Not Me

The strangest thing about addiction is.... it's the only terminal disease that I know of that tries to kill you by trying to convince you that you don't have it. 

It's an insidious little bugger.  Gotta love something that sneaky...

The Committee gets itself going in your head and you're off to the races...

You think, well, maybe I might, perhaps... have a teensy weensy problem with addiction...

The Committee gets one tiny whiff of that shit and snaps right to attention.  And they start firing off the excuses left and right....

See if you recognize any of them...

But I can't be an addict.

I'm too young...

Too smart...

No one in my family's an addict...

Too old...

Too wealthy...

Too (add your excuse here).

I heard that in my own head when I first got sober. Most addicts that I've talked to think that way. It's very strange really. It's the only disease that I know of that actively tries to convince you that you're not sick.

And our families, friends and loved ones aren't particularly helpful sometimes. It's not that they mean to be hurtful, but they've got their very own judgmental conga line going on in their own heads. 

No one wants their kid to be an addict. No one wants to find out that the person they married is sick. No one wants to believe that their parent has a problem. But it doesn't change the truth.

Here's the truth:

Addiction takes the people it chooses to destroy indiscriminately.

It manifests in alcoholism and drug abuse. But it manifests in other addictions too. Food addictions. Sex addictions. Pornography addictions. Internet addictions. 

Any takers?

Interestingly, looking back, my first addiction was to books (which I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before).   I could lose myself inside the pages, inside the story until I couldn't even pull myself out to focus on my own life.

Weird, right?

But it was an escape. From my life.  From the noise in my head.  From the Committee.  From the pain that never ends.

Sound familiar?

Hey, I walked into my first meeting sort of as a mistake. 

The short version of the story is:

I was a juvenile (17) in a facility where juveniles weren't allowed to smoke. 

I had no intention of quitting smoking (or drinking and drugs either, for that matter), but I found out that the folks in the addiction ward went off campus to meetings.  I told my therapist that I thought I had a problem with drugs and alcohol (which, come to think of it....I guess some part of my brain did know...). 

The therapist, of course, believed me.  This shouldn't come as any particular surprise since, aside from being a fantastic actress, I got picked up for trafficking cocaine (which wasn't actually cocaine, but that's another story for another day...)

Yeah, can't imagine why the therapist believed me...

Sorry, shiny object...

Back to the story. 

So, I went off with the "grownups" to my first meeting.  That was back in the dark ages when people were actually allowed to smoke... well, pretty much wherever they wanted to.... including in meetings.  I bummed a smoke and a light off of one of the guys in the rehab unit and lit up as soon as we were out of the van...

Hey, I'd have smoked in the van if they'd have let me.... I'm an addict.

I really didn't have any intention of going in.  But I realized that I needed to make a good show for the counselor who was with us so that I could keep smoking...

So, I went in.  With an attitude that this was bullshit.  That I was just playing at being an addict.  That these people needed help.

But not me. 

I was just fine. 

I remember taking my seat and lighting another cigarette.  I remember the moment that I looked at the podium at the front of the room as the meeting was called to begin. 

On the podium, there was a single sign which, frankly, looked as if it had been done as a high school woodshop project.  And it shocked me.

It said:

You Are Not Alone.

And I silently started to cry....


Just Keep Coming Back

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