Why Recovery with the 12 steps?

Addicts are very untrusting people. We had to be. Most of our character defects were assets at one time. Lack of trust is one of those defect/assets. You see, at one time we had to be on guard 24 hours a day 7 days a week. We were doing things that were very illegal and our acquaintances were very rarely on the up and up. We had to be wary of everyone and everything. Most addicts will tell you that they have purchased what they thought to be drugs, but turned out to be candle wax, sheetrock, table salt, sugar, vitamin C, or even sometimes legitimate looking pharmaceuticals that were made out of nothing but filler. It is in our nature to be untrusting after being screwed over so many times by dealers. Unfortunately, dealers aren't the only ones out to get one over on you. Sometimes your fellow addict "friends" will try and hustle you. Sometimes an addict will take a friends dope then help the friend look for it because they think they lost it. Sometimes a friend will give you $40 to go get a bag and you always take a little off the top. We justify it by saying it costs me time and money to go get it. Of course they use that same line when they bring the dope back and talk the friend into giving them a little more after they have taken their cut off the top already. The point is that we are untrusting.
When first trying to get clean addicts will not want to believe what these strange people in a 12 step meeting are saying. "You never have to use again" or "I have been clean for X number of years" are common things heard that an addict just can't fathom. I know I couldn't. I could not keep from using for a few hours, much less decades. How is it possible for people to quit dope. The 12 steps are definitely a viable way to get clean, stay clean, and live a life that one can be proud of.
My first introduction to the 12 steps was around 2001. I didn't actually get clean till 2002 but, something stuck out to me in that first meeting. The first thing is that people came up to me and talked to me like I was a human being deserving of actual conversation. The second thing was that these people cared and told me to keep coming back. No one wants an addict to be around them yet these people wanted me to come back.
As I kept coming back and finally stopped all use of drugs (including alcohol), I saw that the people that really had what I wanted all had a few things in common. They attended meetings regularly, they had a sponsor, they worked the 12 steps (over and over and over), and they did service work. My thinking was that if they are doing it and they are happy then maybe I can get that happiness they have by doing the same thing. That is exactly what I did.
If you would have asked me to paint you a picture of all I wanted out of life when I first got clean, I would have sold myself short of the actual life I eventually found. My expectations were exceeded 100 fold. Recovery does that. The way the steps work is quite interesting. At first the steps are about understanding your addiction and trying to arrest the things that keep you using, but after a while the steps are about nurturing the things that make you a better person. It took a long time to realize that the drugs were not the problem, they were the outward manifestation of the problem that lies inside of me. Addiction is not about substances, it is about the obsession and compulsion to change the way I feel by any means necessary. It is about the screwed up way my brain has been wired after years of drug use. It is about the survival skills I couldn't let go of after I didn't need to just survive anymore. Addiction is about all the things that keep me from reaching my full potential.
The 12 steps teach me about being a better person. Are there other ways to find recovery without the 12 steps? Sure there is! Do I believe the 12 steps are the best way? I sure do. To each their own, but why try something that hasn't been proven to work when there is something right here for free that we know works. Millions upon Millions have found recovery through the 12 steps. Today my life is a gift. It is a gift because I didn't earn it. It was freely given to me without any expectation of repayment. The only thing I have truly earned is a seat in a 12 step fellowship. I put in the blood sweat and tears to get that seat. Everything after that is a gift.

Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have - life itself. - Walter Anderson

The next right thing

Doing the Next Right Thing

Part of being in recovery means changing almost everything about yourself. As a drug addict, my Modus Operandi was lying, cheating, and stealing. My feelings were either "I'm on top of the world" or "please kill me." This is not a life that anyone wants. When I first entered recovery in 2002 I took all the suggestions that were given to me, except the no relationships for a year suggestion. I wanted to be something other than a junky. I changed everything from my habits, words, thoughts, actions, and eventually my feelings. When it comes to feelings there is more than two emotions. We are very capable of feelings besides good and bad. Feelings are neither good nor bad. They are a response to an event. They cannot kill us and they cannot dictate your actions. Changing my feelings took a lot longer than the other things, but there is a simple recipe to changing all of it. A summary of changing your life can be said in the phrase "do the next right thing!" It sounds so simple yet it can be so hard at times.

If I am walking down the street and the gentleman in front of me drops his wallet and doesn't realize it, what do I do? The right thing is to pick it up and tell him that he dropped his wallet while handing it back to him. The thing that I automatically want to do is to pick it up, see how much money is in it, then throw it in the trash. Do the right thing.

I was in Walmart one time and grabbed a water out of the cooler before I went shopping. I had every intention of paying for the water, but forgot about it by the time I checked out. I had driven a good 4 miles from the store before I realized what I had done. The wrong thing would have been to keep driving and relish in the fact that I got one over on a big corporation. The right thing, which I did, was to turn around, go back into the store, and walk to a register and tell them I forgot to pay for the item. And obviously pay for it. Do the right thing.

Doing the right thing feels strange at first. It is almost like being on a strange planet where nothing seems to be quite right. After doing the right thing for a while it begins to become second nature until your first thought when something happens is the right thing. Doing the right thing becomes as automatic as breathing.

I can't say that I do not do the wrong thing sometimes because I do. My relapse was doing the wrong thing, but I learn from my experiences. Today, I am having to learn how to do the right thing over again. It is a slow process, but it pays off in the end.

Integrity is doing the right thing, even when no one is watching. - C. S. Lewis
 



Fun? Ever?

Is There Fun After Drugs?

One of the most common questions I have heard since discovering 12-step fellowships is "How can I have fun without drugs?" I have asked that same question. After all, didn't drugs make us have fun? The question is faulty though. The question assumes that drugs caused us to have fun. Addict memory is a funny thing. We remember "good times" and forget bad times. It has more to do with the brains communication with itself that it does with just being a dumbass. Drug addicts really can't help it when it comes to drug memories. Maybe I will write about hyper-memory and the brain system in another post. Our inability to remember the bad times may cause us to think that the "good times" was all we had on drugs. If we were to watch a film of our life as drug addicts we would see that 95% of the times were not good. I can't say that I never had good times on drugs because I did. What I can say is that the good times weren't caused by the drugs. I was the reason for the good times, I just happened to be high when I had them. Drugs numb our senses and dull our emotions. If anything drugs kill the idea of fun. Someone will always say, I am so shy and have no confidence, some dope or a stiff drink always loosened me up where I could talk to others. Perhaps they did. Drugs serve a purpose and they accomplish that purpose. Maybe the drug reduces anxiety or increases empathy. Either way the drug didn't cause the fun. It only caused you to relax enough to have fun. Maybe you need some relaxation techniques OR, and this is a biggy, you need to change your idea of what fun is.

I used to believe fun was getting so high that I passed out or vomited. I used to believe that fun was driving around town fucked up like Cooter Brown. I used to believe that slowly killing myself was fun. All those beliefs were wrong. Going fishing is fun, taking a vacation with a loved one is fun, taking an afternoon walk is fun, going to a movie is fun, killing myself is not fun. The 12 steps have taught me that everything I thought I knew about how to live life needs to be looked at. Maybe not everything I knew was wrong, but there is definitely some things that need to be changed, including my idea of fun. Today, fun is spending time with my beautiful fiancé. It is fishing or taking my stepson to go shoot guns (I do live in the South). Fun is being clean.






Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one. - Dr. Seuss

A day in the Life Of

A Day in the Life Of an Addict

So you have seen the "Basketball Diaries" or "Trainspotting" and you think you know what it is like to be an addict. You don't. While both of those movies are great movies and do touch on some very real aspects of being a heroin addict, they do not encompass all that it involves. Being an addict is not nearly so glamorous. An addict usually wakes up earlier than they planned (depending on the drugs they use), because the sickness of withdrawal starts to kick in while you are still asleep. If you happen to have some dope left from the night before, which is hardly ever, you immediately reach to the nearest table or drawer and grab your kit. A junky will never be very far from his dope and rig. A rig is slang for an insulin syringe. As fast as he can put the dope in the spoon, squirt 40 units of water in it, do a quick heating with the lighter, and tie off with anything that can help him find his veins, He will take a shot and feel better. But, like I said, that hardly ever happens. What is most likely is that he will wake up, begin to feel sick, and immediately start using the phone to hustle some money. A junky will lie to anyone if it comes down to being sick or getting well. The sickness is to be avoided at all costs. It is to be feared more than death because unlike death, the sickness doesn't end immediately. It goes on until you either get high or go through the worst 6 days of your life. After making phone calls to friends (if he still has any), loved ones (if they will answer the phone anymore), or anyone he can think of to ask for money, he begins the daily grind. Perhaps he talked one of his family members into giving him $20 for some bogus medication he said he needed for some made up health problem. Maybe they gave him $40 so he could pay off a fine that he never actually intends to pay. More than likely they all said "NO!" Then the junky will beg, borrow, or steal. Some might turn to prostitution, but I can tell you there is not much market for a moderately overweight male in the world of the sex trade. The junky, probably not having much left in his home to pawn, will take your stuff and pawn it. Maybe he borrowed it or maybe he stole it. Either way it was about to be traded for $40 even though it was probably worth $200. By this time it was close to lunch and the sickness was really starting to set in. After running around town all morning trying to hustle some money, the junky is really needing to get his fix or the sickness will be too much for him to continue to get out and about. I have been so sick that I was unable to walk outside. It gets that bad. If the junky was lucky enough to get $40 he will put $5 worth of gas in his car, and try and talk the dope man into cutting him a deal. Maybe he will ask for 2 packs of heroin for $30 where they usually cost $40. If he gets lucky he will get a pack of cigarettes too and have enough change left over for a can of Coca-Cola. As soon as he calls the dope dealer he will have to meet him somewhere. Most of the time they say they will call you back in 5 minutes and it will be 6 minutes later and the junky is calling him back asking where is he. This goes back and forth for anywhere from 20 minutes to 5 hours. Dope dealer time is the most fucked up time system in the world. 10 minutes can mean 3 hours and right around the corner can mean 75 miles from the city you are in. Eventually the dealer tells you to meet him at a gas station, a parking lot, or in the middle of a street. You instantly start feeling better once you know he is meeting you. You meet him, don't say anything, but hand him the money. You get your dope and try to get as far away from the spot you bought from to fix up. You never make it more than a block before you pull over and get high on the side of the road. I have been so sick and anxious before that I spilled the dope all over me from my hands shaking. The junky fixes up and instantly the world is great again. Life is good, everyone loves you, couldn't be better. That lasts for around 3 hours and then the whole process starts over again so you don't have to be sick before you cop again. You usually end up getting high again around 8pm to help you get to sleep again. If you hustled enough you might have enough for a morning shot, but hey, fuck it, mine as well do a double shot tonight. A junky never lives for the future, only the moment. I guess he lives that way because none of us are really sure if we will live to see tomorrow. Life isn't that important, only getting high is important.

Does this sound cool? Sound like fun? I promise it is not. Your whole existence is based around getting high and then not even enjoying the high because you are already worrying about when you will run out again. And the high is never good again. It pretty much just takes the sickness away. Today, when I go home, I lay down on my bed with a beautiful woman who loves me and know that I didn't have to get high today. Even if I had the shittiest day, I know that it can never be as bad as the days of addiction were. I am truly grateful for life today.

 "When you're on junk you have only one worry: scoring. When you're off it you are suddenly obliged to worry about all sorts of other shite. Got no money: can't get pissed. Got money: drinking too much. Can't get a bird: no chance of a ride. Got a bird: too much hassle. You have to worry about bills, about food, about some football team that never fucking wins, about human relationships and all the things that really don't matter when you've got a sincere and truthful junk habit." - Mark "Rent-Boy" Renton, "Trainspotting" 



After rehab part 1

Rehab Part I and II

If you would have asked me during the days leading up to my discharge from rehab if I was going to use again, you would have received an emphatic NO! I truly believed that I was never going to use again. I had the desire and what I thought was the willingness. The disease of addiction is very cunning. It twists your thinking. It can make you truly believe that you aren't ever going to use again, but at the same time convince you that there is nothing you have to do to prevent from using again. That is exactly what it did to me. Addiction told me that I didn't have to start going back to meetings regularly, I didn't have to use my sponsor regularly, and I sure as hell didn't have to be a newcomer to the 12 steps again. After all, I had worked them before.
 It was about 2 weeks before I relapsed on heroin. My girlfriend knew the instant she saw me that I was high. After lying all night about being high I told her the truth. Needless to say she was pissed. During the period of roughly a year, I used on and off again. Sometimes it was nitrous oxide, sometimes it was Kratom, but all the time the desire to get high was there. It wasn't long before I remembered a place I had checked out before on the internet that was like the EBay of drug dealers. It was a website that resided in the Dark Web. For those who are naïve to the Dark Web, It is a collection of websites that a user can access with the use of a torrent browser. The websites don't have traditional names like www.buydrugshere.com. The websites have addresses like sdfgk345t.ewfnh4.onion. They are not names that one can easily find or remember. These websites are maintained in the Dark Web to provide an anonymous internet experience. Things are bought and sold on the Dark Web that would curl your toes. Everything from child porn, murder for hire, fake documents, illegal weapons, to drugs like heroin and meth. The website that I went to was very similar in layout to EBay. There were categories of drugs and within each category were subcategories. I happened to frequent the opiates category. Within that category there were listings from 98% heroin #4, Oxycontin, opium, to Dilaudid and Fentanyl. If it is a drug that will get you high, this website had it. Now if you are anything like I was, my biggest concerns were getting caught or getting scammed. Both of these were addressed within the website. Sellers had a feedback system just like EBay. Good feedback meant a good seller, bad feedback meant likely scammers. I was never scammed. On this website, money was never transacted so to say. All transaction were made using a form of currency called Bitcoin. Bitcoin is a virtual currency that fluctuates much like the Dollar or the Stock Market. You would make the purchase, deposit the Bitcoins into an escrow account, and wait for your drugs. If they arrived, you released the Bitcoins to the buyer from the

escrow account. If it didn't arrive you contacted a moderator, they looked at the transaction, then would release the funds back to you from the escrow account.                                                  (now defunct Silk Road Website)
 The sellers used a lot of good stealth packaging. Everything from bike parts to lint rollers were used to hide your drugs during shipping. This endless supply of drugs was what landed me in rehab for a second time. I must say that although my habit never got to the levels it did the last time, the pain of addiction had multiplied exponentially. I was mentally,
emotionally, and spiritually broken down. When I              
 walked back into the same rehab a year later, I was completely ready for something different. I had come to the realization that I could not recover from addiction on my own. I did not have all the answers, I did not know how to stay clean anymore, and I really didn't know how to live like a normal person anymore. The first 3 weeks in rehab were spent sitting alone and crying, a lot. I would cry before lunch, when taking a piss, after a shower, and when the sun would rise. I cried pretty much all the time. It wasn't until my support system, loved ones and family, let me know they would be there for me yet again that I finally came out of the fog. I stayed 89 days in treatment. I was supposed to stay 90 days, but shit, what rebellious drug addict doesn't try to buck the system until the last possible minute. So I left a day early.

I made 90 meetings in 90 days while I was in treatment, actually it was more like 115 in 90 days, but the point is that I had willingness this time. It was something I really didn't have before. I was willing to not feel pain before, but never willing to do the necessary things to avoid that pain. Now I was. After getting out I continued going to meetings regularly and started the process of working the 12 steps again with my sponsor. So, here I sit, typing a blog about addiction and recovery. This is only a very small part of my story. Before my relapse there was 11 1/2 years of being clean and before that around 7-8 years of drug use. Maybe one day I will get to that, but today this is where I am. Now that introductions are out of the way, I can start moving forward and blog about something besides my stupid decision.

Strength and growth come only through continuous effort and struggle.- Napoleon Hill

 



Real Life Today

Real Life Today

 

I am going to stray from the usual to talk about today. Today I am clean, but I make very poor decisions from time to time. I am in a relationship with a wonderful woman. I try all the time to do everything to make her happy and to make her secure, but I fail sometimes. Sometimes it is because I am not paying attention to her needs, other times it is due to selfishness. Either way I sometimes fall short of my goal. Last night was one of those nights. We are in the process of moving and we both took out loans to pay debt and cover moving expenses. I took out a loan on my fishing boat so I could replace the broken trolling motor and replace the older dry-rotted seats and also pay off my $3700 debt. We borrowed some money from my mom, $1200 to be exact, with the promise we would pay it back. We did pay it back from the loan that my fiancé took out. My mom, being the codependent woman she is, told me that she would pay off the last of my debt, $650, and give me $550 to last me till the end of the month. I just started a new job with monthly pay so I am having to rely on dear old Mom for help till my first whole paycheck. Mom asked me to keep the money our little secret. I honestly didn't care if my fiancé found out. I really didn't. She happened to be looking through my text messages and saw the texts between me and my mom. Understandably she was pissed and hurt. From her perspective she saw a mother and son keeping secrets from her. I completely understand where she is coming from. I, on the other hand, realize the err of my ways by not telling her about the money. My problem is that I didn't see the need in telling her since my mom would have given it to me anyways to help till the end of the month. I guess now that I look back, the fact that it being a secret was even brought up should have tipped me off to why I should tell my fiance. I care so deeply about her and would never do something to hurt her on purpose, but that doesn't mean that I never hurt her. I am a class-A fuckup. I do stupid shit all the time and don't even realize it. The point of this post is to say that no matter what we do, sometimes we mess up. It is a fact of life. Where I go wrong is that after I mess up and am truly sorry for what I did, I forget that it happened. Not by choice, but by unfortunate memory. Without fail, I do the same thing again and we start the whole yelling, cursing, screaming, throwing things merry go round all over again. It is important that when we fuck up, or our partner fucks up, we try not focus on the bad. It is easy to think of your partner as a piece of shit when they do something bad, but when we are angry our brains push out the 125 great things they did for us that same week. Our brain turns every positive into a negative. If we cool off, give ourselves a few minutes, hours, or even days to think about the situation rationally, most of the time we see that it is something that we could easily work through together. I write this as I am unsure of my relationship at the moment. I put her through hell, twice, and while I have gotten 95% better and more spiritual, there is 5% that screws me over every time. At what point is a mistake a mistake and at what point is a mistake someone just not caring anymore?

 

Truth is everybody is going to hurt you: you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for. - Bob Marley
 

Am I Ready?

Am I Ready?

 

I had just seen my life crash down around me. I had lost a lot of my possessions, lost any respect I had in the community, and now had lost the trust and bond I had with my girlfriend. The sad part was that I still wasn't convinced I couldn't just stop using. I figured I could just quit whenever I wanted I just needed time. After all that I had been through I had to still get high. The few days after the warrants were a blur. I remember getting honest, partially, with those around me. I told them I had a drug problem. They, with the help of a great friend and therapist, persuaded me to go to rehab. I remember the day before I was going to rehab. I met with Jane to score one last bit of dope. I met her, got the dope, and she wished me good luck. She was crying when I left her because she felt that she was the reason I was a junky again. I told her I chose to get high, which I did. That was pretty much the last time I ever saw Jane.

That next morning my Mother and Step-father took me to a town around 60 miles away. There was a treatment center there. It was a 30 day program. I had done a few packs of dope the night before so I was still ok for the ride. As I pulled up to the rehab I felt my stomach churning. I was afraid. As I look back, I now see what I was afraid of. I was afraid of getting clean again. That fear of the unknown is a powerful force in an addict's life. It is easier to live in addiction and know exactly how you will feel if you can score some dope than to think about living a life where you have no idea what will happen. My parents and I walked up the steps and the admissions process started. At this point my Mom thought I was taking pain pills. A male client there came up and spoke to me and asked me what I was there for. I told him Heroin and my Mom began to tear up. I feel bad for my family that day. I was so angry and ungrateful. Here they were, trying to save my life after I had used them for everything I could, and all I could do was be angry at them. What an asshole I was. I was right where I was suppose to be even though I couldn't see it.

I was called to the nurse's office to do my intake assessment. After telling her of my habit and how much I was doing everyday she told me I needed to go to detox. Detox was $2500 and I had about $3.75 to my name. I wasn't going to detox. Hindsight is 20/20 because that poor decision caused me about 6 days of sickness.

I am going to digress for a moment and tell you about being dope sick. I have heard it called the Flu x 100. That, in my opinion, is too nice of a description. A more accurate description would be writhing hell with moments of bodily evacuation. Opiate withdrawals come on very subtly. When you first start getting them you might say, this won't be so bad, but then you quickly take that thought back. Everyone has a different sign that they are about to start withdrawals. Mine happens to be incessant sneezing. When the sneezing fits start I know I am about to start the arduous process. The sneezes come in multiples. My record is 7 sneezes in a row. There is nothing you can do to stop them. It is sneeze after sneeze after sneeze. next comes the uneasy feeling. The feeling would be best compared to that period of time leading up to very bad news that you know is coming. Perhaps you have been thinking your wife/husband was wanting a divorce and now you see them walking into your job with a manila envelope full of papers. You don't know for sure they are divorce papers, but you have a pretty good idea they are. That feeling as they are walking towards you is the same feeling I am talking about. After the uneasy feeling comes my personal favorite (sarcasm for those who can't tell), the chills and hot flashes. This is my most hated withdrawal because it causes one to remain severally uncomfortable. First you start sweating profusely. Almost like you are in a Sauna. No amount of air or removal of clothes can take away that heat that surrounds your body. The heat becomes so unbearable and then.....You are freezing. It is like someone dropped your body into the Antarctic Ocean then placed you in the back of a pickup truck going down the road at 70 mph in 30 degree weather. The wind whipping against your wet body. The frigid and biting cold finding every available crevice on your body. You cannot escape it. After the hot flashes and chills have been trucking along your body begins to ache. Im not talking about, I have had a long day and my body aches type of ache. I am talking about an ache like you got in a bad car wreck type of ache. Your muscles hurt, your joints hurt, your skin hurts, your bones hurt, and even your hair hurts. Any movement or touch hurts. Restless leg, Restless arm, Restless everything prevents you from sleeping. then the vomiting, stomach cramps, and diarrhea begin. You shit so much that it hurts. This is all within the first 30-48 hours. 72 hours is the peak and it slowly improves from there.

During my withdrawals with absolutely nothing but Ibuprofen and pepto Bismol, I went an entire 6 days before I was able to sleep. It was awful. I stayed in a hot shower for hours at a time at times like 3am just to pass the time and stop the chills. On the 6th day my body could not take it anymore and I passed out. The sleep wasn't the greatest, but it was much needed. When I woke up I felt so much better. I actually got up and ate the next day. This was where I had to either do what was asked of me so I could stay clean, or do it my way and probably get loaded.

 

 

It is in your moments of decision that your destiny is shaped.

- Tony Robbins
 

 

 

 

Worst day ever

Worst Day Ever

So I had just witnessed two acquaintances who had died from gunshot wounds to the head. What an awful way to start a day. I had jumped in my truck and sped away from the house hoping that I could run away from the chaos in my life. I wanted to forget what I had seen, but there is no way to erase the memory of blood and brain matter splattered across a headboard. It took the police a few days to discover the bodies. When they did it did not take long for me to receive a phone call from the Mississippi Bureau of Investigations. A Master Sergeant gave me a call and asked if I was Thomas's Handler. A handler is the agent in charge of all dealings with a confidential informant. I told the Sergeant that I was and he asked if we could meet so he could ask me a few questions about Thomas. I met with him later that evening at a local gas station. As I pulled up I saw the stereotypical cop car parked to the side of the gas station. I jumped out of my truck and got into his unmarked Crown Victoria with tinted windows.

It has always piqued my curiosity as to why many agencies use the tinted Crown Victoria as their unmarked car. Do they think criminals won't know it is a plain clothes officer? Perhaps they believe folks won't flag them down when they need help. Who knows. Now don't get me wrong. Most undercover cars are nothing like you would imagine. Everything from beat up Chevy trucks to lowered Black BMWs are used for undercover cars. Mine was a 4 door Dodge Charger with chrome rims, but I am veering off course now.

I spoke with the Sergeant and he thanked me for my info. I truly thought I was in the clear. In my mind I just knew that they had no idea that I had found the bodies. The next night the Sergeant calls me again. He said there were a few more questions he had about Thomas. He asked to meet at the old jailhouse in my town. As I pulled up I saw his car out front. I opened the front door and walked down a long hallway to the main room. As soon as I walked in I knew that things were not ok. To my right were 2 Mississippi Bureau of Narcotics Agents and to my left was the Sergeant and an FBI agent. My heart sank. I tried to play it off as best I could like I had no idea what they were there for, but I did know. They first frisked me down to make sure I didn't have any weapons. Then the questions started. It did not take but a few minutes before a manila envelope with photos were produced. Inside the envelope was a photo of Thomas's phone where I had asked him for some dope through a text message. I tried my best to blame it on someone else. Maybe a friend used my phone. Then they pulled out the phone tolls. Police are able to get a list of all calls to and from a number and the frequency of those calls with minimal effort. This is called a phone toll. This particular phone toll had my cell phone number as the number one caller to Thomas's phone. Talk about feeling like a junky. I again said that people use my phone all the time. They knew everything, but let me lie so they could really stick it to me in the end. I knew this because I had used this same tactic many many times on people in the exact same place I was in at this moment.

Point blank they asked me did I kill Thomas and his wife to which I replied no. They asked me was I at his house to which I said no. They continued grilling me until the early morning hours. I was so tired, all I wanted to do was sleep. They finally said they were getting warrants to search my truck, my house, my girlfriends house, and take my firearms. I had items in my truck that I would have preferred not be found by police, but by this time it was too late. I just signed a consent form to search since I knew there was no chance of being proven to have murdered anyone and no chance of getting out of a search. They found syringes, suboxone, and empty heroin foils. They told me they were taking my truck to process it at the crime lab. At this point, tired of the lies, and tired of the fear, I told them everything. I told them how I had been shooting heroin, buying heroin from Thomas, and how I found the bodies already dead. They threatened me with all kinds of things hoping I would say I killed them, but I couldn't. Thomas and his wife weren't exactly friends, but they were nice people. Sure they had a drug problem, but that didn't mean they didn't deserve better than what they got. It hurt me that they were murdered because of me. If I would have never gotten Thomas to snitch he would possibly still be alive. The interview ended and they took me to my apartment to search it. They tore it to pieces. They took all my ammunition, my boots, the jeans I was wearing, shirts, dirty clothes, and searched my house for drugs (which honestly was a little beyond the scope of the warrant). These were the same guys I served warrants with, the same guys I kicked in doors with, and the same guys I made Federal cases with. People I once called friends. Now they looked at me like the scum of the earth and were searching my house like I was a criminal. I guess at this point I was a criminal. I was a drug addict who bought dope to support a big habit. Being in the possession of the dope I did was definitely a felony. The worst was yet to come. I had left my girlfriend's house earlier that night to meet with the Sergeant and told her I would only be an hour. Now it had been 5 hours and she had called and texted numerous times to look for me. I look back and I hate the person that I was. I caused her so much pain and heartache. I caused her to lose any sense of peace she may have had. She was so worried I was dead. She finally saw me as I walked in the house as the state and fed boys walked out with my gun. I tried to explain everything to her, but it fell on deaf ears. I lied next to her in bed trying to go to sleep. All I could hear was the quiet sobbing of someone who saw her best friend and lover slowly slipping into oblivion. I had no idea what I was going to do. I was so afraid, but I was still trying to stick to the idea I was not a drug addict.

“No one told me you can love someone and still be miserable. How is that possible?”
― Krista Ritchie, Addicted to You    





Day Four

It's the Weekend

So today is Friday, meaning that the weekend is upon me. Today I enjoy the weekends. It means I have two days off to enjoy the company of my family and friends. It also means I can do most anything I please. There was a time though when I never got a day off. Dope kind of fucks that up for you. The getting, using, and finding ways and means to get more is a 24 hour a day, 7 day a week gig.

By the time that I was having to hustle full time again things had gotten pretty bad. I had started a relationship with this wonderful woman sometime around the time I relapsed and had stopped screwing Jane. At this point Jane was my connection. There were a few other sources for my habit, but the 5th amendment is a beautiful thing. Being a narcotics officer and a drug addict just don't mix. It wasn't too long till questions were asked and I felt it better to resign than go through a bunch of shit and get fired in the end either way. I wouldn't have been able to pass a piss test anyways. Life went downhill fast. I was using a credit card for buying dope. I can tell you that it doesn't take very long to rack up almost 10k in debt when you are buying dope. Needless to say my habit got big and I had to begin using another CI for dope when Jane couldn't get any. This other CI, I'll call him Thomas, was a guy I made some great cases with. Reliable, as honest as a junky can be, and actually a pretty nice guy. When I was dope sick he would give me some of his and vice-versa. I began using him more than Jane.

By this time my girlfriend was suspecting I had relapsed. She and I had known each other for over a decade. She could tell something was wrong, but I adamantly denied it. I could not let her know that I had relapsed because that would mean she would leave me for being a failure (She didn't leave nor did she think of me as a failure).

I had given Thomas $100 for a gram of black tar heroin. It was pretty good stuff we had been getting so he was going to get a gram for us. He was waiting on this certain dope dealer to get back from wherever he was re-upping(getting more dope). We thought it might be in Chicago, but we were never sure. A day went by and I called Thomas, no answer. I kept calling and calling and he would never answer. Finally it stopped ringing and started going straight to voicemail. I just knew that this asshole had ripped me off. He had already screwed me over $100 for suboxone strips, but his story for that was just plausible enough that I might have believed him a little. 3 days had passed and I had to go see what was going on. I had been to the driveway of his house many times to give him money and pick up dope. I had never been inside. He was squatting in an all black neighborhood. He was a white guy. Him and his wife, "Tina", lived in one room of this vacant house with an extension cord running from the light pole to the front bedroom of the house. That day I entered the house for the first time, my life changed forever. I pulled up to the house and saw that the front door was halfway open. I walked up and tried to get through the door without opening it up all the way. The front room was filled with wood planks and sheets where Thomas must have been doing work on the place. I yelled his name  "Thomas, you in here?" He didn't answer. I walked to the right through a door that led to the hallway. As I rounded the entryway into the hallway I yelled for Thomas again...Again no answer. I began walking towards the front bedroom which was directly to the right as you entered the hallway. As soon as I got close to the half opened door I saw Thomas's feet on the bed. I figured he was sleeping so I kind of stuck my head into the room to say his name and get him awake. As my eyes scanned towards the head of the bed I realized Thomas was dead. His eyes were wide open staring at me while the blood under his chin and the blood and fragments from the top of his head were all over the pillow. He had been shot in the head. My heart began to pound and I began to tremble. As I began to back out of the doorway I saw his wife Tina on the floor next to him. She looked like she was balled up in a comforter and there was blood on the side of her head. I knew she had been murdered too. I instantly knew that someone had found out that Thomas had worked for the police as an informant and murdered him for that. I began shaking so heavily and was so scared. I just wanted my life to be ok at this point. I didn't want to be an addict, I didn't want to be involved in shit like this, I didn't want to be scared, I just wanted to be ok and it wasn't FUCKING OK! I ran outside, jumped into my truck and drove towards my house. I called crimestoppers, but hung up before I left a message because I was convinced they would know who I was and then everyone would find out I was a heroin addict. I was so wrapped up in the heroin that I missed the fact that everyone already knew I was a junky.

 

“Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.”   - William Shakespeare, Macbeth  



Day Three

Day Three

Heroin addict. No one likes that word. I know the first thing I had always thought of when someone said heroin addict was some homeless junky using dirty needles, hadn't had a bath in weeks, a scruffy beard, and tattered jeans. I pictured some mope begging for a dollar so he could get his next fix and go nod out in a box somewhere tucked into a dark alleyway. This is not accurate at all. A heroin addict or junky is someone you work with. It may be your local police officer, fireman, teacher, lawyer, doctor, or even preacher. I know this because I have personally known each of those people who were drug addicts. Dope does not discriminate. It is not racist, sexist, xenophobic, homophobic, or any other prejudice. It accepts everyone. I guess that is one of the reasons I fell into it. It accepted me. Dope promises everything you have ever wanted. Love? You got it. Peace? sure! Lying Motherfucker.

So on Day 2 I left off where I had gotten high again for the first time in over a decade. Man what a disappointment. The high still didn't compare to the first time I ever shot dope. It was almost like I never quit. I immediately began wanting more and instead of weeks or months before I was a full blown junky, It took days to put its claws in me. Addiction is funny in that sense. It makes you think that you are ok and do not have a problem. By the time you realize that it is a problem you had been addicted for quite a while. The first time I ever realized I was a drug addict It was back in 2000-2001. I had been shooting dope for the better part of a year and didn't know I was an addict until a psychiatrist told me he thought I had a drug problem. A fucking drug problem??? I had a money problem, meaning I didn't have enough money to buy my drugs.

Here I am in 2014 getting high again for the first time in quite a while. It was days before I was spending $40 here $60 there and $100 in between. One pill was costing me $20 and one pill won't do anything, but make you want another. One of the drawbacks of being a junky and a narcotics cop is that if you are doing your job well, the dope will dry up and that is exactly what happened. The K4s dried up and some young thug had the genius idea to start selling heroin from Memphis and Chicago in this small southern town. Heroin was cheaper, more potent, and easier to shoot. At first I did not like it as much, but repetition will help you learn to like anything. I began having to have it everyday. I remember the first time I realized that I had a problem again was when I had called Jane and asked her to get me some dope. She was fucking off all day and kept putting me off. I started panicking and telling her she had to go get it now. I began sneezing constantly. I would explode in a fit of sneezes 5 and 6 sneezes long. The beads of sweat started forming on my head and that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach started to develop. Fuck.....This is what it has come to. I have to have dope to survive.

When she told me she had the dope and was on her way to meet me the withdrawals began to go. Eventually she showed up with some dope. Funny phenomena. Most junkies began to feel better when they know they are about to score. Just the idea of feeling better actually makes you feel better. Of course when you take that first shot after being sick it is like heaven. Someone once asked me what it is like shooting dope when you are sick. I gave them the best analogy ever.

Shooting dope when you are sick is like that long car trip you took with your parents when you were a kid. You know the one where you drove halfway across the country to go to some tourist trap in the middle of nowhere. Remember when you kept begging for your parents to stop so you could pee and they kept saying you had to hold it. Well they always took longer than they said to finally stop at a gas station so you could relieve yourself. If you go back, way deep into your memory, you can remember that feeling when you could no longer hold in your piss. That feeling you got when you got to the toilet just in time and the urine just poured out like a waterfall. It was like the rain of a thousand storms was in your bladder and you were finally opening the floodgates. That feeling of relief is exactly what it feels like to shoot dope when you are dope sick. Instant relief. It is like being in a blizzard and someone putting a warm blanket around you and you are instantly protected from the cold. It is a friend hugging you when you are sad. It is your mom bringing you chicken soup when you are sick. It is everything that makes you feel good when you don't feel good. That dope is a tricky son of a bitch. God forbid if you run out. Better hope for a lost $20 bill to appear or a really good friend.

“Poverty of young men alone behind the
stairways, who practice
alchemy inside bottle caps, who know
the altruism of a last syringe.”

― Jim Carroll, Fear of Dreaming: The Selected Poems    

Day Two

Day Two

How did I get here?

 

First I have to confess that I did not end up back in this spot by accident. It was a series of purposeful bad decisions that led me back to being a junky. I stopped doing those important things in my life that helped me get clean the first time. Those things like 12 step meetings, talking to other people like me, and all that boring "meeting" stuff. As much as I dislike having to do those things, they worked. They worked really well.

 

 

At the time of my relapse, I happened to be a Law Enforcement Officer for a small department in the South. I had been promoted to the Narcotics Division and I was happier than a tornado in a trailer park. It was the division that I craved from the moment I thought about being a cop. Finally, I made it. It wasn't long at all before I was making those that had been in that position for a while look lazy. One thing I do, and do well, is develop a laser like focus on a job. I began making cases on people that they had been trying to get for years. I had the advantage of being a former drug addict. I knew how to talk, act, and bargain with these people. I used to be one of them. I knew the hiding spots, the people, the neighborhoods...I knew it all. I became interested in this particular group of Heroin dealers. In my quest to get more information on them I developed several CIs. A CI is a confidential informant. One of my CIs was a female I'll call Jane. Jane was someone that I had known for a long time. After dealing with Jane on several occasions I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I started a sexual relationship with her. This was the beginning of the end. Jane was in active addiction. Her drug of choice just happened to be one of my old favorites, K4 Dilaudids. So it comes as no surprise that Jane showed up at my apartment one day with something I had not danced with in over a decade, a syringe already loaded with a K4. Now here is where you might say that all of those years of 12 step meetings, step work, talking to others like me, and all the in between was supposed to kick in and give me the power to say no, but you would be wrong. This is where not continuing to do those things left me defenseless to say no. It truly is a daily thing. I have to do those things every single day regardless of work, relationships, illness, family,and everything! I wasn't doing those things so you know what happened next.  She crumbled into the couch, sitting right next to me and said "I brought you a present." I grabbed the syringe and did not even think twice. I immediately stabbed it into the crook of my arm, finding a vein like I had been doing it everyday for the past decade. I pushed in the plunger and VOILA, the machine was turned on again.

That old behemoth that creaked to life very slowly was now churning at full speed. Gears turning, oil lubricating, exhaust fuming, and so much noise that real life could not be heard over its metallic groans. The machine of addiction had been cranked up after 11 years. It was less than 10 minutes after taking that first shot that I reached into my wallet, took out $40 and told her to go get me two more. This is where it starts and where it begins to end.

....Welcome my son, welcome to the machine. Where have you been? It's alright we know where you've been.. - Pink Floyd (lyrics from Welcome to the Machine)




Day One

Day One

 





This is day one for the Blog. In a past life I kept a journal of my daily life. I kept page after page of secrets, mundane activities, accomplishments, failures, broken hearts, and everything that encompasses someone's life. The only difference was I was doing it as someone who had just began a life after drug addiction.

Fast forward 14 years and I feel like I am experiencing deja vu. Here I am, starting a blog about living life in recovery, again. This last relapse was tough. Heroin is a very seductive and controlling lady. She really took me through the ringer. I went from up and coming Narcotics officer working with 3 letter agencies to sitting in a drug rehab with no one to blame, but myself. It really is pretty simple though. I stopped doing the things I had done to live a life I was proud of. When those things stopped, addiction slithered her way into my life. Knock Knock...... Who's there?.. Your old friend dope... Come on in, the door is unlocked...

If you would have told me the day before I chose to get high again, that I was going to get high for the first time in over a decade, I would have told you that you obviously do not know me very well. Addiction is cunning like that. She convinces you that you are not an addict. She makes you think that you can do it just once. And you believe her with every ounce of your being. She comes to you so seductively. She's like that tall raven haired woman in the hotel, the one sitting at the bar with her red shoulder strap falling ever so slightly from its perch. You know she is trouble, but you have to go talk to her. Then you find yourself naked, handcuffed to a bed, an empty wallet, and a long wait for housekeeping to come unlock your lovely new bracelets.

Yep, addiction is a lot like that.

Today is day 120 of being clean. It is a big accomplishment, but it is a long way from the 11 years I threw away. Maybe I can find meaning in these words. Something that will unlock that keyhole in my head where all those secrets of my life hide. Maybe I can figure out this addiction thing.