Journal, Diary, & Blogging / The Man Leaning Against the Wall
So there I am, on my way to the big NA Berkeley Candlelight Fundraiser. A safe pass for my very first unsupported. That’s one of the reasons I chose to take it there. Because I know the coast is most definitely not clear.
I’m walking to the BART station, kind of enjoying the feeling of being alone as I travel, not only for the level of trust and work it represents, but for the sheer pleasure of simple solitude, a luxury we do not enjoy at the house. I’m carrying my Venti Komodo Dragon Bold coffee from Starbucks, which took ten minutes to get because I just had to have fresh-pressed, nothing straight out of the pot for me. No sir. And I honestly was so exhilarated just to be out, that I forgot to be nervous for a second. That is, until I saw him.
The Man Leaning Against the Wall.
Not just any man, this one. A DRUG DEALER. Oh, he was dressed quite normally, but being the absolute dope fiend that I am, I knew him at a glance. I would know the dope man if I bumped into him on a side street in Russia. And if there’s anything just as certain, it’s that he would know me.
And this one did. Something about the way his posture shifted when his eyes met mine. The oily smile that crept over his face. The ‘I got it’ smile. Like I said, I’d know it anywhere.
And in that brief moment in time when our eyes met, mine and The Man Leaning Against the Wall, an entire scenario flashed through my brain. I saw myself getting some dope. I had bought coffee, but I knew I had $18 in my pocket. A dime rock. A glass tube. A Chore Boy. A pack of cheap smokes. The thing is, the tape really kept going this time. I knew I had pen and paper and the banks were open, so I knew I would not have stopped. I saw being on the run. I saw the disappointment in the faces of the staff here. I saw peers talking about how if somebody who seems as strong as John goes out that easy, what’s the fucking use. And yes, I saw Shawna crying and finding some way to blame it on herself and hurt herself even more than she already has in her life over one more man who just wasn’t worth it. I saw feds with laser-sighted guns and I knew I wasn’t going back so fucking easy this time. And even then, I really don’t know if it would have been enough.
The Man Leaning Against the Wall is one bad motherf*cker. Because he’s the God of the oily little bastard that lives in my head with me. The oily little bastard that I can never really kill without killing myself. The oily little bastard that wants me to die. My addict. Me.
But I have another voice in my head now. A counselor. And though I acquired him at New Bridge, he doesn’t sound like Suzanne or Olivia or Marlon. He sounds just like my oldest son when he was almost four years old. You see, the last time I had my wife and kids, the day I ‘went out’, I did the same silly ritual with my son Donovan that I always did. As I was leaving, I said “I love you, Little Mister”, and he responded “I love you, Big Mister.” Such a small thing. And yet it was everything. Because I was on my last leg with my family, my wife had given me one more chance for the third and final time and I knew. I knew that if I went and got my check and got some dope, it was really and truly over. I knew that I wouldn’t be coming home to my sons who I really did love, that they would be gone when I ran out of money and dragged myself back. I knew all that, and it wasn’t enough. I still walked out that door. I STILL WALKED OUT THAT FUCKING DOOR!! And I hated myself for it even as I did it, but not enough to stop me.
All my counselor said to me was “I love you, Big Mister.” Well, goddammit, so do I now! Enough not to hold onto the craving and not try to ignore the trigger with my own will. My will is not enough. It couldn’t save me before. So I just turned it over.
Now, that may sound like bullshit, especially coming from me, because I struggled to find a Higher Power when I got here. In fact, I’ve always been my own Higher Power. The upside was that I gave myself permission to do whatever the hell I wanted with no regard for consequences. The down side was that my HP was an asshole. But I have found one, though he/she/it is nothing anyone would recognize from the Bible. And I do trust Him. Looking at the totality of my life, I know that my HP has a purpose for me, because I should never have made it here while so many have been destroyed. And my HP’s purpose does not include me getting high and going back to prison, I can’t reach out to other addicts with a pipe or rig in my hand. Not if I’m reaching out in the right way. To lift and help.
And when I turned it over, I didn’t feel like I was giving up my power. I felt stronger. Freer.
The Man Leaning Against the Wall must have somehow sensed something, because he quickly averted his eyes. I continued on my own way, and had a blast at the event, and when I laid my head down on my pillow, I laid it down as a clean and sober member of the human race. A grateful, grateful recovering addict.
I saw a Man Leaning Against the Wall today, and for a singular moment in time I held my entire past, present, and future in my hands. I held my recovery. I held eternity.
And I kept on walking!
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Wow! This brought tears to my eyes. Incredible, just incredible. I wish you all the best!
Blondiegrrrl
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Im a new member here in fact this is only my third review. I want to say that it is almost nice to find somthing like this. ALso being a former slave to the tube , i cant help but love how accurate your ability is to describe ” The Feind” its rare to find somthing like this anymore , and im happy i came across the tale of your recovery , good luck
I would give it an 11 if I could. You are a brave and insightful man, keep up the awesome work. The whole story flows well and the ending could not be any better. I truly enjoy reading your stuff and I am looking forward to the next one. You can really help so many people with this work you are doing. Kudos!
This is a very, very nice effort.
“I saw a Man Leaning Against the Wall today, and for a singular moment in time I held my entire past, present, and future in my hands. I held my recovery. I held eternity.
And I kept on walking!”
This is my favorite part.
With the strength you now possess. You were able to share your personal story. and in doing so help many others. I applaud you.
There are a couple of things that might make the story easier to read.
Using a line break to separate the paragraphs.
Where this line begins ”The thing is, the tape really kept going this time.” If the person reading has never had an addition it’s a bit hard to follow.
“pen and paper and the banks were open” but you knew you would not stop.
When you write “I still walked out the door” hits hard. I believe anyone reading this would feel the pain and shame.
Thank you for a good reminder for other still recovering.
An emotional roller coaster. Freedom, then fear, then ultimately freedom again. This essay brought me full circle. You have a lovely writing voice, and I will carry this with me for the rest of my day, along with a sense of hope. With all the terrible things you hear about drugs, it’s nice to read about someone overcoming them.
Thanks.
This is absolutely heart-wrenching in places, but the ending is very uplifting. It feels longer than it actually is, I guess because I went through such a wide range of emotions as I read it. Keep writing, I think this could actually be expanded into a very nice short story, though there is the risk of diluting its power.
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