My Reflections on 28 years clean

As I struggle with the death of my beloved brother and business partner Stillman, I''m recycling a post I run in some form every year on my clean date since my 25th. I've added a few points this year because I've learned a few tough lessons.

Last week was my 28^th anniversary in Narcotics Anonymous. It amazes me that I have managed to stay clean for more than a quarter of a century. I remember turning 25 years old at a drunken party where I felt good the next day because I had managed to control my drinking enough not to black out. But to stay clean for 28 years, that is a miracle and one which I thank God for on a daily basis. I want to share a few of the key things I have learned in my decades clean.

The people you love may not always love you. Or, the way they can love you may not be the way you need to be loved. As painful as that is, turning it over and moving on has been what I have done, right or wrong. It takes time and courage, but admitting that you need more and moving on is the only solution that has worked for me.

Everyone is struggling with something. You may see people who you think “have it together.” Trust me, everyone, no matter how long they have been clean or how spiritual they are, struggles with something. It could be food, how they spend money, gambling, sex, whatever, we are all struggling. Our addiction manifests itself in new ways when we can’t have our drug of choice.

My family often lets me down, but people in the Fellowship almost never do. I continue to be disappointed with family members. I continue to invite them into my life. They continue to refuse. People in the Fellowship are happy to accept almost any invitation I give. My friends in the Fellowship have become my family.

We never truly “get over” our childhoods. No matter how much we think the steps have resolved what we went through as children, no one runs away at 15, hitchhikes 800 miles and stares total perverts in the face because she had such a great childhood.

My God is always bigger. I have walked through very difficult things in recovery. The death of both parents, a painful divorce (which is almost an oxymoron), very public humiliations, an almost fatal illness and subsequent organ transplant, the death of animals I have loved more than most people, to name a few. In all these instances, and when I thought I could not go on either emotionally or physically, my God has always been bigger than the problem at hand.

When it hits the fan, and it will hit the fan, put on the blues and lean into the pain. There is no way around the pain, no shortcut, no detour, no avoidance, no diversion. Just walk toward the pain to get past it. It will not kill you. It will feel like it will kill you, but it will not, I have learned. Beyond the pain there is a new freedom.

You can't take it with you when you die. When a doctor told me I had no more than four months to live, I spent a lot of time thinking. I looked around my house at all the “stuff” I owned. I realized that at best, they were just things that someone would have to dispose of or donate when I died. None of the physical things I owned mattered one iota in the end. What did matter toward the end? You did. You and my dogs and my family.

The gift of dysfunctional parents is a close-knit bond with your siblings, who understand the reality of your childhood. My childhood looked like a castle on a hill to my friends who really had dysfunction. The reality is that profound emotional abuse—the “slimy” abuse—is just as scarring as physical abuse.

What really matters is friendship. To have friends, you have to be a friend. Whenever I have problems in my recovery, my NA friends are there for me unconditionally. That is because I am a friend to them. NA taught me how to be a friend.

These are just a few of my thoughts of my years in the Fellowship. A friend sent me a card and I think his words summed it up much better than I can.

“That you arrived was an act of Providence. That you stayed is a daily miracle. That you endure displays your courage. What you have accomplished makes you an inspiration.”

Those words can be said about almost anyone who stays clean in the rooms. We didn’t get here by accident and we don’t stay clean by accident, either. It's a lot of hard work and putting one foot in front of the other and learning to reach out for help.

I thank God daily for the Grace that brought me to these rooms.

When Those We Love Leave Us

I am dealing with grief and as I write this, I rebel against feeling that feeling. It feels like it may swallow me whole. I know the reality of grief is that it's often like a three-car pile-up. This bout is no exception. As I wait for my brother to pass from cancer, the loss of both my parents in the past years is also weighing on me.

One of the gifts a dysfunctional family often provides is that we become extremely close to our siblings. My brother has always been there for me and in fact, my parents abdicated much of the responsibility of child raising onto him, so in many ways he raised me. He was a constant in my life I could always turn to and because he dealt with serious mental illness, I was the constant in his life, as well. 

Sunday I'll head back up to Eugene, Oregon, for the fourth and final trip to be with him as he transitions. It is one of the toughest things I will ever do but it is also the gift I can give him. The program taught me how to walk through this.

"I Got to Choose My Own Bottom"

At a meeting today, a young woman who was at her first meeting with her mother by her side admitted she wasn't sure she had "hit bottom," but was hoping that NA would work for her. As often happens when we speak honestly in meetings, we get our most perplexing questions or concerns answered.

Toward the end of the meeting, another young woman with six months clean spoke up. "I heard what you said about not being sure you hit bottom," the young woman said. "I know this: If I had used just one more day, I would have lost custody of my children. I got to choose my own bottom."

How powerful is that message, that we choose our own bottom? When I came to Narcotics Anonymous almost 30 years ago at the age of 27, most of our members were hardcore junkies who had hit a pretty horrific bottom. Some were old bikers who had done time in prison; some had detoxed in Lexington; others had lost everything. I knew when I got here and finally took that first step completely that there was nothing left for me out on the streets. Many of today's addicts are much different.

Many NA members today come to us through treatment programs or through the court system. Many are still in their teens, even their early teens. The old saying I heard when I got here, "I spilled more dope than you used," just doesn't ring true anymore. We all know it's the emotional bottom that finally gets us to seek help.

It's amazing to me to look around the rooms of NA today and see all the young faces, the teens, those in their early twenties, and those who used only a few years before they realized they needed help.

In a sense, I suppose I chose my own bottom, as well. There are times when things are tough, like they are right now as I work through post-traumatic stress issues, that using may be a remote possibility. I know, though, if I choose to use, what awaits me. There is no way I have the ability to survive long using the way I used when I arrived in NA. But using is always still an option, so I continue to attend meetings regularly and rely on my support system for help.

Thank God I had the bottom that I continue to choose.

Updates

I haven't been writing for quite awhile. Busy with life and working and my program. All is well and hope to start writing again soon.

I did get the support group up and running.

Support Group for Families of Sex Workers Begins

April 5, 2012, 7 p.m., at 6060 N. 7th Ave., Phoenix, AZ.

Moving forward

Lots happening in my recovery. I am finally venturing into my community more assuredly to give back to those I can. Next month here in Phoenix I am starting a support group for the families and friends of sex workers. I have worked in a small way for decades helping women exit the sex industry; that is no secret. What I noticed is that there are so many family members impacted by sex workers' choices and there is no support from them.

So April 5 we start a meeting called "Because She Matters" for the families and friends of sex workers. This may be women or men who work the streets, strip, work in the porn industry, whatever path they choose deeply impacts those they love.

I'll post more details soon.

I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who irritate me.

∞ Fred Allen

There has been plenty to irritate me lately. A new job and adjusting to a boss who I am sure has several planets in Virgo, at least Uranus. A sister-in-law of 32 years dying of cancer, yet we are not allowed to say our goodbyes. A brother who moved into my house after four months in the hospital who sits on the couch all day watching reruns of Law & Order, predicting the end of Western civilization, his comments punctuated by vomiting in a kidney-shaped emesis bowl. Yes, there is plenty to be irritated about.

But then, there is the wonder. Cool walks up North Mountain where I smile at Labradors and their panting owners. A steady pay check, health benefits and bonus checks when many of my friends are unemployed; the soft snore of my two German shepherds as they guard my bed each night as I wait for sleep. Wonder for my friends who post funny pictures on Facebook and poke me when I change my status to “pissed off.”

Yes, there are many reasons to be irritated. But there are many more reasons to breathe in, breathe out and say quietly, “Thank you.”