An Addict

I had a friend for awhile who was an addict. I would never call him that, it seemed like such a bad label, but that is what he called himself. He was a full-up addict who had been through it all.

I met him at the dog park. Dogs can have great connections with other dogs, just like people, and my dog was absolutely crazy about his dog—the two of them were fast friends from the start. That first day my friend said when he watched dogs, especially the ones that herd sheep, it made him think there must be a God. I knew then this was someone I could talk to.

We did talk often while the dogs played about God and philosophy and how life works. I remember I told him I was coming out of 30-plus years of hardcore Christianity and he was a little fascinated, “What’s that like?” he said. Although we were both Californians our backgrounds could not have been more different.

He said he started getting into pills in elementary school. When he realized there was something you could take to make you feel different, it was all over, he always chose to take it. I’m pretty sure he tried everything. He was a musician for many years, and told me only a few stories of his hardcore drug days in that life, when he started every day with vodka and a few other things. He always took something. When I worried my crowd was drinking too much he asked me to describe it. I did and he said, “You're fine.” It didn’t touch where he’d been.

He said it ended, and clean life started, when he met his wife, whom I also met at the dog park. She was a natural, outdoor girl who worked with horses and was like fresh air to him. For the few years he’d been with her, he'd had a clean and stable life. He said she was the reason, although I think there was a little more to it; she represented his only hope of life and health. He didn’t claim to be doing it alone--he let me know he went to meetings and had people he talked to all the time.

I never could figure out what he did for a living. Every time he started to describe it I’d get lost in all his details and business buzzwords. It had something to do with internet technology and he had some plans for a business of his own. He was a big talker, he always had some crazy idea to share and his mind was always spinning fast. I had a hard time following him--he’d get on certain topics or authors and get a bit ethereal. I remember asking him if his mind ever stopped, if it ever really got quiet. He thought about it for a second and then said no.

We had a few good discussions about God and life philosophy, I could hang with him there. It was like we were coming to the same non-answers from opposite sides—he from extreme addiction, me from Christianity. He was less frustrated than me though, less accustomed to having answers.

He drank ridiculous amounts of coffee and went through Advil like candy. When I asked why, he said he had headaches, but really I think it was because the alternative was bad…it was like he was saying, “Believe me, you want me to be taking half a bottle of Advil and drinking 16 cups of coffee a day. Really.” Maybe he just had to take something.

I remember telling him about my travels to Ireland. He said he always wanted to check out that music scene but would never be able to. I was puzzled…Heavens, why not? He said it was because the music all happens in pubs there and is tied to drinking. I asked him if he could just not drink or have just one Guinness, and he said no, he could not. Didn’t I get it? He was and always would be an addict.

No I didn’t get it, to my naive self it seemed he was only addicted to Advil and coffee. I felt like it was such a bummer his addictions so defined him, like it was something he could never get free of. It seemed horribly unfair and wrong to have to live with that label. Wasn’t there always hope for change? That's what I learned in Christianity, we can all be healed from our troubles, "addicts" could be freed. Well, not in his reality. I didn’t realize that in that label was his freedom…freedom from all the using.

One day he was talking about his sobriety, his job, his house, his “stable” life and he said, “Come on…how long can I really keep this up?” I got my Pollyanna on and pointed out that he had done it now for years and why not? I told him I thought he could do it, and really, I had little doubt. He had this great life now, he certainly knew how to live it. Wouldn't he choose this life over the drug life he had described? Of course he would, it only made sense.

Well, addictions are irrational, I had no idea how hard healthy life was for him. And isn’t it just easier to think everyone is normal and functioning well, even if all evidence is to the contrary?

The dog park was a phase for him, he quit going. We still got the dogs together a few times, but we lost touch. After about a year he called and asked if I wanted to meet with the dogs again sometime. It took weeks to get together but we finally did.

I think it was huge for him to make that call, he had to look our number up old-school, he no longer had a cell phone. He apparently fell off the wagon one weekend there in Vegas. He didn’t elaborate, but it resulted in him losing his job and giving up the house. He was not working, but living a somewhat isolated life helping his wife on a horse farm she worked. He gave up his phone, his internet work, all his big ideas, and maybe even the coffee and Advil. He just wanted a simple life. That was his big talk now…living a good and simple life.

I did wonder if he'd be able to keep that up, his mind seemed no quieter.