Bruised Fruit Hiding the Truth Column 6

Bruised Fruit: Hiding the Truth Column #6

I am writing this column on Monday, October 14, and it has been 78 days since I nearly died. Life, in general, has gotten better. The support I've received from people on the mountaintop amazes me. Yes, people look at me differently now, but it's better than people looking at me as I stumble and slur my way through this life. Pat Magee from The Mountaintop Cares Coalition connected me with a recovery coach who I've met with once so far. He's from the area and is in his mid-30s. We grabbed a cup of coffee and walked on the bike path, discussing our horror stories and our paths to recovery. There is a big difference between speaking to a non-addict about your addiction and speaking to someone who has been where you have been—at rock bottom. A connection is formed with another person with an addiction because they understand what it's like to realize you're screwing up but not being able to stop yourself. This connection is why Narcotics Anonymous (NA) works.

I get to sit with a bunch of addicts or alcoholics who have, like me, ended up in the same room drinking the same crappy (sometimes good) coffee. Many have years of clean time, while others have a few hours, days, or months. They say the newcomer is the most important person in the room at an NA meeting. When I first started going to meetings again, that was me. I could feel the support from the room full of strangers. I still don't attend enough meetings, but I've found a home group where I feel comfortable sharing where I'm at in my life on that particular night. People listen, but it's more about getting stuff off your chest. Telling a room full of people that I felt like getting high gives me an unmatched release—it's spiritually cleansing.

Now, I'm not religious, despite being raised Catholic. The word "God" comes up frequently in the rooms of NA and AA, but don't let that discourage you from seeking help there. The NA program is spiritual, not religious. You can replace "God" with "Higher Power," meaning anything. My higher power is nature. I chose nature because it's constantly changing—it can be beautiful and terrible. And it all depends on your definition of beautiful and terrible.

I'm grateful to have been clean for 78 days, to have a roof over my head, and to have my family still speak to me. I am thankful for my friends who cared enough about me to help and for community members who helped me get back on my feet. The phrase, "It takes a Village," applies perfectly here.

I've lived in three apartments within the last year alone, which has been a nightmare. However, today, I woke up to a gorgeous fall day in the Catskills. I am clear-headed and present. I will attend my Monday night meeting and make decisions that improve my life—not sabotage it. Every decision I make will keep me sober. I've started contacting people in NA, which I've hesitated to do for years. Pro tip: It gets easier the more you do it.

There are times in your life when you must be disciplined enough to live with restraint and to make careful, measured decisions. No matter where you're at—broke, wealthy, loved, hated—there are times when you need to stay calm and steady. But there are also times when you have to let everything burn. Accept the non-stop calls from creditors, have your car repossessed, lose all your belongings, and watch your credit score tank. Sometimes, there's nothing you can do about it. A saying/prayer/mantra in NA goes, "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." This phrase can be applied in all aspects of life - not just in NA.

It's important to stay positive. If something unfortunate happens, whether by your hand or someone else's, it's vital to take the hit, learn your lesson, and move forward.

They say intelligence is defined by learning from mistakes and not repeating them. I've made the same mistake repeatedly, but I know I'm not stupid. Some folks in recovery figure out early they can't live the way they've been living. There are people in NA who are in their teens and twenties. I remember being one of them and feeling pity for the older folks who had lost everything. Now that I'm one of those people I used to pity, my perspective has shifted. I envy those who found recovery young and stuck with it. In my twenties, I was living like I was dying the next day. No cares, no thoughts about the future. I was blowing with the wind, living a life of chemically-induced pleasure, and figuring things out as they hit the fan.

Ironically, now that I'm sober, most of my family won't even consider helping me financially - and yet, the money flowed when I was getting high. It's a strange dichotomy. Part of me understands why they've decided to watch me drown, and a small part of me resents them for that. Learning how to process these feelings and acknowledge that it was our life choices that brought us to our knees is how we recover - it's all part of the emotional toll that addiction creates on both sides. I am the boy who cried wolf, and I am the wolf—two sides of the same coin. Giving up the drugs is the easy part. The tricky part is learning how to love and forgive yourself and accept the lost and damaged relationships.

Twenty-one years ago, I was at a halfway house in Hudson called The Red Door (RD). I was there for about six months before I started using drugs again. I went from detox in Kingston straight to the RD. There were about 12 to 16 other men there. For those who don't know, a halfway house is where addicts go to get reintroduced to society. We re-learned how to care for ourselves, built healthy habits, and followed a schedule. We lived, cooked, and went to meetings together. I volunteered at Columbia Memorial Hospital. I got healthy again, if only for a few months. A fellow RD resident and I started using heroin a few weeks before the program ended. I left a day before my official graduation. It's hard to think about what my life could have been if I'd stuck with sobriety 21 years ago. But I didn't, and I can't change the past. The best way for me to live now is in the present.

A lot of people think relapse erases years of recovery work. It doesn't. Relapse is part of recovery, though it's not mandatory. There's shame involved every time, but you get over it and move on. It takes strength to admit your mistakes—whether in a program like the RD, an NA meeting, or your family. It's the only way to heal. Continuing to lie, even in recovery, serves no purpose. It holds us back.

If you're struggling, there is help. Don't be afraid to admit your mistakes, live in the present, and let go of the past. The past is what makes us who we are, but it does not define us. Make each decision with care. Be kind to others. Be honest. Be there for others. A dear friend often said, "Be smart, be safe, be happy." Now that's some damn good advice.