The First Step

“Prove and accept that I am powerless over chemicals

and that my life has become unmanageable.”

Prologue

 The first step of AA, as cited above and outlined below, was one of the hardest things for me to do in my entire life. At Hazelden, a Minnesota rehab facility, I not only had to write down all the fucked up shit I had done as a result of my drug use, I also had to present it in front of a group of fellow addicts and my counselor. I could have easily avoided the severe mental anguish I was about to face and lie my way through the whole thing. Instead, I did something I had never really done before and decided to be 100% honest with everyone and, most importantly, with myself.

Preoccupation with Chemicals

The initial signs of chemical preoccupation began during my late high school years when I began experimenting with drugs for the very first time. At the time, I was in the later half of a very long-term and serious relationship. Like most couples, after spending every waking hour together, we would take some time apart every now and then. Because my girlfriend did not like them very much, I would take this time to go to New Hampshire to see some old friends and maybe smoke some pot. Soon, my desire to retreat and see my friends became an excuse just to get away from my girlfriend and get stoned.

Needless to say, that relationship ended soon after I entered college. Though I was never into alcohol, I was still able to socialize with some kids on campus, many of who liked to smoke weed. Freshman year was a breeze because I had taken all AP classes senior year in high school. So, without any homework to do, I spend my dorm room nights getting stoned and playing James Bond 007 with his hippie kid who lived just two doors down from me.

As sophomore year came the classes just kept getting easier, my free time more plentiful, and my discontentment even higher. I was getting no recognition at my record store job, which I had for over a year now. I had moved back home and this called for a continual need to get out of the house whenever possible, as I was just at that age. It was during this extremely frustrated time in my life when the rave scene and the drug culture both crossed my path. I thought to myself, I was finally with my own kind, people that I could relate to. Ravers were always either nerds in high school, had troubles because they were different, ex-punk rockers, exceptionally intelligent, music connoisseurs, or all of the above. I embraced the scene with open arms and the drugs were part of the deal as well. When I made that decision take ecstasy for the first time, I was seeing the drug scene as the only hope to fill in the missing part of my life that I had once called happiness. It was the perfect way to cure the boredom and intolerable nature of what I had thought was a miserable life.

It was about six months into my chemical experimentation phase when I first found crystal methamphetamine or “glass” as it is more commonly referred to around here. It was New Years Day of 2000 and I was fairly cracked out from taking a handful of ecstasy pills and acid the night before. As I entered the room of this smoke-filled Allston apartment, my eyes gave a quick glance and were instantly locked onto this strange Asian kid holding the bottom of a light bulb to his mouth and a lighter ignited at the opposite end. Around him, a small circle of cracked-out kids gazed at the spectacle as well, anxiously awaiting their next hit. Such a peculiar site sparked my interest and eventual participation in this smoking ritual.

Even though I had been up almost 30 hours by now and was surprised to have even made it to this party, the magical light bulb rejuvenated me instantaneously. I now had the overwhelming desire and energy to do anything. This was it; this was just what I was looking for. Needless to say, weed, ecstasy, and all those other drugs that just made me feel dumb were quickly out of the picture. Now, whenever I felt aggravated by my surroundings and inability to fit in with others, I would just pull out my light bulb, take a few hits, and resume normal functionality.

Work and School

School soon became more than bearable, almost fun even, as I now had a desire to actually do the homework, study, and get good grades. I took the hardest classes with the toughest schedule during my junior year. With 4.0’s across the board, I did not see a problem with using a little to help me bring out such abilities that I knew were present during high school, before I had even tried drugs. However, in a relatively short period of time, I found myself needing to smoke in order to do the easier and more enjoyable tasks that I used to look forward to. The improving performance of my grades forced me to raise my expectations of myself even higher. I needed to maintain perfection at all times and would not put my trust others when it came to getting things done, like group projects for example. As a result, I was doing almost all the work in each of the four group projects entirely on my own during the second semester of my junior year. I had a minor mental breakdown during the last two weeks of finals, presentations, and final papers. With multiple trips to CT, I found that all the glass in the world still couldn’t help me get all my work done in time. I was in over my head. Maybe I should have let some of my group members help with the papers. Risking my job status by taking many days off, I pulled through that semester and managed to get a 4.0 in every class except for one, but my job suffered as a result and I would have to step it up during the summer.

At work, now at IBM, I found myself completing two-week jobs in about a day or two, with the aid of glass of course. I was accelerated, but not that accelerated. So I waited and told my boss that I had finished the job just one week later, as to not make them suspicious. With all my work complete and with almost no human contact for weeks at a time, I was forever bored out of my mind for 8 hours a day. At work, I spent most of my time either doing extra tasks as a way to improve my job status, homework, or catching up on some much needed sleep. The more glass I did, the easier it was to do more work and the quicker I could get it done. The more free time I had, the more bored I became, and the more I needed glass to cure my boredom.

This vicious cycle continued to the point where I dreaded going to work everyday and needed to smoke just to get out of bed in the morning. Waking up an extra half hour just to smoke was not enough, as I would still be late sometimes. Sometimes I would smoke in the car ride to work, and almost got in a few accidents as a result. In just a short time, I had no problem with having the bulb in my cubicle drawer for a hit every now and then. In the rare occasion that my supervisor or other co-workers came into the office, I would simply make a trip to the bathroom and hide in one of the stalls.

It did not take too long for my addiction to take over and I was becoming more irritable and frustrated at work everyday. All the extra work I had done was going under appreciated. In November, after getting denied a one-year raise, I decided to leave. Claiming that my outstanding performances did not outweigh the repetitive lateness and lack of reliability, I eventually would have been let go in a few months anyways, when I graduated college and the internship was over.

Attempts to Control the Use of Chemicals

While I initially began using to help get through school and work, I would limit my use and only smoke during the week when I needed it. Here, I could keep my tolerance down and not have to keep buying more and more. Of course, weekend drugs just came into play, as I was hanging out with those friends who would smoke weed and drink alcohol. Whenever I would find my tolerance getting too high or doing more than a ½ gram per week. I would take a month off every now and then, providing I had no big projects or exams coming up. Sometimes I would even keep some around and not do it for 30 days, just as a check for myself and to prove that I wasn’t an addict. But as sure as day, you can bet I was back to smoking on the 31 st.

Destructive and Insane behaviors

 Not too long after I had quit my job at IBM did my life begin to quickly go downhill. One night, out of sheer boredom and depression, I tried some Klonopins, a very strong benzodiazepine. It was the first time I had done them and the last as I overdosed greatly, banged up my car, hit another car, and taken to a mental hospital by the police. It took me two days to gain my sanity back, only to realize that I was in a mental hospital. However, to this day, I still have no recollection of what took place that one night. Following hospital recommendations, I saw a psychologist and contemplated the idea that I might have a drug problem.

The incident tore me up inside, as this was the first time anything negative had resulted from my drug use. I was always so careful, how could this have happened. One of my worst fears had come true, I had failed, and my parents knew about. I quickly convinced myself that the cause of my misfortune and hospitalization was a drug I had never done before and will never do again. It was not my drug of choice. No, my glass would never do that to me. As a result, I stopped seeing my psychologist after only a few sessions. But inside I was still distraught by the whole situation. To make things worse, finding a new job in times of economic depression was taking longer than expected. It did not help that I was being very picky and turned down many offers because they were not my dream job.

Regardless, I still needed to pay the rent and maintain my financial independence. So, I decided to work for my dealer. Here, after years of faithful service, I had developed a good relationship with him and he saw me as one of the few people he could trust. For about $200 a week and all the glass I could smoke, it was the ideal job for a person like me at that time. I refused to be involved in the actually dealing of the drugs. However, I was involved in just about every other aspect. I would pick up and drop of people at airports, use my credit card to purchase plane tickets, launder money, rent cars, store and keep track of drug inventory along with money spent and money owed. I was the best at what I did, as usual. I had always wanted to run my own business. Oftentimes, this guy would pay me extra money or give me more drugs for always having everything under control or doing a little something extra than he expected.

Even though I did not do the actual drug dealing, I was oftentimes in possession of more than enough drugs to be considered a dealer by the law. Of course I was having too much fun running around blinded by the glamorous life to realize this. I had to find out the hard way.

One January night, some friends and I were walking out of this kid’s apartment in Roxbury when two cops, claiming of a noise complaint, accosted us on the way to my car. In actuality, and I was unaware of it at the time, two kids who were caught with glass earlier that night were seen coming from the same apartment. Here, the cops just waited around to see if more drugs would come out of that place, as it is known drug area. So, without permission, they proceeded to search my car, which held my dealer’s drug box. I wasn’t sure exactly what was in it, but they reported recovered a few 8-balls, some grams, empty drug baggies, a scale, and various other drug paraphernalia for both selling and using.

Since it was my car, I was the one arrested and taken into Roxbury jail, which is not a very nice place for a skinny white boy such as myself to be. As fate would have it, my parents were away in New Hampshire for the weekend and I had already used my one phone call to the house in Mass. I left a message anyways, in hopes that they would check their voicemail before Sunday night. I was not so lucky, as I spent two full days in that cold and lonely holding cell.

With just a slab of plastic to lie on and a sandwich with a cartoon of milk twice a day, I went insane and completely broke down. I had failed yet again, and this time, my glass was the cause. While going through painful withdrawals and having no idea what was going to happen, I knew my life would never be the same again. Sleep was nearly impossible due to the incessant yelling of those others arrested that same weekend. Still, I sustained the cold and severe discomfort and managed to fall asleep from time to time. When I awoke, I had no real idea of what time it was and had rely on what little natural light I could see to determine the passing of days. Sometime during the second night I awoke to find that my contacts had fallen off and dried up. As a result, I was unable to see for the rest of that day. Even when my parents finally came to pick me up late Sunday night, I was fortunate enough and could not see the look of disappointment on their faces.

Effects on Family

 I don’t really know who was more disappointed that day, my parents or myself. But I think that feelings of disbelief and a worrisome confusion were the first things to enter their minds. If it had not been for the previous incident at the hospital, the shock of the news could have permanently damaged one or all three of us beyond devastation.

But the disappointments did not begin there. When working and in school, I was far too busy to remember birthdays, holidays, and other family gatherings. In the year prior to my arrest, I found myself taking acid almost every time I had a family gathering. Through this, and my continual glass smoking, I was becoming disillusioned with my family and other loved ones. My emotions were diminished to the point were it was difficult to show any love for my parents, my sister, or my brother.

In my selfish quest for personal success, I disowned most of my father’s side of the family during some family drama. Even though my parents agreed with me, I don’t believe I could have done such a heartless act had my mind not been clouded by drugs.

Every now and then, I would push the clouds aside. Though everything appeared fine on the surface, signs of hurt and despair could be seen deep in my mother’s eyes. During a time when I was coming off a long cocaine binge, the hurt was more evident that normal. So, I took her out to dinner and told her why I was acting so crazy and irritable, as the withdrawal was hurting her as much as it was myself. Still, up until recently, these would be the only insights my parents would have into my apparent drug use. I left clues here and there, but they respected my privacy and did not pry. It was my own fault, as they knew I would snap at them if they ever tried to interfere. I shut them out, lied to them, and did everything I could to hide the fact that I was using. I believed as long as I did not mess up, I could continue my use without any parental concern.

Emotional effects and relationship problems

 When I first began using, I was taking drugs to help improve my relationship with society, help me fit in, and help me deal with the many annoyances that made my life very unhappy. It seemed to work at the time. However, the years of prolonged use quickly made my life unbearable without the aid of drugs. I was becoming more irritated with things and even more reliant on chemicals to get me through the day. The things I had once enjoyed while sober soon had little or no effect on me. Additionally, I stopped hanging out with old friends and ignored those who actually cared about me. As my use got worse, I went from hanging out with pot smoking kids on campus or from New Hampshire, to the glass smoking crackheads of Boston.

As previously mentioned, I appeared to have it all together, but inside I was an emotional wreck. By suppressing any feeling of depression or discomfort, I quickly became incapable of feeling many other emotions like joy, love, and caring. Here, serious relationships became utterly impossible as I lacked the ability to express emotions and the desire to let anyone know my true self.

As a known side effect of smoking glass, my disinterest in sex went from “maybe” to “no way”. In the two years during my glass use, I made time for just one girlfriend, and that relationship lasted only a month. Included her, I have had only two girlfriends since breaking up with my high school sweetheart three years ago.

Physical Health

 The years of extensive use and abuse of a drug that gave my heart such a euphoric rush have damaged my body in both direct and indirect ways. For every two years of using, my body feels as if it has aged about ten. The smoke has poisoned my lungs and heart, damaged my circulatory and nervous systems, and made me feel sick whenever I was not using. As if I were not already skinny enough, the loss of appetite gave way to some signs of malnutrition. I am weak, much weaker than before, and my bones and muscles are constantly bothering me. I am no longer the 18-year old track star I once was in high school. Now, merely four years later, I can barely run a mile without getting tired.

Spirituality or Faith

 I have always had my own personal relationship with God, as I went to Catholic school for 13 years. Of course, by the age of 18, I had completely denounced any form of organized religion. I never really prayed, nor did I see God as playing a big part in my life. I saw him as a creator that gave us the free will to do as we saw fit. Nevertheless, I believe that God has a master plan for each one of us and we may choose to follow it or not. It is through the decisions of everyday life do we stay on or fall off God’s plan. This is my definition of fate. I believe it was fate that landed me in jail that night, fate that kept my parents from bailing me out right away, and fate that placed me alongside criminals who had been arrested for their second or third offense for the very same crime. I saw where my drugs had taken me and where I might end up if I kept using against God’s plan. So, after the arraignment that Monday, I made a life decision to stop my drug use altogether and embrace God once again.

Road to Recovery

Hysterical and utterly devastated by the incident in jail, I returned to my apartment determined to rid these drugs from my life. However, I was already an emotional and physical wreck from such trauma and the additional pains of withdrawal were too much for me to handle. I locked myself in my bedroom for a week, too afraid to face the world. When my dealer stopped by to see how I was doing, he left something behind for me, and I gave in instantly. Just one more time, I said to myself, so that I could get out of bed and function for just a little while. By this time, I had pretty much given up on going to graduate school, as I found it even more intolerable than undergraduate. The jobs search was not improving, even in the New Year as I had hoped. Because the cops had taken my rent money for that month, I was forced to borrow from my parents. By the time my birthday came around, late January, I found myself back with the same old glass friends and I could not believe what I was doing. I had left the state on bail to do a drug delivery. What was I thinking? What had happened to me? My worse fear had come true. I had failed. I was powerless to my drug, I was broke, out of school, and had no job. My life had become unmanageable.

Probably the two most difficult things for me to do are to ask for help and admit when I am wrong. But I had no choice, I fucked up and I could not afford to make the same mistake twice. So I swallowed my pride, gave into humility, and moved back home. I went back to my psychologist for professional help and a possible cure for my addiction. Though it is against my very nature, I surrendered myself to the care of others at a treatment center and am trying to make amends for the things I have done wrong and the people I have hurt. I know abstinence is not nearly enough. I have to make drastic changes to the way I view the world if I am going to be able to function in normal society without the aid of drugs. Not using is the easy part, but if I go back out there right away as if nothing had happened, relapse is inevitable. Intelligence is one thing, but arrogance can be very destructive. Fortunately, I have been greatly humbled by the realization of my addiction and know now that I am not always right and don’t have all the answers. I have a large problem with patience and honesty in dealing with both others and myself. I don’t have to be superman, one day at a time, progress, not perfection.

GV

3/20/02