At the beach meeting I heard announcements of openings at sober houses in the area and decided to investigate. I needed to spend time with others who were living without drugs or alcohol and I couldn’t continue to take advantage of Julia’s kindness.
I found a house in Kahalu’u that would take me in. A large oceanfront house with about 20 men living in it, my new place would require me to get into outpatient treatment and go to twelve-step meetings every day. The house manager explained that I could apply for welfare and medical assistance would take care of the cost of treatment. I would be discouraged from looking for work until I had established some quality sober time.
This felt like a new beginning for me. This time I felt like I was finally doing all the right things. Three nights a week I went to an out-patient treatment program. I even stopped drinking cough syrup.
I spent my days with the other newly sober guys I was was living with. We hung out together. We had sober house parties that were actually attended by women in recovery. We held a big thanksgiving pot-luck and I held an awkward, sober, conversation with an attractive girl named Lilly.
I became friends with a couple of of the guys in the house. My roommate, Rod who’s about ten years older than me, seemed to be a burned out relic of the seventies. Longish dirty blond hair and a generous mustache, he’d been addicted to just about every drug known to man. When I met him, he had a little over a year sober and still seemed somewhat spaced-out. Rod had played guitar for locally successful bands in southern California, and at one time was good enough to turn down an opportunity to record with Eric Clapton in England. He had fast fingers that had earned him the nickname: Lightning Rod.
My other friend was Pahi. Mike was his given name but everyone called him Pahi. He was a Haole from the Big Island; about ten years younger than me, he was a musician too. Pahi had been in a band on the island of Hawaii, playing local music at weddings and bars. He played ukulele and sang Hawaiian falsetto songs, but he was a rocker at heart.
It was nearing Christmas time as I was starting to get to know these guys individually. They didn’t hang out together normally, but they were on friendly terms. One day I found the two of them on the lanai, Pahi with his ukulele, Rod with his acoustic guitar, playing around with blues riffs and just having fun. I stood and watched, enjoying their improvisations and rapport.
Guys in the house started catching colds and I caught the bug few days before Christmas. None of my previous experiences with cough syrup had been negative. I told myself that alcohol was my real problem. Cough syrup is completely legal, even in the sober house. I should just watch my dosage so I don’t arouse suspicion. The idea that it would be dangerous to my sobriety to misuse the drug, did flit across my mind.
But more powerful rationalizations won out. I had a cold, damn it! And I needed relief. Besides, the DXM effects were fun and I wouldn’t be hurting anyone. I conceded to myself that it could become a problem though, so I vowed to be careful with my doses and stop as soon as my cold was gone.
I spent Christmas Day in a stupor, unable to focus on anything in the world around me with my eyes open. With my eyes closed I was treated to the same acid trip visuals I had experienced previously on DXM. Since I was in a clean and sober house, I really had to watch my behavior. I didn’t want anyone to suspect I was on something. I spent most of my time in my room until the cold was gone.
I was feeling better a couple of days after Christmas but had decided not to stop the cough syrup. After a couple of days, I’d found that I could regulate my doses of DXM so that I could function without anyone knowing, yet still feel the pleasant effects of the drug throughout the day. I’d take a large dose an hour or so before bed for an extra kick and some vivid visuals before I drifted off to sleep.
At night my brain spontaneously produced its own music; sonorous and richly produced songs, complete with lyrics, played in my head. Cartoon hieroglyphs performed elaborately choreographed numbers as they morphed into aliens and back again. When I wasn’t simply enjoying the show, my mind was working and I was praying. That creative side of my brain, the side I knew I had but rarely exercised, was brimming and bubbling with ideas. I had found a new channel to the divine, and I expressed my gratitude to God for the new insights He was providing me.
I felt reborn. I’d made a mess of my life over the last several years. I’d been unhappy for a long time and I’d been using alcohol to numb my feelings, to help me escape. DXM was a new tool. Unlike with alcohol, I was able to manage my doses so that I could function productively and unlike alcohol it connected me to God rather than cutting me off. It helped me to feel good, it sharpened my senses and it sparked my creativity. 2005 was going to be different; I just knew it.
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