My actual account of the morning after a relapse.

As painful as it is to share this with everyone I feel it’s my duty and it will help others somehow stay sober. It is an actual account of what happened last year and many months ago the day after my last relapse. It’s painful for me to read but if I don’t pass on the gift of what was given me then I am not doing what I am supposed to be doing. If this helps you in someway then I’d love to hear your comments. At the end of this account, I added a reflection of exactly where my thinking may have been “unhealthy”. I hope this helps educate you and may help you determine where your thinking may be “off” as well. (Some names have been changed)

Also, please consider helping us continue to fulfill our mission of helping others stay sober by visiting the following link and pre-ordering your copy of “Serenity” the CD today. We cannot do this without your support. www.weareoneonline.org and www.rockstarsuperstarproject.com

Ok, here it goes…..


Day 1

I am awake.

It’s 10:38 a.m. and I hear voices downstairs. They are the voices of my twin brother and his fiancée and I’m pretty sure they are talking about me. Their voices are muffled from the distance between us. Once thing is crystal clear; if they are talking about me it isn’t anything good.

I have been here before. I don’t mean here at my brother’s girlfriend’s place in sunny Malibu, or in this bed, but here mentally. I’m familiar with this feeling I’m feeling now; remorseful of my mistake, remorseful immediately following yet another relapse. My tail is between my legs. I want to hide, curl up under the blanket and somehow magically disappear. I want to take it all back, reel it all in, change time and place and circumstance so I won’t have to feel what I’m feeling right now. Of course I don’t want this heavy feeling of regret peppered with dread, who would? But I know this much—I need to feel it. That’s what’s going to separate this relapse from the last 100 relapses. But if I could find a time machine and reset it to go back just twelve hours, I’d be a happy guy. Just twelve hours ago my life was a blissfully wonderful existence and to be living and enjoying each day was truly a gift. Now I feel as though that gift has been unwrapped to unveil a nasty, foul drug addict. I’m disgusted with myself as I very well should be. I’m deserving of each and every one of these feelings.

My twin brother, Marc, comes in and immediately tells me that I should go downstairs to speak to his fiancée. I need to do the well choreographed dance of apology about the previous night’s drama and the stress that I am causing their relationship and her personally. I know what I did. My first thought is “I don’t need the reminder from you asshole. I know that I fucked up yet again.” And then my second thought comes quickly…”Unfortunately he is right and I understand his anger.” He has a right to be angry. Not only did I let him down, I let his fiancée down.

Last night I had concocted some bullshit story of going to dinner with my friend’s family, but in actuality, I borrowed my brother’s car, picked up some crack and drove to my apartment in Brentwood to get high. It was a relapse set in motion long before I picked up the drugs. My brother’s fiancée, Kim, and her girlfriend, Maria, were looking for me after calling to question my whereabouts. I knew they suspected that I might be using drugs tonight. They probably saw it coming weeks ago, just as I had. My seriousness about my recovery was slipping and becoming less of a priority. That probably should have been the first sign that I was in trouble. It has always been quite obvious to tell when I’m getting high, even over the phone. My voice begins to crack, words start to slur, and the pauses in between each syllable become longer. After an exchange of only one sentence with me, their suspicions were confirmed. I could literally hear the heartbreak crackling across the phone line.

I can’t even imagine the disappointment that they must have felt and the overwhelming knowledge that I let them down when they wanted nothing more than for me to succeed. How odd that I knew this would happen, yet I decided to do it anyway. The disease was strong enough to convince me in some warped manner that it wouldn’t matter.

But of course that was a lie. It matters and somewhere inside of all that mattering, it hurts. It hurts me and it hurts them. My brother and Kim had been so happy and excited recently; boasting to everyone how I had just completed 60 days of sobriety. I had just begun to earn a small amount of respect and trust back from them following my previous relapse. But like they say, if you fly with the crows you get shot at, and again and again my disease shows me that it has perfect aim. It always does because I allow it to.

I’m well aware that my lack of incorporating the tools that I had learned in rehab and past relapses ultimately played a significant part in this tumble and ultimate fall. I was bound for failure. I do know better, of course I know better. I was taught better and was smarter and far savvier than any drug could be; yet I keep falling and harder each time. I have heard it told that every time you relapse you lose more of yourself and each time it is harder to bounce back. I never fully understood what that meant and whatever it did mean I’d always been sure couldn’t be true. But now I know. I understand, and it is horribly, painfully true.

Getting caught last night set me back many months. It sent me back from the place where my family trusted me or would ever feel confident enough in me to trust me again. I do this all the time. How could I ever recover from the sheer magnitude of this disappointment? The sorrow and embarrassment I am feeling right now in this moment is extreme. My disease wants me to think that I can bounce back easily, that everyone will get over it soon enough, and it’s in that very thinking that the trouble starts. But I’m onto it this time and I am going to be sure I experience the pain of the situation I am in, as I should. I usually don’t and that’s why I am here again.

I set out on the walk of shame downstairs to apologize. I meet Kim’s eyes and it’s apparent that she’s been crying. She’s still in her robe and I can tell it’s been a rough morning. I lean over, hug her, and tell her I am sorry. The problem is at this point I have said “I’m sorry” too many times. I always say I’m sorry. I always hope this word will solve the problem, though I’ve proven to myself that this just simply isn’t true. This woman had done nothing but help me. She helped me secure treatment here in Malibu, not once but twice since I arrived. She spent so much on “fixing me” but it’s clear that I am still broken.

Or am I? Could it be that I’m just not trying hard enough? I do know the real answer to that question, even though something in me won’t allow me to admit it. But between you, these pages, and me it’s obvious that had I wanted sobriety all along and I’d do what I could to get it. But right now I have to tend to the situation at hand and do my damndest to make her feel better. How can a hug and I’m sorry ever be enough to do this? I’m sick of giving hugs. I’m sick of I’m sorry. They just don’t work. The people that I give them to are probably pretty tired of them too. The only way I could ever repay Kim is to stay sober and I can’t seem to even do that. But come on, of course I can. I just haven’t been trying hard enough.

Kim opens up her mouth. “It’s okay, but tell me what happened.”

I know it’s not ok, and I certainly can’t tell her what happened.

I take a seat across from her and despite knowing it means absolutely nothing coming from my mouth, I apologize over and over again. It’s all I can think of to do at the moment.

She asks again, “What happened?” She asks as if she wonders if it was anything that she did. I can take this opportunity and point fingers and blame her by making up something that we both know would be un-true because that’s what I always do. I always avoid responsibility. But not this time.

I sink deep into my chair, knowing that she has taken this relapse personally and somehow is feeling responsible for it. This makes me cringe and cower even more. I have to man up and say something. “No,” I tell her. “I just wanted to get high. It’s as simple as that.” For no rhyme or reason, I just wanted to get high. Usually when I relapse I hurl full throttle into a binge for a few days, spending enormous amounts of money, selling anything I have in my possession, losing tons of weight and coming back home skinnier and in the same clothes I had left in. But this wasn’t my normal M.O. this time. I somehow managed to only spend $60 last night and when I was done, I was done—really done. But that doesn’t matter. There was no shiny reward or statuette to place on your mantel for Responsible Addict. I know this, but I still try to justify my actions. A relapse is a relapse no matter which way you look at it.

Kim tells me that she and Marc have made prior plans for the weekend and asks if I would be willing to go to Chicago to visit my girlfriend Julie. I had left her there months earlier so I could go into rehab. I am actually dying to see her so I happily accept. In Kim’s eyes this will give me time to sober up, but in actuality I already am sober, or at least I think I am. She doesn’t understand that I only had a few hits. I didn’t want more and wasn’t even thinking about getting more. But I can hear in her voice that she thinks I am craving and will do anything to get my hands on any drug that I can. This isn’t the case, but how or why would I try to explain this to her? She has no reason to believe me anyway.

She proceeds to tell me how important it is to her that Marc and I get a chance to live our dreams and that my visit to Chicago is just temporary for only a few days. I can’t be sure if she’s telling me the truth or not. Maybe she never wants me back. But I do care about what she thinks and for her well-being. I am certain that this fiasco has really pushed her to the brink, so of course I’ll go. I don’t want her to feel she has to be my babysitter this weekend. I want her to have a fun, relaxing time and that could only happen if she’s away from all of this drama. She needs to get away from me and try to forget about the destruction and mayhem that I just caused. So I accept her offer, humbly apologize one more time and head back upstairs. And in case you’re wondering, it’s harder than it sounds to do.

I see my brother on the stairs. He’s pissed and doesn’t trust me alone in the house anymore. I’ve never taken from that house, but I still can’t blame him. Today he has an appointment and wants me to tag along. This is his way of keeping an eye on me and getting me out of his house when no one else will be home. I have no choice in the matter so I go. I’ve lost rights, freedom, and the simple pleasures of being a grown up and not a kid. I pretty much have to do whatever anyone tells me to do at this point. Despite not wanting to be in the same car with him at the moment, I have to be willing to face the dread of this consequence. Doing so might just be the very thing that will ensure that I never, ever want to go through this again.

I sit in his car, waiting for the appointment to be over and wonder what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day. I watch healthy and productive, non-addicted people as they drive in, walk by and carry on. Sheer embarrassment and humility make it so I don’t really want to go back and see Kim again. I had a hard time showing my face to her this morning, but I will if I have to.

My brother approaches the vehicle, climbs in, and asks how I feel about going to Chicago right now.

“Are you nuts?” I say. “I need time to pack!” All my clothes are back at his place.

“Too bad”, he says. “Your flight leaves at 6:15 p.m.”

I plead for a chance. I plead to be allowed back into the house for the simple right to grab my jacket. “I don’t want to go to Chicago without a jacket in this cold,” I shout.

“Too bad,” he says. “Should have thought about that before you got high.”

“What about my dog? She’s at my apartment. I haven’t been there for a full day now and she’s got to eat!” I plead, hoping for any little shred of mercy.

“I’ll take care of her,” is all he gives me.

My blood is boiling and quickly heats to fury. It’s hard to know what’s the rawest spot. Was it not being given the chance to say goodbye to my dog, Doro, or being denied the most basic of liberties—being able to pack like a sane man and call my girlfriend so she could make arrangements for my arrival. But maybe what hurt and pissed me off the most was that my own twin brother couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.

I’m lost in all of this anger. I try to convince myself that it’ll work itself out and be all right again since it’s only going to be a few days. I have to tell myself that right now even when all I really want to do is cry. I do miss my girlfriend very much, but who wants to leave Malibu for the Windy City for goodness sake? But it’s my fault. It’s always my fault.

There are no other words shared between my brother and me as we approach the airport. He pulls in, veers to the curb and slams it into park. I reluctantly get out of the truck, get a quick and emotionless hug from my brother and walk zombie-like inside to check in.

The next thing I know I’m in Chicago. It’s late and I’m tired. I take a taxi from the airport to the house and as the taxi drops me off, Julie and her dog, Zena, welcome me. This makes me miss my Doro. Julie had already gotten the call ahead from my brother and I’m sure he didn’t say the nicest of things. She doesn’t say much to me. I know she is just as disappointed as everyone else and I’m just as embarrassed to be here as I was to be in California amidst all the drama that I caused.

Sometimes I think that those who surround addicts don’t realize that we do have a conscious and that our relapses are twice as taxing on us emotionally as they are on them. Not only do we have to deal with the let down that we caused them, but also the let down that we feel within ourselves. Please don’t mistake me and think that I’m attempting to minimize what we as addicts put the people who love us through. But by the same token they certainly shouldn’t think that they are the only ones feeling the pain of our deeds.

Julie undresses me and puts me into bed for the night, and before closing my eyes I offer her the contents of my wallet. I do this as a precautionary measure and as an act of good faith. I do have some cash on me right now and this is a smart but humbling move. I’m embarrassed, but even here, so many miles from sunny California, crack cocaine is just blocks away and that’s a chance I can’t take.


Three-feeling check in: sad, disappointed, and heartbroken.

A year-later reflection:

Stinkin’ Thinkin’:

• I state that I relapsed because I just wanted to get high but that’s not true. Using drugs is no longer for fun. I recall now that I had been feeling things that I didn’t want to feel. Feelings of worthlessness and the fear of not knowing what my future held for me were what I was running from. The only way I knew how to avoid dealing with these was by using drugs, which made things worse.

• It’s obvious that I’m trying to justify doing $60 worth of drugs during the previous night’s relapse. There shouldn’t be any justification. As I state, “a relapse is a relapse,” no matter what way you try to slice it. Own up to it.

• It may be true that immediately after a relapse your desires to get high are gone, but never under-estimate the power of your drug of choice while it’s still in your body. I may have said that I didn’t have any cravings, but what if I had keys to a car and a wad of cash? My guess is I would’ve bought drugs. Don’t kid yourself. You’re not as powerful as you think you are at this time of weakness. It’s important to take ALL the precautionary measures seriously, and that includes staying around as many sober people as you can, even though you may not want to.

• How dare I get mad about not being allowed to pack before being sent off to Chicago! I just relapsed and destroyed all the trust that I had re-earned for the 100th time! An addict after a relapse should hardly have any rights at all. A relapse should be as painful as can be, and I credit my brother and Kim for sticking to their guns and making it this way for me. It made me never want to go through it again! The ONLY person I should have been mad at is myself. The good news is I made it through this terrible time and you can too!


Sober Thinking:

• I had extreme feelings of remorse regarding my relapse. This is key to getting through your first 24 hours of sobriety. It’s a feeling you must try to remember for the rest of your life, and I use it often to keep me in-check and out of trouble. The moment you forget how bad this day was is the moment your relapse starts. I should know, I’ve forgotten every time except this time. That’s one of the reasons I’m sober today!

• Remember that others have a right to be angry and disappointed with you after a relapse. No one can help you decide to get and stay sober but our loved ones often think they can. I remember how awful I felt when my brother came in the room and can recall feeling his anger radiate through the entire bedroom. I had no choice but to suck it up. It is the same with Kim during this day. Notice how she felt responsible for my relapse. She wasn’t, I was. But this is what happens with friends and family members that surround any addict, and it’s important to be aware of this dynamic. It’s important for you and them to know that it’s not their fault!

• It’s also important to know and accept that those close to you may need a break! Remember, you have been a whirlwind of doom in their lives for a long time. They will come back as you stay sober. They always do and more often than not, closer than ever before. When Kim said she wanted me to go away to Chicago I knew it was important to go and give her space.

• I took responsibility for my relapse this time and that’s important. Take responsibly for your relapse and newfound sobriety. Never blame others for your fall. It’s time to start owning up and taking it seriously. Day 1 was a horrible day but I was fortunately aware enough to take responsibility for my actions and deal with the dread and humiliation and somehow persevered. A year later, I can tell you this made me stronger, although at the time I would have never seen this coming.



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