"Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves~ Philippians 2.3"
Day 19 (X6): A Hit of Iced Tea
Most days I leave my house in the middle of the afternoon to take a little walk and get myself something for lunch. I really covet these walks because just five and a half months ago, walking alone, unaided any more than 50 feet was not possible for me most days.
I live in Hollywood... the seedy part of Hollywood, not the hills. It's the part of Hollywood that you sometimes hear referred to as "the Sunset Strip." They may call it that because there is a heavy concentration of strip joints, but that's not really part of today's story.
Let's just say the part of town I live in isn't where the rich folks live and leave it at that.
I share my community with a large number of people who live on the streets. There are also a lot of drugs around this area. In my experience, homelessness and addiction are commonly (but not always) linked. I am a recovering alcoholic and drug addict, so I'm rather comfortable sharing the streets with people who are down on their luck and deep in the struggle of addiction.
These are my people. And even though I am lucky enough to have a roof over my head today and a little money in my bank account, I know how easy it would be for me to find myself living on the street shooting up behind dumpsters. It's as simple as making a choice to pick up drinking or drugs again. I know deep in my soul that if I make that choice again, that is exactly where I will end up eventually unless I die or end up institutionalized before I make it to the dumpster.
I walk by my people every day. I see them making deals on the corners and then scooting into alleys or behind the many large super markets and pharmacies that line the busy city streets to fix themselves. Yesterday I saw three of them wandering the street together, yelling about how high they were--one guy telling his companions he will never do mushrooms again because the trip he's on is so bad. He stopped me on the sidewalk, looked me in the eye for a split second, and then asked me if he looked as bad as he felt. I told him yes. His face was so white it looked like he was wearing that foundation the Geisha wear. His eyes were bugging out of his head. He was twitching and could not stand still.
"I was hoping you'd say, honey you look great," he said and laughed manically as he broke our eye contact and trotted down the street, both arms waving in the air.
I started to cry as he ran away. Not because I felt sorry for him, but because I was feeling very raw and a little nutty in the head myself. In that moment we made eye contact, part of me yearned to get as loaded as him just to check out for a while.
Only drug addicts think this way. We are the only people who can see someone who is dirty, obviously broke, probably hungry and stoned out of their gourd and think that looks attractive.
That is the insidiousness of my addiction. It lies in wait until I am overwhelmed, overtired and overstressed and then it quietly woos me, trying to convince me that it will be ok to use something just this once to take the edge off. That it won't be that bad.
My addiction doesn't rear it's head only when things are bad... it happens when I least expect it... when everything in my life is going great. Like right now, I am on the cusp of seeing my lifelong dream of being an author come true. This is a dream that I've held quietly in my heart since I was a child. It's a dream I rarely spoke out to others because it happens for so few of the millions and millions of gifted writers on the planet. Right now it appears to be happening for me, and I can't help but wonder what I've done to deserve such a blessing when there are so many others out there making words as good or far better than mine. These people are all holding that same dream quietly in their hearts and working their butts off to make it happen, but they are not getting unsolicited calls from publishers. It just doesn't seem fair.
So here I am feeling blessed that I might actually get to see my name on the cover of a real, live book that is published by a big New York house, and I actually have the thought that it would be a good idea to go out and score a little weed, let myself have a couple of glasses of wine or go to a doctor and get a prescription for just a few sleeping pills. I *know* from lots of experience with relapse that it will not stop there... but still the impulses come that, if indulged, will surely lead to me throwing it all away.
Baffling.
After my run in with my fellow on the corner, I walk a few more blocks and notice two men sitting on the ground behind a big grocery store. My eyes lock onto them immediately from nearly a block away and my dope radar begins to send off little excited beeps in my head. They are smoking a fat joint. I sniff the air as I walk by and immediately put my guard up. I avert my eyes and walk quickly past them. I am scared. Not of them, but of my own longing to just take one hit. I know if I ask for one, they will give it to me. Potheads are always happily willing to share.
After I've walked 20 steps past them, I stop dead in my tracks and find myself turning around to walk back to where they lay sprawled out on the cement, their shoes off and shirts unbuttoned in a vain attempt to stay cool in the blazing Hollywood heat.
The both look up at me.
"Hi," I say and smile. I look them both in the eye.
"Hi," the white guy with long stringy brown hair responds. The black guy just smiles and nods his greeting. He has very nice teeth--straight and blinding white--not what I would expect to see in the mouth of someone smoking a huge joint openly on the street.
I hear this judgment roll through my head and remind myself that my own teeth are very straight and very white and I used to smoke big fatties openly on the streets and in the parks.
I pause for a moment and consider just walking away, but then I am compelled to ask them, "Are you two hungry?"
The black guy politely says, "No... but thanks for asking."
The white guy says, "No, but I'm really thirsty. It's so hot out here."
"I'm headed down the street to get lunch," I say. "Would you like me to pick you up something to drink?"
A look of overwhelming gratitude spreads over his face. "If you would get me an iced tea, that would be amazing," he says.
"Ok," I say and head to the eatery where I wolf down my lunch and then purchase one iced tea and two cookies.
I walk back the two blocks. Only the white guy is there now and the joint has burnt out. There is sweat rolling off the man's face.
"Here you go," I say as I hand him the tea. "I picked up a couple cookies for you too, but if you don't want them you can give them to someone else who is hungry."
"Thank you so much," he responds and he tips his head to take a long draw off the straw. The relief is visible in his eyes as the cold liquid splashes his tongue. It's the same easy smile I've seen on many an addict's face when they take their first hit of the day. But this time it was a hit of iced tea that brought the smile to the surface.
I say a silent prayer for this man, and briefly thank God for giving me the strength to choose the gift of sobriety for one more day.
I live in Hollywood... the seedy part of Hollywood, not the hills. It's the part of Hollywood that you sometimes hear referred to as "the Sunset Strip." They may call it that because there is a heavy concentration of strip joints, but that's not really part of today's story.
Let's just say the part of town I live in isn't where the rich folks live and leave it at that.
I share my community with a large number of people who live on the streets. There are also a lot of drugs around this area. In my experience, homelessness and addiction are commonly (but not always) linked. I am a recovering alcoholic and drug addict, so I'm rather comfortable sharing the streets with people who are down on their luck and deep in the struggle of addiction.
These are my people. And even though I am lucky enough to have a roof over my head today and a little money in my bank account, I know how easy it would be for me to find myself living on the street shooting up behind dumpsters. It's as simple as making a choice to pick up drinking or drugs again. I know deep in my soul that if I make that choice again, that is exactly where I will end up eventually unless I die or end up institutionalized before I make it to the dumpster.
I walk by my people every day. I see them making deals on the corners and then scooting into alleys or behind the many large super markets and pharmacies that line the busy city streets to fix themselves. Yesterday I saw three of them wandering the street together, yelling about how high they were--one guy telling his companions he will never do mushrooms again because the trip he's on is so bad. He stopped me on the sidewalk, looked me in the eye for a split second, and then asked me if he looked as bad as he felt. I told him yes. His face was so white it looked like he was wearing that foundation the Geisha wear. His eyes were bugging out of his head. He was twitching and could not stand still.
"I was hoping you'd say, honey you look great," he said and laughed manically as he broke our eye contact and trotted down the street, both arms waving in the air.
I started to cry as he ran away. Not because I felt sorry for him, but because I was feeling very raw and a little nutty in the head myself. In that moment we made eye contact, part of me yearned to get as loaded as him just to check out for a while.
Only drug addicts think this way. We are the only people who can see someone who is dirty, obviously broke, probably hungry and stoned out of their gourd and think that looks attractive.
That is the insidiousness of my addiction. It lies in wait until I am overwhelmed, overtired and overstressed and then it quietly woos me, trying to convince me that it will be ok to use something just this once to take the edge off. That it won't be that bad.
My addiction doesn't rear it's head only when things are bad... it happens when I least expect it... when everything in my life is going great. Like right now, I am on the cusp of seeing my lifelong dream of being an author come true. This is a dream that I've held quietly in my heart since I was a child. It's a dream I rarely spoke out to others because it happens for so few of the millions and millions of gifted writers on the planet. Right now it appears to be happening for me, and I can't help but wonder what I've done to deserve such a blessing when there are so many others out there making words as good or far better than mine. These people are all holding that same dream quietly in their hearts and working their butts off to make it happen, but they are not getting unsolicited calls from publishers. It just doesn't seem fair.
So here I am feeling blessed that I might actually get to see my name on the cover of a real, live book that is published by a big New York house, and I actually have the thought that it would be a good idea to go out and score a little weed, let myself have a couple of glasses of wine or go to a doctor and get a prescription for just a few sleeping pills. I *know* from lots of experience with relapse that it will not stop there... but still the impulses come that, if indulged, will surely lead to me throwing it all away.
Baffling.
After my run in with my fellow on the corner, I walk a few more blocks and notice two men sitting on the ground behind a big grocery store. My eyes lock onto them immediately from nearly a block away and my dope radar begins to send off little excited beeps in my head. They are smoking a fat joint. I sniff the air as I walk by and immediately put my guard up. I avert my eyes and walk quickly past them. I am scared. Not of them, but of my own longing to just take one hit. I know if I ask for one, they will give it to me. Potheads are always happily willing to share.
After I've walked 20 steps past them, I stop dead in my tracks and find myself turning around to walk back to where they lay sprawled out on the cement, their shoes off and shirts unbuttoned in a vain attempt to stay cool in the blazing Hollywood heat.
The both look up at me.
"Hi," I say and smile. I look them both in the eye.
"Hi," the white guy with long stringy brown hair responds. The black guy just smiles and nods his greeting. He has very nice teeth--straight and blinding white--not what I would expect to see in the mouth of someone smoking a huge joint openly on the street.
I hear this judgment roll through my head and remind myself that my own teeth are very straight and very white and I used to smoke big fatties openly on the streets and in the parks.
I pause for a moment and consider just walking away, but then I am compelled to ask them, "Are you two hungry?"
The black guy politely says, "No... but thanks for asking."
The white guy says, "No, but I'm really thirsty. It's so hot out here."
"I'm headed down the street to get lunch," I say. "Would you like me to pick you up something to drink?"
A look of overwhelming gratitude spreads over his face. "If you would get me an iced tea, that would be amazing," he says.
"Ok," I say and head to the eatery where I wolf down my lunch and then purchase one iced tea and two cookies.
I walk back the two blocks. Only the white guy is there now and the joint has burnt out. There is sweat rolling off the man's face.
"Here you go," I say as I hand him the tea. "I picked up a couple cookies for you too, but if you don't want them you can give them to someone else who is hungry."
"Thank you so much," he responds and he tips his head to take a long draw off the straw. The relief is visible in his eyes as the cold liquid splashes his tongue. It's the same easy smile I've seen on many an addict's face when they take their first hit of the day. But this time it was a hit of iced tea that brought the smile to the surface.
I say a silent prayer for this man, and briefly thank God for giving me the strength to choose the gift of sobriety for one more day.
Comment
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Comment by an ostrich named sam on January 30, 2009 at 5:28am -
Cami I had no idea you were in recovery. I'm constantly amazed at what i find when i need it most. I too have addictions issues. Smoking tobacco is my down fall. I've smoke pot and hash in the past, but was always too scared to try harder drugs, because I knew deep down the first time I'd try coke I'd be off on a journey that I could not handle. I choose not to drink to excess or when I've had a bad day because alcoholism is rampant on my fathers side of the family. It would be far too easy to fall down that slippery slope too!
Bless you for this story and sharing it with others.
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Comment by Nancy Louise on November 19, 2008 at 9:56pm -
Wow, now I need to write mine. Thanks for your gift to all of us, you help others to share THEIR gifts...
Nancy Louise
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Comment by Julia Kovach on November 3, 2008 at 5:14pm -
Ahhh, Cami, life has dealt you such strife and yet you perservere. You are so inspirational and I am so grateful for your presence. Thank you for sharing such a difficult, yet sweet story.
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Comment by Sharon D-29 Gifts Ambassador on October 23, 2008 at 7:42pm -
I have 17 years and will be staying in touch with you, Nancye.
God is in Charge, he knows what he is doing, we try to force our plans, and "think" we know what the outcome "should be".
It is a difficult place to be in, I know, I have similar stories and paths, well worn. I am in your corner and can be a support person for you! Sharon
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Comment by nancye williams on October 23, 2008 at 1:42pm -
I am so glad I found this sight. Tomorrow I go to family court with my daughter. I was praying for a miracle. I really wish I did not have to stand in that court room. Please God let this cup pass from me, I said this morning. Then I found this site. My grand daughter, who I had custody of and raised, was taken from my home where she lived with her siblings and her mother since birth. Her mom had a slip 2 years ago and her dad rushed in and legally took her from us. I have 25 years of sobriety and the last 2 years have been pure hell for me. I did not use...but I certainly was crazy! The court system that took her is just now getting around to deciding as to who will have physical custody of the child. She is now ten years old The Guardian ad litem program has decided that it would be best not to let her come home because we are all recovering people in this household and it would not serve her to move her again. I so wish my life would have been different but there were so many things that contributed to my alcoholism. I have felt so alone. Now I know there are others out there just like me that are living with secrets and lies. Pray for me tomorrow and thanks for sharing.
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Comment by Jan on October 18, 2008 at 9:52pm -
Thanks Cami for being so open and honest and sharing so much of yourself ... you are such an inspiration. I am glad you are willing to take a risk and share your story with the world. Maybe some day I too will share mine.
I have an addictive personality as well - I consider myself lucky to have never tried cocaine because I'm sure I would be in some back alley and homeless.
My addictions have always been food and shopping. I tend to shop to make myself feel better and often eat to build a wall around myself or make myself feel better. Over eating is something I've struggled with most of my life, so I understand your feelings.
Thanks for inspiring so many!
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Comment by shoe sunkitty on October 15, 2008 at 9:40pm -
Your inspirational story moved me. Pottheads ARE always happily willing to share!
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Comment by Wako on September 26, 2008 at 5:48pm -
Thanks for writing so courageously and beautifully about this experience, Cami.
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Comment by Roxanne Birney on September 22, 2008 at 6:06pm -
Keep on writing...and living your dream.
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Comment by Kimberly on September 18, 2008 at 10:34am -
Hi Cami,
What a great story to come across as I went through the 29 day sight. We all do have many "stories" to tell, and to be able to share them with each other and strengthen one another is absolutely inspiring.
Namaste, Kimberly
p.s. congratulations, I'm proud of you.
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