Changing Lanes

Originally posted January 19, 2008

Over the course of the past couple of months, many people have commented on my strength, perseverance, will to succeed and overall courage. Though I took such comments humbly, I was always left feeling as if I had some larger shoes to fill - that I was being lifted on a pedestal for others to scrutinize, study, deconstruct, etc. I was, and always will be, a fighter. But to think that others felt safe around me, were inspired by me, had faith in me, trusted me, learned from me - well, that just couldn't be, you know, me. You'd have to understand the context within which these comments were given, I suppose, in order to gain insight into my overwhelming desire to simply wipe away these characteristics of my psyche as too supernatural to assign to me. For you see, I was a drug addict. To them, anyway. In my understanding of things, I am and always will be an addict. Now, I am recovering.

Heroes were never my thing. They belonged in comic books and Saturday morning cartoon shows. They wore unitards, tights, flashy boots, had hot bodies, displayed feats of pure magic, and conquered the world. I never aspired to be like anyone and never modeled my life after anyone. Being a southern boy, born and bred, it was my nature to be charming, polite, moral and kind-hearted. Moving to Philadelphia 15 years ago did not really make me jaded - it only hardened me to the slings and arrows of life. I'd like to think that my successes could be attributed to my lingering southern charm and idealistic view of the world. But deep inside me, the pain was there. Being gay was a part of it. Being a loner was a part of it. The greatest pain though, in my view, was the constant craving of acceptance. I would do anything to fit in, within reason, until reason no longer defined my path and the pull of drugs took over. I was eventually speeding in that fast lane (oh, how cliche), always thinking that I was only coasting in the slow lane.

You don't need to watch but so many TV shows, hear so many sad songs, see so many dramatic movies, before you understand that art imitates life. The life of addiction will ride you hard, strip you of your asphalt, recycle your treads, and smear your ass all over the countryside until you are but a forgotten Route 66. There are no guardrails, no fellow drivers for hundreds of miles, and no rest stops where you may quench your thirst. Drugs will destroy your soul. The end.

When I decided to stop the madness that I'd been living in, I had the strength to call my own intervention. You don't just call up a couple of friends and discuss rehabilitation over cocktails and finger foods. You get down to the nitty-gritty and you cry, and scream, and beg, and plead, and apologize (oh my dear god, how you apologize) until every ounce of energy is unleashed in a flurry of emotions. You are stripped bare for the world to see until humility is all you can feel. And then, when it seems that all you can do is crawl from one minute to the next - and every hour seems like a day - you begin to grow. I liken it to becoming an infant again. You learn to build relationships from scratch. You learn that love really can be unconditional, and boy that is the best part of this recovery. Not only can I receive love, but it pours forth like the blood in my veins and reaches out to every suffering soul that I encounter. What a divine find.

So, back to heroes. I have them now. When I decided to ride along in the slow lane, I was able to take a different view and actually open my eyes to the people who have, either directly or indirectly, been responsible for my new life-lease. I've lost many friends, but I've gained a few dozen super-friends. I could name them all here, but they know who they are. I can't ever begin to repay them for their sacrifices and charity, but I can be the strong, persevering, successful and courageous man they knew me to be - and hope against all odds - that I will be again.

Namaste and blessed be.