10,958 Days Later

Looking back on 30 years of sustained recovery

I didn’t tell anyone in my personal life that I was in recovery until 2021.

It’s blindingly ironic that I continued to hold tight to this one tenet of 12 Step programs long after I stopped attending the meetings or following the guidelines. I was so fixated on hanging on to the anonymous part that I didn’t share my truth with those closest to me, and that’s not something I’m proud of.

Any kid who grew up knowing they were different learned award-level acting at an early age. I personally believe it’s the real reason so many queer kids are drawn to theater, because we could get some positive attention for doing something we already did every day just to survive. Truth is, I spent the first half of my life acting like someone else whether I was on stage or not. It was how I survived my childhood.

I acted like my home life was normal. I acted like school was stupid and that I was interested in the same people and the same music as everyone else because I didn’t want anything to make me stand out. I acted like I wasn’t abused and bullied. I acted like I wasn’t attracted to guys.

By the time I accepted that I had a problem with cocaine, I was in my early twenties serving the military on active duty. I was such a good actor that no one had any idea what I was doing or what it was doing to me.

I’d taken a week’s worth of leave with plans to party hard - alone - for several days. On the way home from scoring a pocket full of cocaine, I made a deal with myself that I was going to do it all at once and, if I didn’t die, I would give it up forever.

I should be dead. The story should have ended there, but I didn’t die, obviously. In fact, I didn’t even get high. I downed a bunch of coke and lay on the living room floor staring up at the ceiling fan until the sun came up. When it did, I drove two hours away from the base and crept into an AA meeting in Harlem where I was absolutely sure no one would give two shits about some strung out, cocaine-addicted flyboy.

I didn’t know anything about 12 Step meetings or how they worked, just that I was in trouble and needed to figure out how to get out of it. I can’t even tell you what possessed me to stand up when they asked newcomers to introduce themselves, but I did. After I managed to mumble “I’m Michael”, my throat constricted and my eyes clenched shut. At some point a hand touched my back and a voice broke the silence by whispering, “We ready when you ready, baby. You gonna be alright. It’s alright.”

“I’m Michael, and I don’t know what I am.”

“Hi, Michael!”

When someone asked how long I had (in recovery), I started to cry and somehow managed to say that I hadn’t used in six hours and 12 minutes. The entire room gave me a standing ovation like I had just been awarded an Oscar. That was Valentine’s Day, 1996. Hindsight being 20/20, if I had any clue about what would be just ahead for me in my military career, I probably wouldn’t have ever made it to the meeting that day and I definitely wouldn’t be sitting here writing this. The what-if scenarios still play in my head once in a while, and none of them end well. But the reality is nothing like those scenarios. I didn’t just survive, I grew. It wasn’t always easy - hell, it was rarely easy - but every struggle and heartache was worth it.

Through years of trial and error I came to grips with things that worked for me in my search for recovery and things that didn’t. I learned to take what I needed and to leave the rest. I learned that addiction isn’t something you can just walk away from, and that anyone who thinks you can has no real understanding of physiology and psychology. I learned that addiction is like a dangerous and toxic ex who will never leave you alone, never stop calling, never stop showing up where you don’t want them to be because they know if they’re persistent enough, you’ll let them come home with you again. I learned that if I wanted to really get addiction out of my life I had to kick it out and issue a restraining order. I had to wake up every day for the rest of my life, look in the mirror and tell myself that I deserved a life free of that relationship.

Why is 30 Significant?

I’ve never celebrated a recovery birthday before, but this is an important milestone for me. When I was a kid, my brain saw 30 as the age of the ‘real adult’. I was so buried in the trauma in which I was raised, I convinced myself that I would never see 30. In active use, my subconscious continued the propaganda mission having me believe that I would be dead before I made it to 30. When I stopped using on Valentine’s Day in 1996, I didn’t think about that again until I was faced with this date. But in that time,

I survived an invasive and traumatic investigation into my personal life by the USAF. I did not use.

I survived a hate crime that left me for dead and did not use.

I survived 9/11. My partner and 27 people with whom I worked closely did not. I did not use.

I left my beloved New York City on my birthday in 2002. As I drove south with NYC in my rear view, I turned 30. I felt so defeated that day, and the next few years were some of the toughest yet.

I did not use.

As I sit here writing this, it’s 4:00 a.m.; It’s from my 30th year in this thing we call Recovery. I have an amazing family, a nice home, nice car, and a career I love. I wake up every day looking forward to helping someone unlock the door that will help them move just a step or two further in their journey toward health, housing, and recovery on their own terms.

10,958 days after I ended my problematic relationship with cocaine for good, I have done outreach in trap houses once a week, and have done so for the entire time I’ve called Atlanta home. I hand out Narcan and clean supplies, do some wound care, and test drugs for fentanyl before people use them. When asked, I give someone my business card and tell them to call me if they need to talk. I don’t do all those things because they’re my job. I do them because I’m still afraid of what’s inside me, and this work keeps me focused on all the reasons I can never answer the door when that toxic ex comes knocking.

Today, I stand strong and proud in who I am and what I’ve done with my life. I proved my inner voices wrong, and I’ve dedicated my life to being in service to others who are in similar toxic relationships. Not only did I make it to 30, I’ve made it to 30 years on this side of that chaotic and harmful relationship.

As a Red Cross Instructor, I have taught free first aid and CPR classes to many people living in poverty because everyone needs to know how to save a life. I incorporate overdose reversal training as part of every course I teach.

I became an addiction counselor and an unrepentant harm reductionist. I founded Just Love More, a nonprofit dedicated to supporting people affected by addiction and I tell my story to anyone who wants to hear it, including the thousands of clients I’ve worked with over the last 20 years.

If you’d like to support my work with Just Love More, you can make a tax deductible donation through:

Venmo: @justlovemore

Paypal: admin@justlovemore.org

Happy 30 Birthday to me, and thank you for being here, I have no regrets whatsoever.

Epilogue

Recovery does not mean clean and sober, it means that you are actively working to regain control over your life. Clean means you took a bath recently. Sober means there’s no mind-altering substances currently in your system. Those two words seem minor to people who have never felt the chokehold that is active addiction, but they hold the world, and the world is too much to think about when you’re between fixes and doing your best to keep your shit together.

If you have a problematic relationship with mind-altering substances or behaviors, change is possible, even though it probably doesn’t feel that way right now. You are the only one who can decide what that change looks like for you. I know it’s scary, but asking for help is one of the most important things you can do. You don’t have to do this alone.

Never forget that I love you and that excludes no one.