Blog entry for:

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.no i am not starting a Tale of Two Cities again, but i am thinking about two friends and peers, who are struggling with the choice to do this recovery gig. one faces consequences that are beyond his acceptance and has yet to accept anything but the fact that they are an addict. the other, while only suffering a physical injury, seems to struggle with owning the fact that they are an addict. saying one is an addict and believing bit to one's core, are two entirely different concepts. today, i not only know that i am an addict, i believe it, in fact i have FAITH, that even though there is no “physical” evidence for assertion, it is nevertheless true for me.
what is not important, at least for me, is how i came to be an addict. i have given up trying to figure that out, as it really makes very little difference in my life. if i do not want to suffer the consequences of active addiction, and i do not, then i have to take measures. whether one calls that: “treating the disease;” or “a program of active recovery,” makes little difference as well. in the end, i have to be a member of the No Matter What Club, by choice, and do whatever i can to make that membership stick, just for today.
ones upon a time, i tried to deny that fact. i hemmed. i hawed. i showed up and i learned to speak the language of recovery. i took tokens commemorating my non-existent clean-time and continued to resist as much as possible. at the end of that phase of my “not so much” recovery, i was no better off, than the day i walked into the rooms, save i had a few more bucks, because my using was limited to only once a month. i have written about that half-life before, and need not go into the gruesome details, except to say, i am grateful that i survived. my friends seem to be in a similar state, equally self-inflicted, but entirely different reasons, and for me to guess or ponder what they bare thinking or feeling is nothing but a waste of time. while i lived in the hinterlands of recovery, i know i felt lost, isolated, superior, inferior, devious and proud that i was using without consequences, until the hammer came down and then BOOM, was i ever pissed off.
today i choose to live in the relative calm of London, rather than the chaos of Paris, to stretch the metaphor that i started at the beginning of this little exercise. recovery allows me to thrive and accumulate spiritual wealth, because i am not spending my time defending against the imagines\\d enemies of the state. i can grow towards becoming the man i have never dreamt could exist, and become more centered, a better friend and actually make a contribution to the world in which i live. the sad fact of life, at least for me any\\how, is that the journey across the channel to that other state of being, is neither long nor arduous, so i have to CHOOSE each and every day, what city i wish to live in. when i choose recovery, just for today, then i need to do all that i can, to bolster that decision and make staying clean easier than using, hence the program of active recovery i profess to work daily. life on this side of the channel is far more productive than the imagined fun of the chaotic life i had on the other side. even when nostalgic recall kicks in, and it does quiet often, i have very little trouble remembering what life a\\was like, once the fun stopped being so much fun, that guillotine of severe consequences can just as easily remove my head as well as those of my imagined oppressors.
it is however time to hit the trail and get rolling out into the real world. literary allusions aside, it really is a far.far better thing that i do today.

∞ DT ∞