AN ADDICT'S TALE OF STRUGGLE AND RECOVERY

My name is Steve, and I'm an addict.

Those words tumble from my mouth without a second thought these days, after
years of struggling to accept their reality.

For many of you accustomed to reading my ramblings on Fridays, this
``outing,'' as I suppose you'd call it, may come as a shock. It may very
well come as a shock to many of those I work with. It's not something I hide
- -- those close to me know that I talk freely about my struggles when
prompted. But I don't go around introducing myself as a recovering drug
addict to everyone I meet.

No, that identification is saved for the 12-step meetings that have helped
save my life. I've been a drug addict for ... well, probably since the first
time I put a mind- and mood-altering chemical in my body, back when I was 17
- -- 13 years ago. Fortunately, through recovery and the grace of God, I've
been a recovering addict for two and a half years.

That doesn't mean I've been clean that entire time. I've endured more than
one relapse, each one sending my life spiraling out of control once again.
Each one heaping more pain on those who care about me.

I don't confess this as a form of self-flagellation, but to call your
attention to a story on page 17, about the Steps House Homeless American
Veterans Program. I, too, am a resident of a halfway house -- I have been
for more than a year -- and it's truly been a place that's saved my life.

The administrators gave me a place to live when I had none, fresh out of
detox at Peninsula Hospital on the rugged shores of northern Blount County.
The residents at the house accepted me into their family, one forged in a
common pain so overwhelming it erases all differences.

Through those blessings, I flourished. I've rebuilt relationships that were
in tatters -- personal and professional. I embraced my recovery, started
life anew and began working on the things that were wrong on the inside.
Issues and problems that can't be fixed by seeking emotional comfort and
solace in chemicals, no matter how potent or powerful.

Addiction and all of its myriad associations -- halfway houses, 12-step
programs ... the woman in line at the grocery store with the black eye who
never quite looks up from the floor ... the man asleep on the side of the
road under a bridge in downtown Knoxville -- all of those things are so very
easy to turn away from and ignore.

But doing so doesn't make them go away. Addiction touches more people than
you can imagine --it's just that no one wants to talk about it.

The Festival Americana is trying to tackle some of those issues head-on. The
money raised will help build a better life for the homeless veterans of 16
counties, 99 percent of whom enter the program with alcohol and drug
problems.

It's a worthy cause. Please -- consider attending. And if you can't, then
take a long, hard look at those problems we try so hard to make go away just
by shutting our eyes.

Because they won't. They never will. Addiction is a disease that's always
hungry, and until you take that first drink or that first drug, you never
know if you're on the waiting list.

My name is Steve, and I am an addict. It's not something I planned on
becoming, but it's something I live with, every day.

Don't pity me, for I am truly blessed. I have a home, a support network,
true friends, a loving family. So many of my brothers and sisters in
addiction who still suffer do not.

Saturday's event offers the opportunity for you to make a difference in
their lives. I encourage you to do so.