12 Step

Recovery Videos 2010

Don Oddy — 2010-02-27T16:08:00+00:00

Videos on Recovery
http://www.12steprecovery.com/12-step-community/DonInLondon/videos/myvideos

Twelve Steps Backwards (Part 1 from my novel)

Lindsay Lees — 2010-02-23T00:18:00+00:00

I am writing a novel about drug addiction and it's affect on families. I was raised by father addicted to cocaine and alcohol. The impact of his addiction has affected my entire life. I see addiction in the everday lives of the people that I meet and I want to help increase the awareness of addiction and recovery. My novel is an insight into the lives of addicts. I want to share it with other addicts and would love to hear your feedback, comments, criticisms and compliments. The novel is divided into five parts. I will be posting them separately depending on the feedback I receive. The more interest there is, the more likely I will continue to share it...Thank you first of all for your time. I hope that my effort at least helps you see that you are not alone in this fight. Millions of people are affected by addiction. I have copywritten this piece with the WGA so please don't consider stealing it...I hope that you enjoy it and look forward to the part II.. in a few days...

When I was five years old I learned that some children grow up too fast and some adults never grow up at all. My Daddy, Rufus lived in a one-bedroom guesthouse, he moved there when Momma filed for divorce. It was a big step down from the three-bedroom house we all used to share. I was too young to realize that fighting and screaming were not the signs of a healthy marriage. Divorce was just another word that had no meaning, yet. Boxes filled with his things were stacked high against the walls labeled in permanent marker with words like Do Not Touch and Private. We sat together on the corner sofa nestled against the large feather stuffed cushions. The T.V. was tuned to one of the many game shows he insisted on watching. On the screen the host asked a trio of contestants a series of general knowledge questions.

“Its common name is egg white…”

“Albumen.”

Daddy answered before the host finished asking. He sat with his back arched at the edge of his seat impatiently waiting for the host to finish what he was saying.

“What is the scientific name given to the sticky, translucent

substance?”

The first contestant slammed his hand on the buzzer.

“The answer is albumen.”

Daddy shot a smug look my way. There weren’t many questions that he answered incorrectly yet he always managed to look as though he had solved a difficult math equation. General knowledge trivia was his forte, he had a photographic memory and retained information that he never needed in his everyday life. That’s why he watched games shows.

“There isn’t anything that I don’t know. Just call me Mr. know-it-all. Don’t you forget that Bubbles.”

“I won’t Daddy.”

“How about some blueberry pancakes?”

He asked because he knew that I loved his blueberry pancakes; the frozen kind that came in dollar sized servings just perfect for petite palettes. His trick was to pour whipping cream and maple syrup over the pancakes, not sugary processed syrup but one hundred percent pure maple syrup. Momma always gave me the sugary kind but Daddy said that was poison and that he knew what he was talking about when it came to taste. And man oh man were they good. I watched him intently from the couch as he maneuvered around the boxes of his unpacked belongings. He was no taller than five foot five but appeared larger on account of his lion’s mane of hair that increased his height by at least three inches. It was the color of smolder and flowed unrestrained down his back trailing off at the base of his spine. He wore jeans seen on Mick Jagger but liked to think of himself as a trendsetter. He rarely took off his alligator print leather cowboy boots and never left the house without wearing one of his expensive brightly colored, patterned dress shirts. He had been dressing that way since before he left England and moved to California. He lived in the suburbs of North Hollywood amongst the thousands of hopefuls hoping to live the dream. He wanted to be a successful musician but had only succeeded at making a living as a session guitarist. He met Momma and they were married within weeks of knowing each other. Their wedding was at a drive-thru chapel in Las Vegas. Momma wore a red polyester mini-dress and Daddy wore his signature tight jeans and cowboy boots. Their vows were doomed from the start. They attempted to maintain their marriage and had a child in hopes that bringing a new life into the world might solve their problems. After a few years Momma had enough and kicked Daddy out. I was only allowed to see him a couple times a week. He promised Momma that when I was around he was on his best behavior. There was a bang on the front door as Daddy pulled the box of pancakes from the freezer.

“Come in!”

He cheerily yelled in his thick British accent. With a swift twist of the doorknob Carlos entered.

“Hey Rufus amigo!”

“Carlos, my man. How’s it going?”

Daddy sauntered out of the kitchen with an evil smile spread across his face. He held his arms open and the men joyfully embraced.

“You remember Uncle Carlos, don’t you?”

I buried my head in the cushions of the couch. I didn’t like Carlos. He towered over Daddy and wore leather, all the time. Leather hats, leather vests, and leather boots. He had a thick accent and drove big, loud motorcycles. I could never look him in the eyes.

“Don’t be scared, hija. You have been to my house many times; swam in my pool.”

He was right, Daddy took me there all the time. I was a good swimmer. Daddy used to say I belonged in the water like a fish. They sat down beside me. Daddy placed a glass tray on the coffee table. Carlos opened a small plastic bag and emptied the white powdery contents onto the tray. They thoughtlessly talked and shamefully laughed and tapped at the glass dividing the powder into fine lines. They took turns with straws up their noses and sniffed. I didn’t know what they were doing. I kept my head buried until they were finished and Carlos had left.

“Hasta Luego muchacha!”

Carlos smiled on his way out and his thick leather body armor filled the house with the pungent aroma of dead cow. He walked out the front door and started the engine of his ostentatious motorcycle.

“You can come out now Bubbles. I don’t know what you’re so afraid of I thought you liked Uncle Carlos?”

“He’s not my Uncle.”

I argued and my long brown hair fell like sheets over my face as I lifted my head out from behind the couch cushions. I giggled at the mess.

“Verity, where did you go?”

“I’m right here Daddy! Under all the hair!”

The ding of the microwave signaled that pancakes were ready. I raced to the dining table. It was covered with books but had just enough room for our plates.

“Voila! Doesn’t that look like the best food you’ve ever eaten?”

He waited for my reaction with eager eyes as I looked at the simple dish. He took his first bite and followed it with a long series of grunts and groans the kind typically reserved for the bedroom. He truly did love the taste of food but after a couple of bites he put his fork down and stopped eating.

“Now I want you to finish every bite on that plate Bubbles. Don’t even think about getting up from the table until it’s all gone.”

He sauntered to the couch and set the glass tray on his lap. I looked down at his full plate of food.

“Can I have the rest of yours Daddy?”

He laughed out loud.

“That’s my girl. Of course you can!”

* *

Arts-N-Crafts was my favorite time of day at Sunshine Valley Kindergarten. I always sat with my friend, Vicki. Her Momma liked to drink wine, a lot. Our teacher, Ms. Ashton was an old-fashioned lady that recently celebrated her twenty eighth birthday. Her collared shirts were always buttoned to the top and she never exposed any skin, besides that on her hands and face. Momma used to say that she was old before her time.

She taught us how to make collages using objects like dried pasta, glitter, popsicle sticks and straws. With some glue and markers we were told to create works of art. I glued sticks together to create a popsicle stick collage. There was glitter all over the table. I picked up a straw and nudged Vicki,

“Watch what I saw my Daddy do.”

I put one end of the straw up my nose and the other end in the pile of glitter and pretended to sniff. My giggles amused Vicki so she put the straw in her nose and sniffed hard. A big line of glitter slid up the straw and into Vicki’s nose. Her nose and mouth were covered in the gossimmer flakes. She coughed up pieces of glitter and the shimmering glass fell from her watery eyes. Ms. Ashton ran over and pulled the straws out of our noses faster than we could blink. She looked down at us with dagger eyes and wiped Vicki’s face with the sleeve of her shirt. I cowered in my seat and Vicki cried.

“What are you girls doing?”

“I saw my Daddy do it.”

I innocently replied. The straws fell from her hand. I watched the color drain from her body and seep into the floor below her feet. At first I thought that she was going to call me a liar. I know that kids can come up with some pretty wild stories, my friend Mati, once said that his granddaddy invented the Push Pop and the toaster. Except that his granddaddy lived with Mati and his Momma and they didn’t have much money because my Momma always offered to take Mati to school. It seemed to me that anyone who invented such useful things would be rich enough to afford to take his grandson to school. I never believed anything that Mati said but Ms. Ashton didn’t yell or call me a liar. Instead her confused expression turned concern and what I interpreted as fear.

“Get back to work doing your beautiful collages girls. I will speak to you later Verity.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Of course not but you must promise to never do that again. It’s very important.”

We promised and finished our collages unclear about what it was that we were never to do again. After school Ms. Ashton approached Momma. She had never had to discuss my behavior after school.

“Excuse me but I would like have a word with you in Ms. April’s room?”

“Did Verity do something wrong?”

“No but I would like to talk in private. Verity can wait here. Please follow me.”

Momma kissed the top of my head and I waited in the classroom for what seemed like hours. The door shut and Momma followed her down the hall to the office Ms. Ashton shared with Ms. April, the director of the Kindergarten. Ms. April was waiting comfortably on her oversized red beanbag chair. She was very different from Ms. Ashton. They were like night and day. Ms. April liked to have fun and was comfortable wearing all kinds of outfits that made most people look twice. She never followed the same style. When Momma entered the office she had on a combination Goth/Madonna outfit complete with lace gloves and dark eyeliner. The day before she came dressed in a pink leopard leotard and ballerina slippers. Momma reckoned that she wore some outfits just to get a rise out of Ms. Ashton. The air was thick with tension. Momma felt it constrict her movement as she sat down in a chair. Ms. April began.

“Hello Melody sorry to bring you here so unexpectedly. But some of Verity’s behavior has been brought to our attention and we think that it is very serious.”

Momma sat silent and clueless. Ms. Ashton turned to Momma and told her what had happened. Momma looked bewildered at every word that fell from her heedful lips. She winced when Ms. Ashton mentioned social services and felt the sting of tears when the educators suggested that her daughter was not safe. Momma looked back and forth between the two responsible women. She hung her head and let tears cascade from her lashes and flow like rivers against her soft ivory skin.

“Are you sure that’s what she was doing?”

“Are you using drugs?”

“I would never touch a drug in my life and if you accuse me of such behavior again you and I will have bigger problems to deal with than the safety of my child! It’s Verity’s father that is the addict but he promises me that he doesn’t use in front of her. We’re divorced so he hardly sees her.”

Ms. April stood up from her oversized beanbag and put her arm around Momma. Her own father was an alcoholic. She understood the shame of growing up with an addict parent. She looked at Momma with her empathetic eyes.

“Verity can’t be around him if he’s going to use. It’s clearly not a healthy environment for her. I think you should consider having him enter a rehabilitation program. He needs help it’s not something that can be done alone.”

“Thank you both for being understanding. I promise Verity will never scare you like that again.”

Momma stood up and walked out of the room. She struggled to raise her head and her face was as pale as Ms. Ashton’s had been earlier. When she looked in my eyes I could tell that she had been crying. She held her arms open and invited me to occupy the space between them. She desperately wanted to be able to protect me even when she wasn’t around. We sat silent in the car as Momma thought of all the questions she hoped I was too young to answer. When she turned off the ignition, I unbuckled my seatbelt and stepped out of the car onto the driveway of Daddy’s house. Momma grabbed my hand firmly and stared straight ahead.

“What are we doing here Momma?”

“I need to have words with your Daddy. It’s time for him to hear some truth.”

I didn’t know what she meant but I knew not to ask any questions. She knocked on the front door then stood and waited. Her face was calm like the moments before a storm. Her pale blue eyes were like tropical waters and her sun-bleached hair was tied loosely behind her neck. She held her breath until Daddy breezily answered the door looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He beamed as he recognized his guests. Momma had no time for pleasantries and Daddy looked at me as though he knew he was in trouble. He hesitated before stepping out of the way. It was too late to avoid the shit storm he had coming. Momma walked in with her head held high and her nose up, judging the cluttered, messy state of his current dwellings. I ran to the couch and flopped down on the big comfy cushions that had acted as my bed during countless sessions of The Simpson’s marathons. Daddy sat me down on his lap and wrapped his arms around my waist. He kissed my hair as he waited for the prosecution from Momma. She stood close to the door still wearing a relaxed expression but unable to keep her hands still. They were in and out of her jean pockets or folded across her chest switching every few seconds. Daddy spoke first.

“Is something wrong?”

“I had a meeting with Verity’s teachers today. I had not planned on a meeting nor was I prepared for what we discussed. The whole experience has left me shocked and embarrassed but most of all concerned.”

“What happened?”

“Verity was caught pretending to sniff glitter through a straw during arts and crafts today. When asked where she learned such behavior she said she saw her Daddy do it!”

Daddy roared with laughter and Momma stared at him in disbelief.

“I don’t see what’s so fucking funny!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have never used in front of our daughter and I resent the accusation.”

Momma stood firm and jabbed her finger in the air as though it were a sword.

“You listen to me, you sorry excuse for a man. In your lap is the most precious thing life has ever blessed you with. So I really think that it’s in your best interest to do whatever you can to hold onto that reason for living. Until then I can’t let you be around my daughter. You’re sick and you need help.

“You can’t do that. I’m not sick.”

“I was threatened with social services today! This is more serious than you clearly realize. So until you seek help you need to say goodbye to your little girl. But before you do I want you to look at her, really look at that little ray of sunshine and ask yourself what’s more important, drugs or your daughter? I have found out about a rehab center. You can go tomorrow if you want.”

Daddy didn’t argue, maybe he knew she was right or maybe he was just sick of hearing her talk. He picked me up and looked at me with the doting eyes I see every time I look in the mirror. I could tell he wanted to change. I could feel that he wasn’t happy.

“Don’t be sad Daddy. I’m your girl remember.”

“Okay. I will go, for you.”

* *

When I was five I didn’t realize that addiction was a disease. I didn’t know how strong you have to be to beat it. The next day was one of those days that I will never forget. Looking back on it now it felt more like a dream. It might be my perception of reality but it was the truth as far back as I can remember, it’s always been the truth. I was lying half asleep in the backseat of Momma’s wood paneled station wagon half-listening to her lecture Daddy. A never-ending string of key words such as, addiction, struggle, daughter, and don’t give up. A familiar voice (one that at times comforted me like the sound of crickets in the grass on warm summer evenings) that then sounded like a broken record on an overplayed vinyl. He stopped listening to the sound of her song because he knew all the words instead he played the rhythm of blues that plucked at his heart strings. A genre of cathartic expression that lives on for centuries in the souls of all struggling artists. He looked back at the two most precious things in his life, his guitar and I.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Bubbles.”

Daddy stared out the window and I watched him and tried to read his mind. All I got was static like when the T.V. is on during a storm. He didn’t say a word as Momma kept repeating the things he already knew.

“You have to get better, not just for yourself but for Verity. She’s too young to understand what’s going on right now but that’s not going to last forever. One day soon she’s going to start understanding and then you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

“What if rehab doesn’t work?”

“Don’t think that way. You’re better than you’re addiction. You can beat this I know you can!”

There was no motivation behind his glassy eyes. He forced a smile across his thin chapped lips and turned around again to look at me, or his guitar. His breath smelled of stale whiskey and cigarettes. His legs bounced up and down and he wondered when he could have another line of coke. I had nothing to say or at least I wasn’t old enough to properly articulate all of the things that I should have said. I didn’t know that I was allowed to be angry with him. Concern and worry overcame any feelings of resentment I might have felt. My tears were for fear of never again seeing the man that I relied on so much. This far away land that he was visiting was not a place of fantasy where by some magical act he was going to return to me a cured man. The fairy tale father the kind read about in the stories I loved. At five I had no concept of guilt. I never thought of opening my mouth and proclaiming that his actions would result in my forever-questioning love and devotion. That no matter what I did and where I went in life his inability to work on his addiction and analyze the impact of his actions was going to result in me questioning my self worth and value. Because lets face it who can successfully maneuver their way through life with the constant burden of wavering familial love? Exceptionally balanced well-rounded individuals do not have sometimes involved fathers. Maybe at the age of five if I had had the brain capacity and vocabulary to develop my thoughts into coherent flowing arguments for the necessity of love and warmth I might have had a chance to change the course of ill-fated destiny.

The drive to the airport felt like it took several months. My eyes stayed glued to the back of Daddy’s head or shut for a moment’s peace from the broken record. I plucked at Daddy’s heartstrings and the sound filled the car. His ears pricked and he reached back and ran his fingers through the tendrils in my hair. His smile lit me up like a lantern and I beamed a toothless grin back at him. I should have told him that leaving me would be the worst thing he ever did and that one day his smile won’t light up my life like it did then. One day I will melt at the sight of his gaunt expression and toothless demeanor. My tears will replace the sunshine through his teeth. Attain for recovery and accept the things that he cannot change and fight for the changes that must be made. Like white noise Momma kept up the pace of her monotone debate, her pleas only heard by dogs hundreds of miles away. Alerted to her high-pitched concerns and empty threats. Daddy’s head rolled around and he sat up to arouse interest.

“Are you listening to me Rufus?”

Daddy groaned in acknowledgement and I wished that I had unbuckled myself from my car seat and slapped him across the face. I would have told him to pay attention to what Momma said. She spoke for both of us. My ambassador needed his attention and like a stubborn ally he taunted her with his half-assed attempt at showing interest. He mocked her in his mind and his laughter drowned out my thoughts of concern. Like a clown, he never took anything seriously. I stared at his guitar and imagined how enjoyable it would be to smash it and watch the strings explode and the wood splinter and crack like shrapnel. He didn’t need the guitar where he was going but as a child it was easier to understand that like a safety blanket his guitar provided a sense of security where he had none. He had come to regard the world of sobriety as inhospitable and unwelcoming. He survived fifteen years of sobriety before diving in and never coming up for air. At the age of forty, Daddy didn’t know any other way of life and change was not something that he embraced with open arms. Instead he shriveled up like a vegetable rotting in the sun absolutely certain that there was no such thing as recovery. If only he could read my mind he would hear all of the reasons why I was better than drugs. The cocaine he snorted to perk up his senses and make his head feel like it was floating in clouds didn’t compare to the joy of hearing me laugh and scream ‘Daddy’ when our eyes met. Of knowing that if the cards were played right that feeling would never go away that unique ability to create a tone and pitch all its own and only heard by him. No one understands me like he does. He had a chance to be saved and I shed tears as the car pulled up to the loading zone at the airport terminal. Daddy was leaving for an indeterminate amount of time, might as well have been forever in my adolescent eyes. I stepped out of the station wagon and stood on the sidewalk. Daddy picked me up and held me in his arms, he was thin and he squeezed me tight like parents do.

“I’m going to miss you Bubbles. What will I do without you?”

“Why are you leaving?”

Daddy looked at Momma with watery eyes. Like a broken record Momma repeated what I already knew but didn’t understand.

“Daddy is sick and he’s going to a place to help him get better but don’t worry he’ll be back before you know it.”

I held onto Daddy’s neck a little while longer. I felt the moisture of his tears against my cheek. I hoped that he was listening to my thoughts. I wanted him to know that I needed him to get better.

Richard stood at the arrival gates holding a sign with Daddy’s name on it. He had worked at the Valley Rehabilitation Center for thirty years. When Richard was a boy his Momma was a nurse there. He spent most of his childhood living at the center in the middle of the Nevada desert. He had seen all of kinds of addicts, drug, alcohol, sex so when Daddy came strutting through the terminal with his guitar in one hand and his suitcase in the other Richard could tell that he was a nonbeliever. Daddy’s hair was matted and his skin cracked when he smiled. He was nervous but his face didn’t show it he was still a little high from the half gram of cocaine he had in the airport restrooms.

“Hey mate how’s it going. I’m Rufus.”

“Hello Mr. Meris. I’m Richard. Do you have any other bags to collect?”

“Please call me Rufus. Mr. Meris is my father. Everything I own is on my back so I’m good to go.”

“Then follow me.”

Daddy followed Richard to the parking lot, a white transit van waited for them. The whole way there Daddy talked about himself. Richard didn’t mind he was interested in what Daddy had to say; it was his job to get to know the patients.

“So why do you think you’re here today Rufus?”

“It seems that my lifestyle is getting the better of me.”

“So you’re ready to change.”

“I don’t think that people can change.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My wife made me come, she threatened to take away my little girl. I don’t want to lose my daughter.”

“Family is a good reason to try to change yourself.”

“Yeah I guess it is. “

“It’s not the only reason to change though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your addiction is about yourself, it doesn’t involve anybody else no matter who else is in your life. The only person who can make you change is yourself.”

“I have to want it.”

“Exactly.”

Daddy stared out the window at the dissipating light, the Nevada desert sprawled out before his eyes, vast and unwelcoming a dry expanse of sand dotted with inhospitable cacti covered in needle-sharp barbs and lonely misplaced Joshua trees. The car drove deeper into the desert. Fewer headlights blinded their vision and Daddy noticed as he looked out the window that there was nothing in site, no shops, no gas stations, no houses, not even a telephone pole. Daddy’s palms perspirated. He was itching for another line. Richard stepped lightly on the brakes and made a left at the turnout that led down the three mile long narrow dirt road to the main building of the Valley.

The sky was a trio of colors, the darkest layer of the sky where our atmosphere meets the rest of the universe was maritime blue that bled like water colors into pink then settled like the dying sun into yellow. The fading light exploded from the horizon and the mountains shadowed figures of Native American spirits. The car arrived in front of the Valley’s main building as the sun disappeared. The center had been used as a number of restorative and rehabilitations clinics including an insane asylum for a short while. The building was alive with memories, many bad and some good. It took on the shape of a frowning man as Daddy admired it’s tall spires and long windows. It was built at the turn of the twentieth century and many of the structure was still in tact. Oversized cement bricks the color of dirty toilet water stacked one on top of the other. It was too dark to see the detail of the building it just stood in the dwindling light like a menacing figure ready to gobble up any soul that dare to pass.

Daddy grabbed his guitar and his suitcase and followed Richard. Entering the building was like entering a hospital it was as bright, fluorescent, and clean but without the drugs. Daddy hated hospitals. He never went. He used to tell me that the day that Momma went into labor he put her in the car and drove her to the entrance. When she was helped into a wheelchair he told her to call him for a lift home when she had finished. The gleam of the polished walls made his skin crawl. He shuddered at the site of Nurse Sadie as she sat behind her white desk dressed in white scrubs. She wore a plastic smile that spread from ear to ear. She hated her job even though she had been working there for over ten years. Every morning was a struggle. She hated pretending that she cared about other people but would rather be ostentatious then tell people how she really felt.

“Hello Richard. Is this the new patient?

“Hello Ms. Sadie. This is Rufus.”

Nurse Sadie refused to make eye contact with the patients. She spoke to her fingernails as she handed Daddy a clipboard.

“I’ve got some paper work for you to fill out. Go sit over there and bring it back to me when you’re done.”

“Hand me a pen and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Nurse Sadie rolled her eyes. Daddy took the pen and paperwork and filled out the forms in silence. He twitched every few seconds in need of an escape route, teleportation for instance, if only that had been invented. Maybe he could reason with them, one last line of coke, or shot of vodka was that too much to ask? Sweat dripped from his forehead like dewdrops magnifying his words on the freshly filled out form. His fingertips smeared the ink across the page but he still signed his signature on the dotted line of all the documents. He didn’t bother reading the small print. He placed the forms face down on the desk and looked at Nurse Sadie. She avoided his stare and handed his room keys to Richard.

The halls of the center were eerily quiet. Daddy and Richard squeaked down the hall as the rubber from their shoes rubbed against the freshly polished linoleum floor. Richard spoke sternly.

“I can tell you that you don’t want to be here. Beating addiction isn’t easy. I understand how scary it can be but you seem like a nice guy and I’d like to see you get your life together. I want to help you.”

“Thanks mate. I appreciate that.”

The men walked down the hall, passed a series of closed doors until the reach Daddy’s room. Richard tapped lightly against the wood. After several seconds and no response he used the key and opened the door. Inside the adequately sized room were two single mattresses on steel frames, two wooden desks with two drawers, and two wooden bed side tables. Sitting half naked on one of the beds was Daddy’s roommate. He had curlers in his hair even though it was naturally curly. His fingers and toes were detained between foam separaters to avoid his nail polish smearing. Richard and Daddy scoffed in surprise and he seemed equally as surprised to see them.

“Doesn’t anyone know how to knock?”

“I did knock. You didn’t answer.”

“Well maybe you need to knock louder.”

“Maybe.”

Richard smiled and Daddy shook his head. He’d only been there ten minutes and already wanted to leave.

“I’ll leave you two to get to know each other.”

Richard chuckled to himself as he walked out the door. Daddy set his bag down on the bed and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He placed the thin cancer stick between his teeth as the ignited lighter was about to pass against the unlit tobacco said.

“If you light that I will get you kicked out of here so fast you’ll be licking toilet lids for lines of coke in an hour.”

“No smoking?”

________ shook his head.

“Anywhere?”

“There’s a smoking area out back.”

Daddy let out a sigh of relief. He took his guitar the rest of the pack of cigarettes outside. He intended on spending all evening out there chain smoking. Hoping that death would arrive sooner than later. As soon as he stepped out of the room he was more at ease. The halls were empty so he picked a direction and followed it. After a while unfamiliar faces floated past him like ghosts. Their somber expressions lost in the thoughts of sobriety. There were no addictions at rehab. Sex was not allowed. Smoking was limited to one per sitting. Anyone caught with substances was immediately kicked out and never allowed to return again. In rehab recovery is not a joke.

Artificial light through double French doors led Daddy outside. He pushed the heavy door open and it collided with a sexy, young woman. She had long hair the color of roasted chestnuts and deep forest green eyes that lingered in thoughts long after introduction. Her Mediterranean olive skin appeared to always have a perfect tan. She expressed a haunting friendliness through her peroxide bleached smile. Daddy apologized like a love-sick buffoon. He noticed the faint stain of cigarette smoke on her clothes and offered her a cigarette to make up for his ineptitude.

Daddy didn’t care that the number one rule at rehab was no sex. He wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to penetrate the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her name was Amy and she was addicted to cocaine. She started using when she was fifteen. Her Daddy would buy it for her before he started abusing her body for his own benefit. When she was eighteen she left her house and moved in with her crack dealer boyfriend. After several years of using her body to support her habit she had enough. She sat with Daddy and poured her heart out as he watched her heaving breasts bounce up and down with every exasperated tear. He sat with his guitar in his lap strumming the blues. For the first time in Amy’s life she felt as though someone cared. While all Daddy wanted was to get lucky. He chain-smoked and hummed tunes. Unfamiliar faces with extraordinary stories filtered in and out of the smoking area. Even non-smokers congregated in the pocket sized enclosure because the smokers had the most interesting conversations. Daddy sat surrounded by the sober faces serenading them with his mesmerizing melodies. It was lights out at ten. Daddy returned to his room in dire need of a fix. The room was pitch black when he entered and Daddy was relieved that was contently snoring. He sat in bed unable to sleep thinking about how much he couldn’t wait to leave.

* *

There were six weeks in Daddy’s rehabilitation program. After the second week he was on a first name basis with most of the employees and patients. He walked around with a constant smile on his face. Recovery looked good on him. The urge to use deteriorated daily. He opened up in his daily group therapy sessions. Everyday at two he sat in a circle and listened to the tragic lives of the people around him. He heard stories of abandonment and abuse. Women and men not yet out of their teens discussed events that made grown men weep. A young girl, no older than sixteen sat stern faced and emotionless as she recounted her childhood growing up in a cult as though it were a show she had watched on T.V. Unable to leave and forced into sex acts at a young age. She was damaged beyond repair. She used drugs to escape. She felt no pain high on heroin.

Daddy heard every word that was spoken and felt a sense of relief that his story did not involve so much tragedy. He was raised by a mother and father that were unable to express their emotions and prevented Daddy from having any. At a young age his Momma told him he was an accident. His Daddy never said that he loved him. No matter what Daddy did it was never good enough. His Momma envied every accomplishment he ever had and competed with him over insignificant achievements. Daddy always loved to cook. He learned from his Momma. When he was twelve he baked one of his Momma’s recipes. It was a Victorian sponge cake, filled with farm fresh cream and home made blackcurrent jam. When he was finished he showed his Momma and her friends. All of her friends complimented him on how good it tasted. Her gray eyes turned green with envy and after taking a bite she took the cake and threw it in the bin. She told him that he would never be able to make it as well as she did. Every time he cooked in her kitchen after that she was always there over his shoulder adding ingredients to spoil his dishes. When Daddy finished school he left his house with the clothes on his back and his guitar. He spent several years exploring Europe busking on the streets of Amsterdam and Rome and never returned home.

The patients at the Valley were unaware of the importance of expressing emotions. They had been taught that emotions were weak. They had spent their whole lives feeling as though nobody cared. Group therapy allowed them to express themselves to interested ears and it helped them feel like new people. All of the patients benefited from their therapy sessions. Most of the patient’s time was spent in therapy, either group or individual. Daddy’s individual therapist was Richard. For an hour every day they would meet in Richard’s office. A confined space filled with files, a desk and two chairs. Richard liked to keep all of the files of his patients. He had an inert interest in the causes of addiction. He tracked the lives of his patients to find cases of emotional neglect. There were cases of emotional neglect in all of Richard’s patients. He believed that all human beings have the need to be loved and that those that are denied that love attain in it the wrong ways. When Richard peered into Daddy’s crystal blue eyes he could see the pain behind the sparkle. He knew that all Daddy wanted was to feel loved. But Daddy didn’t know how to feel important enough to be loved. Richard and Daddy talked for hours about the importance of feeling valued.

“Rufus, you are literally one of the most interesting people I have ever met.”

“Well, thank you but I hear that all the time.”

“Doesn’t it affect you’re self worth?”

“I know that I’m great. If that’s what you’re getting at you’re preaching to the choir mate.”

“You’re pretty arrogant for someone with no sense of self-worth.”

“You won’t meet anyone that loves me as much as I do.”

“What about Verity?”

“She comes a close second.”

“The eighth step in the program is to make amends to all of the people that you harmed. When do you think you will be ready to do that with Verity?”

“Do you think I need to, she’s only five? I don’t think she’s been affected.”

Daddy didn’t believe in the Twelve Steps. He and Richard philosophically discussed the program in detail. They carefully analyzed each step and dissected the meaning of each word. Daddy never grasped the concept that a Power greater than himself could restore him to sanity. Step number two. Because he didn’t believe in higher powers it made step number three, deciding to turn his will and his life over to the care of God impossible.

“The Twelve Steps is not about religion. It’s about faith. There is a difference Rufus.”

“Call me a nihilist but as far as I’m concerned higher powers are figments of our imaginations.”

“If you don’t believe in the steps they can’t help you.”

“Well I don’t believe in all of the steps and I have never felt better.”

“It’s hard to get clean without the Twelve Steps. The patients that apply the program fully to their lives stay sober.”

“I have been here three weeks and this experience has already changed me for life. I know that I’m not allowed to leave for another weeks but honestly Rich I’m a cured man.”

“This is a voluntary program. You can leave when you like but you haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of your addiction.”

Daddy checked himself out of the Valley first thing the next morning. Richard drove him to the airport. The costive morning sun flooded the sky with bursts of bittersweet light that bounced against the cirrus clouds. Daddy admired the transforming luminosity ignoring the wise words of warning that absconded from Richard’s mouth. Daddy just smiled and nodded.

“Don’t worry about me mate. I’m a changed man.”

Richard watched Daddy’s plane depart and hoped that one day he would see him again.

* *

When Daddy returned from the Valley I spent the first night at his house. He had a blush pink flush to his cheeks that I had never seen before. His eyes were open for what seemed like the first time ever. He had put on weight and his fingernails were long and healthy. He left behind the habit of gnawed raw cuticles. His hair was down when he came to pick me up. People’s heads turned when he walked down the street and he knew it because it was what he wanted them to do.

“I’m so happy to see you Vez, three weeks is too long! I missed you so much.”

“Daddy! I missed you too, so much! Don’t ever leave for that long again! Promise!”

“I promise Bubbles. Are you hungry? I fancy Maria’s.”

“Okay Daddy, that’s my favorite!”

Maria’s was also his favorite delicatessen; they made the best chicken noodle soup and bagel chips. I used to stick the bagel in the soup and let it absorb the broth until it was nice and soggy. We went there for the food but Daddy also liked the waitresses. As soon as we’d enter the restaurant they would come over to him with big smiles, sticking their chests so far out that it made their shoulders swing from side to side. I always had a Shirley temple with extra cherries and Daddy always had a Coors light.

“Here Bubbles, you pour the beer.”

Daddy held the copper colored bottle to my face. I sat on his knees for better leverage and he took my hands in his hands.

“First pick up the glass and tilt it just a little to the side, this stops the beer from foaming too much on the surface. Then slowly pour the beer in.”

I poured the beer and flowed into the chilled mug. I looked at him and smiled. I knew that I was doing him proud.

“That’s my girl.”

When I finished he looked at the last little mouthful in the bottle and said

“Go ahead, try it. See how you like the taste.”

I looked around before taking the bottle to my lips and swallowing the fizzy lager. It was bitter and the flavor was unlike any I’d tried before. My expression did not hide my disdain.

“That bad. Huh?”

“How can you drink that stuff?”

He laughed. I always cracked him up. After dinner we went back to the guesthouse in North Hollywood that he still rented. He liked living there because it was near Hollywood where he worked but also close enough to Momma’s house that he wasn’t too far away from me. He loved his work he never gave up his dream of becoming an iconic guitarist. Guitars were one of his passions. His bedroom was stacked with guitar cases from the floor to the ceiling. Next to his guitars were his books. Stacked in several eight-foot high columns against the wall. I admired his collection of literature. He chose Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and read out loud.

“One day all of these book are going to be mine, right Daddy?”

“All of these books, Bubbles? There are so many of them.”

“Please let me have them. I will take better care of them than you do.”

“You’re probably right about that.”

“I don’t want them for a long time though.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can keep them until I’m grown up. Right now I want to read them with you.”

“Sounds like a deal.”

“Do you love me Daddy?”

“More than you know.”

“More than drugs?”

“Of course more than drugs. I’m not very comfortable with you talking about drugs.”

“Momma says that she can’t understand why you use drugs when you have me.”

“Well sweetie what Momma doesn’t understand could fill a book.”

“That’s not true!”

“All that you need to know is that I love you more than anything in this world and I always will.”

“That’s good Daddy. I love you too more than anything sometimes even more than Momma.”

“That’s my girl.”

There was a heavy knock on the door and Daddy jumped to his feet to answer it. Carlos stood on the other side shining in his black leather outfit and head to toe smelling like a rodeo. His eyes were wired and his hands shook ever so slightly. He looked at Daddy with pinprick-sized pupils and a mischievous smile like he was up to no good.

“Carlos my man, come in. How’s it going? Haven’t seen you in some time. You remember my little angel.”

“I know man, where you been? Hello Verity.”

“I’ve been at the Valley rehab center in Nevada, trying to get my act together.”

“Man, really? Sounds like a drag. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good, I think that I might actually do it.”

“Good for you. Do you mind if I? I just got some pure Colombian shit. Haven’t tried it yet.”

“Sure. Be my guest.”

The men sat down and Daddy pulled out the glass try and Carlos emptied out a bag of soft white powder. He took a credit card and a straw I watched as Carlos arranged the cocaine into fragile long lines. Daddy pulled out a straw and cut it in two with a pair of scissors, that he kept handy along with his other easily accessible drug paraphernalia. Carlos smiled as he took the straw, placed it in his nose and sucked the fine powder up line after line, he only stopped to switch the straw between his nostrils.

“Do you want some?”

He asked Daddy as he held the straw in front of his face.

“One line can’t hurt.”

“Of course not, it’s only one line you’ll be fine.”

Daddy looked at me.

“Let’s play Hide and Seek. I’m going to hide you count to ten.”

“Okay. Ready?”

I buried my head in the cushion and counted, when I got to five I looked up and saw him bend down with the straw up his nose.

“What are you doing? No straws!”

I screamed. Daddy went to speak and blew the cocaine. It showered the coffee table in the soft powder. Daddy took the straw out of his nose and pulled me close to him. Carlos yelled.

“What the fuck, man? This shit is expensive you can’t just be blowing it around.”

“I’m not doing anything Bubbles, just pretending. There’s no need to get upset.”

“Momma says it’s bad. Why do you do bad things?”

“I do things that Momma doesn’t like that doesn’t mean they’re bad.”

“I think they’re bad. I want you to stop.”

“Okay. I’m stopping. Done. No more.”

“You promise.”

“Yes. Cross my heart.”

“I better get going.”

Daddy’s looked promised me the world and made Carlos uncomfortable. He got up and walked out the front door.

“See you later, man. Good luck with that. Adios Verity.”

After I had calmed down and gone to sleep. He called Carlos and scored an eight ball. I never told Momma what I’d seen. Every time Momma asked me about Daddy I was never entirely honest. When she wanted to know if Daddy spent a lot of time with me I always said yes even though he really didn’t. I knew that if she thought he was being irresponsible she wouldn’t let him see me. So I lied and she never tried to stop me from seeing him. Daddy and I didn’t tell Momma about all the women that he dated, at first there was only Candy and Daddy really liked her,

“She’s a crazy bitch but she does something to me and I love her for it.”

Candy wasn’t like Momma I don’t think she had any kids of her own. She reminded me of a life-sized animated Barbie. Her platinum blonde hair was always styled perfectly, I later learned that she wore a wig. Her molten red lips left stains and smears wherever she went. When she kissed my cheek it was like being stamped with ink, it took days to come off.

When Daddy and Candy were together it was like they forgot that I was alive. They would lock themselves away in the bedroom for hours. I learned how to use the microwave by myself because otherwise I wouldn’t have eaten dinner. Candy knew how much I meant to Daddy and would try her best to show him how much she cared. When I was in the room she was always holding me in her arms or on her lap. She would pretend that she was interested in everything I said but when Daddy wasn’t there she’d say things like

“Go play by yourself, nobody likes you.” And “If you don’t like me your Daddy isn’t going to love you anymore.”

I didn’t like Candy but I didn’t see Daddy enough to tell him the truth and I didn’t want to give him a reason not to love me. It wasn’t long before Daddy began to bring other women home. They had all sorts of names like Amber, Honey, Kat, and Bea. It was hard to keep track of all the pretty faces that were constantly in and out of his house.

When Daddy found out that Candy wore a wig he stopped seeing her. I always believed that I was his number one girl that no matter how many other women he had I would always be the most important. He was never serious about any of the big-breasted bimbos he brought home. They were only interested in him for his drugs. Daddy knew it and used it to attain company in his bedroom most nights. Momma only allowed me to spend one night a week and every other weekend with him.

* *

It was a school night and I was staying at Daddy’s house. All evening I had been entertaining myself by playing dress-up. Every week there was a new item of women’s clothing to try on mainly bras and pantyhose. This week Daddy brought out Candy’s long blond wig. I tried it on and pretended I was a mermaid,

“It’s time for your bath Verity. I’m going to run the water for you.”

“Can I wear the wig Daddy?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s very clean.”

“I’ll clean it! Besides I’m a mermaid Daddy! I belong in the water.”

He laughed.

“You’re absolutely right. Go ahead.”

The water filled to the top of the bath and I tumbled inside the blanket of warmth, the blonde wig immediately saturated and stuck to my skin. There was a knock on the front door.

“I’m going to get the door. Does Momma let you bath by yourself?”

“Yup. All the time. I’ll be fine.”

He smiled and walked out of the bathroom, down the hall to the front door. When he opened the door I heard muffled voices. Then the sound of footsteps and Daddy’s bedroom door shutting. Then silence. Silence had become comfortable. I felt I had to get used to it, most kids are afraid of the emptiness it brings but it’s just one of those things you get used to. I filled my head with imaginative other worlds. I visited underwater universes every time I took a bath. I loved to swim, it was one of my favorite things and I once held my breath for two and a half minutes! I had Daddy time me while we were swimming in the public swimming pool

Humbling yourself enough to really work the program

Lisa — 2010-02-18T22:18:00+00:00

I had a few days recovery under my belt and was so excited that I was able to humble myself for once and actually accept the program, worked the steps and then without like a warning, my addiction took over. In an instant I found myself in like a robotic mode and at my friends using. I was not thinking, just did it. It was the strangest thing. I realized I am very sick and just hate accepting that. I hoped this was something that maybe with a little counceling and understanding of why I use I would be able to overcome and move on. Now I see its much serious. When I was in my early 20's I knew that I had a problem but I refused to acept it because I never hit such a bottom. Now ten years later and all that wasted time along with more pain and hurt and more problems I now can humble myself enough to finally admit I have a problem. I am writting this so that anyone out there who questions the program, please know that if you are here you know that something is wrong. Do not wait until you have hit bottom to take in the program and really work it and change your life now before you have more regrets than you can handle, or even worse before you die. This problem does kill us, and we don't know when that will happen. As low as my life is now, I still think no, I won't die from this, but then again, my addiction only grows and I use more and more, so yes, eventually I will die. And why, when I could work the prgram and cahnge my life and be happy again. I messed up because I have not gone to a meeting and gotten a sponsor, still thinking that I can do some of the program by short cutting and do meetings online, I do not want a sponsor, because I will have to bear my inner most horrible thoughts and things I have done to them, so I wanted to work the steps but not share it. Now I know if I do not go through the program as many others who are sucessful have, it just will not work.

Between The Sheets - The Forbidden Step 13

LuWana Elkins — 2010-02-14T02:25:00+00:00

Walking around the rooms of meetings in many places, I've heard "experts" on everything from sex, psychiatry, relationships, growing plants, you name it and they all offer advice to someone to insure their ability to stay clean and sober.

Just to add a couple pepper kernels in the salt shaker of life, I got my sobriety "between the sheets". Yes, I said it. If I had not been 13th Stepped, I don't know if I would of made it.

Sure, the old timer caught a lot of hell. We all know what young sex is so I don't need to go there today. I have over 29 years - in part thanks to the forbidden 13th step. I needed a protector. I found one within my first 60 days. Thank goodness we both made it out of that relationship alive.

Personally, I would hope not to get involved with someone new to recovery. Unless we speak the same language, its simply too much work.

A big hello from a newcommer

MIchael Hazel — 2010-02-06T21:21:00+00:00

I'm currently a resident at Phoenix House (Community Residence) and I'm back in the rooms after a relapse and my clean date is November 5,2009. I'm in Park Slope (Brooklyn) and just want to meet people in sobriety. I'm a people person and willing to help anyone with no strings attached. I have beem going to AA & NA meetings because I need to stay connected. If you know of any meetings or events that you think might help me please let me know. I will check my email every day. I go to outpatient on Tuesday & Wednesday at 6:30 PM and Friday's at 5:00 PM. My outpatient is at West 74th Street by the the 72nd Street station for the 2 & 3 Train. I look forward to hearing from anybody and I also hope I can be of service to anyone

Overcoming Social Anxiety with the 12 Steps

12 Step Admin — 2010-02-04T00:17:00+00:00

There are many in 12 Step programs who also suffer from an additional problem, crippling social anxiety problems, also called social phobia, avoidant personality disorder and for some can even become social agoraphobia.

My story starts in other 12 Step Programs but it lead eventually to a new 12 Step program for Social Anxiety Disorder and related problems, known as Social Anxiety Anonymous.

I am here to share my ongoing recovery and to also share how the 12 Steps can be applied successfully to Social Anxiety Disorder.

Thanks to the now almost 8 year old 12 Step Program, Social Anxiety Anonymous I am happy to share that recovery from social anxiety is possible using the 12 Steps. In my own case, I have now had an 80% reduction in my Social Anxiety symptoms for over six years, thanks to attending Social Anxiety Anonymous support groups.

Like all 12 Step programs, Social Anxiety Anonymous has it's own unique focus, bottom lines and some unique tools. Yet at it's core it is a 12 Step program. Social Anxiety Anonymous also is developing it's own Big Book which to date has more than 75 pages of literature. A work in progress at this point, it's contents are currently available online: Twelve Gentle Steps to Overcoming Social Anxiety.

One possible barrier to a person with social anxiety attending a social anxiety support group meeting is of course the social anxiety itself. That's why Social Anxiety Anonymous has telephone conference call support groups for overcoming social anxiety in addition to local support groups. The telephone groups can be a great help to anyone with social anxiety, but can also be a particular help to those who may be too anxious to attend face to face meetings. Couple that with the Social Anxiety Anonymous practice of "non-pressure" (the rule that no one in a Social Anxiety Anonymous group is ever pressured to do anything, that each member is free to just quietly listen and need not even share, and the result is a very safe environment for a 12 Step recovery group focused on helping those with Social Anxiety Problem: Social Anxiety Anonymous suggested meeting format.

In loving fellowship, Phil M.

Social Anxiety Anonymous

How to get over a relationship

Ron Young JR — 2010-01-23T19:21:00+00:00

hello,

The relationship has ended - turned out one of the things I THOUGHT was just an insecurity was actually a gut feeling and she lied to me about it - SO its over - stupid women

LOL

I'm a stronger person today for it - lots of support from the people in my area and the rooms - and by doing the do's i'll get through it - its alot easier with all the support

GOTO MEETINGS and DON"T USE - GOTO MEETINGS and DON"T USE - GOTO MEETINGS and DON"T USE - GOTO MEETINGS and DON"T USE - GOTO MEETINGS and DON"T USE

and when i get tired of that

DON"T USE and GOTO MEETINGS - DON"T USE and GOTO MEETINGS - DON"T USE and GOTO MEETINGS - DON"T USE and GOTO MEETINGS - DON"T USE and GOTO MEETINGS -

lol

Relationships and Recovery

Ron Young JR — 2010-01-21T06:07:00+00:00

Long entry - but involves relationships and recovery - Update to come...hopefully :)

Hello all.

Today has been a very BIG eye opener for me. I have basically been living in active addiction for the past 2 weeks, and I JUST realized it today. Not using but just in my way of thinking, behaviors and how i treated others.

I am in a relationship with someone and YES i know new in recovery why would i bother - but really the aspects behind this girl are very much a sign that we were supposed to START a relationship - even though we are going through our first kind of "fight" in 2 months together - I can relate it DIRECTLY to how I have let go of my "program" and focused only on me and her.

I can pin-point the exact time and place... well TIME anyway when i started to feel like we BOTH wanted to have some space back in our relationship - but neither of us said anything - with that - I decided it was time to figure out a way to make it work with us spending the time together - all the while knowing that it wasn't the RIGHT thing to be doing at this particular time. BUT my insecurity's kept me from doing what i felt right. I didn't follow through on my action words of what i was telling people i would make sure to continue doing, and that proved to be a huge bomb to what was growing as a great relationship.

When i first realized how i was beginning to feel - I didn't take action on how i felt - just figured i was having a slumpy few days but her smile would carry me through - LOL - if her smile could keep me clean i wouldn't need NA. We slowly stopped communicating to each other exactly how we felt about things - and I stopped working on my recovery in the same way that i have been since i came back to the rooms 3 months ago. She just celebrated 1 yr clean on the weekend, and that was a rough day for me - TODAY i realize it was because ALL her friends were there - and all of a sudden i wasn't getting all the attention from her that we normally give BUT I also know that I apart of her day and that is something that i need to work on from my self - My insecurity's are not going to be lifted in one day but they can definitly be eased by looking at our situation - and accepting the fact that she really is allowing me to be myself - and NOT worry about cliche things that a lot of people have to worry about. I don't know what it is - that will allow me to tell her that its fine however she looks and it doesn't matter to me if shes looking awesome or ugly that i like her for HER - and not her outside.

Finally after about 2 weeks of us slowly growing apart - and neither of us telling each other how we felt about each other - it finally blew up - I packed some of my shit up and told her i was just going back to my place - and that's that - LOL - we STILL didn't talk about it - or explain to each other the situation.

Today I prayed when i woke up with my heart - and prayed to see what the fuck is going on in my life - why I'm back into my old patterns - and ways of thinking - because I couldn't find it on my own(BTW did i mention i had one conversation about this with my Sponsor...and beat around the bush with it when i finally did) After praying and actually meaning what I've prayed for, in the past couple weeks, I read the JFT - and it was a message. When i goto my morning meeting(HG) I was asked to share on a slogan - I don't' normally do so - but I chose LET GO AND LET GOD - while speaking on that I was able to realize I was SPEAKING what i needed to be told - about just leaving it in his hands and i will get what i need for answers.

During the meeting we choose topics (like most) and one of the topics was SELF CENTEREDNESS - and the other was WHY WE NEED A SPONSOR - well I'll be dammed if EVERYONE speaking in the meeting was able to SHOW me exactly HOW my self centredness BLEW a small thing way out of proportion and led me down a road of how I would normally act towards situations when i was using drugs/drinking.

I have a VERY big problem with feelings - and self forgiveness - I was slowly coming to terms with it - but when i stopped putting meaning into my program, and was just "faking it till i make it" I lost a lot of the GIFTS that recovery has given me - ONE being HUMILITY and the other being HONESTY and ACCEPTANCE - to be honest i lost MORE then just that - but those are the 3 that i lacked when it came to dealing with my situation with my girlfriend.

I can tell you this - I am falling in love with her - and that scares the SHIT out of me, but I have to accept that i'm not the only one dealing with the fear of those feelings, I have to accept the fact that if I DON"T continue to be honest with her about my needs in recovery it will all slip away very fast - and all of the work we both put in will be for nothing.

After the meeting I called my Sponsor and we talked for about 30 mins on how I came to my conclusions and I also got some GREAT suggestions about what i was probably TRYING to do with the relationship - and trying to FORCE into situations that neither her or I are ready for. I know that this probably WON"T be the end of us - and I know its a minor set back in our growth together - and I can truly say I really hope this makes us stronger - and keeps our lives on the same track.

She is a GREAT girl, and I can tell you that ALOT of how i feel for her i can't put into words - but i know i feel it - and that scares me - and I know i have to Talk about those feelings MORE or I will just keep slipping away from allowing her into my heart - I hope that when we finally TALK to night about what happened this weekend and yesterday - that we are on the same page - and I will be OPEN and HONEST with her - no matter HOW awkward i feel.

Sorry it was long - but I think there is a good message there for people thinking that they can do it on their own with no meaning - I am living proof that I RAN from my feelings before - and you can still RUN from them in recovery resulting in the same way - Un-manageable Life - and Obsession about results and things I am powerless over -

HOW it works is Honesty Open mindedness and Willingness. I need to be HONEST with her and keep an OPEN MIND to the fact that LOVE DOESN'T HURT ALL THE TIME, and be WILLING to tell her how i feel with no reservations about what the outcome may be.

Thanks for listening guys.

Ron Y

Step 11

Jon M — 2010-01-08T02:17:00+00:00

12steprecovery recieved this content for step 11, we do not know the origin of the article. Enjoy.

Step Eleven suggests prayer and meditation.

Step 11, page 86 was my entree into formal step action. A night meeting speaker dwelled upon each sentence from "On awakening to end of chapter..........."

I was desperate at a sober bottom. Each morning thereafter, I did pick up the Big Book and contemplated each sentence/direction.

Recently, almost 19 years later, I realized that the first directions help clear the mind. Then, it shifts to contemplation about higher power and directive to other sources.

Read more...

What Is Karma

Jon M — 2010-01-08T01:40:00+00:00

Alot of members have been asking about karma. Not in the universal sense, but on your profile, you have a karma meter on your profile right under your name and stuatus.

Karma on 12steprecovery.com is earned by taking action on the site. So, we've decided to compile a list of actions that earn carma points, and how many points you get for those actions. The more Karma you earn, the more green will fill up your Karma meter.

Add New Group
Give points when registered user created new group. = 3 Karma Points

Add New Group's Discussion
Give points when registered user created new discussion on group. = 2 Karma Points

Leave Group
Deduct points when registered user leave a group. = -1 Karma Points

Approve Friend Request
Give points when registered user approved friend request. = 1 Karma Points

Add New Photo Album
Give points when registered user added new photo album. = 1 Karma Points

Post Group Wall
Give points when registered user post wall on group. = 1 Karma Points

Join Group
Give points when registered user joined a group. = 1 Karma Points

Reply Group's Discussion
Give points when registered user replied on group's discussion. = 1 Karma Points

Post Wall
Give points when registered user post a wall on profile. = 1 Karma Points

Profile Status Update
Give points when registered user update their profile status. = 1 Karma Points

Profile Update
Give points when registered user update their profile. = 1 Karma Points

Update group
Give points when registered user update the group. = 1 Karma Points

Create Group's News
Give points when registered user add group's news. = 1 Karma Points

Post Wall for photos
Give points when registered user post wall at photos. = 1

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