...

I figure I will need new "road music" and "rehab clothes" so I stop off at the mall to do some much needed shopping to try and get my mind off of what I was really doing today.

Foot Locker.

New sweats. Adidas.

2 new pairs of shoes. Adidas.

2 Beanies. Adidas.

I laugh at myself as I realize that I am actually accessorizing before going into rehab. Feels good to laugh.

Next stop is music. I need new music. I need angry angry music I tell myself. I start looking through the new music. I don't know why but angry music just really wasn't very appealing to me at this moment. I decided I would just grab a couple CDs of people I have never heard of.

The first pick was Kirk Franklin "The rebirth of Kirk Franklin". This was a far cry from angry. Something about the title of the CD grabbed me.

Rebirth.

The second CD was some guy I never heard of named Rufus Wainwright. The Cd is called "Poses" and for some reason I want to buy this because it has a song called "Cigarettes and Chocolate milk" and both sound really good to me. I would find out later that he wrote this album while going through addiction. Funny how shit works.

I hit the road once again. More beer. I light my monster blunt and I reach for numb. I start listening to this Rufus guy...

His lyrics just speak to me.

Who will keep
Keep me in this evening
Even though They are not here with me
I could be a great star
Still I'm far from happy
Finally Feel the world around me
Fighting through
fighting through the whiskey

I could be a great star
Still I'm far from happy
Out of these shadows
Comes the light
Shadows comes the light

I smoke. I drive. I try and sing along through the tears and sobs and for a moment I feel like Rufus is my friend. My friend

*******************************

I am feeling high as a kite by the time I get to my final destination. After I park my car I take a deep breath and walk in.

Can I help you?

His glasses where huge. I couldn't take my eyes off of these glasses and the magnified eyes behind them. His name was John. He had gotten sober here many years before and decided to work the front desk. He loved his job.

I am here to check in I guess...

After he got my name he walked me to an office door and walked me in. I sat down and he placed his hand on my shoulder and said "wait here".

A woman who's name I can't remember walks in and I just start feeling very uneasy. The walls feel like they are creeping ever so slowly towards me. Encasing me. Trapped.

She starts asking me questions.

I don't know why but I ignore her.

Are you high?

I find this question to somehow be insulting to me. Am I high? Am I fucking high? Hell yes I'm high!

I am a drug addict what do you think!

She asks me if she is going to need to bring someone else in the room. She is not comfortable. I feel the fire in my eyes. I feel the fear inside. Emotion. She brings in another man. A very very large man. She gets no more attitude.

They explain that I will be going up to the detox wing where I will be spending the next few days. They inform me that They will be going through all of my stuff and taking away anything that I am not allowed to have. No outside reading material. No hair gel because it contains alcohol. Like I am going to drink my hair gel...

addiction.

I meet the nurses. They take my picture. I ask if I could see it.

hideous. Copper spiked hair. unshaven. pale. Blood shot eyes. defeated

I started my mix of detox meds. Librium. Wonderful Librium. Librium is a benzodiazepine or a Benzo that is used for anxiety and is basically a central nervous system depressant. It isn't a drug I would take recreationally. It gels you. It is a staple drug for alcohol detox. Side effects are confusion and vomiting. I know both of these too well all ready.

They take blood and urine samples. They test the level of drugs in my system. They show me my bed. They tell me to sleep. Good luck

I need a cigarette. I need a drink. I need something.

I get up and go to the "smoking room". It is a room the size of a closet that has a big vent and fan. I think I lost a year of my life just being in the room. I stepped out of the room and I heard the screaming...

FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU!

calm down Mom. We love you...

FUCK YOU! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS!!

tears and heartbreak. Last hope.

I look in the room and saw a very frail woman. She must have been in her 70's. She was screaming at the top of her lungs at what appeared to be her daughter and son. They were crying and she was cursing them out.

As I passed the room her eyes caught mine...

HELP ME YOU FUCKER!

I'm right with ya. Help me.

I enter back into the detox wing just as another addict is walking out with the "Librium Stare"... blank. As he passes me I see he is covered in his own shit.

welcome home.

Chapter 2

His office was cold.

Joe ran the Portland office of Serenity Lane and the outpatient portion of their treatment program. He was a gentle soft spoken man and I felt like I could trust him.

Is it alright if I ask you some questions, Steve?

Yeah...

The purpose of the questions is to figure out what treatment program will best suit your needs.

That's fine...

What is your drug of choice?

Alcohol mostly...

How often do you drink?

Every day...

How much?

I don't know... A pint.. A fifth.. Quite a bit

Do you ever blackout?

I laugh. Do I ever blackout? I blackout all the time. I usually drink until I do.

Do you do any other drugs?

Yes... I smoke a lot of weed. Coke. Pain pills. Ecstasy... Depends...

Depends on what?

What is in front of me. I don't do needles... (I say this proudly like it is some sort of accomplishment)

How much?

I smoke pot daily. Do coke quite a bit. Lots of pills when I can. I just do whatever...

The questions continue for what seems like forever. I answer them all honestly because I don't see how lying about it now is going to do anything for me. Inside it actually feels good to admit what I have been doing. I don't know if anyone else knows how bad it's gotten. So much pain. I feel as if I have been watching my life fall apart in slow motion and I can't stop it. So many times I woke up (blacked in?) saying that I would never get this messed up again. Ever. Then that beast inside of me starts clawing at my insides... Feed me. Feed me. Feed me. I would cave to that every time. Addiction.

Lovely

More questions. More answers. Joe sat back and looked at me sincerely.

Steve, I can have a bed for you tomorrow.

Reality has a way of slapping you in the face sometimes.

Tomorrow?

I really think that you need to get into in-patient treatment as soon as possible. It is obvious to me that you need it.

I really want to start but I have a gig on Saturday night. Can I start Monday?

You really have to decide what is important. I am fearful that you won't make it. That you will continue drinking and get into a car or change your mind. I think you should go as soon as you can.

The voices start. I still think I have control. I still think that I can choose what is best for me. I think that Monday is best. I want to play on Saturday... After all, I have been planning to play for a while...

Joe wasn't happy with my choice. My arrogance and sickness still let me believe that it was MY choice.

Steve, I want you to still continue to do what you have been doing. Don't stop drinking because there can be issues of trying to detox without proper medical attention. It can be dangerous or even fatal.

None of this even registers with me.

I sign up for in-patient treatment. Rehab. I can't believe I am going to rehab.

*********************************************

The next few days are business as usual. I drink. I smoke. I tell myself that this is my last hurrah... it sounds sick. It is sick. I am sick.

Friday night I drink a fifth of Jack. I am terrified that I am going to rehab. I haven't told my parents. I don't know what to say. I have a dinner date with them on Sunday. I guess I will cross that bridge when I get to it.

I wake up sometime during the night because I am nauseous. I blackout over the toilet bowl and wake up on the floor later. My head hurts. Must have hit it on the way down.

Can't wait to play.

That night was wonderful. I drank free beer and played to a pub full of people. Most everyone from my job knew I was going to rehab so they all showed up to send me off. A very weird vibe. Must have really been sick to watch me drink and play and drink and play. and drink. and drink. and drink.

Always the entertainer.

I finished playing and instead of talking with people I decided to play video poker. I ended up winning. And winning. and winning. By the end of the night I was drunk out of my mind and I had close to three grand in my pocket. I don't even want to try and decipher that one...

I told many people "Goodbye"... some of them cried... I just wanted to go home.

***********************************

I met my parents at a Chinese restaurant in downtown Portland. They knew that something was wrong and I could feel their fear. We ordered food and I just had to come right out with it.

I am going away for a while.

What?

I am going to get help. I am going to rehab.

My Mom cried.

My Naval Commander Father cried.

I felt like the worst son in the world.

They had so many questions and I just didn't want to answer any of them. I just wanted to tell them and just run. Run. I can always run.

We ate in silence. My Dad looked at me with tears in his eyes.

Steve, don't ever let anyone tell you that prayers don't work... I have been praying for this moment for a long, long time.

My heart broke.


We said our tearful goodbye and I told my parents to let the rest of the family know after I was gone. I can't go through this right now. It is just too much.

I just couldn't sit at home alone. I was going crazy. I called my friend Sam from work. Sam was a guy who sat behind me and was a very strong Christian and a man who always told me I was better than what I had become. I was drawn to him at this moment. I needed to feel a non-judgmental heart.

Sam and his wife sat with me on their couch. I asked if they had anything to drink. I was shaking. This is what I had become.

I cried.

I cried on Sam's shoulder for a long time and He just held me and said that everything was going to be alright.

We prayed

Chapter 1

Warm.

The water flowed over my body and mixed with the bile in my mouth. Naked and curled on the shower floor, I once again tried to piece together exactly where I was.

Who I was.

I vomited again and tasted the familiar mix of Jack Daniels and my own stomach acid.

Welcome to Tuesday.

I dried myself off and checked the clock. 6:23 A.M. I shouldn't have any problem making it to work. The toothpaste was a welcome companion to the current hell that was raging in my mouth. I rinsed my mouth for the third time and once again confronted the person I hated in the mirror.

Empty.

my eyes were empty.

Blood red and empty.

As I inched closer to the reflection the familiar rage surfaced and those same blood red eyes seared with anger.

"I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

"I hate you..."


*********************************

The drive to work was like most other weekdays. My head pounded and I actually moved in and out of darkness. The ritual was the same. Enter car. Turn on car. Load pipe. First gear. High ho High ho its off to work I go. I am one horrendous crash waiting to ruin the lives of whomever is unlucky enough to meet me on the road at 7 A.M. I welcome that thought.

Every car I pass, every tree, every solid object becomes a daydream.

Just one quick turn of the wheel. No pain

The weed really hasn't helped the pounding in my head so a couple Vicadin should at least make the start of my work day bearable.

As I sat waiting for the light to turn green I didn't even notice the tears. Slowly at first they came. I had cried before but something was different today.

I couldn't stop.

"What are you going to do now?"

"What are you going to do now?"

"WHAT are you going to do now?"

over and over in my head.

"FUCK!"

"What are you going to do now?"

I hate you...

I drove through the tears. I drove through the anger. I drove through the pain. By the time I pulled into the parking lot I was a wreak. I sat in my car wondering if I should just turn around and go home. How much more of this could I take. I have to make a decision one way or the other.

Live.

Die.

I hate myself but I hate the pain even more.

I walk towards the front door, take a deep breath and walk inside. One more decision to make.

Take a right to my desk or turn left and walk into the office of my boss.

"What are you going to do now?"

over and over in my head.

I didn't even knock on his door for fear that in that split second I might change my mind. I just barged in on him as he was talking on the phone. He took one look at my face and ended his phone call gracefully.

I am a drug addict and an alcoholic and I need to get out of here.

I still can't believe I hear myself saying this.

"Are you serious?"

"I am going to die. I need help."

The fear and the tears must have been enough to convince him that I was serious. He was on the phone in a matter of seconds.

There is no turning back