It was August of 2002 and it was the hottest day of the year, just as yesterday was and tomorrow would surely be. From where I was sitting there was no relief in sight. I woke up to a glaring sunrise from my new home on the beach. When I say on the beach, I mean on the beach, in the sand with my worn out sneakers serving as my pillow. I didn't want to admit that I was homeless. To do so would make me like the real bums that everyone looked down on, and certainly that didn't qualify me. I was in a state of transition; I was in a state of denial. I stood up and brushed the sand from my body and headed for the street, but before doing so took one last look at my sleeping area to make sure I didn't leave any evidence that I had slept there, for this was my place and the bums sleeping in the park need not know about it. I felt very sick that morning and this turned out to be the last day I spent as a homeless person. Today something very special was about to happen, nothing short of a miracle. I sat on a bench trying to remember just how I got here, trying to make sense of how I wound up with nothing, including my dignity. I began to cry, my face in my hands, trying to protect what little pride I had left. I thought of my little girls and how I let them down, and at that very moment I found two powerful reasons why I needed to fight for my life, the love I have for my girls and the hope they had for me. Yes, today a wonderful Miracle was about to happen and I found enough faith to fight for my life, to fight for my children.
My family and friends had been trying to help me for years, but I didn't need their help because I didn't have a problem. There wasn't a problem with bottles of assorted pills I had in my dresser drawer, nor was there a problem with me being up for days from continuously snorting coke. And surely there wasn't a problem with me not having worked in over a year. And don't you dare tell me I'm not a good father, because my 3 year old little girl and my infant daughter were being poorly cared for because both their mommy and their daddy used heroin and would nod out, or because each day started the same; the search for more drugs so as not to be sick from withdrawals. If I wanted to quit I could do it with pure will power. The lies our addiction truly has us believing. The ironic thing about being an addict is you’re always the last to find out. Denial is a very powerful weapon that keeps us sick or eventually kills many addicts.
Things became progressively worse, my life spinning out of control, and seemingly irreversible. In August of 1999 I was arrested for writing a prescription and attempting to fill it. This was not the first time I had played doctor, only the first time that I was caught. My family posted bond and I was soon back home. I swore that this was the end and I as soon as I walked in the door I gathered up any blank prescriptions I may have had in the house and set them all on fire. I realized that it was just a matter of time before all the close calls at the pharmacies would eventually catch up with me. I was so grateful to be out of jail and given a second chance. I would have to be insane or just plain stupid to ever even think about writing another script.
Unfortunately, it turned out that I was both insane and stupid and definitely not in control of my senses. No, my addiction was calling the shots and it became more and more obvious that it wanted me stay sick, hopeless, and on a head on course that led me to Jails, Institutions, and just close enough to death that I would have to suffer, a mere shell of a man, hopeless and without faith. No, death would have been no consolation to the malicious force that kept me sick in my addiction. It wanted me to feel the pain, to run from it and to call on the drugs that would make the pain go away. But the pain never went away; it only grew more intense from the guilt and shame that kept me from loving myself enough to fight for my life. There were only brief moments of peace before the reality brought the suffering to the depths of my being, crushing any hopes of spirituality, convincing me that it was too late to turn my life around and it would take nothing short of a miracle to save me from myself. My disease spoke and I believed every thing it said. My disease in actuality was the scared little boy inside me, afraid to live life on life’s terms, afraid of life in general, thus surrendering any hope for a meaningful life, and resolved to accept the pain and hopelessness of having no more than a state of mere existence. This wasn’t a life, it was as if I had walked through the looking glass and could and would never find my way home. I was lost and wandering. I couldn’t remember what my life used to be like. I lost sight of all my dreams and aspirations. I lost all perception of whom I was and where I was going before I was swallowed up by the uncontrollable force of my addiction.
It was nearly 3 years to the day of my first arrest. Three years of suffering and despair. Why did I have to suffer for 3 more years in my life, when it was obviously out of control and even then I knew there was a serious problem? That is the nature of the Disease of addiction. It wants you sick, it wants you to suffer, and it lives to crush your hope and rob you of your faith. It wants you spiritually bankrupt, because without our spirit and our faith we are left defenseless. It took me 3 years to understand this, to realize it wasn’t just going to go away, I wasn’t going to be cured by osmosis, and that my life was not only going to stay miserable, but would instead take me to even lower bottoms than I had already hit. I finally got it! I had to find enough faith to give me the power I would need to totally surrender my will and my life to a power greater than myself. This was bigger than any man or any amount of will power. I would need nothing short of a miracle, and when I asked my higher power to take my will and my life and to give me the strength and courage to do his will for me, a miracle of biblical proportions was bestowed upon me. I cried, I screamed at the top of my lungs over and over again, “I surrender, please help me god! I surrender, please take this from me, and please give me the strength to fight this, lord and the courage to change everything in my life that was not of your will. Please help me, I surrender. I surrender! And that would be the last time I would give in to the disease. I wasn’t home free, but I was drug free and determined to do whatever it took to retake my life. I was fighting for my life and the disease kept fighting, telling me lies and challenging my faith and my courage. But with every lie my disease would try came an unbelievable amount of faith that I could win this fight and so I pressed on, enduring 3 weeks of detoxes, hospitals, and even days of hallucinations that found me waking up in a padded room, not knowing how I got there or how long I had been there. There were men that would come into these facilities and hold N.A meetings and I knew they were messengers sent to give me hope and I felt right at home in the meetings and realized for the first time that I wasn’t alone and didn’t have to fight to stay clean by myself. The drugs were out of my system, the sanity began to return to my life, and I found some clarity for the first time in many years.
My new life was taking shape and I humbly gave all the glory to my maker, because no humanly power could have saved a wretched, homeless, hopeless addict like my self. I wasn’t out of the woods, but I could see path that would lead me to freedom and I was committed to following that path knowing eventually it would lead me to the opportunity to fight for my children with the same vigor and commitment I used to fight for my very life. First things first however, I had to concentrate on my recovery and getting well before I would be able to take care of anything or anyone else. I was going to dedicate myself to being honest, open minded, and willing to put as much effort into my recovery as I did chasing my next high when I was out there using.
The first suggestion I was given, was to attend 90 N.A meetings in 90 days. This seemed easy enough after all I had been through and I made it a point to make at least one meeting a day. I moved into a halfway house to surround myself with other recovering addicts who understood me and I built up a strong support system of addicts who had greater amounts of recovery time than I did. These were the winners, the ones who walked the walk and didn’t just talk the talk. The adopted me into their hearts immediately and unconditionally. They didn’t shake my hand when we would see each other at meetings, but instead they would hug me and assure me that I wasn’t alone and I was a part of their family. We needed each other to stay clean, and we all knew that. We realized that each of us played a big part in keeping the others clean and perhaps keeping each other alive. These were my only friends right now, and these were the only friends I needed. If I was going to change, I was going to have to change everything, especially the people I associated with during my using days.
It took 30 days before I was well enough to work. I hadn’t worked in years and I was very concerned if I would be able to do any manual labor since I had beaten my body up so bad. I gave it to God and he gave me the courage to show up and the strength to do the job. The miracles just kept coming.
My first day at work was a very humbling experience. I was delivering furniture for a business I once managed before they let me go for good due to my addiction to muscle relaxers that was evident to everyone but me, and the slurring along with my ego left them no choice but to let me go at the time. I knew that one day I would have became a partner and when I did my life would change forever. This was my meal ticket to financial freedom, but my addiction took this opportunity right off the menu. So here I was, working with the same people who used to work for Me., but I was okay with that, in fact I was full of gratitude and felt like a responsible and productive member of society for the first time in many years. My faith grew stronger and I began to see the promises of a wonderful life to come. It was easy for me to humble myself, for it wasn’t very long ago that I was homeless and hopeless, and now I just soaked in all the wonderful blessings and to me each one was another miracle in my life. It just got better and better. After the first day at work, I was offered a permanent position on the sales floor and before long I was managing the store again after a 6 year absence, resurrected from the depths of my own personal hell. I was back! I needed to keep things in perspective. I knew if I was going to stay clean and continue on this new journey, I would have to keep doing the things that got me here, such as attending meetings and keeping in close contact with the support group of wonderful friends who were with me all the way on this fairy tale journey. I also knew that my disease would attack me through my growing ego, now that I held a position of authority. I had to work very hard keeping my ego in check, but the memories of where my addiction had taking me, along with the nightmare I endured while detoxifying the drugs from my system were more than enough to keep my gratitude by keeping things green. I knew that this was my last chance to start my life fresh again. I had used up 8 lives and this was my one and only opportunity to have dreams again that were reachable, and one in particular kept me strong and focused. The dream that seemed impossible was now within my reach. I was ready for my next battle. It was time to fight for my children!
Within 90 days I had a car and an apartment, miracles after miracles. Now it was time. It was time to get my girls and bring them home after almost 2 1/2 years. I was ready to fight for them and I was determined, even against all odds, that one day I would leave that courtroom with my precious girls by my side.
I began to get supervised visits, and then eventually I took them for the day on my own. We had been to family court many times and we were having a problem with the way the system was set up. The statute said after a year’s time I cannot get my children back, because the children were now being placed for adoption and they already had a family go through all the adoption procedures. The judge had a new admiration for me and every agency was on my side, we just had to find a way to get through the red tape.
Finally, it was judgment day. It was now or never. The state attorney told the judge that the children should be with their father, as did everyone else who testified that day. The Judge looked at me and smiled. He glanced around the courtroom until his eyes found mine again. He said "sir, in all my years on the bench I've never seen a parent go through as much as you did fighting your addiction, sleeping on the street and still show enough perseverance to be here today fighting for your children. I'm confident that your love for your children, somehow defied all odds. How would you like to have your girls back with you, where they belong?" Those were the sweetest words I have ever heard.
It's been almost three years now that I've been raising the girls as a single father, and the three of us cherish every moment. We haven't seen their mom in over two years, but we keep her in our prayers. I could have never done this on my own. I had to turn my will over to God and trust that he could manage my life better than I could. I feel so blessed to have my children back, to be able to provide for them, and to get a hug and a kiss each night before they go to bed, only 20 feet away, from the luckiest man in the world.
If you enjoyed this article, please visit Jay's Family sites at Jays Plan - Secrets of a Single Dad and Family Health With Mister Mom.
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