THINGS WERE GOOD -- THEN FEAR SET IN

How Roy Barry Changed From Addict To Teacher

The lowest point in long-time addict Roy Barry's life was when he
thought he had it good.

Barry was living in the Downtown Eastside, where he had carved out a
"comfortable" existence -- sleeping on cardboard, salvaging
hip-huggers jeans and high boots from clothing bins and selling them
to prostitutes, then using the money to buy dope.

"I was making money. I wasn't hurting people. I felt I was
contributing to the neighbourhood," said Barry, now 48. "I got OK with
who I was."

And that, he realized, was the problem: "When I became OK with who or
what I had become, something clicked and I said, 'I'm not OK with this.' "

That month, January 2004, he checked himself into a rehab program. It
was the latest battle in a long, drawn-out war, where Barry alternated
between wallowing in his addiction -- to alcohol, crack, heroin,
crystal meth -- and climbing out of it.

Barry had previously cleaned up during a three-year stint in jail,
when he began attending a program on breaking barriers.

Before long, Barry, a natural leader, was co-facilitating the course,
and he went on to train others. After he got out of jail, he began
managing a recovery house, but then came a setback, a slide into the
old habits that ended with him hitting rock bottom in the Downtown
Eastside.

Today, Barry lives in Langley with wife Chris and 10-month-old son
Michael Roy and runs his own recovery centre called Mission Possible,
helping other addicts turn their lives around.

"I'm of service now," said Barry. "Instead of being a taker, I'm
trying to give back to society."

He still visits the Downtown Eastside to see old friends and hand out
pamphlets, trying to reach out to people whose shoes he's walked in
not too long ago.

"Drinking and using used to be my medicine," said Barry. "Now my
medicine is prayer and faith and reaching out for help and knowing
it's going to be OK as long as I don't pick up and use."

What's Needed?

Addiction's siren call is its familiarity, says Roy Barry.

"Everything we do when we come to recovery is unnatural from what we
are used to doing," he said. "People want to get back to that familiar
place."

Three things Barry said would help addicts in the Downtown Eastside:

- - Longer detox periods and longer treatment programs of at least two
to three years.

- - Programs that don't kick addicts out if they relapse. "Why should I
help ruin your life by dumping you back out on the street if you
slip?" said Barry. "We need not turn our backs on one another."

- - Support. Barry said one reason he escaped the streets was because
Carlos Herbst, the owner of Serf-to-Surf, a store outside which he
used sell his wares, treated him like a human being and reminded him
there was a better life out there.

He said more outreach workers and friendly faces would go a long way
to reminding addicts there is hope and a way out.