WATCHING A LIFE DETERIORATE IS PAINFUL PROCESS

Just For Today

One of the tenets of the recovery program of which I'm a member tells us
that we can only keep what we have by giving it away.

In other words, to maintain our recovery from drug addiction, to help it
flourish and grow, we must reach out to the addicts who still suffer. This
program, an outgrowth of Alcoholics Anonymous, has been around for 50
years, and the only reason it's helped so many people recover from
addiction is the foundation of the program -- one addict helping another is
without parallel.

Which is one reason I feel so blessed at the overwhelming response I've
received since beginning this column on addiction and recovery in mid-July,
which is one reason this column will now appear every Tuesday in the
HealthTimes section of this newspaper.

Over the past few weeks, I've received many phone calls and e-mails, many
supportive, others seeking advice about how to deal with a family member
who's a suffering addict.

That's probably the No. 1 question I get asked -- how to help an addict
whose disease is not only ravaging themselves, but everyone they love and
care about.

The truth is simple but cold: You can't. At least, not until the addict is
ready to help himself. Until an addict wants to stop using drugs and wants
to recover, there's little that can be done to persuade them otherwise.

I know, because I was once the same way. As a writer, a man from a
middle-class childhood with a college education and good friends and a
loving family, I refused for years to acknowledge that I was a drug addict.

Despite the fact that I was unable to function without three or four
hydrocodones first thing in the morning -- and later on, a needle full of
heroin -- I refused to admit that I had a problem. Despite the fact that
every time I cracked open a beer or poured myself a drink and it was always
followed by at least a half-dozen more, I refused to acknowledge it.
Despite the fact that once I snorted that first line of cocaine at 10 p.m.
and I didn't stop until the sun came up the next morning, I refused to
believe it.

For me, it began at home and spread out like ripples from a stone thrown
into a still lake. My roommates suffered because the house was filthy and I
didn't pay my share of the rent. It spread to my job, where I was late for
work, missed assignments, nodded off at my desk and cut out at all hours of
the day to score.

It spread to my friends, who worried about my health. They saw me wasting
away before their eyes. They confronted me, and I didn't want to listen. I
didn't show up for dinners and gatherings, and if I did, I was usually high.

Finally, it spread to my family. And by then, it had consumed me to the
point that I knew I was hurting other people. I stole money and pawned
their possessions. I knew I was hurting others, but I simply didn't care.
The only thing that mattered was feeding the monkey on my back.

The whole time, I refused to consider myself a drug addict. It was a word I
literally refused to even think about, much less say aloud.

I didn't believe it because it meant going into dark places, in my mind and
soul, where I kept all my fears and insecurities and self-loathing under
lock and key. It meant the emotional and spiritual pain I worked so hard to
numb with chemicals might actually find their way to the surface.

It meant that I might actually feel again. And because the only things I
had felt for so long were shame, humiliation, anger, sadness, fear and
hatred, that's the last thing I wanted to do.

On one of my various trips through rehab, one of my counselors described
addiction as a disease of the feelings. It made sense, because I was never
good with feelings. Drugs made them go away, which is exactly what I wanted.

And it wasn't until I got into recovery and realized I had a disease, and
that only by facing that black cauldron of negative emotion could I get
better, that I was finally able to admit my problem.

Self-centeredness is at the core of addiction. It's very easy for addicts
to justify our using by claiming the only people we're hurting are
ourselves. And it's very easy to blind ourselves to the destruction we
cause to those around us.

But we do cause it. Fortunately for me, through recovery, that damage has
been repairable. But the only way I was able to even begin repairing that
pain, the self-inflicted kind and that I caused others, was by admitting I
was an addict. Only by acknowledging my problem could I then begin to deal
with it.

Today, I admit that I'm a drug addict every time I'm at a meeting, and a
lot of times when I'm not. That pain isn't quite so fierce as it used to
be, when it's even there at all. I've learned how to live life on life's
terms, and I'm grateful to be an addict -- because through recovery, I've
found a better way of life.

It's impossible to detail all of the blessings recovery has given me. But
none of them came until I owned up to my problem and faced it head-on.

And that's a decision every addict has to come to on his or her own, no
matter how much others may want it for us.

Steve Wildsmith is a recovering addict and the Weekend editor for The Daily
Times. His entertainment column and stories appear every Friday in the
Weekend section.