2017 has not been without many challenges. I spent most of it in residential treatment aka "rehab". I spent most of 2016 in rehab. In Southern California, there are probably as many rehabs as there are Starbucks. If not more. From Malibu to downtown's Midnight Mission, there is a program designed to fix you. Unless that person is me.
The good news is I haven't ended up like Amy Winehouse. The bad news is I haven't ended up like Adele either. Addiction is a cross I carry every day. I'd be delighted to say that after 4 months of daily classes, meditation, group therapy, individual therapy, 12 step meetings, service commitments, navel gazing and pondering every early childhood event that planted the seeds of addiction in me, I have it down. No more booze or dope for me. I'll get high on life from now on.
Alas, after 4 months, and you can set a cocktail hour by it: I fall off the wagon. Why? I've a high IQ. I know what to do. I have the tools. Yet...off I go.
What I've figured out is that my relapses are triggered when I start future tripping.
My mind starts creating plots....'gosh, i'll be leaving here soon. what the %&*!@# am I going to do? How will I keep Tony in the sanitarium? Can I find a job that pays me six figures again, or should I do what the experts say and go grill hamburgers for a living at minimum wage? Phooey, McDona1d's would never hire me. Maybe I should follow Betty Hutton's lead. She had a breakdown and turned up years later as a housekeeper for two priests. Is that my fate, Betty Hutton?
And so, I go back into treatment. And I apply myself harder. I do more service work. I read my Big Book as if its the only book I have. (and it is....no other reading materials allowed) I pray. I chant. I network. I do well. And then...I start to worry that I'll never find a safe place I call home again. Ever. I'm that 12 year old orphan again.
And all I know to do that is safe to do: is to run. But, I forget about that old saying, 'wherever you go, there you are.'
...and here I am tonight.
'wherever I go, there I am"
I'm a nightmare I can't wake up from,
The good news is I haven't ended up like Amy Winehouse. The bad news is I haven't ended up like Adele either. Addiction is a cross I carry every day. I'd be delighted to say that after 4 months of daily classes, meditation, group therapy, individual therapy, 12 step meetings, service commitments, navel gazing and pondering every early childhood event that planted the seeds of addiction in me, I have it down. No more booze or dope for me. I'll get high on life from now on.
Alas, after 4 months, and you can set a cocktail hour by it: I fall off the wagon. Why? I've a high IQ. I know what to do. I have the tools. Yet...off I go.
What I've figured out is that my relapses are triggered when I start future tripping.
My mind starts creating plots....'gosh, i'll be leaving here soon. what the %&*!@# am I going to do? How will I keep Tony in the sanitarium? Can I find a job that pays me six figures again, or should I do what the experts say and go grill hamburgers for a living at minimum wage? Phooey, McDona1d's would never hire me. Maybe I should follow Betty Hutton's lead. She had a breakdown and turned up years later as a housekeeper for two priests. Is that my fate, Betty Hutton?
And so, I go back into treatment. And I apply myself harder. I do more service work. I read my Big Book as if its the only book I have. (and it is....no other reading materials allowed) I pray. I chant. I network. I do well. And then...I start to worry that I'll never find a safe place I call home again. Ever. I'm that 12 year old orphan again.
And all I know to do that is safe to do: is to run. But, I forget about that old saying, 'wherever you go, there you are.'
...and here I am tonight.
'wherever I go, there I am"
I'm a nightmare I can't wake up from,
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