American Drug Addict: a memoir

by Brett Douglas

  “FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

  The thought of going back to jail solidified my desire for death. I looked around for a sharp object, but nothing useful was within my grasp. I then noticed the IV taped to the back of my hand. When no one was looking, I chewed through the plastic hose, causing blood to stream from the severed line. I hid the hemorrhage under my sheet, hoping I would bleed to death before anyone noticed. When it started to lessen, I pushed the needle deeper into my hand and sucked on the hose. After about thirty minutes, a nurse saw the puddle of blood on the floor and repaired the IV.

  After the hospital visit, I was taken to the psychiatric ward of the Houston jail and placed in a rubber room, wearing the clothing equivalent of a manila envelope. I’m not sure why it’s called a “rubber room.” It’s made of concrete, including the bed I was supposed to sleep on.

  Later, I was taken out of my cell to talk to the doctor. “So, can you tell me what happened?”

  “I’m a drug addict, and I don’t want to live with it anymore.”

  “You know you can get help for this problem?”

  “I know all that bullshit. Look, you’re wasting your fucking time with me. The first chance I get, I’m taking my life. You have no idea what it’s like,” I snarled.

  I was placed back in the so-called “rubber room.” Some time later, a tray of food was shoved through the slot in the door. The only utensil was a flimsy, plastic Spork. I chewed on the end of it, attempting to create a sharp edge, and tried to reopen the wound on my neck, but it wasn’t rigid enough. Having gone five days without sleep, exhaustion overwhelmed me. I fell asleep on the concrete bed.

  I have no idea how long I slept. The lack of windows made gauging time impossible. I was roused several times to eat, which I did and quickly went back to sleep. At some point, I opened my eyes and looked around my cell. As I mentally reviewed the events of the last few days, few months, few years, I shuddered. What the fuck am I doing?

  Sanity had returned. I stared at the sterile cinder block wall next to my bed. Placing my hand on it, I thought, I put this wall here. I laid motionless, fixated on my arm against the wall, a metaphor for my entire life.

  From decades of attending AA meetings, my next course of action was clear. When the guard came around with the tray of food, I asked, “Can I have a pencil and some paper?”

  “No way, man. You’re on suicide watch.” I guess giving suicidal people pointed sticks was against protocol.

  “I won’t hurt myself. Please. I’ve got something I must write.”

  After some cajoling, I convinced him to slip the things I requested through the slot. “If you get caught with that shit, you didn’t get them from me,” the guard insisted.

  “I’ll say I stole them. Thank you.”

  I started writing my life story. I wanted to understand who I was and why I behaved the way I did, an AA forth step of sorts. Each day, the guard brought more paper, begging me not to divulge where I got it from. Although my promise to him was a minuscule one, it was one I planned to keep. A modicum of character had blossomed in me.

  I was extradited back to Pensacola. The process was a slow and tedious one. The trip from Houston to Pensacola usually takes eight hours. But I was shackled in the back of a prison van for seventy-two hours straight, the entire time sitting next to some guy who had shit in his pants. For the theft of the computers, I was sentenced to a year in jail and placed in a work release program. I could leave the jail to go to work then return afterward. Having a larceny charge made finding a job difficult. But, eventually, I got a job washing dishes at Cowgirls, a restaurant in Orange Beach. (Thank you, Shirley!) The job was quite therapeutic, a chance for reflection while being productive at the same time. Plus, being around life again was exciting. The work release program also allowed me to reestablish contact with my friends in recovery, who were happy to find I wasn’t dead. I got a new sponsor, Chris (not my high school friend), who walked me through the twelve steps. My new-found freedom also gave me a chance to buy drugs, an opportunity I did not take advantage of. I could sense something had changed in me.

  The book you have just read is the memoir I wrote during my incarceration. I must admit, this effort has been painfully enlightening. At some parts, I would laugh hysterically, recalling fun times and loving friends. At others, I would weep, reliving the despair of my addiction and the pain I inflicted on others. For the first time in my life, I actually felt regret over my past actions, the first baby step in the painful process of growing up. I guess that’s why they’re called growing pains. And, as I had hoped, I did indeed learn a lot about myself, my addiction, and my recovery.

  I have already mentioned the first five steps of the AA program. The next two read as follows:

  6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

  7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

  Basically, I need to be aware of the flaws in my character and be willing to correct them. I could write a new book just on my defects. Instead, I will attempt to hit the high points, or low points, depending on how you look at it.

  While writing this book, I discovered the degree of my selfishness, whether it was with time, money, love, drugs or honey buns. I never wanted to share any of these things. But more importantly, I never wanted to share myself. In other words, I refused to let anybody know who I really was. I constructed a wall around myself and vigorously fought to keep everyone on the other side. Occasionally, I would let someone over, but those people were always on the peripheral. For the people who loved me, I purposely made the wall too high to surmount.

  My resistance to change is another deficiency. The fickleness of life seemed like a curse, the inevitable crash which always followed those moments when circumstances were exactly to my liking. I now realize the only constant in life is change, and this unpredictability is actually a blessing. Without change, I would be stuck in the fatal cycle of addiction with no hope of altering my direction. The uncertainty of the future is truly the juice of life.

  Honesty has always been a challenge for me. I would lie for no other reason than the sake of lying. Or I would lie to please others. Dishonesty is so hardwired into my character, the first words to leave my mouth in any conversation are usually untrue to some degree.

  Honesty comes in several flavors. The first is cash register honesty, which is not stealing. All calculated, I have stolen three-quarters of a million dollars from various people. And what did I gain from all that money? Nothing but a black mass of nightmarish memories.

  The second flavor is honesty with others. At one time, I believed most situations required some degree of dishonesty. For example, when Paula asked if the pants she was wearing made her butt look big, my answer was always “No,” regardless of how she looked. Alton, one of the counselors at the work release center, pointed out, “Why would you lie to her if the clothes she’s wearing don’t make her look good?’

  I realized dishonesty was not required near as often as I thought. If I truly love someone, I need to tell them what they need to hear, instead of what they want to hear.

  The third type of honesty is the most important, honesty with myself. I’m a drug addict. I must be clear on that fact. I must never forget it, or I will be doomed to repeat the same mistakes. Being a drug addict sounds bad, and ultimately, it is bad. But my most glaring flaw can become my greatest attribute. Some people don’t appreciate the blessings in their lives because nothing has ever changed. Some people never experience the blessing of loss, the gift of despair, and the richness of forced introspection. I can’t truly appreciate the value of something until I have lost it. I had no frame of reference when it came to my own life. Now, having experienced such loss, I have a new outlook.

  I’ve lived a life steeped in resentment, fear, shame, anger, and guilt. I feel shame and guilt about the past, fear of the future, and resentment and anger over my current circumstances, all of which are unnecessary expenditures of energy.
The chance of me having a better past is ZERO. I must let it go. No need to fear the future, for it hasn’t arrived. All I have is today. And what I do today will affect my tomorrow. I will find no peace until I accept everyone and everything in my life exactly as it is at this moment. And anything I can’t accept, I must remove. Stress, anger, and frustration are detrimental to anyone’s existence. But for an addict, these mental states are lethal. Early in my incarceration, I knew my marriage had to end. Six months into my sentence, I filed for divorce. Paula moved out of town right after our split. I also realized I will never be able to have a relationship with Robert. He still refuses to talk to me, but at least now, the feeling is mutual. Robert and Paula are two people I cannot accept. They are now part of my past.

  I believed drugs were my problem. If only I could stop getting high, all my troubles would go away. As it turned out, drugs weren’t my problem. Brett was my problem. Drugs were the solution to my Brett problem. I now must find a different solution. I wasted most of my life before I recognized this fact. Drugs were merely a symptom of my inability to find peace in my life. And no matter how fast I ran, I could never outrun myself.

  The next two steps go like this:

  8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all.

  9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

  I must make amends to those people I have harmed. My list of victims is vast. I may never meet the man whose bank account I emptied, nor the Jewish gentleman I insulted in New Orleans, nor the people who ate the ice cream I pissed in, nor the police officer who ate a fly on his hamburger, nor the owners of the hotel I burned to the ground, or the countless people I’ve harmed who were not mentioned in this story. But I must be willing to make amends to these people if the opportunity arises. Sometimes, making amends is simply apologizing, but usually it requires more. For Mom, Robert, Devin, Jordan, and Paula, staying sober is perhaps the best amends I can make. But the money I stole from them must be paid back. These reimbursements are not to help the people I victimized. These payments are for me. By doing this, I can close that book and know in my soul I am no longer the man I used to be. I must find peace with my past.

  I have to love myself before I can love anyone else. Although that statement is rather cliché, it’s true. When I love the person I am, I can show love to my parents, children, friends, and any woman crazy enough to get involved with me. The way I feel about myself is determined by my actions. If I want self-esteem, I must do esteemable things. For me, self-loathing and drugs go hand in hand.

  Part of loving myself is knowing who and what I really am. Am I a decent person who only acts deplorably when using drugs, or am I an evil person who only feigns decency when it’s expedient? For most of my life, I didn’t know the answer to that question. I now know I am both of those people. Much like the two sides of a coin, I have two very distinct personalities. Unlike a coin, however, my good side takes effort, or it will disappear.

  The next step says,

  10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

  I can sum this step up in four words. Don’t be a dick. The depth of my dickness is astounding. When I mistreat others, I’m the person hurt most by my behavior. An addict pays a dear price for abhorrent conduct. And the treatment for being an asshole is not being an asshole.

  Drew Carey once said, “I think I’m trimming down. It must be that sit-up I did.” If I want to be physically fit, I have to do more than one sit-up. I must work on it every day. Recovery works the same way; it’s a daily effort. I can’t be loving and helpful to one person, calling it my “good deed for the day.” Every person I encounter is an opportunity to work on myself. I must set the bar so high, I will forever be struggling for it. If I ever allow myself to be satisfied or complacent, the only place to go is down.

  Sobriety is a lifelong commitment. Luckily, I only have to worry about today. The actions I take today ensure my success tomorrow. Drugs were not a hobby, an occasional occurrence, or a weekend activity. Drugs were a lifestyle. I must replace that lifestyle with a different lifestyle.

  Continuing…

  11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

  Numerous times, I’ve heard people say, “How am I supposed to know what God’s will is?” That question is a difficult one, and I don’t know how to answer it. I must admit, I don’t know what God’s will is. But I definitely know what God’s will is not. God’s will is not for me to steal from, lie to, cheat on, and hurt the people who love me or anyone else for that matter. God’s will is not for me to shame my children. God’s will is not for me to be selfish or isolated. God’s will is not for me to hold resentments or grudges. When others act badly, I want retribution and revenge. But when I act badly, I want compassion. God’s will is not for me to smoke crack with whores or stick needles in my arm. I’m pretty confident about that one. And above all, God’s will is not for me to die a miserable, lonely, painful addict death, which is probably the reason I’m still alive. I guess God’s will is the opposite of all that shit.

  And finally,

  12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics and practice these principles in all our affairs.

  I am, indeed, the sum of all the experiences and relationships throughout my life. I can trace every belief, behavior, thought and characteristic I possess back to something or someone in my past. But I’m not defined by those things. I’m defined by the impact I have on the lives of other people. I want to have Memaw and Pawpaw’s funeral, not Bea’s.

  I can also choose how my past will affect me. No matter how awful the event or behavior, I can always learn from it if I allow myself. Even better, I can use my experience to help another person who is struggling with the same problem. My past is a devastating train wreck, a succession of deceptions, failures, and suffering I can never change. The only way I can give my life a purpose is to extend my hand to another human being who is going through the same pain and say,

  “There is another way. And if I can get sober, anybody can.”

  So, what does all of this have to do with staying sober? How does honesty, selflessness, and acceptance help me stay clean? How can resolving my resentments, shame, guilt, fear, and regrets keep me from using drugs again? How will making amends for my digressions keep me from getting high? The process seems to have no correlation to addiction. But it does. Everything suggested by Alcoholics Anonymous points to a single goal:

  Peace.

  Long-term sobriety is impossible without it. Drugs were the only peace I knew. They were the only thing in life that made me happy, the only thing I looked forward to, and my only motivation. If my only peace is taken away, I had better find it somewhere else. The suicide note I wrote on the mirror held the answer, although I didn’t realize it at the time. “My lifelong torment is over. Don’t be sad. I’m at peace.” I was willing to die for it. As it turned out, my torment did end that day. Just not the way I had planned.

  So, how is peace achieved? By forgiving myself for past mistakes. By letting everyone live their lives the way they see fit. By rectifying the pain I have caused others to the best of my ability. By not only acknowledging the fact I’m an addict but embracing it. And above all, by liking the person I am today. I had to make some difficult decisions and end some long-term relationships, but to do otherwise is death. It’s that simple for an addict like me.

  As I write these words, my incarceration is over. I will be released from this jail within the next hour. When I walk out of this building, the life I had before will be gone. The wife, the father, the car, the children, the beautiful home with a white picket fence, the business, the dog and three cats, my clothes, and all my other possessions are now part of my
past. Yet, for some reason, I feel wealthier than I have ever felt before. I still have no idea how the paramedics found me in that motel room in Houston. I have been given the most valuable of gifts, one I will not squander. Nor will I compromise on what I know to be right.

  Wadell, a counselor at the Friary, would frequently say, “Stand for something, or fall for everything.” I spent my entire life falling for everything. I wasted so much time trying to be what I thought others wanted. I capitulated, even when I knew my decision was wrong. Now, I must be in control of my life, no matter what the cost. The thought of leaving the financial security of the family business was unthinkable. I believed any amount of turmoil, stress, and unhappiness was worth the monetary reward. The idea of ending my marriage and being alone was equally unimaginable. Now, I realize no amount of money, sex, prestige, or security is worth my peace.

  As hopeless as my situation appeared, Mom never gave up on me. Her unconditional love, a result of her upbringing, was the only constant throughout my life. I must project the same unconditional love to my children. I will never give up on Devin and Jordan. I owe them that much.

  I have learned from painful experience that the disease of addiction is progressive. But recovery is also progressive. When I finally turned the corner, everything I had learned from twenty years of attending AA meetings was still with me. My concept of God was still with me as well. No amount of time pursuing recovery was wasted time, even when I was high.

  The most important revelation was actually a betrayal. I loved drugs. I felt dope was my best friend. But I couldn’t see the true nature of my sweetest companion. Looking back, I now see my best friend betrayed me. He robbed me of everything I valued, everyone I loved, and everything joyful and happy. My best friend destroyed my hope, erased my dreams, ruined my ability to love and, most significantly, took my soul. And while my best friend was doing this, he smiled and convinced me he was on my side. My best friend turned out to be my worst enemy. I am, however, truly blessed. Most addicts die holding hands with my best friend. For some bizarre reason, I was one of the lucky ones who lived long enough to peek behind the veil my best friend hides behind. I now see my beautiful friend is actually the broadest extent that ugly can possibly be.