I Died Once

 

I died once.

It was a long time ago, but there you have it. I didn’t wait until I hit a bottom, I just went ahead and got it out of the way at age 18.

Why am I telling you this? First of all, because the truth sets me free, and being able to reveal my darkest moments without flinching has truly set me free. But not gratuitously; this is where its important to make a distinction between telling stories and sharing experience strength and hope- the goal is that it helps someone, that someone, somewhere, is able to relate, that a rapport is formed or an understanding or revelation takes place. That is the hope.

So, I died, as I said. I was raised, much of the time, by a great aunt and uncle who were pharmacists. Yep. I also come from moonshiners tobacconists and coffin makers, but I digress.  I learned early that valiums were the blue pill with the V in the middle and were for when you are upset. My first heartache, I self medicated with five of them. It pretty much worked, I felt no pain, and in fact I felt hardly anything at all. Perfect! I then went through the entire medicine cabinet in my great aunt’s pink bathroom= valium, fiorenal, elavil, halcion- I tried it all. I tried different cocktail combinations, I tried it with alcohol, with pot. I felt I was born to be high.

At some point I had to curtail my pharmacy raids, but only for a few months, and when I finally was able to score a handful of pills again, I took too many. I think I took them all. I don’t remember- I had just returned from being on the road with the Grateful Dead, and I was having culture shock. I was uncomfortable. And I am not a fan of discomfort. Next thing I know I woke up in 4 point restraints, disoriented, hooked up to machines in ICU at the hospital. Apparently I was blue and cold on my father’s living room floor. They used the paddles to bring me back, and there I was. Tied down to a bed. Nice.

Here is where its all wrong- it didn’t occur to me that I had a problem. In fact, I thought it was EPIC. I thought it was pure fiction. They put me in a lockdown psych ward after that, and I had friends coming to visit me who wanted to break me out. It was terrible and exciting at the same time- I had never known anyone who had been in the loony bin. A dubious achievement for most, but not if your hero is Hunter S Thompson.  For me, its stunning that no one batted an eye, including myself. I finally talked myself out of the loony bin and went right back out onto Grateful Dead Tour, where I switched from pills to hallucinogenics. It has been a long strange trip from there to here, punctuated by LSD, heroin, speed, marijuana, cocaine, vicodin, xanax, soma- and always fueled by alcohol.

When we hear it said that untreated alcoholism leads us to jails, institutions, and death, I have to laugh. It took me to institutions and death right off the bat. Jails were only a few years off.  And I still had 20 more years before I was desperate enough to attempt sobriety.

Now, with 4 years sober, I can tell you that life is amazing. When I feel discomfort, I no longer seek a pill or a drink but another alcoholic, a newcomer. I say that at speaking engagements a lot- “I don’t need a drink, I need a newcomer!” If I feel panicked, I look for someone to be of service to, in recovery or out. Its magical, and it works, every time. I wish I had found this life sooner, but it takes what it takes.  I would not be here if I had not been there, and for this reason, I can not harbor any regrets about what it took to be here. Each person is different, but each person has the same opportunity for a graceful, serene life in recovery. If I could do it, anyone can.