To keep me aware
that my future is a day-to-day proposition, I regularly attend meetings of a
special support group. Some days I'm tired and don't feel like going, but as
they say, "Just bring your body, and your mind will follow." In that
way, it's kind of like basketball practice.
I go to meetings
whenever I can, at least once a week. I've made some good friends there, and we
help each other quite a bit. One thing I learned very quickly is that drugs
don't discriminate. These meetings are filled with businessmen and bums, men
and women, blacks and whites, old people and teenagers, prostitutes and
policemen. We come from all walks of life, but there is one simple word that
describes us all. Addict.
I haven't yet met
anyone else at these meetings with a championship ring on his finger. But I'm
just like every other person in the room. I don't think of myself as being any
better, or any worse.
A lot of the
stories I hear sound harder than my own. But who am I to judge? I try not