Yesterday was my birthday. I am now 68 years old. So weird to type that number. I still see myself, in my mind’s eye, as 20-something – thinner, clear skin, auburn hair, no circles under my eyes. Now I am much curvier, a few wrinkles, white hair taking over the auburn, circles under my eyes…and still I don’t feel what I thought 68 would feel like. And, although people celebrate birthdays as major milestones in life, I celebrate another milestone, today, the day after my birthday.

Today, I am 31 years clean and sober. On January 31, 1993, I took my last breath of cocaine, my drug of choice. I had spent the previous November (1992) in rehab at a facility in Newport RI called Edgehill (which no longer exists by the way), talked my way out early (very addict-like behavior) and got home in time for Thanksgiving. By the 1^st of December I had picked up again and was on the way to destroying my life – again.

Only this time, I couldn’t hide it. Doug knew when I was high, and he wasn’t going to deal with it. And there was my son to think about. He was barely two years old and even though I didn’t stay the entire 30 days in rehab, I had learned enough that I knew I would lose him and my marriage if I didn’t stop. Even still, it took a few months for me to realize I had reached bottom and I had to quit. The thought of Doug taking my son and leaving was something I couldn’t accept.

I planned it out. I chose my birthday to be the end of the vicious cycle my life had become. It made sense since 12 years previously, on my 25^th birthday, I snorted my first line. That day in 1993, I made a purchase, sat in my music room, alone, did it up and let go. I cried. I was so freaking scared. I had no idea if I would succeed or if the siren song of that drug would pull me back. It was a terrifying, exhausting few hours.   

The next morning, I went to my first of 90 meetings in 90 days. There, I admitted that I was powerless when it came to my drug of choice. I turned my life over to a higher power – the ever-loving Universe in my case. I asked for help. I got a sponsor. I lived the serenity prayer, day to day, sometimes hour to hour, sometimes minute to minute. I promised myself each morning when I woke up that for that day, I would not pick up. Just for that day. And so, my journey began.

It was not easy at first. The obsessive/compulsive part of my addiction kept my mind wandering back to the “good times”. I dreamed about it. I craved the high. It was, in a word, awful. I didn’t think I could continue to go through the process of healing. I thought it was too hard and the thought of failing made it even worse. All I wanted was to be well again. I wanted it right away. I wanted to get back to my old life, to the clean me. But a wise person, speaking at a meeting one day, asked the group of addicts and alcoholics sitting rapt before him, to think about this. “If you drank for 10 years, that means it took you 10 years to walk into the forest. How the fuck long do you think it’s going to take for you to walk out?”

That hit me like a ton of bricks. It made so much sense. For me, personally, I had been using for 12 years. The thought of it taking me 12 years to get back to feeling normal was overwhelming. But soon, after many meetings, and listening to others’ experiences, staying clean, and staying away from the people, places and things that could trigger me, I got better. One day at a time five years went by. Then ten. Then twelve. And suddenly it’s 31.

As I’ve examined my life each year on this date, I have found that addiction can mean more than just being addicted to drugs or alcohol. I find that I have other addictions. For example, I am addicted to music. To the night sky. To the stars and the moon. To the sunsets over the pond, and the sunrise over the canal. To cloud formations. To mother nature. To my dogs. To my family. To love. To my heart. To writing. And so many other things I can’t even count. Luckily, these will not kill me.

But I’m not saying I don’t struggle anymore. I always will. I shall always be an addict to my drug of choice.  I know if I pick up again I’ll die. Period. End of life. So, I raise my mug of tea, saying, here’s to another day of being clean and sober. Life is good.