dalin
10-01-2008, 03:41 PM
Gene H.
Portland, Oregon
Tarnished Recovery
The Road Most Traveled
How come ain't nobody don't like me? Funny words from a song of the 40's or 50's. I wasn't that different and people sometimes said they did like me, but I've seen liars before, lots of 'em. The truth is, they did like what they saw: the blue eyes, blonde hair, long eyelashes, blue suede shoes, peg-leg pants, sweat shirt and leather jacket. I looked cool and powerful in my '32 Ford, 5-window coup with a Saturday Night Special under the seat. They did like what they saw, but if they looked any deeper they would see a heart filled with fear and plenty of it, loaded with jealousy, resentment, loneliness and down-right panic and a feeling that some day soon they would somehow discover that scared and abandoned little boy clothed in a young man's body.
They didn't find out, because when the going got tough I went into hiding. Hiding from them, but most of all hiding from my self. My hiding place was like a covering just waiting for my call and so I called and called and called for the only thing that I knew of to bring instant comfort, and that was alcohol, pills, heroin, Benzedrine, legal prescriptions and combinations of all those items. Still, the most comforting was the insane asylum in 1961-62. Yet fear followed me wherever I went. The drugs stopped working, the asylum stopped working, even the freedom in my ½ escapes from the asylum didn't work. I was afraid to be locked up and afraid to be free; I was afraid to live and afraid to die. There seemed to be no where to turn. So as a last resort I began to pray. I prayed to St. Jude, the Catholic's patron saint of hopeless and desperate cases. To my surprise it worked. Within a short time of my release from the asylum I found some well-meaning, compassionate people who said if I would follow their way I could find peace and a meaningful life. I tried it and it worked. The promises they gave me came true by following the 12 Steps of Narcotics Anonymous. I found God, my higher power who, as a result of my spiritual experience, freed me from my over-powering addiction to drugs and lust for sex, power, money and pride.
What a relief. Now, I could get on with my life, get an education, a better job, have more money, better sexual relations with my wife. It worked and I prospered in all these areas. Yet, the more I prospered the less time I had for my Higher Power, no time any more for morning prayer, meditation and daily inventory, no time for helping those less fortunate than myself and I became obsessed with the matter of prosperity. Beginning to feel an emptiness over-powering me, I tried to fill this void with more sex, power, money and pride. These very things brought me to my knees again after 23 years of participation in Narcotics Anonymous. My body was clean and sober for these years, yet my mind was deteriorating and again addicted to the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. I began to brag about my accomplishments, steal from my employer, tried to find sexual satisfaction outside of marriage. I was feeling afraid and powerless again, so I started carrying a gun, transferring my Higher Power in the heavens above to the power in my hand, like I had thirty-three years earlier in high school. It felt really good to be in control again. Being different now seemed ok because I was different, in a superior sort of way. I acquired a pilot's license, joined the Civil Air Patrol. The life of inferiority was gone. There was no resemblance of that scared little boy before Narcotics Anonymous or that so-called spiritual giant after N.A. I was now in a dimension far beyond the simplicity and boredom of everyday life. I had arrived and had been transformed from a wimp into a powerful and self-made giant in control of myself and those around me. It felt good until, in moments of contemplation, I began to think. Think about how lonely I had become, having alienated myself from my family and the people who truly loved me. During these moments I would get twinges of desperation, realizing the foundations of my life were quickly crumbling and that my life could, in an instance, come to an unexpected end, especially after taking a shot with my Saturday Night Special at a man stealing a piece of junk carpet worth about $15.00 out of my cabin in the woods. At this point the progression of my insanity said that murder was an option. Yes, I had arrived for sure, but arrived at a place that was more confusing than at any time in my life, full of empty accomplishments.
Life had let me down again. Why go on? Every direction I go in seems to be wrong. Where is truth? Where is meaning? What is my end to be? How come every direction I go in detours me to a dead end? I tried really hard to stop thinking this way. In my final analysis I saw this scared and abandoned little boy, this time clothed in an old man's body, with all the fineries of life, yet completely devoid of anything spiritually worthwhile. I thought at times to turn that Saturday Night Special on myself and end the confusion that had overpowered my life. But, in a moment of clarity, I reflected on the death of my own mother, who hanged herself in a county jail at the age of thirty-nine, when I was fourteen years old. My father, also an alcoholic, died in a head-on collision with a semi-truck when I was twenty-eight and in the program for just four months. I still had enough compassion left not to want my offspring to live with this feeling of rejection and abandonment.
I was now ready to give up, but to whom? How? What do I do next? Many questions, yet no answers I could hear. I became a deaf man walking. And still, the emptiness began to magnify itself until I was swallowed up in a life of sin that was impossible for me to flee from. Yet I could not flee from my Higher Power who still had love and compassion for this degraded Human Being while I was yet a sinner.
Because He loved me so much He began to strip me of the very things that were killing me. He took my job with its mid-management position after twenty-nine years of faithful service. He took my pride. He had me arrested and put my name in the news paper for a crime that could put me in prison for twenty years. He took my money and my retirement. But, most importantly, He took away the lust for the things of this world and changed my heart of stone into a heart of flesh. He said those who steal, steal no more, but work with your hands to provide for those less fortunate. I listened and started my own landscaping company and now have the right power in my hands: a hoe, a shovel, and a rake. These give me power to change lives, especially mine, by providing work, a home, and a family for the brokenhearted, the homeless and the abandoned and those transitioning out of prison. I have three homes for this purpose and have become a chaplain with the Oregon Department of Corrections. I am no longer lonely and unloved and the only excess in my life now is love for the brokenhearted.
Through the surrendered life my hearing and my life have been restored to what I was meant to be, not a giant but a servant.
It's all about power: power to choose, power to forgive, power to go on through the power of surrender.
My Higher Power said He would restore my good name and He has. And now He has buried my sins in the depth of the sea and put up a sign that says 'No Fishing Allowed'. His name is God.
The road best traveled is the one that selects a Higher Power who has the power to change lives, is personal, compassionate, convicting when we go astray, who will help us endure our hardships but, most of all, be with us to celebrate our victories. Narcotics Anonymous has given us all the right and ability to choose, but for enduring victory we must choose. The choice is ours. It is personal and unique to each one of us. The right choice has given me a balanced life, a hope and a future that is meaningful, productive and, like our book says, we can become acceptable, responsible and productive members of society. I have. It works. At the time of this writing, January 1, 2007 I am seventy-two years young with forty-four years of being clean , dating back to my first encounter with Narcotics Anonymous on March 21, 1962. I have been married for fifty-one years, have seven children, seven-teen grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. It's been a rough and scary ride. So my advice to the newcomer is to stay on the saddle of self-control, hang on to the horn of hope, work the steps, and let your Higher Power take the reigns, for your salvation draws near.
Thank you Jimmy Kinnon, my mentor and friend. Thank you Narcotics Anonymous, my life. And I thank my Higher Power, my lighthouse. WE DO RECOVER!
Your Special Friend Always,
Gene H. - Portland, Oregon
Portland, Oregon
Tarnished Recovery
The Road Most Traveled
How come ain't nobody don't like me? Funny words from a song of the 40's or 50's. I wasn't that different and people sometimes said they did like me, but I've seen liars before, lots of 'em. The truth is, they did like what they saw: the blue eyes, blonde hair, long eyelashes, blue suede shoes, peg-leg pants, sweat shirt and leather jacket. I looked cool and powerful in my '32 Ford, 5-window coup with a Saturday Night Special under the seat. They did like what they saw, but if they looked any deeper they would see a heart filled with fear and plenty of it, loaded with jealousy, resentment, loneliness and down-right panic and a feeling that some day soon they would somehow discover that scared and abandoned little boy clothed in a young man's body.
They didn't find out, because when the going got tough I went into hiding. Hiding from them, but most of all hiding from my self. My hiding place was like a covering just waiting for my call and so I called and called and called for the only thing that I knew of to bring instant comfort, and that was alcohol, pills, heroin, Benzedrine, legal prescriptions and combinations of all those items. Still, the most comforting was the insane asylum in 1961-62. Yet fear followed me wherever I went. The drugs stopped working, the asylum stopped working, even the freedom in my ½ escapes from the asylum didn't work. I was afraid to be locked up and afraid to be free; I was afraid to live and afraid to die. There seemed to be no where to turn. So as a last resort I began to pray. I prayed to St. Jude, the Catholic's patron saint of hopeless and desperate cases. To my surprise it worked. Within a short time of my release from the asylum I found some well-meaning, compassionate people who said if I would follow their way I could find peace and a meaningful life. I tried it and it worked. The promises they gave me came true by following the 12 Steps of Narcotics Anonymous. I found God, my higher power who, as a result of my spiritual experience, freed me from my over-powering addiction to drugs and lust for sex, power, money and pride.
What a relief. Now, I could get on with my life, get an education, a better job, have more money, better sexual relations with my wife. It worked and I prospered in all these areas. Yet, the more I prospered the less time I had for my Higher Power, no time any more for morning prayer, meditation and daily inventory, no time for helping those less fortunate than myself and I became obsessed with the matter of prosperity. Beginning to feel an emptiness over-powering me, I tried to fill this void with more sex, power, money and pride. These very things brought me to my knees again after 23 years of participation in Narcotics Anonymous. My body was clean and sober for these years, yet my mind was deteriorating and again addicted to the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. I began to brag about my accomplishments, steal from my employer, tried to find sexual satisfaction outside of marriage. I was feeling afraid and powerless again, so I started carrying a gun, transferring my Higher Power in the heavens above to the power in my hand, like I had thirty-three years earlier in high school. It felt really good to be in control again. Being different now seemed ok because I was different, in a superior sort of way. I acquired a pilot's license, joined the Civil Air Patrol. The life of inferiority was gone. There was no resemblance of that scared little boy before Narcotics Anonymous or that so-called spiritual giant after N.A. I was now in a dimension far beyond the simplicity and boredom of everyday life. I had arrived and had been transformed from a wimp into a powerful and self-made giant in control of myself and those around me. It felt good until, in moments of contemplation, I began to think. Think about how lonely I had become, having alienated myself from my family and the people who truly loved me. During these moments I would get twinges of desperation, realizing the foundations of my life were quickly crumbling and that my life could, in an instance, come to an unexpected end, especially after taking a shot with my Saturday Night Special at a man stealing a piece of junk carpet worth about $15.00 out of my cabin in the woods. At this point the progression of my insanity said that murder was an option. Yes, I had arrived for sure, but arrived at a place that was more confusing than at any time in my life, full of empty accomplishments.
Life had let me down again. Why go on? Every direction I go in seems to be wrong. Where is truth? Where is meaning? What is my end to be? How come every direction I go in detours me to a dead end? I tried really hard to stop thinking this way. In my final analysis I saw this scared and abandoned little boy, this time clothed in an old man's body, with all the fineries of life, yet completely devoid of anything spiritually worthwhile. I thought at times to turn that Saturday Night Special on myself and end the confusion that had overpowered my life. But, in a moment of clarity, I reflected on the death of my own mother, who hanged herself in a county jail at the age of thirty-nine, when I was fourteen years old. My father, also an alcoholic, died in a head-on collision with a semi-truck when I was twenty-eight and in the program for just four months. I still had enough compassion left not to want my offspring to live with this feeling of rejection and abandonment.
I was now ready to give up, but to whom? How? What do I do next? Many questions, yet no answers I could hear. I became a deaf man walking. And still, the emptiness began to magnify itself until I was swallowed up in a life of sin that was impossible for me to flee from. Yet I could not flee from my Higher Power who still had love and compassion for this degraded Human Being while I was yet a sinner.
Because He loved me so much He began to strip me of the very things that were killing me. He took my job with its mid-management position after twenty-nine years of faithful service. He took my pride. He had me arrested and put my name in the news paper for a crime that could put me in prison for twenty years. He took my money and my retirement. But, most importantly, He took away the lust for the things of this world and changed my heart of stone into a heart of flesh. He said those who steal, steal no more, but work with your hands to provide for those less fortunate. I listened and started my own landscaping company and now have the right power in my hands: a hoe, a shovel, and a rake. These give me power to change lives, especially mine, by providing work, a home, and a family for the brokenhearted, the homeless and the abandoned and those transitioning out of prison. I have three homes for this purpose and have become a chaplain with the Oregon Department of Corrections. I am no longer lonely and unloved and the only excess in my life now is love for the brokenhearted.
Through the surrendered life my hearing and my life have been restored to what I was meant to be, not a giant but a servant.
It's all about power: power to choose, power to forgive, power to go on through the power of surrender.
My Higher Power said He would restore my good name and He has. And now He has buried my sins in the depth of the sea and put up a sign that says 'No Fishing Allowed'. His name is God.
The road best traveled is the one that selects a Higher Power who has the power to change lives, is personal, compassionate, convicting when we go astray, who will help us endure our hardships but, most of all, be with us to celebrate our victories. Narcotics Anonymous has given us all the right and ability to choose, but for enduring victory we must choose. The choice is ours. It is personal and unique to each one of us. The right choice has given me a balanced life, a hope and a future that is meaningful, productive and, like our book says, we can become acceptable, responsible and productive members of society. I have. It works. At the time of this writing, January 1, 2007 I am seventy-two years young with forty-four years of being clean , dating back to my first encounter with Narcotics Anonymous on March 21, 1962. I have been married for fifty-one years, have seven children, seven-teen grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. It's been a rough and scary ride. So my advice to the newcomer is to stay on the saddle of self-control, hang on to the horn of hope, work the steps, and let your Higher Power take the reigns, for your salvation draws near.
Thank you Jimmy Kinnon, my mentor and friend. Thank you Narcotics Anonymous, my life. And I thank my Higher Power, my lighthouse. WE DO RECOVER!
Your Special Friend Always,
Gene H. - Portland, Oregon