It's raining hard in Arizona and I am glad. The way I feel matches the weather. I am tired of people throwing away the gift of recovery. Here is a shakedown of the past week.

Next week we will no doubt memorialize a man who threw away almost 18 years, a family who loved him, a wife who probably cannot support herself, a business, and the love of his friends in the Fellowship in search of a bag of heroin. He found it. He went on a one-man crime spree robbing banks and ended up in what can only be called a "suicide by cop."

There is my dear friend who has been around as long as me and has been in and out for years, always using her "mental illness" as the excuse to use. I don't judge her, but she breaks my heart and the hearts of those who love her. She is the funniest person I know. She called me the other day and left this message. "I'm done with NA; there's just nothing left for me." So I called her back and told her about our friend in the first example and said, "Yes, there is something left for you." Our literature tells us in every meeting only too clearly: "Jails, institutions and death." That is the grim, grim reality.

Then yesterday, my ex-husband calls straight out of an overdose and loaded. It's everyone's fault, as usual: his loveless marriage, women who hit on him because he's such a babe after 40 years of drug use, his hard work. Whatever the excuse, he always has one. What can I tell him that I haven't told him before?

This disease is breaking my heart. But it isn't exactly the disease, it's the casual discard of the lifeline by people who should know better that hurts so much.

I am tired of burying people; of losing people through their own cavalier, "I don't give a fuck, I'll show them" attitude.

Today we will go celebrate a woman's 25th birthday and I will be surrounded by the NA winners. Those who have gone through difficulties in their lives yet chosen to stay clean one day at a time. And it will feel healing.