OFF DRUGS, OFF THE STREETS AND GOING GOOD AGAIN

Brian carries a set of headshots, a portfolio of sorts, in his
briefcase; but he is not an actor, nor is he vain or full of
self-regard. The photos are mug shots, a rogue's gallery of himself,
dating from the years when he was an addict, ill and bruised,
bewildered and bouncing in and out of jail.

He does not use drugs any more. Let me put that another way: He did
not use drugs yesterday. He is not using drugs today. He will try not
to use drugs tomorrow.

The mug shots are an aide-memoire, because although he is healthy and
clear-eyed now, there are times when he wants - no, needs - to remind
himself of the man he used to be.

We were talking at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health the
other day; there, because the last time he was arrested, Brian was
diverted to Drug Treatment Court. In effect, he was sentenced to get
help to kick his habit; his recovery was, and continues to be,
supervised at CAMH.

As we talked he showed me an arrest photo taken seven years ago. He
said, "I don't remember this; one day led to another then - the only
thing that mattered was not to miss a deal, not to miss my next high."

His drug of choice? He shot me a look. "Coke, marijuana, hash oil,
Thai stick, mescaline, acid, peyote, magic mushrooms ..." The list
went on; the crack did him in.

Brian is a clever guy; he used to walk around with a tube running up
his sleeve from his hand to the inside of his collar; he could fake
the lighting of a cigarette and draw a secret hit of crack from a
small pipe; that's nothing if not inventive.

The back story? As a kid he was naturally curious, and maybe he liked
risk, and maybe there are a dozen other reasons. "I smoked my first
joint when I was 11 years old."

He fell into drugs in a serious way a dozen or so years later,
shortly after a girlfriend dumped him. In no time at all he had lied,
cheated and stolen his way out of his home and onto the streets;
there, he used his glib tongue and charming manners to become a
middleman, dealing to support his own habit.

He was sleeping in downtown doorways, holding up his ragged pants
with cord. "And in those days I never took my shoes off because of
the smell." If you've ever been in a shelter for men you know that
rank ripeness.

He had another, more practical, reason for not taking off his shoes.
"If the cops were coming, I didn't have to put them on." He is
fastidious about his appearance now.

For years, while he was on the street and on the nod, his parents did
what parents do. They came looking. They tried to help. He broke their hearts.

His father died before Brian cleaned up. His mother is happy now but
she is holding her breath. His sister remains a skeptic.

But at CAMH, Brian spent the first three weeks in a structured
recovery program; three months learning to maintain structure in his
life; and three more months in continuing care. He also took courses
offered by George Brown College at CAMH; that's progressive, and
that's part of the way he earned a graduation certificate from Drug
Treatment Court.

He reads now, he studies, he has a job, and he keeps his day
organized in strict half-hour blocks. His reward? A suspended
sentence. Our reward? There is a guy off the street and he is going good again.

Joe Fiorito usually appears Monday, Wednesday and Friday.