When I finally got settled in my cell, on the top bunch, my pain level from my back injury was through the roof. In the blackness of my soul I heard a small voice, one of those invisible people asking "Where are you?" I cried even harder. I was so lost. And I heard it again "Where are you?" My only answer was, I don't know.
I spent 11 days in the county jail. At my first appearance I told the judge I took full responsibility. Yes I was guilty. What else was I supposed to do. I was guilty and I had to pay the price. I could not lay on the top bunk because of my back hurting so bad I could not climb the ladder. I put my mattress on the floor and Debbie arranged to have my prescription pillow brought in. I spent most of my time on my mat, reading. I don't even know what I read, I just had to keep my mind off the question that kept going through my head, Where are you?
There were a lot of women who had messages of hope for me. They saw that I did not belong there. This is not who I really was. They knew I was lost, and they did their best to help me find my path. So many nights we prayed, and sang hymns after the lights went out. Still the question, Where are you?
Chuck had talked his lawyer into taking my case, and 11 days later Debbie talked to the judge and told him that I was getting really bad mentally and that if I didn't get released RoR, I was not going to do well. She knew I would not go any where, my life was fully and completely here. He allowed me out RoR and eventually I was given 18 months probation which upon completion I would not have a record. I had fines to pay and probation fees, but I was not going to stay in jail.
During my 11 days in jail, I didn't get real coffee except when Debbie, knowing I was really wanting a real cup of coffee, would call me down to her office. I would sit and talk with her and drink a couple of cups of real coffee, and then go back to the cell. Everyone in the pod, knew I was going crazy without coffee. It was my lifeline.
I think it was a Monday when there was an Narcotics Anonymous meeting in the jail. I didn't want to go, they were not going to help me any more than anyone else had. BUT there was going to be all the coffee I could drink in an hour. So I went, but JUST FOR THE COFFEE.
There were a couple of women in the room when we went in. I hit the coffee pot first, and then sat down. They started the meeting and the Woman said her name, and that she was an addict. Yeah Yeah. She started talking about her story, and about how God had helped her find the program. I started getting a warm tingling feeling and something just struck a cord. I knew that this was Gods answer to my prayers. I had to go to these meetings.
I got out of jail on a Tuesday, there was a meeting that night. Chuck had paid to get my car out of impound so I dug out the only decent set of clothes I had, and I set off to the meeting. I was so nervous. These people could never understand.
I walked into the room, looked around, and just took an inventory of those that were seated. There was an old guy with a hat that reminded me of Dad's fishing hat. He was an addict? That old guy? Then there was some young people and a couple and this guy that looked like a bum. He really caught my attention. He had long straggly hair, a long beard and mustache that were matted and dirty, and his clothes looked like they had not been washed in weeks. Yep he was a bum. Must be here for the donuts.
As I looked around I did exactly what most of the first timers to the rooms DO, I said I didn't belong here, and if felt a hand hit me in the back of the head and said "Yes you DO!" so I got a cup of coffee, and I sat down.
The group chairperson opened the meeting with the serenity prayer which I learned was the way it was always done. The we went around the room introducing ourselves. Everyone was Hi, my name is so and so and I am an addict. BUT THEN we came to the bum. He said "Hi I am an addict, MY PROBLEM is Chris." HUH?? He must have said that wrong. But I had this really strange feeling that I needed to listen to him. When he told his story, I realized that he was not just an ordinary bum. He said he had to work late and that he didn't get to go home and shower before the meeting, and he didn't want to miss the meeting. He said he worked building fences, and that it was a challenging job that he really didn't like. He talked about that a lot in the meetings.
He always introduced himself the same way, and he never wavered. His problem WAS himself. We got to know each other pretty well. A group would go to a restaurant for after meeting coffee, which was more an extension meeting if you needed it. Sometimes we would go to another members house and play games and just socialize. I always had to leave early so that I could go deliver the papers.
I realized, shortly after starting meetings, these were the secret meetings my Dad used to attend over the fire station. I tried to confirm it with my siblings. None of them seem to remember them. Again, God working in wonderous ways. It made me more connected to Dad, even though he has been gone for years.
It was New Years Eve of 1994 when a girl that had befriended me from the meeting asked me what I thought about Chris. I said he seemed like a really nice guy. I thought he really had a handle on his recovery, and I beleived he had a message for me. By the time it got back around to Chris, we were having orgies every night at this girls house and we were jumping bones. He was so incensed by it that he confronted me on the stairs leading up to the meeting room. This was in January. I had only been attending meetings since October, here we go again, tongues wagging, people judging. How am I supposed to get back where I need to be if this is going to happen all over again?
He told me he didn't want to talk to me ever again, he didn't give a damn about my problems, and he said "Make my name taste like shit in your mouth." I crumpled down the steps, he went into the meeting and I was broken all over again. How could I go into that room and face those people. AND THERE IT WAS AGAIN "WHERE ARE YOU???".
AND IT DAWNED ON ME, Here "I AM", help me. I can not go through this again. I would rather die, than face this all over again. I have no defenses. I have no place else to go. My tears dried up, I took a deep breath and went back into the room, and shared my story. I could not let this set me back, so I went to meetings every time a meeting was held.
Around February or March, an old biker/truck driver that attended meetings told me he had just bought a house. He said it was a nice sized house and he thought he might rent out a couple of bedrooms, sort of a boarding house thing. He had heard I lived in a warehouse, and would I be interested in renting a room. I jumped at the chance. Guy went to meetings, how bad could it be. So I moved into one of his spare rooms, and life was good.
We were all sitting around the table at the restaurant at an after meeting gathering when Chris came is beaming. He seemed to be in a really good mood. We had not spoken about the night on the stairs, and we were friendly enough with each other, but we were just two people who shared the meetings.
He had just gotten his motor cycle endorsement on his drivers license and he was showing everyone. He was so proud. It got passed around the table and I was the last to get it, as he was sitting to my right and it was going back to him next. I looked at it, but never saw the endorsement. I never got past his first name. "Your name is Michael," I squeaked "Nope, my Name is Chris" he said firmly. "But this says your name is Michael" and he said "Yeah, that was my sperm donors name. My name is Chris". I didn't matter, I saw it, his given Name is Michael. I felt the warmth go through my body, and I felt the whisper "THERE YOU ARE!"
I wasn't sure what was happening, but I felt for sure I was on The Road Back
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