Welcome to the House...you'll fit right in.

Welcome to the House...you'll fit right in.

I was introduced to the Beacon House the hard way..the same way that
so many others have been introduced to it. Helped right up the front
steps,on their knees, by their perspective addiction. For me...alcohol
was my drug of choice.
I had never even heard of Pacific Grove in my life. Sounded like a
fucking retirement colony to me. But that's where I was headed that
day. Straight up US Highway 101.....to butterfly town USA.
The first thing that I can remember was the fear that was running
through my body as I got out of my aunts car and walked on to that
curved walkway up to those fateful steps. The front parlour will
always have a very special place in my heart because that was the
first place I ever met my counselor. And this was where my initial
assesment was done. To me,on that day, I thought that I was staring
down the barrel of a loaded gun.
This was the first time I ever heard the term "toxic." I was very. .
My body was a stagnent collection pond for all things awful. My skin,
my mind, and my life were yellow.
I had no idea what I was doing, and I needed help. And I would soon
learn that I was in the right place.
I had never experienced anything like this in my entire life, and boy
was I scared. I had no idea who these people were and I didnt know
what they wanted from me.
Prior to going into the hospital I really didnt know what detox was
either. If I would of known what it was theres no way in hell I would
of wanted it. But obviously, that all changed. Thank god.
I would say that my biggest problem (other then my constant intake of
alcohol) was my sleeping patterns. I would drink to sleep.
Correction....I would drink to pass out. Then when I woke up again,
usually in a couple of hours, I would need a few swigs off the bottle
to get back to sleep.
This had created alot of anxiety in my life. Everyday I would think
about what it was going to take, that night to get me to sleep. And it
would rule me.
So from the start...I was in a bad mood. I was in rehab for christ
sake. I didnt have to like being in the present situation. I knew deep
down that this was the place I was supposed to be. So you could say
that I was a little resistant to my treatment at first. I was all
about fighting everyone and everything. I thought that I was a smart
guy. I really thought that I was going to get through all of it...all
on my own. I had all of the life experience necessary to get through
rehab and emerge meraculously cured on the other side.
I was misrable. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. All of my emotions
were on a constant roller coaster ride that I had no control over. I
would cry at the drop of a hat. My only saving grace were the people
that were around me. My constant interaction with other people on a
group level. I had never been through anything like this before.
Sharing my thoughts,fears,pain, and hopes with these people that I had
really just met. These people were to be the basis of my treatment.
I think that one of the many great things that the Beacon House gave
to me was a seed. That seed was called Alcoholics Anonymous. I started
attending the mandatory meeting of AA everyday while I was in the
House. And I really did not care for it at all at first. I didnt like
the people. I thought that all that it really was, was a giant whinner
congregation. People that got together to discuss how much it sucked
that the couldn't " handle" alcohol anymore. What I failed to see then
was how crucial a role Alcoholic Anonymous was to play in the
resurection of my life.

Now..throughout my entire stay at the Beacon House, I had it in my
head that I was going to go back to San Francisco and be able to
return to my old life. Do everything that I had done before....except
not drink. I wasnt ready to let go of my old life. I was going to be
Richie Rich...the powerful and very "sober" bartender. This was a very
deadly fantasy according to all of the staff, my family,friends, and
all that knew me and cared about me. I would show them. I would be
different. I would be able to be in the barber shop and not get my
hair cut.
So...on January 30th, I coined out of the Beacon House. All bright
eyed and bushy tailed with all of the best wishes of the staff. And
with all of the love and support of my house mates.
I was ready to do life the right way....my way. Little did I know that
day that I was going to be coming back up those steps less then three
weeks later. Beaten and broken...with my bushy tail right between my
legs. And time there was no "my way"
This disease is a bitch. A bitch with no cure. A bitch that wants to
kill me. And a bitch that almost did it......twice.

Well everyone. That's the end of part two of the story. My fingers
hurt again..and I like it.