RECOVERY FOR THOSE WHO WANT IT

A look at the headlines over the past week reveals just how
problematic drugs still are in our community.

A heroin ring busted up; a suspect dying in police custody of possible
drug-related causes. There's no shortage of work for law enforcement
officers and treatment officials alike.

Sometimes, it can be downright depressing -- it's a never-ending war,
trying to lend a helping hand. Often, those who need it don't want it,
and the ones who do don't know where to start. I thought about that
the other night, after stopping by the halfway house in Knoxville
where I got started in recovery.

Some of the old familiar faces were still there, guys I consider my
brothers. Most of them, however, were new, and given the turnover
rate, there will probably be a whole new group replacing most of them
before spring comes.

Recovery is for those who want it, not those who need it. If it was
for everyone who needed it, we'd hold our meetings in Neyland Stadium
and still have people waiting outside. Instead, we meet in churches
and meeting halls, sometimes in large groups and sometimes in small
ones, talking about our lives and struggles over hot coffee and
cigarette smoke.

That's a horrifying image for a lot of addicts thinking about recovery
- -- Lord knows it appalled me, thinking a life without drugs meant a
life sentence of those strange, seemingly boring meetings. I realize
now that my concept of recovery was colored by the lenses of Hollywood
and popular culture. Recovering addicts and alcoholics don't live in
those meetings; we go there to learn how to live on the outside.

It took me getting so beat down, so desperate and tired and
spiritually bankrupt, that I was ready to do anything that would bring
an end to the misery in which I lived. When I first acknowledged I had
a problem, those meetings made my lip curl; in the end, I was grateful
just to have a place to go and sit in peace with my own kind, a place
to vent and to rant and to cry without fear of retribution or being
cast out.

That point -- a ``bottom,'' we call it, when addicts reach the end of
their figurative ropes -- is different for everyone in recovery. Some
don't have to lose everything before they wise up and decide to pursue
a better way of life. Others of us lose homes, family, jobs and more
before we finally admit defeat.

Either way, we come to the rooms and work a program of recovery
because we want to. I didn't know what I would have to do when I got
to recovery; I just knew I was willing to do anything as long as it
meant something different. Because if I went on feeling and living the
same way I had been for so long, I was going to end my life. Death, I
thought, was preferable to an existence of utter misery.

When I got to the rooms of recovery, I was told to open my ears and
listen. To forget what I thought I knew about living life, because
obviously whatever I thought I knew was wrong -- if it had been right,
I wouldn't have turned out to be a jobless, penniless, near-homeless
junkie. Most of my decisions got me wasted; my way of thinking and
doing didn't work, and although I was loathe to admit it, that
desperation gave me the willingness to listen to others and follow the
suggestions they gave me.

Even when I didn't want to, I heeded their advice. Often, I didn't see
the purpose or the lesson in it until later (sometimes much later),
but I knew that I didn't want to get high again, so I'd grit my teeth
and do whatever they suggested I try.

Every time I was willing to do that, some small part of my life
changed. Things improved, slowly at first, and I gradually began to
understand that recovery isn't just about staying off of drugs -- it's
about an overhaul of the soul, a complete rewiring of the brain.

These days, I still try to maintain that willingness to do whatever it
takes to stay clean. And I'm using the experiences I've gained, the
strength given to me by others and the hope that fills my heart to
pass along to someone else.

Because drugs aren't going away, and as long as there's a demand for
them, addiction will flourish. And night after night, a new addict
will walk through the doors of our meeting place, seeking an oasis in
the wastelands and a life-altering change that will grant them what
they've always sought but never found -- peace of mind.

Today, the statistics may be discouraging, but if I can give another
struggling addict some of the peace of mind that was given to me, then
I'll stay clean for one more day.