I went to a speaker's meeting tonight. Something that was said is reverberating in my mind: that the addict/alcoholic chases the experience.

This is so true: how many times have I tried to chase the first high that cocaine or heroin gave me, how many times have I tried to reclaim that first medicated and peaceful moment? I have always had such pride in being a very hardcore person. If there was something that someone just wouldn't do, I would do it, bigger and better. If there was a situation that called for crazy shenanigans, you bet I would be the instigator. When I found a willing participant, I would not stop until I had them doing something that they swore they would never do. I brag not about these experiences anymore, I use them now to illustrate my point, which is that I would do anything just to say that I did and survived. I've lived through experiences that are most inhospitable to survival, flaunting these precious gifts that God has given me: life and forgiveness.

A friend of mine recently said something that shocked the group of addicts/alcoholics that were gathered: that he would try to get as close to death as possible. I recall exactly how I felt when he said these words, a mixture of emotions such as understanding, empathy, sadness that someone else did precisely what I had done, happiness that I was not the only one who had done such things, and the budding realization that the way I had been living my life was not the way that any Higher Power would have deemed satisfactory.

The idea that I had been guided back to treatment was now more than theory; it was reality. There is a reason that I went to treatment, that I was caught living a sordid double life. That reason is something that all addicts/alkies must discover for themselves. For me, going back into treatment has been a decision made not by me, as pride is the reason that I fell from grace. For me, returning to treatment is the only way I may reclaim my soul and save my life, because the next time I go out, the scenario will most likely end in a poorly attended funeral. Those that love and care about me know that I am not the demonic addict that dwells within, but a loving, caring mother of a preschooler, someone who loves her friends and family unconditionally, someone who has hopes and dreams, a woman who can and will do anything to ensure survival.

Now I begin to chase a new experience: recovery. Tonight, I asked someone to be my sponsor, and she accepted. We will begin working the steps, and instead of me doing the 1-2-3-step shuffle, I am throwing myself into this program with complete abandon, because it's the only way I am going to survive. Today, I am thankful for recovery, but also that I am an addict/alcoholic. I'm grateful for those that have stood by my side through the worst of it, helping me to keep standing, and teaching me that this life is worth saving.