In The Addict Issue #1 Vol. 1

     Today's blog is a project that I've envisioned since 2006, when I was graduating from an outpatient substance abuse program at Native American Connections.  At that time, I had an idea about a magazine dedicated to people in recovery, about people in recovery, by people in recovery.  Fast-forward five years, and several relapses later and here we are.

     This issue is an introductory/background blog about me and will continue about the things that I and other people in recovery encounter everyday.  This particular excerpt is from an article I wrote on fear a few months ago:

     I never planned on being an addict. When I was fifteen and smoked my first “joint”, it was all for fun.  Smokin’ weed and drankin’ were par for the course when I was a teenager, however something else was going on underneath all of the smoke and partying.  It was avoidance, which is fear.  I would love to say that I didn’t realize I was running away from responsibilities while I was getting high, but that would be a lie.  I was fifteen.  I was young.  I was still a virgin.  I was in high school, facing new challenges, and most of them were scary.   

      Then hip-hop broke out in a mainstream way.  Hip-hop was something I could identify with.  It was raw, hard unashamed of what it was and proud of it.  I wanted that.  Shortly after hip-hop emerged I met some guys that were “hip-hop”.  They seemed like some of the coolest dudes and they were.  They had the new clothes, the slang, the attitude, the girls.  They could breakdance and they lived to party.  They didn’t care what people thought of them (or so it appeared) and nothing else mattered to them except for what they were doing.  It was awesome.  I wanted that and that’s what I got.  I started hangin’ out with them and started doing what they were doing.  Man, I was living.  I was having fun, I was free.  I was part of something new and exciting but it came at a price.

      The first time I was introduced to “bud” I didn’t get “high” and I didn’t see what all the hype was about, but the second time was the charm.  I smoked some “skunk bud” out of a six foot bong and nearly passed out after the first hit.  Woooo!  I was higher than giraffe hair.  After that, it was all down hill.  I loved the high and everything that came with it.  Pretty soon nothing else mattered to me except getting high.  The first thing to be affected was my schoolwork.  I started cutting classes, and when I did go to school, it was only to buy dope.  All the problems I was having in school including bullies, racism and hate, all dissolved when I was high.  In my junior year I finally dropped out.  I was working for a data entry company making money so I started rationalizing why I didn’t need school anymore.  I eventually went back to school and barely graduated, but my drug use continued.  Not only did it continue, it progressed.  

     I’ll never forget the day January 1st 1987, Oakland California.  I was down there with a couple of my friends celebrating the New Year and my homie introduced us to crack cocaine.  I’d never seen or heard of it before and I don’t recall having any inhibitions trying it.  My homie crushed it up and sprinkled it on some weed and rolled it in a joint.  When he lit it, it had a sweet aroma and made a sizzling sound.  When I hit it, my mouth, tongue and throat immediately became numb. The sensation was intense.  For about five minutes I couldn’t do anything except sit still.  I was stuck and I loved it.  Immediately following my homie said something extremely foul and partially prophetic.  He said, “Now you’re hooked for life” and laughed casually.  At the time I didn’t put much concern into his words, but that was the first day of a twenty-three year addiction and the beginning of a journey that would have dramatic ups and downs.

     As addictions go, mine was destructive, debilitating and nearly life ending.  Going twenty-three years strong on cocaine has dire results.   Needless to say I didn’t accomplish some dreams and goals I had set for myself.  I still experienced some successes though not on the scale I should’ve had I been sober, and I had many more failures that could’ve been avoided.

     One of my many failures was that of my first marriage and the raising of my separated children.  When my wife left, I didn’t care about anything.  I wanted the rest of what was left of my life to end.  I was in deep depression, my drug use grew and I became anti-social.  The reality was I was alone and I was afraid to go on living by myself so I avoided everyone and everything.  I let fear cripple me severely, to the point that I was having a negative impact on life around me.  People still depended on me, in particular my children and my parents yet I choose to neglect my responsibilities and feel sorry for myself, which is also fear.

     Thank God for his Grace.  During all of this time of self-loathing and misery, The Father was carrying me through my trials.  It was rough.  I was doing all kinds of foul things including, fornicating, compromising my integrity, and being selfish, to name a few.  The Father was still giving me blessings like another marriage and more children.  He also protected me from all types of harm by allowing me to survive several muggings by knife and gunpoint and a severe car accident that totaled the car but left my passengers and myself with only scratches.  The list is long for all the things The Lord has done for me.  I give all praise to The Father for everything He has given me.