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intervention
Nov. 5th, 2007 06:46 amI woke up this morning and found that my DVR had recorded some sort of "Intervention" marathon, which made me happy because I love that show. It makes my throat seize and I weep for the addicts and the families. I can tell you, without fail, which people will have "Has been clean for ____ months" or who will have "Has relapsed a dozen times" or "Drinks now instead of using drugs but insists they're just dandy." I scream at the T.V. things like, "You LYING PIECE OF SHIT!" and "You're not high, my DICK." Do not bullshit a clean addict. I know a dozen of us who watch the show and laugh when the using addicts start spinning. Motherfucker, please, we've all told those lies, only better.
The show dredges up sharp shards of buried pain for me, but mostly makes me hopeful. I hate being reminded of how I must have hurt my family and friends (I didn't have a formal intervention) and how much I completely detested and hurt myself. But while I also know I wasn't nearly as bad as some of these people, I was always as close to death and mortally depressed as they've ever been, and I say a little prayer for each addict at the end of each story, no matter how personally repugnant I may find the person. Because there's a little piece of me in each using addict. I say, "Please give it a chance. Your future is spotless."
There's a saying in the rooms: "Every clean addict is a miracle" and it's true. In fact, that's one of the few "miracles" I believe in.
What makes me mention this is that tomorrow is the six year anniversary of my sobriety. I still have cognitive malfunctions because of literal brain damage, eating holes in my brain. I still have sinus trouble. I still dream of using, although not nearly as often as the early years. I don't feel guilty about the dreams anymore.
It's a lifetime road. But at least this road won't end with me dead of a heart attack, having aspirated my own vomit. Now I'll probably just get shot because of my big mouth. And I won't even have the excuse that I was drunk or high.
I'm not sure that's how I wanted to end this essay.
The show dredges up sharp shards of buried pain for me, but mostly makes me hopeful. I hate being reminded of how I must have hurt my family and friends (I didn't have a formal intervention) and how much I completely detested and hurt myself. But while I also know I wasn't nearly as bad as some of these people, I was always as close to death and mortally depressed as they've ever been, and I say a little prayer for each addict at the end of each story, no matter how personally repugnant I may find the person. Because there's a little piece of me in each using addict. I say, "Please give it a chance. Your future is spotless."
There's a saying in the rooms: "Every clean addict is a miracle" and it's true. In fact, that's one of the few "miracles" I believe in.
What makes me mention this is that tomorrow is the six year anniversary of my sobriety. I still have cognitive malfunctions because of literal brain damage, eating holes in my brain. I still have sinus trouble. I still dream of using, although not nearly as often as the early years. I don't feel guilty about the dreams anymore.
It's a lifetime road. But at least this road won't end with me dead of a heart attack, having aspirated my own vomit. Now I'll probably just get shot because of my big mouth. And I won't even have the excuse that I was drunk or high.
I'm not sure that's how I wanted to end this essay.
