Dana

It has become apparent to me that the time has come for me to move on in my life. I came to Boston almost 4 years ago, a desperate and broken mess. I was trying to drink myself to death in the evenings, but when the first daylight broke my eyelids I would be in a panic searching for my bottle, trying to fend off the shakes, delirium tremens and alcoholic seizure. I had seen all this world had to offer and I wanted to see no more. May 10th, 2006 I woke up just like every morning, dry heaves, shakes, trying to put enough wine down my throat just to be able to get my bearings on what that upcoming day would hold. And just like every other day, it took me down the road of alcoholic insanity. While drinking, I was wondering where the next drink was coming from and how I was going to get it. That day, I remember this so vividly, I had decided I had drinken enough that day. Not but 10 minutes later, I found myself going to the fridge, grabbing my bottle to take "one last swig". When I tipped the bottle to my lips, I found myself physically incapable of pulling it away. The few seconds it took my to guzzle a whole bottle of Night Train seemed like an eternity. Like trying to pick a weight that is to heavy for one to lift, no matter how much I wanted to, or even how hard I physically tried I could not pull the bottle from my lips, and I cried. I cried for the broken man I had become, cried for the monster I thought I was, cried for the mother who didn't know her son, cried for a wife who had to leave the husband she had lost the fight with heroin over only 6 years prior. I cried for the heart who couldn't go on one more minute in this world with a conscious connection to what had become of it's host. To no surprise I went into a blackout only moments later.
I came out of that blackout, in Amarillo, Texas on May 12th, on a Greyhound bus. I had two things in my hand. A half finished liter of what seemed to be one part Mountain Dew, four parts gin, and a ticket stub, bound for Boston. At the bottom of that ticket stub was written, "Get sober, ASSHOLE!!!", in my handwriting. It seems like just yesterday somedays and other days it seems like another lifetime. I don't remember having any intention to get sober, or become employed or get housed, or assimilate any sense of responsibility. All I knew then was that (a) Everytime I drank, I died, and (b) Everytime I didn't drink, I died, and that I just wanted to stop dying. Living wasn't neccessarily an option either.
If you are reading this, I assume you have read other posts by me and realize I am obviously not that man today. I have become an active member in a 12 Step group in which I am actually a trusted member and have even had the honor of sharing my experience with others. I have a pretty intense Buddhist practice and I have developed an interest in social justice. Which is why I, again, decide to write this long put off blog.
I am moving back to the west coast. Not that things are neccessarily bad here in Boston but I have things that I have to take care of. I haven't seen my family in years. Also, and more importantly, through sobriety and a meditation practice, I have learned that not only do I have dreams but that I am completely capable of following them. I have a penchant for wanting to help others. I have seen where my experience can benefit others. I want to live in a community with more Buddhist resources and I also would like to someday work with at-risk and troubled youth.
It seems though, that the closer and closer I get to that becoming a reality, the more and more adverse I get to it. I love my friends here in Boston. I love them a whole hell of a lot that I don't think there are words to express my love and undying gratitude. They helped me when I, not only, thought I was unhelpable but unworthy as well. I hate that I am using so many cliche's but they loved me till I was able to love myself. It is through that love, and the growth that stemmed from that, that I believe it is now my responsibility to chase my dreams.
I would have been perfectly content to live out my days here in Boston, always second guessing, "should-have-I?", but I believe as a compassionate member of the human race, it is my obligation to prove that it can be done. For the doubters, there needs to be proof that someone who came from such depths of depravity is afforded the chance to redeem himself, were he to just have the willingness to continue growing. It is my job to give hope to those who have none. Not to say I am this great leader of men, but that hope and truth are found in places that are normally not associated with such qualities. If a low-life, street thug, junkie, drunkard can find redemption and someday even turn around and give back to a society he once despised, to give back to the next generation of confused youth, more pawned off on the television and phony role models de jour, than it is possible for anyone. I know that to be true and it is my job, AND HONOR, to show how I did it.
To those who came before me, to those who walk with me, to those who have yet to stumble our way, from the dark alleys of wasted American teenage throw-aways, I promise I won't stop trying and striving.
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