Eleven years and eleven days ago, I smoked a joint. That was the last time I used marijuana. I quit using all other drugs, including alcohol, seven or eight weeks prior to smoking that last joint. Now, there have been times during these last eleven years when I've really wanted to smoke some pot. Like, I mean, really wanted to. Bad. But I didn't. As with the other drugs I used on a daily, or near-daily basis, I believed total abstinence was the way to kick it. I had tried to quit countless times, only to later decide I could drink just one or smoke just one or snort just one and that would be the end of it; I wouldn't feel the need to go out and find more and more and more and more and more and then a whole bunch more.
So, eleven years and eleven days ago, I decided that was it. Every day since then, I've re-made that decision. The days have added up. I went from wanting a drink or wanting to get high every day to wanting that every few days, then once or twice a week, then a few times a month, and before I knew it, there'd be these long stretches of weeks between cravings. Later still, there'd be months between cravings. Then the cravings pretty much disappeared - well, almost. Once or twice a year, I'd get a strong urge to partake of some mind-altering chemical concoction, but I wouldn't follow through on the urge. Most times, I didn't even consider those incidents as actual "cravings" any longer - just urges.
I had the day off today. I decided to drive to the mountains a couple hours north of where I live and shoot some pictures. I love the mountains and I love bare trees and frozen rivers. I put on my leather jacket, but when I walked outside, it was cold. Since I knew I'd be spending most of my time out of my car and in the woods or on the riverbank, I ran back into the house and grabbed a heavy coat from a closet full of jackets and coats, many which haven't been worn in many years. This particular one didn't actually ever belong to me, but it looked warm and I grabbed it. An hour into the drive, I reached my hand into a pocket of the coat where I had dropped some Nicorette gum (yeah, I'm still not smoking a year later, but I'm still chomping on Nicorette several times a day) and pulled out the Nicorette and a joint.
What the hell? Where did this come from? Who's jacket was this? I don't even know. I didn't even really care. I just knew I was holding a joint. Actually, it was about three-quarters of a joint, but a joint nevertheless.
I held it up to my nose and smelled the marijuana through the paper of the joint. It smelled good. I breathed it in deeply several times. I checked the pockets of the coat for more, but that was all there was. I kept driving, holding the joint in my hand against the steering wheel. I was trying to figure out what to do with it. From the time I was 13 or 14, until I was 34 years old, I smoked pot nearly every day of my life, several times a day most days. I smoked it through high school, through college, through various jobs, through everything. Being high became my "normal." After I quit smoking pot, it took a couple years until not being high felt normal.
My "new normal" thought patterns left me and I started thinking like an addict in active addiction. Me, driving along, trying to figure out what to do with it, suddenly made me laugh out loud. What to do with it?? Like, I didn't know? Ha! I thought.
I started having a conversation with myself in my head: I know what to do with it. I know exactly what to do with it. I'll light the damned thing. I'll just light it and see how it smells. Maybe I'll just light it and I won't actually take a toke. I'll just smell it.
Yeah, right, Maze. Like that would ever happen. If you light that thing, you're taking a toke, and if you take a toke, you'll take another one and another one until it gone. Then what?
Maybe that'll be the end of it. Maybe I'll just keep that little secret all to myself and never tell anyone and go on with my life like it never happened. I mean, come on, it's just marijuana. It's not like I found a bag of cocaine or anything. Who will ever know?
I will. How will I be able to sponsor others who are new in recovery with such a secret? How will I be able to face those who depend on me, my children, my family, my friends, my clients? How will I be able to sit in meetings every Monday night and share about recovery or listen to others sharing about their recovery, all the while living with this lie? And who the hell am I fooling? How long do I think I'll even continue attending my Narcotics Anonymous meeting if I smoke this? A week? A month? Then I'll decide I got away with once, why not get some more and keep it stashed somewhere so I can do it again... every once in a while? Not often, not every day, just every few weeks or so.
And just when did you ever smoke dope that infrequently? You'll stop going to meetings in a couple of weeks, buy a bag of pot, then you'll be smoking it every day. Then, since you're doing that, you'll figure you might as well buy some Kalhua, Bailey's, and Vodka and make some Mudslings and White Russians this holiday season. Isn't that your favorite time of year to drink? Oh, nevermind, I forgot it didn't really make a damned bit of difference what time a year it was... you just liked to drink, period. The Mud Slings and White Russians were your Winter Drink, but you had the other seasons covered, too. Don't forget that.
Oh, and you have cirrhosis of the liver, so drinking alcohol would be a real bright idea now, wouldn't it?
Oh yeah, I forgot about the cirrhosis. Damn, how could I forget that?
Well, maybe you'll just bypass the alcohol and when you get bored with the pot, you can buy a few grams of cocaine. You can't really afford more than that, so that means you'd buy that first little bit and then you'd have no choice in the matter because you'd be out of money so you wouldn't buy any more than that.
Yes, that stopped me in the past, didn't it? I had less money when I used it everyday, but I still somehow found the ways and means to get more....
Why don't you just shut the hell up and pick up the cell phone and call somebody, tell them what is going on?
Hey, good idea.
So that is what I did. I called a friend in recovery, someone I've known for ten years. I didn't give her any details at first, I just said, "Trace, tell me to roll down my window and throw this thing out." She said, "What thing?" I said, "I'll tell you in a minute, just tell me to do it." So she did. And then I did. I rolled the window down and threw the joint into the wind. It is lying somewhere on Highway 441 in the North Carolina mountains. I told Trace what was going on, and I felt better when I hung up the phone. Then I started feeling really sad. Then I was crying. Why was I crying? Why was I sad? Why, after eleven years and eleven days did I react as if I instead had eleven hours clean? Does it ever stop?
No. It actually doesn't. My brain has been permanently altered. That's a fact, backed up by science, studies, MRI imaging, etc. Thankfully, things like this don't happen frequently, but they do happen at least once a year, sometimes two or three times a year. Yet it always takes me by surprise. Always. At Thanksgiving, someone asked me why I still went to Narcotics Anonymous meetings after eleven years of being clean. I wish that person could have been inside my head, or even in my car today. That would have answered their question better than any words I could ever use to explain it to someone. I think, in answer to this person's question, I said something along the lines of: It is sort of like a bank account. If I keep writing checks on my bank account and never make any deposits, eventually (really quickly, actually) I'm going to start bouncing checks. Bounced checks will cause some very big problems in my life. Same with meetings. What I do to maintain my recovery is my spiritual and emotional bank account. Going to meetings, working on myself, living my life according to spiritual principles are all like deposits. When I'm confronted with a desire to get high or take a drink again, I'll have something to draw on, I'll have that reserve in the bank, and that means I'll have a better chance to resist such urges. If I don't resist, if I have nothing to draw on in such times, a return to active addiction is going to cause some very big problems in my life.
It probably didn't make much sense to that person, but it is an answer I've given before so I went with it. I didn't really even think much about it.
Until today.
Today that answer wasn't just an explanation, words strung together to answer a question... no, today, that was pure reality. I am thankful I've been consistent with the deposits because I sure drew on the reserves today.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
