When there is absolutely no reason to keep going.
When we have been told time after time by various experience and people that we should have hit bottom by now...
That we should have learned from our past...
When our lives seem empty of hope…
When our faith becomes bar room debate...
When we trade our morals, values and beliefs for a gram or twelve ounce bottle…
Yet down we go, trudging the road towards a deeper, more significant hell.
Still…somehow people recover.
We are yanked from the pit of despair by outstretched hands seemingly acting at random. But I assure you, there is nothing random about it. The odds are too freakish for anyone to know exactly when the bottom hits; often the voice of anguish, although true, is premature because the addict imagined the bottom, but was yet to truly reach it.
The spirit knows without question that its host is in peril therefor the screaming and reaching out for help continues, but somehow the human mind figures its way out of the latest conundrum, seemingly ignoring a desperate and obvious call for long term, preferably permanent relief.
And then we find another; only this time the situation has escalated…somehow the bottom fell deeper.
Somehow we look up and can barely see the same level on the gutter.
Somehow we can no longer steady our heads above the water line.
Only able to peek out occasionally; gasping for air…
One hand and another, then another, reach into the muddy water pulling us out and dropping us on the sidewalk to dry off. Unless we are truly done, we generally roll right back in; as soon memory fades and our “mental defense” disappears.
Unfortunately we do not all make it back out again; the current is too strong and the longer we stay submerged, the less strength we contain in order to swim.
I am blessed to speak with people about the disease of alcoholism and addiction; some of them are recovering addicts and alcoholics like me, some are living with family members or friends who struggle with the disease, others are still active participants in their substance of choice, and there are those whose knowledge and experience comes through distance learning by way of the newspaper, internet, or television and movies.
No matter whom they are or where they come from; they always ask the same question, sometimes framed differently, “What’s the truth of this disease business?”
The truth of recovering looms ominously for those still active and sometimes far more for those in early recovery constantly searching for a reason to stay sober; old ideas conflicting constantly and rapidly with new concepts, images, symbols, slogans, perceptions, and reality.
The truth is hard.
But I assure you the truth is much easier than the alternative, despite all of the evidence we can and do muster to convince ourselves and others of the lie we have been living.
Our disease is cunning.
It is baffling.
And it is powerful.
Recovery brings about the change we have been seeking all along – however, if we choose to simply remain dry or clean, it appears quite obvious that this is a direct line back into the soupy chaos of the life we so desperately cling too and attempt to leave behind at the same instance along parallel lines.
Some will say this is impossible, but that is the disease of addiction; it is like a contradictory program running alongside the main software, occasionally overriding all other knowledge and principles with multiple viruses at once. If we abstain, it slips into the darkness and the host wonders what the fuck just happened to my thought process?
Add the substance of choice and the virus branches out to obliterate the main programming and the host asks, “why am I in jail, the hospital, or the psych ward?” or many other places we end up when we no longer understand reality the way others do.
If we are able to abstain for a long period of time…
We wake up from the fog like a newborn child; touching, smelling, tasting, and feeling for the world around us, as though it is the first time we have experienced it. Even on the surface a reasonably intelligent human being can see the difficulty with this process for an adult male or female; falling head first out of a terrible yet comfortable cocoon is a shock to the system to say the least.
This “awful” truth is actually pretty simple and quite beautiful when time passes between our last use and drink and the fog lifts ever so slightly one day at a time. This hard, blinding reality starts to take shape and form once a few, maybe even several, sunsets fade into our new past. The logical action of passing time creates a very natural light to dark ratio which at first seems unnatural because it is the opposite of what we are used too.
But we have to stay clean and sober long enough.
We have to fight equally as hard for the new life, as we used to search the crevices and crannies in the carpets, alleys, and bars for whatever crumb or droplet was left of our drug of choice. We have to surrender our egos to something far greater than us; left to our own devices, we will perish.
A close friend said the other day to a new comer, “sometimes you fuck up and life ain’t pretty, but no matter what, you just don’t pick up…” he took a drag from his cigarette, the newcomer vibrated slightly from both shock and fear, and the old timer went on, “no matter what happens, you just don’t drink or use because then things can and do get better… it ain’t easy, but you do the deal as best you can, don’t pick up and it gets better…”
The older man stared into the face of the 27 year old unwavering in his gaze; shell shocked, the young man nodded, searched for rebuttal but knew it was pointless. The logic and reason of the elder’s words struck him like a lightning bolt. He just stared and the older man walked away.
The old timer did not realize that when he said that simple statement, I felt God speaking through him; the wisdom was brilliant and cutting and gentle and loving.
My stress levels have been at a high status for a while and until that moment I was almost blind to my position and place in the world; I had been struggling to find some balance because I had fallen into the pattern of attempting perfection in my life, my prayer, my family and friends relationships, my program, my responses, my reactions, my decisions, and my work.
I had pigeon holed myself; had built a wall of stress and my body suffered from it.
I write this through the fever, off and on like a light switch depending on some unseen force of nature. Spitting out a sentence at a time between bathroom runs and bottles of water, but I can see it pretty clear reflecting on his words and the gift he was giving not only to me and the newcomer, but probably to himself as well.
I had seen those words strung together in my own head for the past two weeks but they made no sense; they were fodder for the addict’s mind and nothing more until I heard it from another’s mouth. I firmly believe that everything I have learned would not be, if not for others reflecting my pain and struggle back to me through the rooms, the faces, and the multitude of seekers I encounter on a daily basis.
For all of you I am grateful.
It is a tragedy when one of us dies; I mourn for Amy but honestly, I mourn weekly and often daily for each man, woman and child I see or hear about who is lost to this disease.
A prayer for our fallen comrades; there are multitudes in heaven looking down, reaching out, and seeking the next opportunity to pass life to a willing participant, waiting to stretch out their hands through loved ones and friends.
Angels using people to save other endangered spirits.
Our love.
Our faith.
Our hope.
And our undying gratitude for your sacrifices and lessons.
May you all rest in absolute peace and love.
David W. Lewry
When we have been told time after time by various experience and people that we should have hit bottom by now...
That we should have learned from our past...
When our lives seem empty of hope…
When our faith becomes bar room debate...
When we trade our morals, values and beliefs for a gram or twelve ounce bottle…
Yet down we go, trudging the road towards a deeper, more significant hell.
Still…somehow people recover.
We are yanked from the pit of despair by outstretched hands seemingly acting at random. But I assure you, there is nothing random about it. The odds are too freakish for anyone to know exactly when the bottom hits; often the voice of anguish, although true, is premature because the addict imagined the bottom, but was yet to truly reach it.
The spirit knows without question that its host is in peril therefor the screaming and reaching out for help continues, but somehow the human mind figures its way out of the latest conundrum, seemingly ignoring a desperate and obvious call for long term, preferably permanent relief.
And then we find another; only this time the situation has escalated…somehow the bottom fell deeper.
Somehow we look up and can barely see the same level on the gutter.
Somehow we can no longer steady our heads above the water line.
Only able to peek out occasionally; gasping for air…
One hand and another, then another, reach into the muddy water pulling us out and dropping us on the sidewalk to dry off. Unless we are truly done, we generally roll right back in; as soon memory fades and our “mental defense” disappears.
Unfortunately we do not all make it back out again; the current is too strong and the longer we stay submerged, the less strength we contain in order to swim.
I am blessed to speak with people about the disease of alcoholism and addiction; some of them are recovering addicts and alcoholics like me, some are living with family members or friends who struggle with the disease, others are still active participants in their substance of choice, and there are those whose knowledge and experience comes through distance learning by way of the newspaper, internet, or television and movies.
No matter whom they are or where they come from; they always ask the same question, sometimes framed differently, “What’s the truth of this disease business?”
The truth of recovering looms ominously for those still active and sometimes far more for those in early recovery constantly searching for a reason to stay sober; old ideas conflicting constantly and rapidly with new concepts, images, symbols, slogans, perceptions, and reality.
The truth is hard.
But I assure you the truth is much easier than the alternative, despite all of the evidence we can and do muster to convince ourselves and others of the lie we have been living.
Our disease is cunning.
It is baffling.
And it is powerful.
Recovery brings about the change we have been seeking all along – however, if we choose to simply remain dry or clean, it appears quite obvious that this is a direct line back into the soupy chaos of the life we so desperately cling too and attempt to leave behind at the same instance along parallel lines.
Some will say this is impossible, but that is the disease of addiction; it is like a contradictory program running alongside the main software, occasionally overriding all other knowledge and principles with multiple viruses at once. If we abstain, it slips into the darkness and the host wonders what the fuck just happened to my thought process?
Add the substance of choice and the virus branches out to obliterate the main programming and the host asks, “why am I in jail, the hospital, or the psych ward?” or many other places we end up when we no longer understand reality the way others do.
If we are able to abstain for a long period of time…
We wake up from the fog like a newborn child; touching, smelling, tasting, and feeling for the world around us, as though it is the first time we have experienced it. Even on the surface a reasonably intelligent human being can see the difficulty with this process for an adult male or female; falling head first out of a terrible yet comfortable cocoon is a shock to the system to say the least.
This “awful” truth is actually pretty simple and quite beautiful when time passes between our last use and drink and the fog lifts ever so slightly one day at a time. This hard, blinding reality starts to take shape and form once a few, maybe even several, sunsets fade into our new past. The logical action of passing time creates a very natural light to dark ratio which at first seems unnatural because it is the opposite of what we are used too.
But we have to stay clean and sober long enough.
We have to fight equally as hard for the new life, as we used to search the crevices and crannies in the carpets, alleys, and bars for whatever crumb or droplet was left of our drug of choice. We have to surrender our egos to something far greater than us; left to our own devices, we will perish.
A close friend said the other day to a new comer, “sometimes you fuck up and life ain’t pretty, but no matter what, you just don’t pick up…” he took a drag from his cigarette, the newcomer vibrated slightly from both shock and fear, and the old timer went on, “no matter what happens, you just don’t drink or use because then things can and do get better… it ain’t easy, but you do the deal as best you can, don’t pick up and it gets better…”
The older man stared into the face of the 27 year old unwavering in his gaze; shell shocked, the young man nodded, searched for rebuttal but knew it was pointless. The logic and reason of the elder’s words struck him like a lightning bolt. He just stared and the older man walked away.
The old timer did not realize that when he said that simple statement, I felt God speaking through him; the wisdom was brilliant and cutting and gentle and loving.
My stress levels have been at a high status for a while and until that moment I was almost blind to my position and place in the world; I had been struggling to find some balance because I had fallen into the pattern of attempting perfection in my life, my prayer, my family and friends relationships, my program, my responses, my reactions, my decisions, and my work.
I had pigeon holed myself; had built a wall of stress and my body suffered from it.
I write this through the fever, off and on like a light switch depending on some unseen force of nature. Spitting out a sentence at a time between bathroom runs and bottles of water, but I can see it pretty clear reflecting on his words and the gift he was giving not only to me and the newcomer, but probably to himself as well.
I had seen those words strung together in my own head for the past two weeks but they made no sense; they were fodder for the addict’s mind and nothing more until I heard it from another’s mouth. I firmly believe that everything I have learned would not be, if not for others reflecting my pain and struggle back to me through the rooms, the faces, and the multitude of seekers I encounter on a daily basis.
For all of you I am grateful.
It is a tragedy when one of us dies; I mourn for Amy but honestly, I mourn weekly and often daily for each man, woman and child I see or hear about who is lost to this disease.
A prayer for our fallen comrades; there are multitudes in heaven looking down, reaching out, and seeking the next opportunity to pass life to a willing participant, waiting to stretch out their hands through loved ones and friends.
Angels using people to save other endangered spirits.
Our love.
Our faith.
Our hope.
And our undying gratitude for your sacrifices and lessons.
May you all rest in absolute peace and love.
David W. Lewry