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These people took us in, fed us; they gave us cigarettes and clothes. We felt like the floodgates to heaven had opened. The director was a kind man whom I told my story to. He listened and asked me what I wanted out of life. This was a new concept, someone asking me what I wanted, rather than telling me what to do or wanting something from me. I told him I wanted to get clean and to get off the streets. We drew up a plan and he offered me a job. I felt so lucky to have this opportunity.
I worked for the shelter for almost a year and a half. I went to school and got a degree. I even managed to stay clean. In April of 1989, I turned 21 and all hell broke loose. I had a friend who came to my house and said, “You look miserable, let me give you this.” In his hand was a fat joint. I told him to go the hell away and to get out of my house. I kept the joint. I sat in my bathroom for about two hours just staring at it. I knew that if I smoked this it would be on again and that I would loose everything that I had gained. I also thought that I could somehow get away with it.
I smoked the joint and within a day, it was as if I had never stopped. I was running drugs again, not going to work and within a month, I had lost my house. The idea of stopping wasn’t even in my mind and things got worse. Within three months, I had had six heart attacks and within eight months, I was in Jail. I was looking at spending the rest of my life in prison and I was relieved.
The first week in prison, I had a feeling that I was safe. No one bothered me and I didn’t have to use dope. I started to think I had it handled until I started dreaming about getting high. I had a guard who wore this medallion around his neck. This thing was a circle with a triangle in the middle. I thought it was cool so I asked him about it. He told me it was just part of something he did for himself and walked away. The next day he asked me if I wanted to go to a drug and alcohol class and I told him I didn’t think it would help. He said that I could sit on a couch instead of a steel chair; I could drink some real coffee not the instant that I got from commissary, and I could smoke someone else’s cigarettes. All I had to do was listen. It sounded okay, so I told him to sign me up.
I walked into my first meeting that day. I went twice my first week, not so much for the coffee and cigs, but for the stories. These men had been where I was and had felt what I was feeling. They knew who I was and better yet, they didn’t judge me for it.
These men told me that I had to figure out whether or not I was an addict and whether or not I had the power to change things. They also talked about the “Big Book” and said that all my answers could be found in there. Being the good dope-fiend I am, I stole my first big book. This big guy from the meeting came by my cell and told me that the meeting was missing some books and asked if I knew where they might be. I told him I had no clue. I thought they would take it away if I said anything, so I hid and read. He came back, caught me reading, and told me he knew I had lied but that it was okay. He said he could show me how to live without having to lie anymore. I don’t know what scared me more the thought of not having to lie or the thought of what he could do to me, so I consented to learn.
