STEP FIVE
"We admitted to god, to ourselves, and to another human being, the exact nature of our wrongs."
[Spiritual principle(s) associated with this step: Integrity, Honesty]
I sometimes prefer darkness over light.
The living room needs a good dusting - if I open the shades, this becomes obvious to me and anyone else walking into the living room. If I keep the shades closed, I don't really notice the dust particles, and chances are, no one else will notice, either.
In step five, I have to open the shades. I have to let in the light that will show every dust particle floating in the air, the collected dust on the furniture, and the dust bunnies hiding under the couch. I have to stand in the center of the living room and take it all in. It is not a pretty sight.
If that's not bad enough, I have to invite someone into the dusty, dirty living room without tidying up before they get there.
Why is it so hard to share who I am, who I really am, with another person? That's what step five is about, see. Before taking this step, I had shared a lot of different pieces of myself with a lot of different people. I had never shared all of me with one other person. As far back as I can remember, this is how I operated... you get to know this part of me, and he gets to know this other part of me, and she gets to know still another part of me. Taken all together, it is the whole of me, but I always felt too vulnerable and exposed to put the whole of me out there, all at once.
Why is it so hard to share the whole of me with another person? I believe the fear is rooted in rejection. When you know who I really am, when I am fully exposed, you will not like some parts of me that I previously hid away from you. When you see me in the light, without shadows, you will turn away from me. When you hear what I've done, the sins I've committed, you will condemn me. When you know how I think, when my soul is laid bare, you will hate me. When I allow you to know me, to truly know me, you will wish you had never met me.
I am so ugly. I have hidden so much. I am cloaked in shame. See these things, hear these words, this is the whole of me.
My pain was my excuse, but in this light there are no worthy excuses. As much as I experienced pain in my life, I also caused it. The harsh light shows me this. The harsh light shows you this.
My fear was my armor, but I have been stripped of my armor. So many of the fears I have held onto, so many of the fears that have guided my life could have long ago been discarded. I chose to hold onto them and I chose to allow them to hold me back from becoming who I could have become, who I was meant to become.
My shame was my prison, but the cell door has been unlocked for a long time; I kept the door closed and told myself I didn't have the key. It was more comfortable to remain in that prison of shame, playing the part of the victim, telling myself it was not safe to come out of my cell.
The exact natures of my wrongs: Pain, fear, shame. All of my anger, all of my sadness, all of my dishonesty, all of my guilt, it is all rooted in pain and fear and shame. Every crime I've ever committed, every hurt I've ever caused, every lie I've ever told, it is all rooted in pain and fear and shame.
Pain and fear and shame. These are the exact natures of all my wrongs. Under the dirt and the dust, in the light, for god to see, for me to see, for you to see, these have been the underlying, guiding forces of all my life. Pain and fear and shame.
Because you hear me, my pain is lessened.
Because you hold me, my fear dissolves.
Because you see me, my shame is erased.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
3.28.2008
3.24.2008
Step Four: Just The Facts
Ends...some people will rob their mother for the ends; rats snitch on one another for the ends; sometimes kids get murdered for the ends.
--Everlast
STEP FOUR
“We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.”
[Spiritual principle(s) associated with this step: Courage, Self-honesty]
Take out a pen and piece of paper. Make that, several pieces of paper. Might as well make it a spiral notebook, or two. Lots of writing to be done!
A ‘searching and fearless moral inventory’ sounds ominous. I know I avoided moving on to this step for quite some time. I was so afraid of what I would discover about myself. Perhaps that is why courage is one of the spiritual principles associated with step four. I had to get past the fear of what I would find out about myself and just put pen to paper and start… somewhere… anywhere… just start writing.
I have heard, many times, that the steps are in the order they are in for a reason. I know that this is true because I once tried to skip steps one, two and three and just do a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself. I guess I assumed that step four was the key to getting clean. I figured if I just did that, then I’d know myself better and therefore be able to change without being in a 12 step group or in any sort of formal recovery program. The inventory I took ended up being neither searching nor fearless. When I look back on that inventory now, I see a lot of justifications and rationalizations for my behavior.
“I stole the Loratabs from Kelly’s medicine cabinet, but they were expiring that month anyhow.”
“I borrowed money from my son’s savings account, but I always intended to pay it back.”
A true fourth step, a searching fourth step, a fearless fourth step, is an honest moral inventory.
The word inventory means just that. A stock-taking. A list. Inventory it, don’t explain it. Just write it out as it happened without justifying or rationalizing or even trying to understand. Understanding will come later. Understanding comes in the steps that follow. Step four is simply an inventory.
“I stole $2000 from Kim.” There is no reason to explain that at this point.
“I endangered my children’s lives by driving drunk when they were in the car.” That’s it, list it and move on.
“I often took my children with me when I picked up drugs in dangerous neighborhoods.” Avoid the desire to add, ‘but it was better than leaving them home alone.’
“I used rent and food money to buy drugs.” No need to explain how I still managed to feed my family.
“I lied to my husband about where I spent my time.” Just the facts, nothing more.
“I called into work sick many, many times when I was not sick.” It doesn’t matter that I had a hangover or was coked up from Friday to Sunday and went without sleep the entire weekend.
"I took the left-over Morphine patches and the bottles of Dilaudid and Xanax from my mother's room before the coroner even took her body away." I don't even have a justification for this one.
Take an inventory. Just the facts.
The thing about years of active drug addiction is that it changes you. Inside, at your core, you are still the same person, but on the outside, what others see, is very different than what is at your core. Your insides don’t match your outsides.
Inside, you have values and standards and morals like anyone else. Outside, your behavior doesn’t reflect those values and standards and morals, at least not consistently. Values and morals usually dictate behavior. Not so in active addiction. The need, the hunger, the all-consuming craving is what dictates behavior.
For example, I know it is wrong to steal. That goes against my moral fiber. It is a direct contradiction to the values I was raised on and took to heart. Yet, I did steal. I stole from strangers, from establishments, from friends, from family. I stole merchandise and money and drugs. Did I feel guilty? Absolutely. Did that stop me? Rarely. The need to satisfy my craving almost always outweighed the need to live up to my own internal standards.
I am not going to go through my laundry list of crimes and misdeeds, of hurts and manipulations, of my moral degradation and spiritual demoralization. It is not necessary to do that here, now. I have done that. I have worked step four several times in these past ten years.
Every time I work step four it feels as if I go deeper, like another layer has come off and I discover more about
who I was,
who I became,
who I am now,
who I am becoming.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
--Everlast
STEP FOUR
“We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.”
[Spiritual principle(s) associated with this step: Courage, Self-honesty]
Take out a pen and piece of paper. Make that, several pieces of paper. Might as well make it a spiral notebook, or two. Lots of writing to be done!
A ‘searching and fearless moral inventory’ sounds ominous. I know I avoided moving on to this step for quite some time. I was so afraid of what I would discover about myself. Perhaps that is why courage is one of the spiritual principles associated with step four. I had to get past the fear of what I would find out about myself and just put pen to paper and start… somewhere… anywhere… just start writing.
I have heard, many times, that the steps are in the order they are in for a reason. I know that this is true because I once tried to skip steps one, two and three and just do a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself. I guess I assumed that step four was the key to getting clean. I figured if I just did that, then I’d know myself better and therefore be able to change without being in a 12 step group or in any sort of formal recovery program. The inventory I took ended up being neither searching nor fearless. When I look back on that inventory now, I see a lot of justifications and rationalizations for my behavior.
“I stole the Loratabs from Kelly’s medicine cabinet, but they were expiring that month anyhow.”
“I borrowed money from my son’s savings account, but I always intended to pay it back.”
A true fourth step, a searching fourth step, a fearless fourth step, is an honest moral inventory.
The word inventory means just that. A stock-taking. A list. Inventory it, don’t explain it. Just write it out as it happened without justifying or rationalizing or even trying to understand. Understanding will come later. Understanding comes in the steps that follow. Step four is simply an inventory.
“I stole $2000 from Kim.” There is no reason to explain that at this point.
“I endangered my children’s lives by driving drunk when they were in the car.” That’s it, list it and move on.
“I often took my children with me when I picked up drugs in dangerous neighborhoods.” Avoid the desire to add, ‘but it was better than leaving them home alone.’
“I used rent and food money to buy drugs.” No need to explain how I still managed to feed my family.
“I lied to my husband about where I spent my time.” Just the facts, nothing more.
“I called into work sick many, many times when I was not sick.” It doesn’t matter that I had a hangover or was coked up from Friday to Sunday and went without sleep the entire weekend.
"I took the left-over Morphine patches and the bottles of Dilaudid and Xanax from my mother's room before the coroner even took her body away." I don't even have a justification for this one.
Take an inventory. Just the facts.
The thing about years of active drug addiction is that it changes you. Inside, at your core, you are still the same person, but on the outside, what others see, is very different than what is at your core. Your insides don’t match your outsides.
Inside, you have values and standards and morals like anyone else. Outside, your behavior doesn’t reflect those values and standards and morals, at least not consistently. Values and morals usually dictate behavior. Not so in active addiction. The need, the hunger, the all-consuming craving is what dictates behavior.
For example, I know it is wrong to steal. That goes against my moral fiber. It is a direct contradiction to the values I was raised on and took to heart. Yet, I did steal. I stole from strangers, from establishments, from friends, from family. I stole merchandise and money and drugs. Did I feel guilty? Absolutely. Did that stop me? Rarely. The need to satisfy my craving almost always outweighed the need to live up to my own internal standards.
I am not going to go through my laundry list of crimes and misdeeds, of hurts and manipulations, of my moral degradation and spiritual demoralization. It is not necessary to do that here, now. I have done that. I have worked step four several times in these past ten years.
Every time I work step four it feels as if I go deeper, like another layer has come off and I discover more about
who I was,
who I became,
who I am now,
who I am becoming.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
3.21.2008
Rumblestrips Ahead!
Nine years ago I discovered rumblestrips. My life was changed forever. Seriously. Do you know what a rumblestrip is? I was driving around DC and came upon a sign that said, “Rumblestrips Ahead.” What the hell is a rumblestrip? Just as I opened my mouth to ask my passenger that question, I ran over those raised bumps in the road that vibrate your car and warn you that a stop sign is ahead. Oh, so that’s what a rumblestrip is. Makes sense.
From that moment on, I began to think about rumblestrips and I haven’t stopped since. You think I’m exaggerating, but I am not. I think about them all the time, and not only when I’m driving over them. They have become the metaphor of my life. I own the domain name rumblestrips.net, and I’d own the dot com version, too, if someone hadn’t beat me to it. The dot com site of rumblestrips is owned by a band of the same name in the UK. If and when I publish a book I’ve been thinking about for some time now, I will call it Rumblestrips.
There are two types of rumblestrips. The first type are constructed several yards before an intersection. These warn you about the upcoming intersection and subsequent stop sign or traffic signal. The second type are shoulder rumblestrips. They are constructed along the side of the highway, usually on the interstate, and they are narrow and run along the shoulder of the outside lane. If you start to drift off onto the shoulder of the highway, you feel the little vibration and hear a rumble. You can then correct your course.
As I go through my life, looking back on the past, as well as being aware of what’s going on in the here-and-now, it is easy to identify the rumblestrips. They are warnings that there is danger ahead, that I’m drifting off course, that there is a dangerous intersection ahead, basically that something is just not quite right or normal.
My rumblestrips come by way of other people’s comments, my conscience, information gathered, something I read, but most often from my own intuition.
The first identifiable rumblestrip in my life was when my parents took me out of public school after the 8th grade and enrolled me in a private, Christian school. Even though they didn’t know about my shenanigans with the boat, and other similar things I was getting into, they must have sensed something in me that told them they needed to intervene and change my environment. Even though I didn’t think they knew about my pot smoking and newly discovered love of alcohol, they must have known on some level. Thankfully, they chose to throw up a rumblestrip. I fought them and cried endless tears, to no avail… on the first day of 9th grade I found myself in a small, Christian school, away from my drug-using, trouble-making friends. I was the only one I knew in school who smoked cigarettes. Unlike school the previous year, when I wanted to smoke, I was out behind the school alone doing it, rather than standing in a circle with a dozen other rule-breakers.
The next rumblestrip that came along was making the volleyball team as a freshman. It was hard to get stoned everyday after school when I had volleyball practice and games. After a while, sports became more important to me than getting high, at least during high school.
Another rumblestrip during my teenage years was my involvement with a youth group at our church. This involvement didn’t stop me from doing a lot of harmful and stupid things, but it curbed me. Like a rumblestrip, it didn’t force me to stop, but it sure provided me a lot of warning about the dangers of what I was doing.
I won’t go through all the rumblestrips in my life; there are simply too many. Once I became aware of rumblestrips, though, my awareness level of both myself and the circumstances and events of my life became so much greater. And I believe that if I remain aware and open myself up to every day’s lessons, I am a better person, a happier person, and live a much fuller life.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
From that moment on, I began to think about rumblestrips and I haven’t stopped since. You think I’m exaggerating, but I am not. I think about them all the time, and not only when I’m driving over them. They have become the metaphor of my life. I own the domain name rumblestrips.net, and I’d own the dot com version, too, if someone hadn’t beat me to it. The dot com site of rumblestrips is owned by a band of the same name in the UK. If and when I publish a book I’ve been thinking about for some time now, I will call it Rumblestrips.
There are two types of rumblestrips. The first type are constructed several yards before an intersection. These warn you about the upcoming intersection and subsequent stop sign or traffic signal. The second type are shoulder rumblestrips. They are constructed along the side of the highway, usually on the interstate, and they are narrow and run along the shoulder of the outside lane. If you start to drift off onto the shoulder of the highway, you feel the little vibration and hear a rumble. You can then correct your course.
As I go through my life, looking back on the past, as well as being aware of what’s going on in the here-and-now, it is easy to identify the rumblestrips. They are warnings that there is danger ahead, that I’m drifting off course, that there is a dangerous intersection ahead, basically that something is just not quite right or normal.
My rumblestrips come by way of other people’s comments, my conscience, information gathered, something I read, but most often from my own intuition.
The first identifiable rumblestrip in my life was when my parents took me out of public school after the 8th grade and enrolled me in a private, Christian school. Even though they didn’t know about my shenanigans with the boat, and other similar things I was getting into, they must have sensed something in me that told them they needed to intervene and change my environment. Even though I didn’t think they knew about my pot smoking and newly discovered love of alcohol, they must have known on some level. Thankfully, they chose to throw up a rumblestrip. I fought them and cried endless tears, to no avail… on the first day of 9th grade I found myself in a small, Christian school, away from my drug-using, trouble-making friends. I was the only one I knew in school who smoked cigarettes. Unlike school the previous year, when I wanted to smoke, I was out behind the school alone doing it, rather than standing in a circle with a dozen other rule-breakers.
The next rumblestrip that came along was making the volleyball team as a freshman. It was hard to get stoned everyday after school when I had volleyball practice and games. After a while, sports became more important to me than getting high, at least during high school.
Another rumblestrip during my teenage years was my involvement with a youth group at our church. This involvement didn’t stop me from doing a lot of harmful and stupid things, but it curbed me. Like a rumblestrip, it didn’t force me to stop, but it sure provided me a lot of warning about the dangers of what I was doing.
I won’t go through all the rumblestrips in my life; there are simply too many. Once I became aware of rumblestrips, though, my awareness level of both myself and the circumstances and events of my life became so much greater. And I believe that if I remain aware and open myself up to every day’s lessons, I am a better person, a happier person, and live a much fuller life.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
3.19.2008
Step Three: Take Me To The River
STEP THREE
"We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of god, as we understood him."
[Spiritual principle(s) associated with this step: Trust, Faith]
It was 1988. My boss called me into her office. She said she had thought long and hard about firing me, and that she probably should, but instead she was going to give me an ultimatum. After work, on that very day, she said, she and I would attend an AA or an NA meeting. If I didn’t agree, I was to clear out my office and she would accept my resignation before the end of the day.
I went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting with her.
I sat in the back of the room. She stayed outside talking to some others who didn’t come into the meeting. She didn’t give me the option of staying outside. I looked around the room and saw posters with quotes everywhere:
“Just For Today.”
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
“God does for me what I cannot do for myself.”
“Step 3: Turn it over to God.”
What is this place? Who are these people, a bunch of Jesus-freaks? I closed my mind and went off to the private place in my head I know so well. Everyone got in a circle at the end of the meeting and said a prayer. I bolted as soon as the people on either side of me let go of my hand.
My boss caught up with me half-way to the car. “So, what did you think?”
“It is a cult. Have you ever actually been to one of these meetings?”
“No, but my brother goes to NA and it saved his life.”
I doubted that. “Well, I’m not going back. Fire me, if you want, but I’m not going back to listen to a bunch of religious fanatics talk about how they used to get be junkies and now they are not because they found God. I got saved when I was nine and it obviously didn’t take.”
She "suspended" me. I am sure I could have fought it, but I was snorting cocaine all day at work and I had come back from lunch on more than one occasion after downing five or six drinks. Some days I drank more and didn’t come back at all. She was right to cut me loose.
I ended up in my first rehab a few months later. My mind remained closed. They talked about God there, too. I asked them how they could bill my medical insurance company for requiring me to attend religious meetings as part of my ‘treatment.’ I never got an answer.
Many times in the following years, I stumbled back into AA or NA meetings, either on my own, or as a requirement of whatever rehab center I happened to be in at the time. And every single time I got to step three, I balked. Usually I did more than that – usually I left and didn’t come back for a long time.
One time, in 1996, I got clean for a few months and didn’t run when I got to step three. I decided to revisit the God of my childhood. I was so angry at that God, though. I prayed. I talked about God. I went to church some. I tried. But I felt that God had let me down and I didn't trust that He would help me now. I ended up using again.
When I got clean again in 1997, I heard something I somehow missed all those other times. I heard this: “We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to ….god… as we understood him.” Hmm, well, I don’t understand god at all. Every version of god I’ve ever read about or heard about doesn’t make any sense to me.
I got busy defining a new version of god, one that made sense to me, one that I could halfway understand and believe in. Through my research and seeking, I discovered I believed in reincarnation. My soul was also recognizing many truths in the eastern religions. Someone gave me a copy of the Tao Te Ching after I shared about my aversion to the whole ‘god-thing’ in a meeting one night. I read Stephen Mitchell’s translation of the Tao Te Ching in its entirety that night. Then I went to the bookstore and bought several other translations.
My favorite translation remains Mitchell's:
Tao #16:
Empty your mind of all thoughts.
Let your heart be at peace.
Watch the turmoil of beings,
but contemplate their return.
Each separate being in the universe
returns to the common source.
Returning to the source is serenity.
If you don't realize the source,
you stumble in confusion and sorrow.
When you realize where you come from,
you naturally become tolerant,
disinterested, amused,
kindhearted as a grandmother,
dignified as a king.
Immersed in the wonder of the Tao,
you can deal with whatever life brings you,
and when death comes, you are ready.
Suddenly, I saw a new face of god, one I’d never seen before.
When I am at one with the source, when I at one with the Tao, it is like floating on a raft down the river, gently going with the current. When I go against the Tao, when I try to manipulate people and situations, when I attempt to control all that is around me, it is like trying to fight the current and go upstream, against the current. ‘Working’ step three, for me, means flowing with that current. Even when I come upon whitewater, even when the rapids batter my raft, if I allow the current to guide me, I will get where I need to go.
Flowing with that current, realizing where I come from, discovering my source, my concept of god, my very personal, very individual, very private spiritual beliefs, allows me to deal with whatever life brings me.
It is that simple. And it always was.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
"We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of god, as we understood him."
[Spiritual principle(s) associated with this step: Trust, Faith]
It was 1988. My boss called me into her office. She said she had thought long and hard about firing me, and that she probably should, but instead she was going to give me an ultimatum. After work, on that very day, she said, she and I would attend an AA or an NA meeting. If I didn’t agree, I was to clear out my office and she would accept my resignation before the end of the day.
I went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting with her.
I sat in the back of the room. She stayed outside talking to some others who didn’t come into the meeting. She didn’t give me the option of staying outside. I looked around the room and saw posters with quotes everywhere:
“Just For Today.”
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
“God does for me what I cannot do for myself.”
“Step 3: Turn it over to God.”
What is this place? Who are these people, a bunch of Jesus-freaks? I closed my mind and went off to the private place in my head I know so well. Everyone got in a circle at the end of the meeting and said a prayer. I bolted as soon as the people on either side of me let go of my hand.
My boss caught up with me half-way to the car. “So, what did you think?”
“It is a cult. Have you ever actually been to one of these meetings?”
“No, but my brother goes to NA and it saved his life.”
I doubted that. “Well, I’m not going back. Fire me, if you want, but I’m not going back to listen to a bunch of religious fanatics talk about how they used to get be junkies and now they are not because they found God. I got saved when I was nine and it obviously didn’t take.”
She "suspended" me. I am sure I could have fought it, but I was snorting cocaine all day at work and I had come back from lunch on more than one occasion after downing five or six drinks. Some days I drank more and didn’t come back at all. She was right to cut me loose.
I ended up in my first rehab a few months later. My mind remained closed. They talked about God there, too. I asked them how they could bill my medical insurance company for requiring me to attend religious meetings as part of my ‘treatment.’ I never got an answer.
Many times in the following years, I stumbled back into AA or NA meetings, either on my own, or as a requirement of whatever rehab center I happened to be in at the time. And every single time I got to step three, I balked. Usually I did more than that – usually I left and didn’t come back for a long time.
One time, in 1996, I got clean for a few months and didn’t run when I got to step three. I decided to revisit the God of my childhood. I was so angry at that God, though. I prayed. I talked about God. I went to church some. I tried. But I felt that God had let me down and I didn't trust that He would help me now. I ended up using again.
When I got clean again in 1997, I heard something I somehow missed all those other times. I heard this: “We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to ….god… as we understood him.” Hmm, well, I don’t understand god at all. Every version of god I’ve ever read about or heard about doesn’t make any sense to me.
I got busy defining a new version of god, one that made sense to me, one that I could halfway understand and believe in. Through my research and seeking, I discovered I believed in reincarnation. My soul was also recognizing many truths in the eastern religions. Someone gave me a copy of the Tao Te Ching after I shared about my aversion to the whole ‘god-thing’ in a meeting one night. I read Stephen Mitchell’s translation of the Tao Te Ching in its entirety that night. Then I went to the bookstore and bought several other translations.
My favorite translation remains Mitchell's:
Tao #16:
Empty your mind of all thoughts.
Let your heart be at peace.
Watch the turmoil of beings,
but contemplate their return.
Each separate being in the universe
returns to the common source.
Returning to the source is serenity.
If you don't realize the source,
you stumble in confusion and sorrow.
When you realize where you come from,
you naturally become tolerant,
disinterested, amused,
kindhearted as a grandmother,
dignified as a king.
Immersed in the wonder of the Tao,
you can deal with whatever life brings you,
and when death comes, you are ready.
Suddenly, I saw a new face of god, one I’d never seen before.
When I am at one with the source, when I at one with the Tao, it is like floating on a raft down the river, gently going with the current. When I go against the Tao, when I try to manipulate people and situations, when I attempt to control all that is around me, it is like trying to fight the current and go upstream, against the current. ‘Working’ step three, for me, means flowing with that current. Even when I come upon whitewater, even when the rapids batter my raft, if I allow the current to guide me, I will get where I need to go.
Flowing with that current, realizing where I come from, discovering my source, my concept of god, my very personal, very individual, very private spiritual beliefs, allows me to deal with whatever life brings me.
It is that simple. And it always was.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
3.16.2008
Step Two: It Ain't About God
STEP TWO
"We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity."
[Spiritual principle behind this step: Hope]
Oh, god, it was happening again. My heart was beating so hard against my chest I thought it was going to hammer a hole through muscle, bone and skin. My arms and my legs were weak, so much so I had to sit down on the floor. My vision started to tunnel, everything black around the edges, the pinpoint of sight getting smaller and smaller. Last week I passed out when it went this far. I tried to hang on to conscious thought, but it was so hard. Somehow I stood up, walked a few steps, only to sit back down. I thought I should try to get to a phone; I should try to call somebody. But then my vision started to clear. My heartbeat stopped pounding the wall of my chest. I sat there on the floor for a few more minutes, then stood and went to the kitchen sink to splash my face and neck with cool water. It was over. This time. How long until the next time? I called the doctor's office to make an appointment. After hearing my symptoms, the nurse told me to come in right away and they'd work me in.
I described the symptoms to the doctor. After finding my heart beating normally and no other symptoms present, the doctor decided to hook me up to a heart monitor for 48 hours. I was to return in two days with a log of everything I did for those 48 hours.
The heart monitor and the logbook would provide him some answers.
And that might have worked, had he known the questions.
I didn't tell him about the half gram of cocaine I snorted thirty minutes prior to the latest episode. I didn't tell him that I sometimes passed out completely. I didn't tell him that this happened several times a week, sometimes more than once a day. What I really wanted was for the heart monitor and logbook to reveal that my cocaine use was not the cause of what was happening, but that it was something unrelated. Instead of logging, "hit of cocaine" in the logbook, I logged, "caffeine pill" or "espresso." If the cocaine was the problem, the doctor would tell me that these episodes only happened after the "caffeine pill" and "espresso" entries. Then I would know. He wouldn't know, but I would know.
I didn't pray a lot, never have used prayer much in my life, but I prayed a lot those 48 hours. I prayed that the cocaine wasn't the cause of whatever was happening to me. I prayed I had a faulty heart, or a stuck valve, something that heart surgery could fix.
Wait. Stop. Did you hear that? Did you hear what I just said? I was actually praying that I had a heart defect that required open heart surgery because, in my mind, that was more acceptable and more treatable than hearing the doctor say I had to lay off the "espresso" or it was going to kill me.
That's insanity.
And that is why, in step two, I had to find something, some power greater than me, greater than my addiction, that could actually restore me to some semblance of sanity. The addiction was too big to fight on my own. I wasn't the 'power greater.' Most people think this step means find God. I wasn't ready to deal with such a task after working step one and moving on to step two. I needed something right then, right there, right now. I didn't have time to find god. I needed hope and I needed it fast. I admitted I was powerless over my addiction and that left a huge hole right in the center of my soul. I had to fill it. I had to grab onto something that was bigger than my addiction in order to stay clean for another week, another day, another hour.
For me, I found that power greater than myself in the collective power of other addicts staying clean, and helping one another. I went to an NA or AA meeting everyday, every single day, for 6 months. "The therapeutic value of one addict helping another is without parallel." That is straight from the book of Narcotics Anonymous. I found it to be true.
I also found a power greater than myself and greater than my addiction in two weekly sessions with a therapist. I used this power for six months, then dialed down the power a bit to once-a-week sessions for another 18 months. I started feeling empowered.
I got a sponsor, someone to help me walk through the steps, someone to help me walk through the pain, someone to make me feel heard and understood. I also reached out to several others who were on the same path I had begun. I developed friendships with women who had been walking this same path for a year, three years, five years. Some of those friendships are still strong today, ten years later. My two closest friends are women I met in those first months of recovery. Those relationships became stronger than my addiction. Using again meant losing those friendships.
Once I discovered those powers greater than my addiction - the collective power of recovering addicts, therapy, a sponsor, and relationships with others in recovery - I was able to breathe a little, to loosen my panicked grip, to discover what needed to come next. I was able to take some time to allow the toxins in my body and my mind to clear out.
I was behaving differently.
I was thinking differently.
I was feeling differently.
I was being restored to sanity.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
"We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity."
[Spiritual principle behind this step: Hope]
Oh, god, it was happening again. My heart was beating so hard against my chest I thought it was going to hammer a hole through muscle, bone and skin. My arms and my legs were weak, so much so I had to sit down on the floor. My vision started to tunnel, everything black around the edges, the pinpoint of sight getting smaller and smaller. Last week I passed out when it went this far. I tried to hang on to conscious thought, but it was so hard. Somehow I stood up, walked a few steps, only to sit back down. I thought I should try to get to a phone; I should try to call somebody. But then my vision started to clear. My heartbeat stopped pounding the wall of my chest. I sat there on the floor for a few more minutes, then stood and went to the kitchen sink to splash my face and neck with cool water. It was over. This time. How long until the next time? I called the doctor's office to make an appointment. After hearing my symptoms, the nurse told me to come in right away and they'd work me in.
I described the symptoms to the doctor. After finding my heart beating normally and no other symptoms present, the doctor decided to hook me up to a heart monitor for 48 hours. I was to return in two days with a log of everything I did for those 48 hours.
The heart monitor and the logbook would provide him some answers.
And that might have worked, had he known the questions.
I didn't tell him about the half gram of cocaine I snorted thirty minutes prior to the latest episode. I didn't tell him that I sometimes passed out completely. I didn't tell him that this happened several times a week, sometimes more than once a day. What I really wanted was for the heart monitor and logbook to reveal that my cocaine use was not the cause of what was happening, but that it was something unrelated. Instead of logging, "hit of cocaine" in the logbook, I logged, "caffeine pill" or "espresso." If the cocaine was the problem, the doctor would tell me that these episodes only happened after the "caffeine pill" and "espresso" entries. Then I would know. He wouldn't know, but I would know.
I didn't pray a lot, never have used prayer much in my life, but I prayed a lot those 48 hours. I prayed that the cocaine wasn't the cause of whatever was happening to me. I prayed I had a faulty heart, or a stuck valve, something that heart surgery could fix.
Wait. Stop. Did you hear that? Did you hear what I just said? I was actually praying that I had a heart defect that required open heart surgery because, in my mind, that was more acceptable and more treatable than hearing the doctor say I had to lay off the "espresso" or it was going to kill me.
That's insanity.
And that is why, in step two, I had to find something, some power greater than me, greater than my addiction, that could actually restore me to some semblance of sanity. The addiction was too big to fight on my own. I wasn't the 'power greater.' Most people think this step means find God. I wasn't ready to deal with such a task after working step one and moving on to step two. I needed something right then, right there, right now. I didn't have time to find god. I needed hope and I needed it fast. I admitted I was powerless over my addiction and that left a huge hole right in the center of my soul. I had to fill it. I had to grab onto something that was bigger than my addiction in order to stay clean for another week, another day, another hour.
For me, I found that power greater than myself in the collective power of other addicts staying clean, and helping one another. I went to an NA or AA meeting everyday, every single day, for 6 months. "The therapeutic value of one addict helping another is without parallel." That is straight from the book of Narcotics Anonymous. I found it to be true.
I also found a power greater than myself and greater than my addiction in two weekly sessions with a therapist. I used this power for six months, then dialed down the power a bit to once-a-week sessions for another 18 months. I started feeling empowered.
I got a sponsor, someone to help me walk through the steps, someone to help me walk through the pain, someone to make me feel heard and understood. I also reached out to several others who were on the same path I had begun. I developed friendships with women who had been walking this same path for a year, three years, five years. Some of those friendships are still strong today, ten years later. My two closest friends are women I met in those first months of recovery. Those relationships became stronger than my addiction. Using again meant losing those friendships.
Once I discovered those powers greater than my addiction - the collective power of recovering addicts, therapy, a sponsor, and relationships with others in recovery - I was able to breathe a little, to loosen my panicked grip, to discover what needed to come next. I was able to take some time to allow the toxins in my body and my mind to clear out.
I was behaving differently.
I was thinking differently.
I was feeling differently.
I was being restored to sanity.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
3.10.2008
Step One: Never Enough
STEP ONE
"We admitted that we were powerless over our addiction and that our lives had become unmanageable."
[The spiritual principle(s) associated with this step: Honesty, Surrender, Acceptance]
I don't know whether or not I was destined to be a drug addict. I don't know if I was born with some gene that predisposed me to addiction. I suspect I was, but only because addiction tends to run in families. Some argue that the tendency for children of addicts to become addicts is greater because of the environment they grow up in, because the modeling of their parents. I don't buy that argument, though, because neither of my parents drank alcohol or used drugs. In fact, the first time I went into rehab that was part of my denial. How could I be an addict if it was hereditary since neither of my parents were addicts? And how could I be an addict if it was learned and environmental since neither of my parents were addicts? I didn't fit either way you looked at it, therefore I must not be an addict. Sounded good to me. I didn't want to be an addict. I wanted to get the hell out of that treatment center so I could get back to using my drugs.
While in treatment that first time, when I was 25 years old, I learned from my father that his mother was an alcoholic and died from her alcoholism. I also learned that his sister was a drug addict. She committed suicide when she was 28. I knew that part because her two children joined our family and came to live in our house when I was 12, after their mother committed suicide. I just didn't know that she was a drug addict. So, for me, it seems that heredity does play a role, rather than environment.
But that first time I went into rehab, I went because I was dying, not because I wanted to stop using drugs. I had dropped 65 pounds in less than six months due to my choice of drugs at the time. When they checked me into the hospital, they wrote on my chart, "a 25 year old malnourished female." I felt like I was dying. I looked like I was dying. And if the drugs weren't going to take me, Depression was knockin' at the door and he had a loaded gun.
Somehow, even after staying in that treatment center for 35 days, even after everything I learned, I still came out not believing I was an addict. I figured if I stayed away from the cocaine, I'd be okay. I could still smoke pot and drink, I was sure of this. So that is what I did. I lasted a little over a year before I picked up the cocaine again. But I told myself I was going to be much more careful this time, really monitor my use and not get carried away. (You can insert a laugh here, if you'd like.)
A few years later I was in rehab again. I stayed a month that time. When I got out, I still wasn't sure I was a real addict, but I tried to follow the suggestions - some of them, at least - and I stayed clean for 3 months.
One day I walked outside to the backyard and my husband was smoking a joint. I took it from his hand, hit it, and proceeded to get stoned. The next day, I did it again. I stopped going to meetings and started drinking again within a week or two. It wasn't long until I was getting high everyday, drinking everyday, and then finally using cocaine again everyday. That lasted a couple more years. I went into rehab again. I didn't last very long - 5 months before I was using again.
Finally, in September 1997, I knew I was an addict. I just knew it. The denial was gone. The hope that I could ever use drugs and have any control was gone. I don't know exactly why my denial lifted when it did, I just know it did. I suddenly knew what it meant to be "powerless over my addiction." The second part of step one - admitting my life was unmanageable - was easy; I had known that since I was in my early 20's.
Being powerless was a concept I couldn't wrap my brain around. I just didn't understand what it meant. Or maybe I was just in denial about it. Whatever the case, I have never doubted my powerlessness over my addiction since 1997. I have no doubt that if I drink alcohol or use a mind-altering drug today, I'll need more tomorrow.
I have no doubt.
I have no doubt.
That is what it means to know I'm powerless over my addiction. As long as I held onto the belief, the hope, the wish that I might be able to use just a little or use just once or use just on weekends or use one drug but not another, as long as I held onto that, I was not admitting or accepting my powerlessness. Quite simply, I didn't believe I was powerless or else I could not have continued to use. So for me, I 'worked' step one when I knew in the depths of my soul, when I knew all the way to the very core of me,
without a doubt,
that if I took another toke, another hit, another bump, another drink, another pill, it wouldn't be enough.
It would never be enough.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
"We admitted that we were powerless over our addiction and that our lives had become unmanageable."
[The spiritual principle(s) associated with this step: Honesty, Surrender, Acceptance]
I don't know whether or not I was destined to be a drug addict. I don't know if I was born with some gene that predisposed me to addiction. I suspect I was, but only because addiction tends to run in families. Some argue that the tendency for children of addicts to become addicts is greater because of the environment they grow up in, because the modeling of their parents. I don't buy that argument, though, because neither of my parents drank alcohol or used drugs. In fact, the first time I went into rehab that was part of my denial. How could I be an addict if it was hereditary since neither of my parents were addicts? And how could I be an addict if it was learned and environmental since neither of my parents were addicts? I didn't fit either way you looked at it, therefore I must not be an addict. Sounded good to me. I didn't want to be an addict. I wanted to get the hell out of that treatment center so I could get back to using my drugs.
While in treatment that first time, when I was 25 years old, I learned from my father that his mother was an alcoholic and died from her alcoholism. I also learned that his sister was a drug addict. She committed suicide when she was 28. I knew that part because her two children joined our family and came to live in our house when I was 12, after their mother committed suicide. I just didn't know that she was a drug addict. So, for me, it seems that heredity does play a role, rather than environment.
But that first time I went into rehab, I went because I was dying, not because I wanted to stop using drugs. I had dropped 65 pounds in less than six months due to my choice of drugs at the time. When they checked me into the hospital, they wrote on my chart, "a 25 year old malnourished female." I felt like I was dying. I looked like I was dying. And if the drugs weren't going to take me, Depression was knockin' at the door and he had a loaded gun.
Somehow, even after staying in that treatment center for 35 days, even after everything I learned, I still came out not believing I was an addict. I figured if I stayed away from the cocaine, I'd be okay. I could still smoke pot and drink, I was sure of this. So that is what I did. I lasted a little over a year before I picked up the cocaine again. But I told myself I was going to be much more careful this time, really monitor my use and not get carried away. (You can insert a laugh here, if you'd like.)
A few years later I was in rehab again. I stayed a month that time. When I got out, I still wasn't sure I was a real addict, but I tried to follow the suggestions - some of them, at least - and I stayed clean for 3 months.
One day I walked outside to the backyard and my husband was smoking a joint. I took it from his hand, hit it, and proceeded to get stoned. The next day, I did it again. I stopped going to meetings and started drinking again within a week or two. It wasn't long until I was getting high everyday, drinking everyday, and then finally using cocaine again everyday. That lasted a couple more years. I went into rehab again. I didn't last very long - 5 months before I was using again.
Finally, in September 1997, I knew I was an addict. I just knew it. The denial was gone. The hope that I could ever use drugs and have any control was gone. I don't know exactly why my denial lifted when it did, I just know it did. I suddenly knew what it meant to be "powerless over my addiction." The second part of step one - admitting my life was unmanageable - was easy; I had known that since I was in my early 20's.
Being powerless was a concept I couldn't wrap my brain around. I just didn't understand what it meant. Or maybe I was just in denial about it. Whatever the case, I have never doubted my powerlessness over my addiction since 1997. I have no doubt that if I drink alcohol or use a mind-altering drug today, I'll need more tomorrow.
I have no doubt.
I have no doubt.
That is what it means to know I'm powerless over my addiction. As long as I held onto the belief, the hope, the wish that I might be able to use just a little or use just once or use just on weekends or use one drug but not another, as long as I held onto that, I was not admitting or accepting my powerlessness. Quite simply, I didn't believe I was powerless or else I could not have continued to use. So for me, I 'worked' step one when I knew in the depths of my soul, when I knew all the way to the very core of me,
without a doubt,
that if I took another toke, another hit, another bump, another drink, another pill, it wouldn't be enough.
It would never be enough.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
3.01.2008
Blackout
Blackout.
You've been here before. No matter how many times you've tried. No matter how many times you swore, this is where it pulls you. The lost hours. Time, simply gone.
You're so clueless. Do you try again? Or just make it stop now, make it all go away?
One bullet... or one more bottle, one last drink, take it beyond limits, far past the brink.
It's just an escape, a crutch they say.
Why are you so wasted, wasting life away?
A hit of this, get intense. Swallow that, have some focus. One drink too far and you've done it again. Oblivion. O bliv i on. Clueless.
Every once in a while there's this window, or this door. Its not the first time you've noticed it, but you've walked past it many times before. You've even glanced out, and a few times, stepped through.
But you get so lost out there and end up back here, looking to re-find you.
Then time gets lost. There are the hours you don't have a clue how you spend,
where, doing what, with whom.
You're beginning to find that unacceptable.
And if its not hours you lose, you can't remember little things.
Brownout.
Sometimes you forget something as simple as the next word, or the topic of conversation,
or what you were thinking about that a moment ago seemed so profound,
or what your car looks like, or where it might be parked.
And you know its because of what you're doing, of what you're drinking, of what you're taking.
But if you don't medicate, you get lost again. But if you continue on, you're gonna lose some more time.
Worse than that, you're going to lose that last shred, and you don't have any idea when that will happen.
There's no predicting it. No control.
And it is unacceptable. You can't live like this.
But you can't live like that, either.
So you start thinking about insurance policies, how no one really needs to have you around,
how easy it would be to cross the center line into the path of that semi on Highway 441,
or how peaceful those 30 Valiums and an afternoon nap might be,
or how quickly it'd be over if you could go down on the barrel of a shotgun.
Where did all this pain come from?
Then you remember your children. And something inside of you is screaming.
You get a picture of them, 10 years from now -
And the pain you thought you killed when you pulled that trigger, you realize,
only gets transferred to them. Ten-fold.
So you put the shotgun back in the closet, and the shells back in the box...
...but nothing changes, not really. And death has a call that you're finding impossible not to hear.
Sometimes you want it so badly.
Not the slow and painful death your addiction demands,
but the fastest and least obvious way you can find out of here.
But you can't even find that without three hits and a pint, and a load of shame to carry over into the next life. And if you can't live without it, how in the hell did you ever think you could die without it?
Its just an escape, a crutch, I've heard.
One more drink, not another word.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
You've been here before. No matter how many times you've tried. No matter how many times you swore, this is where it pulls you. The lost hours. Time, simply gone.
You're so clueless. Do you try again? Or just make it stop now, make it all go away?
One bullet... or one more bottle, one last drink, take it beyond limits, far past the brink.
It's just an escape, a crutch they say.
Why are you so wasted, wasting life away?
A hit of this, get intense. Swallow that, have some focus. One drink too far and you've done it again. Oblivion. O bliv i on. Clueless.
Every once in a while there's this window, or this door. Its not the first time you've noticed it, but you've walked past it many times before. You've even glanced out, and a few times, stepped through.
But you get so lost out there and end up back here, looking to re-find you.
Then time gets lost. There are the hours you don't have a clue how you spend,
where, doing what, with whom.
You're beginning to find that unacceptable.
And if its not hours you lose, you can't remember little things.
Brownout.
Sometimes you forget something as simple as the next word, or the topic of conversation,
or what you were thinking about that a moment ago seemed so profound,
or what your car looks like, or where it might be parked.
And you know its because of what you're doing, of what you're drinking, of what you're taking.
But if you don't medicate, you get lost again. But if you continue on, you're gonna lose some more time.
Worse than that, you're going to lose that last shred, and you don't have any idea when that will happen.
There's no predicting it. No control.
And it is unacceptable. You can't live like this.
But you can't live like that, either.
So you start thinking about insurance policies, how no one really needs to have you around,
how easy it would be to cross the center line into the path of that semi on Highway 441,
or how peaceful those 30 Valiums and an afternoon nap might be,
or how quickly it'd be over if you could go down on the barrel of a shotgun.
Where did all this pain come from?
Then you remember your children. And something inside of you is screaming.
You get a picture of them, 10 years from now -
And the pain you thought you killed when you pulled that trigger, you realize,
only gets transferred to them. Ten-fold.
So you put the shotgun back in the closet, and the shells back in the box...
...but nothing changes, not really. And death has a call that you're finding impossible not to hear.
Sometimes you want it so badly.
Not the slow and painful death your addiction demands,
but the fastest and least obvious way you can find out of here.
But you can't even find that without three hits and a pint, and a load of shame to carry over into the next life. And if you can't live without it, how in the hell did you ever think you could die without it?
Its just an escape, a crutch, I've heard.
One more drink, not another word.
I’m Maze. I’m an addict.
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