The worse I did, i did to myself: A year later in recovery

Damn, last year about this time, I was just getting out of the mental hospital, I was homeless, jobless, broke, and it all seemed so damn hopeless. I was also very sick, had walking pneumonia and didn’t even know it because I wouldn’t stop the drinking and meth to get better. They tried to tell me in the hospital but I hadn’t decided if I wanted to live or not. They sedated me and gave me a flu shot. I told them I would sue them.

I thought I wanted to die.

I didn’t die.

I got sober and it wasn’t the end of the world. I started consistently taking my meds, and I didn’t lose myself. I thought being on antipsychotics and antidepressants would make me a zombie. I thought it would take away my creativity and edge. It didn’t.

I didn’t think I could turn it around. I got an apartment. I got a job. I grew up.

Yet, it hasn’t been easy. It was like the second I got some insanity, a lot of shit started happening to me. At first I thought it was karma. The first place I found to live ripped me off. It was such a nightmare I just forfeited deposit and down payment to get out of my lease. I lost like two thousand dollars. I had to move back in with my ex until I got a new place. I also started getting sick. I thought it was withdrawal symptoms. I kept going to hospital but they would just tell me it was the flu or bronchitis. It was pneumonia. I had to stay in the hospital for like a week. I lost my job. I found another apartment but without a job I completely wiped out my savings account. I got a new job and got sick again. Another two weeks in the hospital. It was like god was fuckign with me. I swear everything that could go wrong, went wrong. I fell off the bus and sprang my toe. I got gout in my right big toe. I found out that I was anemic which explained me passing out all the god damn time. My dentist ripped me off, so I can’t forget that.

Anyways, none of that I saw as setbacks but blessings. I didn’t belong in that apartment. I couldn’t afford it anyway. I need that job, I wasn’t happy. I also finally faced my health. Years of drug and alcohol abuse catches up to you. I wasn’t afraid of the failure anymore.

A year later, I knew I had changed when I met up with a friend to go hang at his house. I hadn’t seen him in a year. The last time I saw him, he was sick. He said it was just the flu but I knew it was something more. He didn’t mention it. I didn’t mention it but he was already skinny and had lost more weight. I was supposed to go visit him in the hospital when I realized I didn’t know his real name. I’d know that kid for five years and didn’t know his real name. The problem with my friend, I used to look at his life as romantic. I thought he was just as a lost soul as me. I went to him often not just to score drugs or the latest sex party, but also advice. It seemed that he always had men around him, the latest raw fuck session, getting high. It was my dream of nasty, no consequences. At least thought I pretend like there were no consequences because I figured I‘d be dead before thirty years old. Nothing really matter to me.

But it was all a lie. That’s what I knew for truth staring into that tin mirror at the state mental hospital. It was all a lie.

I went to my friend’s place and I knew I was going to get high with him. That was part of the problem with my past, all my friends did drugs. Anyways, I got to his place; I hadn’t done Miss Tina in like a year. I wanted to see if it had gotten better because the last time was really shitty. I hadn’t had really good Tina in years. I just started doing cocaine at the end of my breakdown. Anyways, I got to my friend’s place and we smoked. It wasn’t good Tina. I couldn’t feel a thing. What I really wanted was a cocktail but I hadn’t drank in like a month. At my friends house we talked about dental. He smoked so much his teeth were rotting really bad. They had been rotting for like a year, but I never said anything. My teeth were rotting from Tina smoking also, so when I got into that fight at the bar and those boys jumped me, kicked me, bruised my ribs and knocked out four of my front teeth. I couldn’t slow down enough to fix the problem. I stayed toothless for a year.

I couldn’t get high at my friend’s house. I also snorted some pain killers at my place and they weren’t giving me that much of a high. It was frustrated me terribly because what I really wanted was a drink. I decided I go buy a bottle but it wasn’t that simple. It was liquor or dinner for two days. A year ago that wouldn’t have been an issue. It would’ve been liquor. Hands down, no fucking thinking about it, it would’ve been liquor.

I was walking home with having decided that I rather eat than get drunk, when I passed a member I used to see in AA all the time. She smiled at me. I smiled back. That was it. I made it home safely.

I don’t know why her smiling at me in that moment, meant so much to me. I was half high but I wasn’t drunk. Drugs never did it for me anyway without the liquor.
I’d just miss it or want it more.

Lastly, when I got home. Tatum O’Neal was on Oprah. It was like god was trying to tell me something. She had gotten busted trying to score cocaine on the streets. That is so risky. She was ten months sober. She just got back her kids. I didn’t feel sorry for her. It’s part of the process of recovery. No one is perfect. If I saw her on the street, I’d just smile at her. “I know”

And what I know for sure after this year, AA is not for me. I go to meetings every once in awhile but I felt it hindered my recovery more than it helped. I would leave AA meetings feeling more alone and misunderstood. But I kept going until I started rebelling. Until I started drinking again and lying about it. I felt like a liar in AA because I would get a good period of time sober, then I would tell the group
And they applaud and give that token. The token would burn in my pocket and I hated counting down days like until I drank again. I felt like a failure most of the time. I felt as if I couldn’t be the perfect recovered addict. I decided to stop trying and that’s when I got free.

What I know for sure. True recovery is about self. It was about “me” I knew what I did alone when I was alone. I knew I could hide it like I did for years. I wanted to become a better alcohol, addict like some criminals do when they go to jail or prison. Not get caught the next time.

I don’t believe in rehabilitation. The system doesn’t care about the individual, just the statistics. I felt in AA I was losing my individuality and my so called “diseased” was being generalized. I knew if I wanted I could hide behind the cloak. It made people smiled when I said I was in AA or in rehab. AA taught me how to get the applause. I didn’t want to lie to myself. I know who I am when I’m alone. When I think nobody is watching.

A year ago, I looked in the mirror and I knew I had nothing. When I sought recovery, I really meant recovery. It wasn’t about drinking. I didn’t drink twenty two years of my life. It wasn’t about the drugs. It wasn’t about all the sex. It was about pain. It was about suffering and thinking that’s all I knew how to do. I grew up being abused so I thought that was life. The pain tricked my brain where I constantly lived in the past instead of reality: Real time.

It had to stop. I had to get angry. I had to get fed up. My genius plan of suffering wasn't working out anymore. I had to give myself freedom to change my mind. Even that came with consequences. Not because I won’t people to think I’m a nice person, normal, because I’m not. I’m just human. I just a human being the best I can given the circumstances.

I also know for sure, nobody gives a damn about the recovered addict. Most just waiting for the relapse like a fat person who has lost a lot of weight. “How long will it last”

When I told my landlord I was in AA and just completed an addict and alcoholic program, he still told me I had to move out of the apartment. I could no longer stay with my boyfriend. I didn’t get my relationship back. I had put him through so much he told me he wasn’t attracted to me anymore. It was weird because it felt like our entire relationship was based on me being a “fuck-up.” And the second I started acting right, he wasn’t attracted to me anymore. Aint that some shit.

Truth, I don’t count days anymore. Who gives a fuck if I’m sober a year or ten years, all they really care about is if I’m displaying erratic behavior. I get so tired of people (celebrities) say I’m going to rehab or AA like Tatum O’Neal when they really don’t believe. When they only fear the consequences of their addict behavior so they fake “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry these days is just good public relations. It’s like a husband buying his wife flowers or expensive jewelry after he cheats to deal with his guilt and delude himself he is still a good person. I say fuck the flowers and jewelry, just stop cheating or end the relationship. I say fuck Rehab and AA, stop drinking and driving. I did. After my DWI back in 1995, I decided to move to a city where I didn’t have to drive. And I say, fuck it. I’m not sorry.


The worse I did, I did to myself. I alienated a lot of people so that’s why I have very few friends. I burned a lot of bridges and opportunities because I refused to control my behavior. I was selfish. I tried to act like I didn’t give a damn, and that made me psychotic.

The worse I did, I did to myself. Fuck everybody else until I’ll have to say “I’m sorry again.”