Narcotics Anonymous Meeting
This is part 4 of a continuing story.
Here is part 1: The Fool’s Journey
Here is part 2: The Magnetic Messiah
Here is part 3: Lost In Lucid Shadows
Here is part 5: DIY Sensory Deprivation Tank
Here is part 6: The Joy Of Homelessness
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Chapter 1: Before the Meeting Starts
I don’t want to be here. It had been five days since my last “experiment,” a disastrous attempt at lucid dreaming that ended with me trapped in the worst parts of my own mind. Still, no amount of reluctance can save me from this weekly sentence: Friday night Narcotics Anonymous meeting at Our Lady of Perpetual Help, led by Sister Louise.
It is a court-ordered attendance, all due to my disorderly conduct incident at Huntington Gardens. I mean, honestly, I thought those garden statues could use some modesty. Giving my jacket to a half-naked terracotta nymph seemed like a good idea at the time, until the security guard found me mid-flashback, in the process of toppling the statue onto the grass.
So, here I am, in a room with eight to ten strangers, trying to clear my probation and avoid jail time.
The usual crowd was here tonight. There’s Mark, the former Mongol biker, who chain-smokes like it’s an Olympic event. Lydia, with her red and green hair, always sips coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. And me? I’m trying desperately to stifle my giggling at every little thing as I come down from a nitrous oxide high. I had hoped huffing whipped cream in my car would put me in a nice, relaxed state by now, but I’m as nervous as a balloon at a porcupine convention.
Chapter 2: The Start Of The Meeting
Sister Louise opened the meeting with her calm, saintly presence.
“Okay, you sorry reprobates, sit the fudge down! The meeting should have started ten minutes ago. We only have an hour tonight. The church choir needs extra practice time for the Assumption of Mary service. Jim, would you lead us in the Serenity Prayer?”
Jim is a grizzled, tall, lanky, Vietnam veteran wearing a camo cap with matching T-shirt and pants stood and bowed his head in respect. In a clear, soft voice, he said,
“O God, give us the serenity to accept what cannot be changed, the courage to change what can be changed, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
“Thank you, Jim. Alright, is there anybody that would like to go first?” said Sister Louise.
One by one, the attendees took their turns, sharing their stories of recovery, mostly in that monotone I’ve come to associate with people who’ve been through this far too many times. Honestly, I wasn’t really paying attention. I was too busy trying not to stare at Mary’s runic tattoo above her ample right breast, barely covered by her deep V-neck blouse. The rune, I swear, was exactly the same as the one I saw on that bird god before it banished me in my latest experimental failure. But soon the testimonies caught my attention as they started getting…more extreme.
Chapter 3: Lydia
Lydia volunteered to go first. She gave a small smile while nervously gripping her coffee cup.
“Hi, I’m Lydia, and I’m an addict,” she started, voice trembling but sincere.
“Hi, Lydia,” we all echoed back.
“I’ve struggled with meth addiction for five years,” she continued. “It started when I was working two jobs, trying to keep up with my bills. Before I knew it, I was using just to get through the day. I lost everything. My job, my family, and I ended up homeless. My rock bottom came when I was living in a shelter and overheard some kids talking about how they didn’t want to end up like me.”
She looked down, embarrassed. “I checked myself into rehab that week. It wasn’t easy. I hated every minute of it at first. The detox alone was enough to make me want to crawl out of my skin. But slowly, I learned about boundaries. I started understanding the triggers that made me use and why I turned to meth in the first place. It wasn’t just to stay awake. It was to numb the pain.”
Lydia took a deep breath. “Now I go to meetings, I’ve got a sponsor, and I’m learning how to live without running away from everything. I’ve been sober for three weeks, and while I still have cravings, especially when life gets tough, I remind myself that I’m stronger than this. I even got a job again, which I never thought would happen.”
She smiled, almost relieved to be done. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that if I can do this, anyone can. It’s hard, but it’s worth it. I’m learning to love myself again.”
“Thank you, Lydia,” Sister Louise said warmly.
Chapter 4: Mark
Next, Mark stood up. He stretched, like someone settling into an old habit, and wiped his hands on his jeans.
“Hey, I’m Mark, and I’m an addict,” he said, voice steady and strong.
“Hi, Mark,” we all chimed in.
“I was on coke for ten years. Got hooked when I was running with a biker gang. The drugs gave me energy, like I could take on the whole damn world. But, as you know, that kind of life doesn’t last long. I lost my home, I lost my family and worst yet my bike. Pauses for laughter from the group. He chuckles, no I’m joking, I nearly lost my life. I’d been in and out of hospitals with heart issues. Thought I was invincible, but the docs told me otherwise.”
He paused, taking a breath. “What really changed things for me was when I ended up in jail. It wasn’t even the first time, by a long shot. But this time it hit different. I was sitting in that cell, and I realized no one was coming for me. No gang brothers, no friends, no family. I was alone. That’s when I knew I had to get out for good. I signed up for a program in prison, went through the steps, and really worked the program. I’ve been sober for six months now.”
Mark rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “The biggest lesson I learned? You can’t do this alone. You need people, whether it’s your sponsor, the group, or even people you’ve hurt. I had to apologize to a lot of people along the way, and that was probably harder than getting sober.”
He cracked a grin. “But hey, it’s been worth it. I’ve reconnected with my sister, and I’m finally living in my own place. I’m not saying it’s easy . There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t think about using . But now I’ve got the tools. I’m working through it, one day at a time.”
His grin softened into something more genuine. “If you’re sitting here thinking you can’t get clean, I’m living proof that you can. You just gotta take the first step.”
“Thank you, Mark,” Sister Louise said, nodding approvingly.
Chapter 5: Mary
Then it was Mary’s turn. She stood gracefully, tucking her hair behind her ear as she faced the group.
“Hi, I’m Mary, and I’m an addict,” she said, her voice clear and calm.
“Hi, Mary,” we all echoed.
“I’ve been battling heroin and alcohol addiction for seven years,” she began. “I used to be a straight A student, but after I lost my parents in a car accident, everything fell apart. I jumped from alcohol to heroin addiction fast. Desperate in my need to escape from grief. But as you all know, it comes at a price. I overdosed three times and was in and out of rehabs. My wake-up call came when my best friend overdosed and died right next to me. I couldn’t save her and that guilt still haunts me.”
She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “But I got help. I finally found a rehab where something clicked. The counselors there didn’t just treat me like another case; they made me feel human. They reminded me that my life had value. Slowly, I started to believe them. I started practicing mindfulness and meditation to handle the cravings. I began repairing my relationships with the people I’d hurt. It’s only been two months since I been sober. Every day is a fight, but I’m still standing.”
Mary’s expression softened as she continued. “I’ve learned that forgiveness starts with yourself. I used to think I didn’t deserve recovery, but now I know that’s not true. We all deserve a second chance. And in my case second, third, hell I fogotten how many chances I’m on now.”
She smiled faintly. “I hope you all know that, too. If I can come back from where I was, you can too. We’re all stronger than we think.”
“Thank you, Mary,” Sister Louise said, her voice full of empathy.
Chapter 6: Jim
Next, Jim stood up, taking a deep breath before speaking. He was calm, almost too calm, like he’d rehearsed this a thousand times. (Probably had.)
“Hi, I’m Jim, and I’m an addict,” he said in his deep, deliberate voice.
“Hi, Jim,” we all responded.
“I’ve been clean for 15 years now, but it wasn’t always like that. I was hooked on PCP for a long time. It made me think I was invincible. I got into a lot of fights, ended up in the hospital more times than I can count. But my real low point came when I found myself in a swamp, convinced I was a bear. Yeah, you heard me right, a bear.”
A few stifled chuckles came from the group, but Jim stayed serious.
“I spent three days living in the woods, growling at campers, digging through trash, convinced I had found my true calling. I even tried to fight a Rottweiler because I thought it was a rival bear. The dog wasn’t too happy about that, and neither was animal control when they found me covered in mud. Eating from a pic-a-nic basket I’d stolen. Hey-Hey-Hey. I’m smarter than the average bear!”
After pausing for the laughter at his stupid Yogi bear joke.
Jim sighed, shaking his head. “That was my rock bottom. When I finally got out of the hospital, I realized I had nothing left. No family, no friends, and no job. That’s when I checked into rehab. The program was tough, but my sponsor never gave up on me, even when I gave up on myself.”
Jim looked around the room, his face softening. “The biggest lesson I learned? You have to forgive yourself for the stupid stuff you did. It’s not easy, but without self-forgiveness, you can’t move forward. I’ve been able to rebuild my life. I’ve got a job again and I reconnected with my kids and I’m here to help others who are still struggling.”
He paused for a moment, his voice growing more hopeful. “Recovery isn’t a straight path. You’re gonna stumble, but if you keep going, you’ll make it. If I can come back from thinking I was a bear, you can come back from whatever you’re going through.”
“Thank you, Jim,” Sister Louise said, as the room sat in reflective silence.
I had to admit, I was impressed. Each story had gotten more extreme and personal than the last. Somehow, these people kept topping one another. How was I supposed to follow up with my tale of experimental failures. All I had was visions of divine light and then a tentacled chaos monster. So what? What had I done to get sober? Hell, I wasn’t even sober now. How can I say everything is going to be all right? When most definately everything has not gone right and was not right with me?
Chapter 7: My Testimony
Suddenly, Sister Louise called my name. My stomach dropped. There was no dodging this time. I set my coffee down, cleared my throat, and stood up, reluctantly giving in to the inevitable.
“Hello, I’m Jerry, and I’m an addict.”
“Hi, Jerry,” echoed the familiar, slightly bored chorus from the circle. I could already feel the judgment oozing from their expressions. I decided I better not tell them how long I have been sober. Seeing as I’m currently high on nitrous oxide and it’s against the rules.
“So, uh, yeah… the past week has been… interesting,” I started, feeling the weight of the silence. “I’ve been, uh, trying to transcend. You know, like, meet God. The usual stuff.”
Eyes were already rolling. But I forged ahead.
“It started with something I call the ‘Chinese Golden Elixir.’ A mixture of psychoactive ingredients; Ketamine, DMT, psilocybin, and Salvia. I thought it’d take me to the divine. And uh…, briefly I was within the light of God. Then everything turned dark. Suddenly, I’m being chased by this chaos monster with tentacles and it ate me. Of course, it didn’t really, but after I woke up, I felt like my whole body was melting. No one likes going around with melting body parts,” I let out a brief giggle.
A few horrified stares met my gaze, and I could feel the audience’s patience thinning, but I pressed on.
Next, I thought biohacking might help where the Elixir failed, so I built a magnetic helmet. Its strong local magnetic fields combined with electric stimulation were supposed to unlock parts of the brain no one’s used since we were cavemen, got it?And for a moment, I really thought I was connecting with alien gods. Beings of light and all that. But then my ADHD kicked in and I didn’t pass the cosmic test. I was banished back to Earth. I woke up with a killer headache. No divine messages, no divine powers; just an awful migraine.
Lydia sipped her coffee, glancing sideways at Mark, who looked more bored than horrified. My stories were clearly wearing thin.
“Do these setbacks stop me? No! If I can’t make transcendence while awake, I’ll do it while asleep! No drugs, no biohacking, just peaceful relaxing guided meditation. I’ve learned how to do the Monroe Method . Training my consciousness to leave my body and move in my etheric body through the astral planes of consciousness. I learned how to move about in lucid dreams. Just like the Senoi tribe of Malaysia, I mastered my dreams, bending reality to my will as I slept. My goal was to use my dreams to heal me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. And with the hope of lucid dreaming also grant me transcendent wisdom to guide my life.”
I glance around the room. Things were not going well. Several of the group were whispering quietly to each other. Jim was positively glaring at me. Even Sister Louise was looking at her watch. How do I break through to them and let them know I’m hurting?
I wiped my brow, feeling sweat break out. My voice cracked slightly. “I made a big mistake. I went in unprepared. This time was the worst. I was deep-diving into lucid dreaming, trying to — ” I stammered, feeling a surge of emotion welling up. “I was trying to… to break free of everything, but instead, I saw it all; every bad memory. Every horrible thing I’ve been through. My foster home. The beatings. The cult. The manipulation. It all came back.”
I paused, wiping at my eyes. My hands were shaking now. I tried to stifle a sob, but it slipped through.
“They… they all lied to me. They promised they would love me. But I keep running. I keep running from it all. But it won’t stop, and it won’t go away. I… I thought the dreams would save me, but… but they didn’t.”
My breath hitched as I wiped away more tears, but the memories kept flooding back. The sob I had tried to control broke loose into a wail.
“I just wanted to escape,” I choked out, my voice cracking as I lost control. “I wanted to be free of it all! I wanted to stop the pain!”
Chapter 8: Close Of Meeting
The room was silent, and I could feel their eyes on me — some uncomfortable, some indifferent. A few gave awkward claps, but I could tell this wasn’t the sharing they were used to. I had made a mess of it.
Jim, ever stoic, shook his head. “Yes, YOU want what WE have. WE don’t want what YOU have. We already had it, and we’re DONE WITH IT. We don’t stay sober by listening to people that are high; we stay sober by listening to sober people. And remove that whip cream from under your nose. You look ridiculous.”
His words hit me like a slap, and I felt myself shrinking back into my chair. He was right, of course. As I wiped the whip cream away I thought, “What was I even doing here, babbling about my trips when I wasn’t even sober?”
Before I could collapse further into self-pity, Sister Louise stood up, her kind but firm voice cutting through the tension.
“Thank you, Jerry, for sharing,” she said, her tone somehow making me feel both comforted and ashamed. “We’ll have to wrap up early tonight so clear the room for choir practice. I’ll see you all next week.”
Chapter 9: Tough Love
“Jerry, please stay. I need to speak to you,” Sister Louise said firmly.
I shifted uneasily. I knew what was coming.
“Jerry, I’m going to be blunt,” Sister Louise began, her voice low but unyielding. “You violated the rules tonight, and that is not something I can overlook. Giving testimony while high is unacceptable. If this happens again, I will have to report you. No exceptions.”
Her eyes bore into me, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
“And no,” she added sharply, “I will not sign your probation card for attendance. Not tonight.”
My stomach sank, but before I could respond, she softened just a fraction.
“But…” Sister Louise’s tone gentled as she continued. “I want you to know it was very brave of you to share so much of the pain you’re carrying. You don’t have to do it alone. Next time, please call on your higher power when you need help, instead of turning to… other things. We are still trying to find someone to sponsor you.”
I nodded slowly, looking down at myfeet. “I understand,” I said, trying to sound convincing. Inside, though, a familiar thought churned — All I’ve ever done is try to reach my higher power.
“I promise,” I said out loud. “Next time, I’ll be sober when I share.”
And just like that, it was over. The motley crew shuffled out, lighting cigarettes and exchanging half-hearted farewells. As I left the church, I couldn’t help but wonder if Jim was right. Maybe it was time to stop chasing gods and start chasing sobriety. Or just maybe, I will reach my higher power.
But first, I really needed a drink. Of coffee, of course.
All personal statements were written by me and edited for spelling and grammar by ChatGPT. Sections of this article have been refined by AI to enhance comprehensibility and to provide facts that only online search engines would know.
© David Speakman 2024
