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Sunday, September 7, 2008

Adrenaline and Percocet...not for everybody.

He taught me about work on boats, and he taught me how to fish for big game.

I had a knack for talking to our charter clients, making them comfortable, and when we caught fish, the usually large and pasty businessmen, having a true "fishing adventure" threw tips my way. I wore shorts and sunglasses to work, and the outdoor work kept me ripped and tan.

My Captain was single and attracted women like a testosterone powered bug zapper. On occasion we took a couple of ladies for a half a day charter, five miles or so onto the big blue, and well, things happened.

Not a bad life, if you didn't weaken.

I baited hooks, set the drag on the huge reels, and coached the anglers in the chair. The skipper would pilot the boat, a 28 ft. Bertram, and I would join him on the flying bridge, keeping my eyes peeled on the outriggers, waiting for the zing...and it would be on.

Marlin strike hard and fast and when it happened, the angler, usually half drunk and drowsy from sunburn had to be coached every step of the way. I would leap from the flying bridge after the fish would hit and snap the angler into his vest, inserting the rod into the holder between his legs and pray he wouldn't snag his line, until I could set the drag. It was a brief, violent ballet, and I loved every minute of it.

I learned to dig adrenalin and for a few years sought the rush in unusual ways, but that story is for later.

We went to meetings at night and I stayed sober. Life was getting good, and we would have long talks about God, the universe, and women, as we rode the pacific...a tiny, finite speck, in the middle of the ocean.

I learned out there that God could be as big as I wanted, or needed, at any given time. I was in his world, and I learned that it could be good.

Then I broke my hand.

We were tying up at the downtown pier, trying to outrun a sudden storm and the swells and wind had gotten fierce. The surge took the boat away from the dock, right after I had wrapped a cleat, and the force snapped the cleat, and I took the brunt of the force in my right hand, snapping several bones in the process.

I went down, howling. Shit that hurt. My middle finger was set at an unnatural angle to the rest of my hand and I knew it was busted.

We finished tying the boat up and one of the girls watching us ran me to the emergency room.

Xrays and a cast and a refillable prescription for Percocet. I thought I could handle it, but the buzz was just too damn strong. For those of you who have wrestled with a pain pill issue, I feel for you, I truly do. I floated on that buzz for a couple of weeks, after all, I had a legitimate reason, right. For us, anything is a legitimate reason.

I was invited to a party up the mountain, and took one of my old co-workers. I also took a baggie filled with pain pills, and during the evening, I nibbled my way through the bag.

Around midnight, I was truly and seriously depraved. I told my friend we were leaving and he reluctantly joined me.

I drove down the mountain doing sixty with my headlights off, screaming and laughing like a banshee. I stopped at the bottom of the mountain. My friend got out of the car without saying a word, walked away, and never looked back.

He never spoke to me again.

He had no vision.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I've heard that Xanax is as addictive as crack cocaine. I guess the addiction, whatever substance it is to, is the addiction to the feeling and not the substance..the substance could be anything: food, pills, sex, love, alcohol, etc. Damn life is hard for an addict.

My new disclaimer...yeah I know.

Okay, the old disclaimer was tired. The ideas were outdated and keeping me stuck in a place I don't want to be now for something more refreshing.

I have recently changed my views regarding women. Seems I had some issues with the fairer sex due to past pain and self- centered fear. (Yes...duh applies.)

I'm done with that.

Being in recovery has helped me change my entire life, perceptions and attitudes. I cannot change my history but I can change my today and my future.

I recently realized that the women I know in recovery are some of the strongest, bravest, most gentle and kind teachers I have ever had. You exemplify integrity and spiritual growth, and I hope you know who you are.

Some may know of my past marital and relationship history and been a participant in them as well. It's past and that's where it the past.

I own my part in those failures but claim no more responsibility in any misery you may be experiencing. I am sorry, but it's time to get off the cross. We need the wood.

Thank you all...