SOBRIETY HELPS CLEAR THE FOG

I received a phone call from someone in recovery last week, taking me
to task for the dark tone of a lot of my recovery columns.

She made several valid points, the main one being that despite the
hell addicts live in active addiction, recovery offers a whole new way
of life. I receive e-mails and phone calls almost daily, most from
those still struggling with addiction who have found something to
identify with, something that helps them because it lets them know
that, despite the stigma and misconceptions about addiction, they're
not alone.

I don't know what, if anything my relatively short time in recovery
can offer those who have been clean for far longer than me. I'm not
even sure who I'm directing these scribblings to, most of the time --
but I know it helps people, and that helps me.

For those who are struggling, either in addiction or early recovery,
the things I can tell you are the same things that were told to me,
when I was where you are. Hang on. Don't give up. Keep trying, and
once you get clean, don't pick up, no matter what.

Sure that's easier said than done sometimes. For me, there's no way I
could have stayed clean this long without turning over my will, to God
and to the 12-step program of recovery to which I belong. I'd tried
getting clean on my own, and always failed miserably. As our
literature tells us, the therapeutic value of one addict helping
another is without parallel -- and for me, it's the only thing I've
found that works.

The way I see it, I'm an addict, and one way or another, I'm going to
gravitate toward my own kind. Today, I choose to throw in my lot with
addicts in recovery, instead of those still using. By acknowledging
that I don't know anything about staying clean and remaining teachable
to those who have gone before me, life is indescribable today.

Take the sky, for instance. I spent about three years, off and on, in
Myrtle Beach, S.C., and the only times I recall watching the sun rise
over the ocean was through a drunken, drugged haze, after a night of
partying. I hated the cold gray and orange brilliance of dawn in those
days, mostly because it signaled the night was over -- the drugs were
gone, the high was ebbing and reality, all of my untended-to
responsibilities and obligations, were edging back in.

Driving home, hoping to sleep for a few hours, desperately and
uselessly trying to keep from doing the last little bit of whatever
chemical I still had, I hated the dawn. I hated the light, the
traffic, the smell of breakfast from little cafes and restaurants. I
hated the birds, their cheerful, innocent chirping an assault on my
brain, a clash of nature's purity with my own self-loathing.

Today, after breakfast, I savor the last few minutes of darkness and
relish the coming of the light. For the first time in my life, I
think, I'm able to watch the sun rise after a decent night's sleep
instead of blinking it back as I slink in the door after an exhausting
night.

I see and appreciate beauty in a way I never have before -- the way
the mist rises up from the Tennessee River as I cross it on Alcoa
Highway ... the cool green of lowland suburbia down that highway from
the National Guard Armory ... the power and majesty of planes taking
off and landing at McGhee-Tyson ... the way the light ripples through
a pretty girl's long hair in the car sitting next to me at a traffic
light ... the quiet calm of downtown Maryville, before the business
day begins and the streets are peaceful.

In the year-and-a-half I've been clean, my life has changed
dramatically, and all for the better. I've eliminated virtually all my
financial debt. I have money today, for pleasure and for necessities.
I have friends, true friends that share my struggles and celebrate my
triumphs. I have a sponsor who guides me, a man I trust absolutely and
completely, the first person I call when life throws me a curve ball I
can't seem to deal with.

I have peace of mind today. We call that serenity, and we pray for it
at the open and close of every meeting I attend. It's what I've always
sought and never found, until I gave up chemical fulfillment and
instead sought spiritual and emotional fulfillment. I like who I am
today -- something I've never been able to say, because I've never
felt it before.

Someone asked me the difference between "taking" drugs and "using"
drugs. As an addict, I didn't take anything. I used it all -- for
solace, for comfort, for the things inside I'd never found on my own.

Today, through recovery, I've found that fulfillment I've always
sought. It's an inside job, and it's not always easy, but it's a
better feeling than any drug has ever given me.

Just for today, I live life on life's terms, without hiding behind a
chemical suit of armor. I don't need that suit, those drugs, anymore,
because through recovery, I have everything. Perhaps not everything I
want, but certainly everything I need.