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The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…
Chapter 14: The Box
“Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.”
—from the film Shawshank Redemption
*
The organization that ran my halfway house was connected to many other special needs programs in our state. That’s the G.A.A.M.H.A. softball team I still play for now. When I was living in that house, I got a job doing construction for them rehabbing a women’s sober house across town. Through them was how I became a recovery coach and how I eventually got this grant to teach this Emotional Intelligence Program of mine.
When I got this grant I bought a new poster to hang on me and my boys’ bedroom wall and hung it above my closet. It’s a poster to the movie Shawshank Redemption. On it, Andy Dufresne looks up through falling rain after crawling through that sewer pipe to escape prison. The words on the poster he looks up at read: “Fear can hold you prisoner hope can set you free.”
Why do I still feel I’m crawling through that pipe myself?
The ending to that movie might be the most rewarding ever created in my opinion. It’s all about redemption, where everything today seems to be about vengeance.
“I miss when movies could make me feel good,” I said that my students when I was telling them why that Joker movie bothered me so much. Adding, “I’m an anxious person already, most of the time, and these movies and shows pushing every tragedy possible at us and every extreme of awful aren’t helping.”
I go to the movies by myself a lot now. Being sober and single, it’s a way to kill a few hours when I don’t have my boys. I was seeing that Joker movie alone when a lady in the row behind me was laughing at a part that had me literally debating getting up and leaving the theatre.
Movies play fun music when awful things are happening now; desensitizing us to violence at an entirely new level. I was preaching a bit the day I was telling my students all this. But I’d been listening to them enough I thought.
School is being taught remotely again. Districts all over the country are doing this in preparation for the upcoming Thanksgiving Holiday: a potential “Super Spreader” they are calling it. Our district announced this “pivot in our educational model” in the middle of last week; making an already eventful week more eventful for us.
“We should do something for her Mr. J. Shouldn’t we?”
It is now Friday and Pras is the only student attending my virtual class currently. Nel has been with us all week but is doing something for Lauryn today.
Though I am sympathetic, I feel myself get irritated with having to repeat myself once again. “There’s nothing we can do right now Pras,” I say to his face on my computer screen. “We just need to be here when she’s ready.”
Thirteen days ago, Lauryn and Candace smoked weed together. Lauryn had taken that weed from a drawer in her mother’s bedroom not knowing her mother was struggling with fentanyl use.
Fentanyl is as an extremely strong opiate and the newest drug terrorizing our streets. Lauryn’s mother was knowingly lacing her weed with it. When Lauryn’s mother found the girls, they were both nearly unconscious from what Lily told me. Because of her own struggles, Lauryn’s mother had Narcan in the house. Lauryn snapped back to life quickly, but Candace was not as fortunate.
This school promotes “Harm Reduction”; so what Lauryn and Candace were doing was not that out of the ordinary. While we do not celebrate marijuana use, it is considered the lesser of most evils.
Even before this happened I had hard time discussing weed with my students as I’m not sure how I feel about this harm reduction thing. I’ve seen people in A.A. call smoking weed the “Marijuana Maintenance Program”. While I have my own personal reasons for not using it, it’s not because I think it might kill me.
When asked why I don’t smoke weed, I told the students weed makes me scattered and forgetful and anxious more than it makes me happy— “But suffering from depression I do still consider it from time to time,” I told them honestly.
Our topic in class this week was Reverse Engineering Goals. What I had planned for today was designed for everyone to participate in. Pras cranked through the work I assigned in no time and now the two of us find ourselves staring at the clock waiting for this long week to end.
A ring from my phone steals my attention. Looking down, I see its Ron calling me. Touching a button on the side of my phone I ignore the call.
I lived with Ron at that halfway house. He calls me for rides a lot now—all the time actually. He is twenty years older than me, but we meshed well when we were at that house for some reason. Him calling me now increases that frustration I feel building up inside me.
People that really get recovery can be some of the most wonderful people in the world—my article this week talks about that—but some people just don’t get recovery, and some people just aren’t that wonderful regardless…that’s just reality.
The last time I gave Ron a ride he was again complaining about his family who he lives with now. Ron is not completely sober anymore. As a heroin addict; who spent most of his life in jail, he decided he could have a beer not long ago. Since then, I’ve seen his behavior slowly slipping.
“I’m way better than I used to be J, you didn’t know me then.” Hiding some secrets from me, he said this on one of our drives. Adding, “I’ll never go back to heroine.”
Anyone that says never; or that they’re better than they used to be, just doesn’t get recovery I don’t think. Ron might never get it. “I didn’t know you then,” I later thought to say to him in that moment, “But I know you can be better than this.”
Had I thought to say that to Ron in that moment, I wouldn’t have. Ron’s not ready to listen and I’m not necessarily ready to talk either. I want to say life can be better for him if he was clean, but I’m not sure I believe that. Ron is currently stuck in a loop of blaming others and playing the victim. Listening to him has become exhausting.
The world is not built in a way to support someone like Ron; who bounces back and forth between his struggles with mental illness and addiction. Without purpose; and something like a community to be a part of, Ron becomes his own worst enemy—and a sponge on society and family and good people like me.
I’ve thought a lot about what might help Ron but do my best to be quiet. I used that word “sponge” around him once when I got tired of his complaining; he picked up on it and got super offended. “I’m a sponge on my family too Ron,” I said. “I don’t want to be but that’s just how it is for us.”
Me giving Ron my number and him calling me for rides all the time now might prove that old saying that “no good deed goes unpunished”, but I think the lessons my boys are learning—who know all about my friend Ron—will pay off someday. They like him and he likes my boys. Despite his struggles and not-so-great behavior, there is good in him…kids can sometimes see that better than us adults.
“Mr. J,” Pras says smiling at me through the computer, “Why do you teach? I think you could do more.”
“We do what we need to Pras,” I laugh a response to his words. “So someday people might leave us alone to do what we want.”
“Huh?” Pras responds.
“Nothing,” I reply not wanting to explain myself.
Pras let’s what I say go and looks down at his phone. Over his shoulder I look at the television perched on a bureau in his bedroom. This television has been on all class, but just now I feel myself get extra irritated by the plastic-infused face I see on screen for some reason.
“Pras,” I say, “I still can’t believe you watch The Kardashians… I think you could do more.”
Lifting his eyes from his phone, Pras glances over his shoulder and then looks back at me. “Being fake is the only thing real in this world Mr. J,” he says unashamed. “At least they own it. What should I watch? The History Channel only has reality shows and conspiracy theory re-runs.”
“Darn—I like that Pras,” I reply to his smart comment. “I’m gonna use that line in my book someday.”
I’m semi-joking but tell Pras I may write a book someday. Telling him about my past experience of trying to actually write one seems unnecessary at the moment.
Hearing me share my dream of maybe writing a book, Pras begins detailing plans he has for his future. He’s in the middle of telling me what he wants to do with the rest of his life when my youngest son sneaks up beside me. “Dad…” he whispers trying not to disrupt us.
With classes being done remotely for him now too, interruptions like this have become normal again. “Yes?” I turn and ask.
“Can I play on my iPad during break please?”
Like most kids my son can be cute when he wants something. I’ve been working on him using that word please as he’s forgotten how to use the word lately. I see in his eyes he knows what he’s doing. “That’s fine,” I tell him.
“Thank you,” he says politely before turning and walking away.
“Mr. J,” Pras says as I return my attention to the computer screen, “Is your son with you all the time?”
“His mom has him every Wednesday and every other Saturday,” I answer.
“Is she in recovery too?”
Everyone’s in recovery Pras.
Restraining from putting my own personal spin on Pras’s question, I keep my thoughts to myself and answer. “No Pras, she’s not.”
“Why do you have him so much?”
Pras is not a shy person and he’s getting a bit personal, but I don’t think he realizes it.
“I was at that halfway house for a while Pras. His mom let me spend extra time with him after in case I fell back…now this schedule is just what works best for everyone.”
“Did you know the Kardashian’s got famous because their mom leaked sex video of one of them…how crazy is that?”
Depleted of personal questions, Pras’s young bouncy-ball-mind jumps to the next thing that pops-up inside it. His question brings our conversation back to the reality television show on in the background.
“I’ll have to do some research on that Pras,” I say not wanting to believe what he’s just said. “How about you do me a favor and change the channel though bud?”
Pras does what I ask. Taking the remote off his desk I watch him speak into it: “CNN,” says.
My lover-of-politics’ choice of channels does nothing to help my current mental state. The caption on the bottom of the screen I see reads: “Will Trump Concede?”
Donald Trump has lost the 2020 Presidential election to Joe Biden. To absolutely no one’s surprise, the results are being contested at the moment. On the right of Pras’s television I see the tally of Covid related cases and deaths. Apparently bored of me, Pras turns up the volume so that we can both hear what is being said.
The substance Pras struggles with most with is benzos; benzodiazepines. He’s told me he likes “feeling numb”. Right now, I can understand why.
I told the students some of how I feel about this when we did that lesson on the news at the beginning of the year… but Pras really has no clue the level of frustration I feel about it.
When I worked in finance I read that you should pay for your news, so I did, but even if I paid for my news today I don’t know how much I could believe. Seeing CNN on in the background now I remember watching Chris Cuomo during that 2016 election; the last time I semi-cared. He’s not there anymore for some reason. Canceled maybe—that’s what the cool kids are calling it these days.
“After that market crash in 2008,”—I told my students— “Anything other than Breaking News became Boring News I think.”
If something happens today where I have to watch the news, I’ll flip back and forth between Fox and CNN to watch all the maked-upped faces play the “I Think Game” with each other. Pretending to listen to opinions but really just mentally preparing their responses. Or simply reading from screens with deflection in their voices meant to entertain their audiences.
I flip between websites too. I feel bad for people writing articles as finding words between ads might crack the Top 3 things I find most infuriating about reality today—Maybe that’s why I wrote about starting a new internet in that journal?
It’s not just the news that is being ruined by money and the internet. I’ve been having to Google where and how to watch sporting events lately. These streaming services are making an already frustrating existence FAF … FAF … FAF.
FoxNews definitely irritates me more because of the effect I’ve seen it have on my loving father. Working together I always saw him trust people; and regurgitate things he was told by people that sounded like they knew what they were talking about. When it comes to being sold something, he’s a sucker like me— and the ideal consumer for that network I think.
Lost in my own opinionates thoughts, Pras tells me his through the computer screen.
“In four years, he’ll will be back Mr. J,” he says. “Or maybe his daughter? I guarantee someone in the MAGA Tribe will be President again though.”
“Hey Pras—” I interrupt his fortune telling to ask the question I’ve been debating asking all week, “do you think you and Nel would want to come hang with me and the boys next week on Thanksgiving?”
“Umm…” he says, “Let me talk to Nel and let you know, okay?”
Large gatherings are not being encouraged this year because of the pandemic—or even allowed in fact—so me and my boys will be alone that afternoon. I’m sure a teacher asking him over for Thanksgiving has him felling uncomfortable, but we’ve gotten close with everything going on and so I don’t think it’s a weird thing of me to ask.
Looking at Pras’s face on the computer screen, I think of making a stronger plea. Instead, I stay silent; not telling him what I want to say— We need each other right now bud.
*
Article Title: The Box
Dated: Friday, November 20th, 2020
“Addiction isn’t a disease. It’s an adaptation. It’s not you. Its’ the cage you live in.”
—from the book Chasing the Scream by Johann Hari; quoting psychologist Bruce Alexander
I refuse to argue with people whether addiction is a disease or not. Doing so only invites disagreement in a world that finds it way too easy to disagree. Rather than argue, let me call addiction a “characteristic of my mind” and move on, because whatever it is, whatever you call it…I have that mother f’er.
There’s a TedTalk on YouTube titled “Everything you know about addiction is wrong” where the writer of the book I just quoted is the speaker. When I was shown the video as part of a recovery program I participated in a few years back, I thought it was awesome but have since seen it criticized. I’m going to ask you to watch it later and tell me why you think that was.
As a kid myself, I grew up a student of the D.A.R.E. Program. “Just Say No!” was the moto printed on t-shirts given out in middle school back then. That moto is a punchline to many jokes today, but people still use it… allow me to tell you when someone used it on me recently.
I was in a store when I ran into an old neighbor. Let’s call him Mr. Jones.
Mr. Jones had me as a paperboy as a kid. Asking me what I was up to these days, I told him about this recovery high school I was teaching at and explained how meaningful the work was given my own struggles.
After telling Mr. Jones way too much information, he looked at me and said: “Didn’t you know it would make things worse? You were so smart. Didn’t you know to…just say no?”
I’m not making this up. He really did say that. I had told Mr. Jones about how I used Percocet to help with depression. He’s really nice and meant no harm by what he said. It just seemed to fall out of his mouth.
“My drug of choice is distraction,” I might have said to him in that moment, “if it wasn’t that pill it would have been something else.”
Instead of digging myself a deeper hole; and saying something more stupid, I made up an excuse and left Mr. Jones feeling judged that day. That’s when I found myself thinking about that D.A.R.E. Program and how I was scared to use drugs as a kid.
Honestly, that “Just Say No!” slogan worked to keep me safe for a long time. Until I discovered why someone would use drugs. And started believing the scariest thing about them was not having them.
That sounds crazy—I know…. Maybe the drugs made me this way?
There are people out there that really get recovery. The list of celebrities talking about it is endless. “I have zero self-control,” I saw Rob Lowe say on Facebook the other day. That actor was being congratulated for having “amazing self-control” by staying sober for so long. What he said in response to that compliment really spoke to me.
“Anything that fills you up can also fill you with hollowness.”
As someone who has finally accepted addiction as characteristic of his mind, this lyric from the song Hollow by Ivan B describes my struggle well. If this singer is in recovery I don’t know, but his songs and words help me see that there are people out there on a similar journey to mine.
Today I want to introduce a new slogan. One that might speak more effectively to your generation than the “Just Say No!” that was used on mine. To do that I’ll be telling you a story.
I call this story THE BOX….
Imagine you are a teenager sitting at home watching television and mindlessly staring into your phone. Bored. A knock on the door gets your attention. Answering it you find no one there but look down to see a box. Picking it up, you read a message:
If you open this box you will have three of the craziest years of your life. If you open this box, your mind will awaken to new possibilities. If you open this box, you will be rid of all the P.A.I.N. that tortures you today. If you open this box…YOU—WILL—BE—HAPPY.
Below this message is a warning written in big bold letters:
A DISCLAIMER: After three years, there is a 30% chance your life will be more miserable and emptier than you could ever imagine…LIKELY ENDING IN PREMATURE DEATH.
Most teenagers don’t believe in magic and would open this box out of pure curiosity. But what if this box really was magic? Like that lamp in the Aladdin movie. For this exercise let us believe in magic.
Would you open THE BOX?
Knowing this box really was magic, a teenager looking forward to an amazing life might throw this box away believing it could derail their plans. They have an amazing future ahead of them…why risk it? Another might hide this box away for later…just in case.
There are those however who are not happy in this reality and not scared of things getting worse who would immediately open this box.
“Life sucks right now,” they might think looking at it, “There is nothing to look forward to…The world is coming to an end anyway…What is there to lose?”
Could you imagine a person thinking such ridiculous things?
Someone receiving this box might not need the happiness promised. I’m told those people exist. Most people however would find themselves tempted by that promise of happiness at some point. And the odds on that warning label might start sounding pretty good. At a moment of weakness, maybe you yourself would be tempted to peek inside.
So…. What is in THE BOX?
It’s unique for everyone, but for me it was a magical three-year supply of Percocet: an opiate and my drug of choice. Also known as “Medically-Pure-Heroine”.
To say this medicine made me feel amazing would be a vast understatement.
As a teenager, I had a lot to keep me motivated in life and so this drug was just a small vacation when I took it for wisdom teeth surgery. After life had beaten me up for a bit, taking this medicine to feel better and more optimistic about the future felt like common sense maybe… What did I have to lose?
Little did I know I was the 30% that warning talks about. Perhaps I always was but never realized it. Or perhaps I did but didn’t see it as a real problem at the time.
As an adult, I considered Percocet the ultimate anti-depressant. It helped me focus and to dream without reality weighing me down. The weight in my chest lifted when I took it; allowing me to breathe in all the hopeful possibilities for the future.
Honestly, Percocet helped me be the best version of me…until it didn’t.
I’m telling you what I think is the truth here. For a while I did live a “happy life” when I was using this drug. For maybe three years—when I remember needing this drug to live any life at all.
What’s in The BOX doesn’t have to be drugs. It can be anything that changes one’s consciousness for a brief period. Anything that fills up the hollowness of life.
Maybe what’s in that box for you is food. Or television. Or your phone. Or maybe it’s a limitless supply of money or sex. What’s in The BOX can be absolutely anything that gets the endorphins in your brain firing.
Open your mind a bit…What would make your life happier today?
Is it a guy… a girl… a better mother or father? A nicer home? Is it fame? Or maybe it’s to be left alone? Or maybe it’s a more attractive image on that selfie you took earlier?
Not everyone that uses drugs become addicted. It’s true. I’m being honest with you here. But most everyone can feel happier by using them. And happiness is the drug we are all addicted to.
Happiness naturally releases endorphins in our brain. Drugs produce endorphins in our brain. Drugs, we must therefore consider, is a natural desire of our brain.
As an addict, moderation and me simply don’t mix, so using drugs and alcohol to feel happy is not an option for me. It’s about survival—”because I have no self-control”. But why did I do it in the first place?
Didn’t I know it would just make things worse? … Why didn’t I “Just Say No”?
I opened THE BOX because I was weak. Because I felt like a failure. Because life, I thought, could not get any worse. I wanted to feel better. I wanted to be better. I wanted to escape.
Blah… Blah… Blah.
Regardless of why I did it, I’m not that person anymore. I’m the person that scratched and crawled his way out that box to say this to you now: “F—THAT—BOX …. You don’t need it!”
Or you could “Just Say No!” …. If it works, why not?
WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:
Why do you think people criticized the TedTalk video titled “Everything you know about addiction is wrong” from Johann Hari? Please watch the video and write your thoughts in your journal.
The Teacher’s Playlist:
Mr. Jones by Counting Crows
“Help me believe in anything. ‘Cuase I wanna be someone who believes.”
*
(End of Chapter 14)
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Recovery High School 