The Hardest Step (Poem)

The disease of isolation
Self-pity and self-harm
Anger and resentment
Selfish lies and selfish wants

It’s baffling
So obscure
Cunning and hard

It’s your own personal Satan pounding at your door

It’s the first place you run to when you want to hide
And the last place that gets you where you want to go

It gives you everything you want
But nothing that you need

Step One: Dicking around with my thumb up my butt (Twelve Steps)

The thumb is a symbol of great power. It represents a vital step in the evolution of man. The anus symbolizes repression, feelings of shame and self-esteem issues. And dicks? Well, I’ll let the reader decide the meaning of that vernacular.

Anyhoo, I’ve been doing a lot of dicking around with my thumb up my but lately. Indulging in pity parties, self-loathing, whining, complaining about everyone and everything, harping on what this one or that one did to me. Basically throwing my hard earned tools of recovery into the fire. 

Step One: Liquid Courage (Twelve Steps)

“The courage to change the things we can,” is one of the many messages we hear at every Twelve Step meeting. And with every meeting, the message grows, transforms, evolves into a battle cry that echoes through the darkest nights. But when we stop going to meetings, we lose our momentum, we forget the tools that kept us sober, and the war drum slowly fades into the distance until all we hear are the devil’s lies.

Step One: Getting out of my own way (Twelve Steps)

Is there a wrong way to heal? When I say it like that it doesn’t feel so bad. People keep telling me not to isolate, talk to someone, go to a meeting. But the less I think about the pain the less I want to punch someone’s head.

Everything gives me bad memories. I find myself avoiding such triggers everywhere I go. I never want to go back to that place. Of helplessness, of isolation so consuming that I don’t even have my own thoughts to keep company.

Step One: Cleaning House (Twelve Steps)

When I exited rehab I had a new sense of order in my life. I was on schedule. I woke up every day at seven o’clock, showered, dressed, made my bed, cleaned my room, made a to-do list, read some daily reflection and wrote in my journal. Most importantly, I attended meetings and maintained a fellowship with recovering addicts. 

Step One: Powerlessness (Twelve Steps)

Upon much contemplation over what powerlessness means to me I have reached the fullness of my conviction. I struggled with powerlessness the first time I got sober because it was easy for me to stop drinking. If I was powerless over alcoholism why was I able to quit with such ease? It wasn’t until my resentments came to a boil that I gave way to a nearly two-year run of binge drinking and blackouts.

Step One: The Pink Cloud (Twelve Steps)

Last time I got sober I went through the Pink Cloud Syndrome, which lasted for ten months and ended in broken windows and a trip to the psych ward followed by a devastating relapse. At the time I was unaware of the pink cloud. I didn’t find out about the pink cloud until 1 1/2 years later when I entered rehab. 

Step One: Denial (Twelve Steps)

“How dare anyone tell me I have a problem. I have been wronged. I have been mistreated. Everyone on the planet is a complete moron. I’m sick of being told I need to wait on the sidelines and accept the fact that I am doomed to destruction because everyone else has a problem. If I am forced to eat everyone else’s shit then I’m gonna drink while I do it so you can save the wagon for someone else…”

My excuses for drinking could go on and on for days…

BLACKOUT (Journal Entry)

I came to
Fuck am I?

Shit, the psych ward again
Fuck I do this time?
Here comes the nurse
Lemme act like I’m sleeping

“It’s time to get going”
Fuck am I wearing
Shit, no shoes
And it’s raining
Here comes the walk of shame 

Step One: What addiction looks like for me (Twelve Steps)

As I have descended into the pit of physical, spiritual, mental and emotional decay, my life has become unmanageable. I find myself obsessing over people, places and things that have no direct impact on my current situation; my past, everything I lost, the news, how stupid I think everyone is, how much I hate honkeys.

Such mindless obsessions lead to compulsive behaviors; pacing, biting my nails, trips to the fridge, smoking cigarettes. By the end of the day I feel exhausted from the wreckage in my brain and just want to drink myself to sleep.

I am completely oblivious to the impact my actions have on those around me. It’s like I’m in my own self-imposed prison and I am the judge, jury and executioner whose consequences pertain to myself alone. I am inconsiderate of the fact that there are teenagers in the house who look up to me and take ques from my actions. I don’t care that my children are somewhere out there possibly concerned about me. I extinguish any flicker of hope in becoming a leader in the revolution by beligerently belting out whatever drunken tweet I can manage to produce while in total blackout.

My disease has thrown me into physical, mental, emotional and spiritual ruin. I am physically drained to the point where I don’t want to get out of bed most days. My mental exhaustion causes me to contimplate suicide regularly. I am emotionally distraught and completely powerless over depression. And I am spiritually incapable of summoning the will to carry on and build a new life founded on serenity.