Middle-of-the-night impromptu blog post:
I awoke from this dream moments ago. In it I was stopped by the police as I walked down Clayton street in downtown Athens with a spike (think: railroad tie) sticking out of my lower back, embedded in my spine. And even though they insisted I stand competely still and wait on an ambulance, the spike in my back wasn't why they stopped me to begin with. They stopped me because they believed I was drunk and in possession of drugs. While we waited on the approaching ambulance they wanted me to submit to a breathilizer and drug test. (I know, but its a dream so bear with them being so insensitive to my more pressing problem of that moment)
The ambulance came and I said I needed for them to wait just a few minutes while I stepped behind a building to get high before being put on a stretcher and transported to the ER for surgery. They told me one more step could paralyze me due to the position of the spike stuck in my spine. I told them I would take the risk and to please wait on me.
Then i woke up. You're probably thinking, "Well obviously that was just a nightmare. No one in their right mind would really take such a huge risk just to get high..." That would be insanity, right?
Right, no one in their right mind would make such a choice. It is an insane scenario. And, yeah it was a dream so perhaps a bit over the top in the details... but actually not THAT unrealistic when you're talking about addiction. My dream-self, hobbling along with a railroad tie jutting out of my back, didn't see the insanity of it at all. In fact, I'm willing to bet next year's salary that had I not woken up, and had the paramedics and police allowed it, I'd have slipped behind that building before getting into the ambulance. Pretty much guarantee it, actually. And I would have thought it a perfectly logical decision.
Step two: We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
I’m Maze and I’m an addict.
Showing posts with label powerless. Show all posts
Showing posts with label powerless. Show all posts
10.05.2016
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.
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