This morning, I thought of a friend I haven't seen in twenty years.
He used to go to the three MSA meetings we had in Seattle; in fact, all three meetings had pretty much the same group of members. Everybody knew everybody.
We'd go camping together, eat together at the pizza place in Fremont, where we'd have a buttload of garlic added on top before cooking. A lot of us hung out together on nights that there wasn't an MSA meeting; we'd go to an AA meeting, or go out for some food or whatever.
One of my favorite guys from the meetings was this old, black fossil. He must have been thirty-five if he was a day. But, he was real cool for a geriatric case...
Now, being an astute reader, you've undoubtedly noticed the title of the post. Well, that's because this brother was big. I mean, really big. And strong.
Back in the 1980's, I was still every inch of six-foot-two (I've lost a little due to spinal disease), but I only weighed about a buck-eighty. Yeah, I was skinny, as well as having all my hair.
Anyway, my friend would do that kind of crap that big brothers do to their younger siblings. One of his favorite tricks was to come and grab me by my upper arms, pick me up a foot off the ground, and shake me like a rag doll.
Did I mention that this guy was big?
He'd shake me and laugh at me while I hollered empty threats. I'd say stuff like, "dude, I'm gonna' kick your ass," while I was flailing around. Of course, I didn't mean it. First off, that would have been a pretty damned tall order for a guy who was outweighed by a hundred and fifty pounds. And second, like so many truly strong people, he was very gentle; he never did anything to really hurt me or piss me off. He'd just kinda' let me know that I wasn't invincible.
But, when he wasn't physically bullying the mouthy white kid at the meeting, he was a truly gentle person. He had a quiet demeanor, and a soft, pleasant voice. He'd talk at meetings quite often, and even though he knew all of us, his forehead would always bead up with sweat. Funniest thing; this guy who could have bench pressed a small automobile could seem so vulnerable when talking.
Unfortunately, this is one of the guys I lost contact with after I went overseas. If you went to meetings back then, you'll know who I'm talking about. And, if you're reading this: dude, I dare you to try to pick my ass up nowadays!
-M
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
another one bites the dust...
No, I'm not talking about the Queen song.
I went to my meditation meeting with a friend, and stayed for the meeting that happens later on.
A buddy of mine chaired the meeting. He'd just found out that a friend of his, who he'd tried to introduce to the program, has died. From using.
The chairman, and another friend of ours there at the meeting went on the twelfth-step call for that poor bastard. Incidentally, they also both knew my friend, John, who passed away a little over a year ago. Also from using.
According to my sponsor, who's a substance-abuse counselor (and should be up on these stats), 10% of us with this disease die in recovery.
Ten percent.
Last night, I went to an NA meeting. Somebody had mentioned that there are people who work the steps within a matter of weeks or even days. And a smartass pipes up with a comment that they couldn't have done a thorough job.
Well, I don't think that the member who screws around "working their third step" (avoiding the fourth) until he relapses, or until his life gets shitty enough to make him take action (uh, hitting too close to home here...) is being very thorough.
Like my sponsor mentioned to me last weekend: relapse does NOT have to be part of anyone's story; it is NOT a necessary part of the recovery process. And, it always carries the risk of death.
Hopefully, I'll have something else to blog about soon. Having problems of suddenly jumping up ten tax brackets, and needing to choose between the affections of two witty, charming women would be a nice change...
Hey, a guy can dream!
-M
I went to my meditation meeting with a friend, and stayed for the meeting that happens later on.
A buddy of mine chaired the meeting. He'd just found out that a friend of his, who he'd tried to introduce to the program, has died. From using.
The chairman, and another friend of ours there at the meeting went on the twelfth-step call for that poor bastard. Incidentally, they also both knew my friend, John, who passed away a little over a year ago. Also from using.
According to my sponsor, who's a substance-abuse counselor (and should be up on these stats), 10% of us with this disease die in recovery.
Ten percent.
Last night, I went to an NA meeting. Somebody had mentioned that there are people who work the steps within a matter of weeks or even days. And a smartass pipes up with a comment that they couldn't have done a thorough job.
Well, I don't think that the member who screws around "working their third step" (avoiding the fourth) until he relapses, or until his life gets shitty enough to make him take action (uh, hitting too close to home here...) is being very thorough.
Like my sponsor mentioned to me last weekend: relapse does NOT have to be part of anyone's story; it is NOT a necessary part of the recovery process. And, it always carries the risk of death.
Hopefully, I'll have something else to blog about soon. Having problems of suddenly jumping up ten tax brackets, and needing to choose between the affections of two witty, charming women would be a nice change...
Hey, a guy can dream!
-M
Monday, January 31, 2011
so, whatcha' still waiting for?
I visited with my sponsor yesterday, and on the way home, went to a meeting with a friend.
Talking with my sponsor, he said the same thing as my dinner companion the other night: "relapse does not have to be part of your recovery." He also went on to add that there's no sense in beating yourself up if you do relapse; just brush yourself back off as best you can, and get back to the program. Oh, and hopefully you'll make it back; not everybody gets to.
Later, I hooked up with my buddy; we hit a meeting where there were a bunch of people talking about having come in and gone out repeatedly. There was one guy I was going to pounce on after the meeting, but he vaporized before I could get across the room.
Having had a couple of friends relapse recently, I take this stuff pretty seriously.
For some reason, I've been running up against this theme repeatedly. So, I'm going to write about it repeatedly. Try to organize my thoughts on the subject. Get this stuff down on electronic "paper". Deal with concrete sentences, rather than the feelings which bounce around inside of me; changing colors like chameleons.
I was talking to a young kid at a meeting a month or so ago; yapping on about how upset I was about my friends going out. I was surprised at how cavalier he was about it, until I realized that I used to feel as he did. Back in the day, I'd just shrug; if they'd valued their recovery, then perhaps they'd make it a higher priority.
I'd recite platitudes, such as: "you can carry the message, but you can't carry the addict." But, there was always a very small thought lurking in the recesses of my mind: had I actually done anything to carry the message?
There's another saying that I've heard for years; I used to believe it: "some people have to die, so that others can stay sober."
Maybe someone can explain this to me. I've been taught that a lack of power is my dilemma, and that I can get access to the needed power to be able to not pick up, by having a spiritual experience. This is the "wholesale miracle"I referred to in the forward to the second edition of Alcoholics Anonymous.
Somebody please find me where it says in the big book, any words to the effect: "we found we had to find some losers to die, so that we could stay sober."
Yeah, I'm not gonna' hold my breath waiting for that.
-M
*in my opinion, a "miracle" that isn't extended to everybody, and requires that some people die of addiction, is a fairly shitty deal.
Talking with my sponsor, he said the same thing as my dinner companion the other night: "relapse does not have to be part of your recovery." He also went on to add that there's no sense in beating yourself up if you do relapse; just brush yourself back off as best you can, and get back to the program. Oh, and hopefully you'll make it back; not everybody gets to.
Later, I hooked up with my buddy; we hit a meeting where there were a bunch of people talking about having come in and gone out repeatedly. There was one guy I was going to pounce on after the meeting, but he vaporized before I could get across the room.
Having had a couple of friends relapse recently, I take this stuff pretty seriously.
For some reason, I've been running up against this theme repeatedly. So, I'm going to write about it repeatedly. Try to organize my thoughts on the subject. Get this stuff down on electronic "paper". Deal with concrete sentences, rather than the feelings which bounce around inside of me; changing colors like chameleons.
I was talking to a young kid at a meeting a month or so ago; yapping on about how upset I was about my friends going out. I was surprised at how cavalier he was about it, until I realized that I used to feel as he did. Back in the day, I'd just shrug; if they'd valued their recovery, then perhaps they'd make it a higher priority.
I'd recite platitudes, such as: "you can carry the message, but you can't carry the addict." But, there was always a very small thought lurking in the recesses of my mind: had I actually done anything to carry the message?
There's another saying that I've heard for years; I used to believe it: "some people have to die, so that others can stay sober."
Maybe someone can explain this to me. I've been taught that a lack of power is my dilemma, and that I can get access to the needed power to be able to not pick up, by having a spiritual experience. This is the "wholesale miracle"I referred to in the forward to the second edition of Alcoholics Anonymous.
Somebody please find me where it says in the big book, any words to the effect: "we found we had to find some losers to die, so that we could stay sober."
Yeah, I'm not gonna' hold my breath waiting for that.
-M
*in my opinion, a "miracle" that isn't extended to everybody, and requires that some people die of addiction, is a fairly shitty deal.
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