Chapter 41

Saturdays in rehab.

Less meetings more arts and crafts.

In one hand I have a pair of scissors and in the other a glue stick. I look at Cozmo and we have to just laugh. A pair of grown men with scissors and glue sticks looking through magazines for images to cut out.

Now I have been in situations like this a million times. Having to do something that I don't want to do or don't feel like is worthwhile for me to be doing. I know that I have a choice here. I can bitch and moan or I can just suck it up and partake in a little Arts and Crafts.

What the hell, it's not like I am going to get the chance to do this very often. I mean, I am a musician, an artist. This shit is my forte!

Others in our Saturday Arts and Crafts group are not agreeing with my "Hey lets be kids again" outlook. There is the smell of revolt in the air.

It comes in the form of a blonde girl. Fake blonde, but blonde just the same.

The chick with the roots is straight up trouble.

There is no absolute proof but most of us, in our hearts, feel that she is the one responsible for the Anti-Jew comments in Fred's Big Book. She puts up a fight with everything in here.

The food sucks.

The people suck.

You suck.

On and on. I don't let it phase me because at this point I could really care less. What she does to others in here is not my business.

This is so fucking stupid! What, are we like three year olds?

With arms crossed she makes her stand.

Why don't you just try to put together your collage and see what you come up with?

The guy leading our Arts and Crafts is a new counselor. I only see him on Saturdays. He lead us last weekend in meditation. What fun that was!

All of us in a room laying on the floor listening to Yanni.

There are some moments in here that are just priceless. Meditation day ranks up there.

Chick with the roots fought him on this day also. No big shocker.

The best part about it is the amount of snoring that goes on during meditation time. People tend to get real comfortable. There is nothing more spiritual then snoring during meditation.

Last week the snoring guy next to me actually farted.

As if the Yanni didn't stink enough.

It is really tough to get back to your happy place after something like that happens.

So here he is again with a room of addicts and alcoholics trying to get us to make collages that describe ourselves. I can tell that this isn't exactly what he had pictured in his mind as he was going to school to get his masters.

Things aren't always what they are made out to be.

I am not fucking doing this!

She is a woman that is trying to get attention in any way that she can. Not one of us in the room gives a damn if she joins us or not and we let her know. Almost in unison we give her the "Who cares" or "just SHUT UP". It makes us laugh.

We all just ignore the "Fuck You" that follows. You get real use to this phrase. When you take away whatever it is we are addicted to we can get pretty nasty. Everyone in here has gotten ugly at one point or another.

Some admit to it and try and get better and others just fight everything and you know that the second they leave they will be right back at it.

The chick with the roots is going to be right back at it. She is a bar chick. She is that girl that spends all of her time getting free drinks off men and treating them like they might have a chance at gettin' lucky. I always laughed at these girls in bars. They are the ones that think they get sexier the more they drink. To me there just isn't anything sexier then a woman that slurs. Get these girls in a group and you can have a whole night of entertainment just watching them. These are the same girls that end up crying and not being able to walk at the end of the night.

I laugh about it but her pain is the same as mine. I still sit here in rehab and judge her.

I'm no better.

I just shut her out for now.

Arts and Crafts is fun as fun gets in rehab. I thumb through magazines and cut out words and pictures and compare mine with Cozmo's. I don't really want to be doing this and really don't see how it is going to help, but I am not here to argue.

I am here to listen and learn.

Learn about myself.

Chapter 40

It's been really nice to get into a routine for once. I love going to the gym and working out. It has taken the edge off quite a bit. Being sober for 3 weeks hasn't taken that knot in my stomach away at all.

I still think about drinking every day. Every hour. Sometimes it feels like every minute. Keeping focused is the only way that it goes away or feels manageable. I can already tell that this choice that I have made is going to be one of the most difficult.

Cozmo and I talk about it every night while playing cribbage. How we are gonna do this when we actually get out of here.

In here it's almost easy.

I wake up and go workout. I come back and have a hot meal just waiting for me. I eat my fill and go smoke a couple cigarettes with my fellow junkies and lushes. I spend some time talking with the beautiful Lacy, which has been a highlight as of late. Then it is a day full of groups. Small group, men's group, morning group, one on one, night meetings, off campus meetings, on site meetings, more working out, more eating, more smoking and it is like that every day.

All right in front of me.

In here though, someone is telling me what to do and when to do it. When I leave it is entirely up to me.

Just me.

me.

That is the thought that makes me sweat at night and lose sleep. See, I know myself. I know my track record when it comes to difficult things. I can run when it gets tough.

The problem is I know where I will end up if I decide to drink or drug again. It isn't hard for me to play that tape back in my head.

I am not like other people. I don't think about having a drink.

A drink, as in ONE drink.

I think of it in terms of a bottle and what that will do to me. What it will kill. What it will shut down inside my mind. The second alcohol enters my body all bets are off. I can't tell you where I will end up or what I will do. It is one giant game of Russian roulette and just as life threatening.

Non-alcoholics just don't understand this and I really can't blame them because it sounds so crazy. Why the hell can't you just stop?

I can't because I have a disease. This is what they tell me here. I have a disease. One that has been acknowledged by the medical community as a real and tangible disease that will kill me if left untreated.

The hell that comes with it is what drives me crazy. The complete loss of control even when I try my hardest to control it. It owns me. It has my soul.

I know that if I put my hand on the stove it will burn me. I know without a doubt that is what will happen. I can see in front of me the red hot coils of the stovetop. I can feel the heat as my hand gets closer.

I can't stop myself from putting my hand directly on it. I just can't. Even as I smell my own flesh burning and feel the pain that this action causes me every single time, I just can't stop.

That is addiction.

Sometimes the stove isn't as hot and it takes a while for the pain to reach me. In my experience, though, it always will reach me. I always end up in the same place sooner or later.

Looking at myself in the mirror and hating the person that I see.

Chapter 39

I know who is at my door before I even open it.

The timid knock tells me that Tattoo Eric is paying me a visit. I love Eric. He is one of those guys that you just can't judge by his outward appearance.

Full sleeves of tattoos. Skinhead. Not an ounce of fat on him. I bet that outside of these walls some people would avoid him. The beautiful thing about rehab is the diversity of people. All of us here for the same reason and forced to all be together.

The truth is it works. Take away all of the outside world crap and we are all the same. In here we aren't judged by our color, our social status, our high paying jobs or where we are from. We are all broken.

Every last one of us.

In here we get to know each other. We get to walk through hell.

I invite Eric in.

He has this different look on his face. I can't really place what it means. It is a look that is a little confused, a little amazed, almost in awe.

What's up Eric?

I just wanted to come and thank you for what you did, for that praying.

Any time Bro. We are in this together.

Eric looks me straight in the eye.

He is going to make it. He is going to live.

He is talking about his little cousin. The kid that was shot in the head and not expected to live. The kid we all prayed about.

The Doctors don't know how he pulled through.

In Eric's mind there wasn't a doubt as to what did it.

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

I have about a week left in rehab and to tell you the truth I am scared to death to leave. I feel strong in here. I am with people that understand what I am going through.

Temptation is not in my face.

I have been talking to my counselor Adam about staying for a month longer. Going into the extended program with Erroll.

I can't believe that I am actually thinking about doing this. I hated this guy when I first met him but I actually see the truth behind his ways. He cares enough to not take any shit.

They tell us that only 10 percent actually achieve long term sobriety.

Ten percent. I can't believe they actually admit to this. I think about this figure in terms of the people in here.

In my small group that means only one of us. Out of all the people here I would say that less then ten of us are going to be clean and sober in the future.

This is the reason why I want to stay longer. I need a fighting chance at this. I tell myself that I am not going to come this far and through this much pain to fail and go through it all again.

Failing after all this would hurt worse than anything.

I see guys in here that are on their third or fourth time through. Tattoo Eric is one of them.

I tell myself that I am going to do whatever it takes to stay clean and sober. I will listen to whatever they tell me to do in here.

I start saying the same prayer at the start of every day.

Father God, please give me the strength to stay clean and sober today.

short and sweet.

At night I say Thank you.

Thank you God for one more day free from the hell I have been in.

Amen.

With all my heart, Amen.

Chapter 38

People look at a New Year as a fresh start, a time of new hope. A new year holds dreams yet attained, love yet to be discovered and life yet to be lived.

A new year for me is 365 more days of hurt.

The reality, the true reality, that I can't stop drinking and doing drugs is something that is with me every hour of every day. I know that it is just a matter of time before I find myself without hope.

Maybe hell eternal isn't as far away as I think.

My drinking is no longer killing any pain. I can't blackout fast enough. I know that I have lost control.

Some mornings I actually find myself behind the wheel on my way to work and I don't actually remember waking up. I know that I am not going to get any better. I know that sooner or later by my own hand or the hand of fate I am going to die.

There isn't a single doubt in my mind.

The worst part about it is I really don't care. I hate myself. I live a life full of lies. I try my best to put up the front that I have my shit together. I did this when I was married. I wanted everyone to think that I had the best marriage in the world. I want everyone to think that it must be so much fun to be me. You can fool people for a long, long time.

I know in my heart that I haven't fooled God. I know that He has always seen through me. I have felt Him my whole life and for the most part I have denied Him. I have taken and never given.

Serving God was just never popular enough to gain my attention.

After all, what the hell was in it for me.

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

If ever there was a Holiday I hated with a passion it would be Valentines Day. A Holiday designed to make people feel like shit.

I know that this year is going to be no exception for me. All this hell I have been through with Krista just weighs on my heart. It is Monday the 11th of February and Thursday looms like a death sentence.

I am so sick and fucking tired of feeling so empty, so alone. I am tired of the hate, tired of the pain, tired of this life that I live.

I often wonder what goes through the head of the lady that works in the liquor store by my house. She knows my name.

The liquor store lady knows my name.

She sees me more than all of my family combined. She sells me the very thing that is killing me and I can't imagine that she doesn't know it.

Not her problem.

I know this feeling well. It isn't my problem. The shit I am going through is a result of the cards I have been dealt.

It's not my fault.

There comes a time when you have to look at yourself. Just you. Not the broken relationships. Not the heartache. Not the people that you feel have wronged you.

Just

you.

What do you see?

All I see is powerless. I am powerless over my own damn life. I have looked in every dark corner for happiness. I have tried everything the world can offer.

Sex drugs and rock and roll.

What bullshit.

I sit with that bottle of Jack Daniels and I drink. I drink because I don't know any other way of living. I drink because my body screams for it. I drink because I hate myself. I hate myself for not being stronger.

I drink until my world goes black.

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

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.