“How About A Little Real?”

One of my issues is frustration with bullshit. I know, I’m totally alone in this, right? Seriously, though, I seem to live in a culture where lies and half-truths and bald-faced deception is the norm. Those who cheat are the ones who get ahead, those who play by the rules are the ones who are left behind. I’m reminded of that old saying about how nice guys finish last. Or maybe it’s that one about how everything in America is legal—until you get caught. But I digress.

Through working our Recovery, we learn that principle behind the first step that eluded so many of us for so long: Honesty. But we are also human beings living with other human beings in the world. No one is perfect. In the end, all any of us can do is our best. And so we have things that aren’t totally 100% honest that seem to creep in. Lies of omission, little white lies, etc. There is a spectrum to honesty, and right now I’m thinking that if we can hold ourselves to the ideal, then we will probably do alright even if we don’t get there all the time.

I was talking with a sponsee the other night about this principle. I joked that I did plenty of lying before I got Recovery, I just was never any good at it. Most of us are very adept at deception. A lot of times it's done with the best of intentions. To my mind in this moment, it strikes me as something done in some form or another as an attempt to control. We hide things because we don’t want to hurt other people’s feelings. We keep our mouths shut because we don’t want to get in trouble. We try to preserve others’ confidence. These are only a few examples.

Again, we do our best, and when we are able to fully express the truth or hear it spoken, it is like a breath of fresh air. Honesty is hard. A lot of people go overboard with it. They practice brutal honesty. That, my friends, is not part of the Program. A minister friend of mine once said that the best way to go about being honest is to ‘speak the truth in love.’ That’s the course I try to hold for myself. I don’t always succeed, but more often than not, I do.

I was at a meeting earlier this week and heard a bit of that fresh truth. I don’t know if the man sharing was an old-timer, but he sure sounded like it to me. He laid bare some real hard truths about the program and the fellowship. Most folks who have been in the rooms have felt the love and welcoming of the fellowships they attended. If we’ve had the courage to put ourselves out there, introduce ourselves to others, we often feel an even deeper level of that acceptance.

This man, though, had a few choice words on that subject. He talked about himself as a realist. He talked about how, yes, there are cliques in meetings. He mentioned a time when he was gone from the rooms for a period of six months and didn’t receive one phone call. He spoke of the times he called people at one o’ clock in the morning and they were bothered. This man wasn’t mentioning any of this as a pity statement, he was just letting folks know—these were his experiences. I heard him speak and silently rejoiced, hearing the clarion-clear sound of the real.

We do our best. We are still human beings. We aren’t perfect. You won’t always get along with everyone at the meetings you go to. That is part of life. Some meetings will feel exclusionary to you. So what? Find another. You are the only one responsible for your Recovery, and no other. If your recovery is dependent on others feeding you bullshit, you probably won’t make it. There’s a reason people in the rooms talk about having friends in their lives who will call them on their shit—who are honest with them, who can speak the truth in love to them, and who can hold up the mirror and show us the things we don’t want to look at. We need to see those things about ourselves that we don't like; it's the only way we can change them and grow.

We get to choose the people we have in our lives. We get to choose whether we have folks who hold up that mirror, who speak the truth in love to us, or we can choose to surround ourselves with those who coddle us in our denial, who insulate us from that which we most need to hear.

“Know Thyself”

I was talking to a friend recently who’s dealing with some frustration right now. Certain things in his life are not what he expected. People have turned out to be different than who he thought they were. I listened to him talk and couldn’t help but smile and think about how I knew exactly what he meant.

More will be revealed.

The process of breaking free of our addictions, of being returned to sanity, is also one of rejoining the world. Or, as was more the case with me, joining it for the first time. I was such an isolator; I lived in my own head more than in my real life. Any time reality didn’t go the way I thought it should, or turned out to be different than I thought it was, I reacted by moving even deeper into my own self. This still happens to me every once in awhile. News that’s real hard to take can still bring out that knee-jerk denial reaction. With time, and with work, I’m learning better to overcome it.

For the most part, though, I find that I actually enjoy being wrong. Being wrong about something is one of the best reminders that I am only human and not perfect. When I have one of those ah-ha moments, where I am shown the truth of the world around me, there is gratitude. I might not feel it at first, but I usually end up in the place where I am glad to have learned the way things really are. It means I have become more in tune with my life and this reality thing I share with others. For someone who used to spend all his time hidden away from the world in fear, that is a real blessing. Being able to hear a new truth and coming to accept it are skills that I didn’t used to have.

Acceptance was not an innate ability for me; it is a skill I have learned, and one that I continue to learn better. Every time I overreact to something I don’t like or don’t want to hear, it is an opportunity for me to look at myself and understand myself better. What is it about me that I’m having such an extreme reaction to this? Why am I so upset? Where, oh where, has my serenity gone? I’m being a bit sarcastic here, but it is one of those funny-but-true things.

If you have resentments, they are yours.

Getting angry at others is something everyone can relate to. The fourth step teaches us that, if we are upset about something someone else has done, there is something inside of ourselves we have failed to address. We may have expectations which weren’t met. We may have desires that were thwarted. Perhaps we had ambitions which weren’t healthy or won’t be realized, or both. The power of the fourth step is that it gives us the chance to address those issues. It is an amazingly powerful tool which allows us to get in better touch with ourselves, to understand why we did what we did. It calls on us to look at our own actions, to examine our part in things. We can’t control other people, places and things, only ourselves. And so we look at ourselves.

Working my fourth step was a real pivot point for me in my Recovery. For the first time, I could see in black and white the patterns of behavior which had created pain and wreckage for myself and others. For the first time, I got a glimpse at how the disease had wreaked havoc on my life. I could see the truth about myself, and with that knowledge came the opportunity to do things differently. I see it now as the moment where I started moving away from the man I used to be.

Being in touch with myself gives me a chance at being in better touch with the world I live in. Reality responds in kind, revealing more to me about itself, which in turn gives me a better chance to know myself. It’s one of those amazing positive feedback loops that makes Recovery such a blessing. There is pain, of course, and difficulty too. But from the fires, that crucible which seems to create only ashes, can rise peace and serenity.

“The Next Right Thing”

Hang around the rooms long enough, and you’ll hear people talk about doing the ‘next right thing’. They’ll say it like this: I keep on doing the next right thing, and it all works out; or like this: all I have to do is the next right thing, and my life goes so much better. It’s one of those simple-but-not-easy aspects of the Program. It’s not always easy to determine what to do next. It’s not always easy to determine what’s right. It’s like so many other things about living the spiritual life in that it takes practice. It takes work. It takes time. But we do get better at doing it with practice. The more we work it, the better it works. Time, after all, takes time.

My sponsor has often suggested to me that, in the times when I’m not feeling too great, the best way to handle it is to find a way to be of service to others. I have sponsees of my own. I can go to a meeting and share. I can help a friend who is in need. It doesn’t even have to be Program-related. After all, Step 12—the spiritual principle behind which is Service—says we practice these principles in all our affairs. Doing something Program-specific is perhaps the most obvious way to be of service, but how we do it isn’t what’s important. What’s important is that we take action.

I had a crazy day yesterday, but it was one of the most amazing days I’ve ever had. I’ve had many a crazy day, but there was something about yesterday. I’d almost describe it as the good kind of crazy. Or maybe it’s the fact that it was good that makes it seem so crazy. That’s the addict side of myself jumping out, trying to steer my thinking and say that if things go well in my life, that THAT is crazy. It’s not. Good things happen in our lives. It’s only the sick disease of addiction that tells us that they don’t, or can’t, or won’t.

I’ve been pretty stuck inside myself lately because of the ground-shaking events of my life. When things aren’t going well for me, my tendency is to sit on my pity-pot and think my whole world is coming to an end because life isn’t meeting my expectations of what it should be like. I’ve been upset about (most-likely) losing my job. I thought it was something stable that I could depend on. I’m upset, too, about the difficulties in one of my friendships because I had somehow forgotten that he, like me, is just a human being and not perfect.

The difficulties with my friend hit on some parts of myself that I’d somehow thought didn’t need work. I felt—and to a certain extent am still feeling—a lot of pain from it. But for me, pain is a motivator. It’s when I am in pain that I find the willingness to change. It’s when I’m hurting that I find the desire to do the work on myself that needs to be done. Maybe there are people out there who can find their willingness without being in pain; I’m not one of them. It seems that I have to really be hurting before I’m able to let go and admit that action needs to be taken.

I’ve stepped up my program. I’m doing a lot more writing in my journal. The day before yesterday, I wrote and wrote, starting to do the hard work to heal parts of myself I’ve been neglecting. I still struggle with relationship issues, and all-too often feel that I will never find someone special who I can share that deep, intimate, emotional bond with. I have jealousy towards others who are in relationships, and jealousy towards those who are content to be by themselves. But I know the reasons why:

Inside of me is the sick and insane idea that I am not worthy of having someone in my life who cares about me. My disease still tells me that I am not worthy of being loved. I still have more work to do before I can more fully accept that the disease is wrong on this. One day, I hope to truly accept myself for who I am, as I am. I hope that, one day, I will be accepting of whether I have a special woman in my life or not. And I will know that, regardless of whether I do have a partner, I am enough. After I did the work in my journal, I actually got down on my knees and prayed. Call it a mini-fifth step, sharing the things that I wrote with my higher power. I can’t even tell you why I felt the need to be on my knees to do it, except that it just felt like the right way.

I’ve stepped up my Program in other ways. I’m calling my sponsor more often. I’ve talked to him about this new work that I’m doing and asked him if it was okay for me to lean on him more directly and more often as I do it. Who knows, even after this phase of work that I’m doing is finished, I might even continue to do so. My life seems to go better when I ask his advice first on just about anything. And yesterday, I got to be of service in a whole slew of different ways.

Another friend of mine has a baby in the hospital right now. She’s having fever spikes, seizures, and the doctors, for all their medical expertise, can’t quite figure out why. It must be terrifying, the not knowing. If you’re told what the problem is, what the disease is, you can do research. You can educate yourself and figure out what the best way forward is. When you don’t know what’s wrong, you have to live with the uncertainty and that can be so hard. I went to visit her and her family at the hospital and was made all-too-aware that, whatever my problems are, there are those who are dealing with far worse. I’m lucky to have such relatively minor problems in my life. I’m not the one standing over a hospital crib, waiting to see if my baby lives or dies; if she will get better or worse; if she will come back from this and be healthy, or have brain damage the rest of her life.

After my visit to the hospital, I went to see another friend. This is someone I had dated and, as we realized things couldn’t work for us as a couple, decided that we still wanted to be in each others’ lives as friends. That is an amazing benefit of the Program. I have never been able to be friends in this situation before. I was always stuck in my own hurt and frustrations at not getting what I wanted out of life. If she couldn’t be what I wanted her to be, well then I simply said, “fuck it” and that was the end of that. But she’s a good woman. Kind, caring, supportive. I need people like that in my life, who are able to be good friends to me and give me the love and nurturing that I need from my friends. I’m hopeful that I can do the same for her. My being able to do either is a direct result of working my Program, learning to get over myself, and learning how to better accept reality as it is, not as I would have it be.

Through all of this, my phone was ringing off the hook. I heard from both of my sponsees. One called asking for some advice on how to be of service, wondering if he was ready yet. I told him, “Go. Do. Be.” Being of service, no matter the method, is a huge part of working this program. Another was having difficulties in his personal life, struggling (as we all do) with feelings of low self-worth and frustrations about not having a special someone. We met up, and we talked, and we went to a meeting. We picked up another friend who’s also having a difficult time right now and took her with us.

Once we were there, the secretary told me that his chairperson hadn’t shown up yet and asked me if I would do it. I smiled and accepted. I told my story as best I could; for a discussion topic, I chose ‘miracles’. It was a good meeting, and afterwards I was a bit amazed by how good I felt after what had been a long, full, and hectic day. When I got home last night, I wrote more in my journal. I want to harness this feeling of being motivated to do the work while it’s here, because I know this too shall pass. I was tired so I didn’t write as much as I had the night before, but that is alright.

As I laid down in bed and prayed, something amazing happened. I had one of those negative imaginary conversations my disease is so famous for distracting me with. It was brief, though, and had very little intensity. It was like the darker side of my self gasping weakly for air before sinking back down below the water. I realized that I hadn’t had those kind of thoughts in many hours. It was a huge change from the near-constancy I’d been experiencing before I started taking action.

And all I did was the next right thing.

When I do the next right thing, my life goes better. I’m a better me. I’m of more help to those around me. And I receive all manner of blessings, not the least of which is freedom from my addict brain and its sick and insane way of thinking. It still amazes me that this program is so simple: put one foot in front of the other, do the next right thing, and the benefits will show themselves to you.

“What’s In A Miracle, Anyway?”

I got some bad news on Sunday that has put my world into turmoil. It’s got me questioning a lot, mostly myself and mistakes I’ve made in the past. I’m wondering how much longer I’m going to have to pay for them. The news has shaken me at the foundation, really. It’s tough to walk through. They say that ‘this too shall pass’ works both ways, meaning that the bad times don’t last forever, but neither do the good times. In this moment, I’m thinking the same could be said about ‘more will be revealed’—that what is revealed can be good or bad.

The NA ‘Just for today’ daily meditation comes to me in my e-mail. There was a passage in today’s which really struck me: “living life on life’s terms can send shock waves even through the recovery of long-time members”. The meditation was talking about the need to avoid painting an overly-rosy picture for newcomers. Not that we should whine about the difficult times, but that it’s important for newcomers to see that it really is possible to handle life’s difficulties without resorting to our old ways of dealing with them. We don’t have to reach for the bottle, or for the bag. We don’t have to check out. We really can get through whatever it is sober. Even if it doesn’t seem possible, it is. And talking about our difficulties while showing we’re dealing with them without getting loaded can be a powerful message to newcomers. To those of us going through those difficult times, getting through them without getting loaded can seem like an outright miracle.

It is.

A lot of people feel that becoming upright citizens, through working the program of Recovery, means refraining from the use of profanity. I’m not one of those. Life is fucking hard, sometimes an evil bitch-goddess, and shit happens. But this is one of the reasons why we used in the first place: we didn’t know how to or couldn’t handle life any other way. If a woman left me, I got loaded. If a friend betrayed me, I got loaded. Fucked up day at work? Yep, got loaded then too... even if I had already gotten loaded to get through it to begin with. It was my answer to everything. I didn’t have any other solutions. And I didn’t have any faith in myself to deal with it any other way.

At a recent meeting, I heard someone talk about the ‘no matter what’ club. I haven’t heard it spoken of like that before, but I liked the sound of it and I do consider myself a member. One of the things I tell myself through tough times is that I don’t have to get loaded—no matter what. Right now, I’ve got craziness with my job situation and I’m having major issues in one of my close friendships. It’s pretty hard stuff, to put it mildly, and I’m really feeling like the rug has been pulled out from under me in a number of different ways. My preconceptions are being challenged. What I had come to depend on in my life as stable is proving that it might not be so. It’s hard. It hurts. It’s pretty fucking scary, to be honest. But I know that it’s okay.

Life goes on, no matter what we do. Everything is always changing. For human beings, creatures who seek permanence, this can be really upsetting. We can lose our cool. We can cause all kinds of damage with our reactions, with our attempts to control. Recovery teaches us this: don’t. Stop trying to control. Let. Go. Accept what is, let your higher power guide you, and move forward.

Some people talk in meetings about the successes they’ve had, thanks to their recovery. They get new cars, great relationships, go back to school, even land their dream jobs. That’s great, and there is nothing at all wrong with being grateful for the good things in our lives. But for me, the real miracle has been and continues to be that I can face life on life’s terms; that I can get through the good times and (especially) the bad times without getting loaded. For someone who once used getting loaded as a response to anything and everything that life threw my way, THAT is the miracle.

“Are You Done Yet?”

One of my favorite quotes that I’ve heard in the rooms of Recovery goes something like this: “Religion is for people who are afraid of Hell; 12-Step programs are for people who’ve been there.” I’m not sure why this quote comes to my mind today, but it’s at the forefront.

Another bit that I’m contemplating right now is a very familiar passage from the AA Big Book, read aloud in most meetings: “…If you have decided you want what we have and are willing to go to any lengths to get it…” (emphasis added)

And still a third thing that’s swimming around in my brain is this: “Pain is the price of admission.”

As someone who feels that the disease is the disease is the disease, I don’t have any problems with saying “My name is Zach and I’m an alcoholic,” when I’m at an AA meeting, or introducing myself “My name is Zach and I’m an addict,” at NA meetings. At my homegroup, though, where I am most comfortable, I occasionally say this: “My name is Zach and I still suffer from the disease of addiction.” Oddly enough, this feels like the most truthful statement I can make.

The program teaches us honesty, but I am always conscious of whichever room I am in to be respectful of that particular meeting. After all, I am just like everyone else there; I am not so special as to warrant a specialized introduction. A big part of my Recovery has been getting over myself and letting go of the idea that I am so special and unique. In the rooms, I am an addict and/or an alcoholic, just like everyone else there. It’s not a coincidence that I tend to use that last intro at times when I am not doing so well.

I’ve heard it said by some that one of the most amazing things the Program has done for them is relieved them of the burden of self. This is mostly true for me as well, but there are days when my sense of self marches to the front and demands it’s ego be stroked: I am special. I am unique. I am different from all of you and I demand respect and special treatment. Ah, Uncle Steve… he tries so hard. If only he could look in the mirror and see the little two-year-old he all too often acts like.

This disease, the sick insanity it causes in our lives, it never quits. We can treat it through working the Program, but it is always there. Like someone who is diabetic but takes their insulin, or someone who has manic depression who takes psychiatric medication—they don’t stop being diabetic or bipolar, but the damage caused by their diseases can be minimized. The damage caused by the disease of addiction can be minimized, too, but only if we choose to minimize it. Only when we choose to treat our disease, live according to the spiritual principles of the program and by the will of our higher power instead of self-will, does the insanity, chaos, and wreckage begin to stop.

Many of us have learned the hard way that when we let self-will run our lives, the consequences are disastrous. It’s not called ‘wreckage’ for nothing. We find ourselves in situations we never thought we’d be in, doing things we’d never thought we’d do. And when we are stuck in self-will, our ability to see our part in things, our ability to understand why we are where we are, why we’re doing what we’re doing, how we got there and why we’re stuck, can be almost completely impaired. It takes a crash to shake us out of it, and when the crash comes it is far too often more painful than we ever thought it would be. We have to bottom out. We have to be in so much pain that we become willing to go to any lengths to change. If we're lucky, we can get to a point where we choose to live by the principles of the Program because we don't want to be in that pain anymore.

The disease is insidious. It sneaks up on us. It disguises itself, cloaks itself, comes on us sometimes rapidly, other times gradually. The gradual times are the worst, because the progression is so slow that we don’t notice it. Everything seems normal, and ‘normal’ can be a real bitch because, as addicts, our sense of normal is horribly warped. When the disease is at the helm, when self-will is running our lives, that’s when we create wreckage. We destroy friendships, hurt loved ones, and hurt ourselves.

We have to check ourselves constantly. The tenth step can be an invaluable tool. But even without it, we still have others. The spiritual principle of the first step—Honesty—can be all we need. Being honest with ourselves is more often harder than anything else, but we can do it if we choose to. We can ask ourselves the hard questions: why have I chosen to not follow the advice of those who have always given me good advice? Why am I choosing to compromise my principles? What exactly am I afraid of? What am I trying to control?

Sometimes we aren’t able to be honest with ourselves. We can become locked into the disease; it’s at the helm and we are completely unable to wrest our fingers off the steering wheel of our lives. We then must follow the course through, let our self-will run things until they once again get so bad that we are in so much pain that we again become willing to go to any lengths for our spiritual recovery. We are human beings; we aren’t perfect. Sometimes creating more wreckage is the only way we learn. Sometimes losing things that are precious to us is the only way we are able to clue-in to what we have been doing or how bad our disease is. Sometimes, we have to lose everything before we become willing to let go and make the change and do things differently. Sometimes, we have to experience deep pain before we can be done.

Being 'done' doesn't refer to just using or drinking. We can be done, too, with creating wreckage. We can be done with causing chaos in other peoples' lives. We can be done with losing our jobs, our family, and our friends.

I had a discussion not too long ago with some guys in the program whose time was in the 5-10 year range. They were talking about sponsorship and how you shouldn’t waste your time trying to sponsor newcomers who aren’t willing to follow suggestions. “Help someone who is ready,” they advised. “Find someone who’s done.”

"Action"

When I was active in my addiction, passivity was the norm. I could go on and on about how unfair life was, rage for hours or even days and weeks about some wrong that had been committed against me. Rarely did I ever do anything about any of it. I thought that there was no point in taking action. There had been so many times when I’d tried to do something where I was unsuccessful, I’d reached a point where there seemed to be no point in trying. Wallowing in inaction, of course, only served to make me feel worse about myself, which in turn lead to more inaction.

Nowadays, I’ve discovered that taking action has the opposite effect. When I do take action, I feel better about myself. I have a lot of uncertainty in my life right now concerning my job. The other day I cold-called a company that a coworker had told me about and gave them my resume. I don’t even know if they’re hiring, or that I would want to work there if they are. It doesn’t matter. It was the act of doing something made me feel better. I struggle, too, with not having a girlfriend in my life, but instead of sitting at home and moping about it, I take action. I go to places I like to go to, do the things I enjoy doing, and talk to the people who are there. Maybe nothing comes of it, but I’m far more likely to meet someone I have something in common with if I’m out doing the things I enjoy than if I simply stay home and feel sorry for myself.

A lot of us come into Recovery being people of inaction. The only action we knew how to take was to pick up--and we could go to such great lengths to make that happen! How many times was that action insanely unmanageable? I remember a share at a meeting once of someone drilling through ceiling tiles to break in past a locked door. I myself have driven obscene numbers of miles to an out-of-town connection because my regular connections couldn’t be reached. These two examples are, of course, mild in comparison to some others. We knew how to take action to feed our disease, but in other areas of our lives, we were paralyzed.

The Steps teach us better ways of taking action. Action is a skill that is learned and cultivated, not some innate ability we are born with. Certain steps are specifically referred to as ‘Action Steps’. It is my belief that each and every one of the twelve steps are action steps. When we work any step, we are taking action in treating our disease; we are taking action in our Recovery, defying the odds, and allowing ourselves to care about us and the people around us. We can become better people through working the steps, and that in turn has a positive effect on the people around us. Positivity spreads every bit as much as negativity does.

Even going to a meeting is taking action. Any time we treat our disease instead of feeding it, we are taking action to keep ourselves healthy and be the better part of ourselves. When we act from our best selves, we feel better.

“Just For Today”

It’s another one of those days where hope seems to have flown out the window. The mindless monotony of day-to-day life would be better. All the negativity seems to be engorged like hideous balloons, obscuring any vision of things that are good. All the usual mind tricks lose their potency, and bit by bit I find myself sinking into something of a survival mode. Don’t get loaded… don’t get loaded… don’t get loaded…

I open my toolbox. Play it through: if I get loaded, it doesn’t solve anything; it’s just an escape, and all the problems I’m facing will still be right here afterwards. Find some gratitude: think of others who are less fortunate, recognize the good things in my life, focus on what I do have, not what I don’t. Stay in the real: I haven’t lost my job yet; I might not lose it at all. Each one turns the bolt only ever so slightly before popping off because it’s the wrong size.

A memory comes to my mind: a time in my life before my active addiction was so active. There was a time when I was a casual user, before I was loaded all day long, every day. The thoughts of feeling that nothing would ever go my way were rampant. I was never going to fit in, I was never going to have stability in my life. Life was never going to give me the peace I craved that I felt I’d somehow, somewhere, long ago been promised. So I made the decision to just be loaded all the time. I felt that, if I couldn’t have any of those things that so many others seem to get so effortlessly, then I’ll just be loaded. It was the giving up point. The point of no return on the ‘fuck-it’s, and not unlike the suicidal thoughts that have plagued me over the years.

In a sick way, it was a compromise. Life was always going to give me this constant stream of bullshit, well since I can’t control that, I’ll just be loaded all the time. I couldn’t deal with life, and that was my solution—to deliberately refuse to do so. To stop trying. To alter myself and perceptions to the point that who I was became lost. The world had rejected me, I felt, and so I rejected the world.

I pray. I pray a lot. Today I’m asking for guidance. I can’t find it in me to ask for strength. I’m not sure I want strength right now. I’m not freaked out about losing my job, I’m freaked out about being unemployed and not being able to pay my rent. I feel, once again, that I have tried to play the game the way it’s supposed to be played, and once again have been cheated by life because I didn’t cheat at it. And through it all, I feel as if there is something I am missing, some crucial ‘ah-ha!’ moment that escapes me somehow. Some key bit of knowledge, or something I have been unable to accept, that if I somehow knew, if I was somehow aware of or able to work on or fold into my being, that then somehow life would go smoothly. This seemingly constant starting over would end.

I remember hearing a professional author once speak to students who were considering being writers themselves. The advice given was this: if you can find anything else, any other career, any other way to make a living, do it. Do. It. Don’t go into writing unless it’s something you absolutely have to do and can’t live any other way. Why? Because it’s hard. It starts hard, gets worse, and there’s no improvement, only the occasional brief respite where things seem like they might be okay one day before they go back to being constantly difficult.

Recovery is like that. When I hit my one-year mark, a number of folks told me, ‘now the hard part begins’. My sponsor talks about the sophomore slump. I think they’re right. Once you pass the one-year mark, there's no more parade of birthdays to aim for. The pink cloud has long-since faded. The pace of change lessens, tapers off. Life must be lived. There are no more carrots to bait you, only the stick of cold, hard reality. And you have to keep going.

I have to work to remind myself that getting loaded isn’t the way out. I have to work to remind myself of how far down I’d been, the disaster that my life was, the hollow shell of a human being that I used to be. Then I have to work to remind myself that, yes, I really go back to being like that. Maybe not instantly, maybe not even within a few months, but eventually it will happen. And I will go back to being the man I used to be--the me that hated himself, that treated others and himself so badly.

Recovery doesn’t make me not an addict, it only gives me a way to live without active addition—something I desperately needed. And I have to remind myself of that, too, of how it felt to be new to sobriety, the freedom, the power of working the steps and hearing others’ shares. It’s so easy to become wrapped up in the doldrums of the dark moments.

‘This too shall pass’ keeps coming to my mind, and I have experienced enough difficulties in this sober living thing that I do to know it to be true. I know there is an end to the tunnel, even if I can’t see it. Sometimes, it just takes a little longer to reach. Sometimes I have to take baby steps to reach it. Sometimes, I really do have to take it down to those old thoughts from the very first days, where it felt like nothing more than white-knuckling it: don’t get loaded… don’t do it… Just for today. Don’t. Get. Loaded.