| Chapter Eight |
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| Written by Mike Johnson |
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Chapter 8
Second Chances With my first rehab behind me, John out of the picture and weeks of grieving over losing my teaching job I decided I would tackle this addiction my own way. I wasn't sure just how much of the 12-step theory I believed in and I knew it hadn't worked for me so I needed to try something different. I had never been one to do well when other people are telling me what to do. When I was a kid I hated to be told that I had to do something and as an adult I had not changed. The 12-step programs were not working for me because I hated being told that I had to go to meetings and that I had to call my sponsor. I figured the only way I was going to be able to overcome this addiction was by good old fashion will power. By this time my court date was fast approaching and with each new day I grew increasingly terrified that I was headed to jail. I have always been an anxious person and invariably believed the worse would always happen. My day in court was going to be just one more event in the chain of events that had occurred over the past few months that left me feeling like I had lost my soul. Due to the fact that I had never been in trouble with the law before and really didn't know much about legal issues involving drug related crimes. I went in assuming the worst. I was going to jail and would become some inmates love child and everyone who knew me would eventually forget I existed. I had visions of being stabbed or "shanked" while in the food line to get my beans and gravy or smothered in my sleep while dreaming of the days before I ever even knew what crack cocaine was. I wanted to make sure I covered all my bases so as my court date grew closer I decided to get a lawyer. I had no idea where to begin but remembered seeing TV commercials for a local law firm that helped in criminal cases. I went there completely naive about what to expect and had no idea what my options were. All I knew is that I was guilty and the only hope I had of getting a break was that this was my first offence. I wound up paying the law firm $6,000 to represent me. The day I went to court my lawyer told me that he would try to get me placed in a program the state had recently adopted called TASC, which is an acronym for "Treatment Assessment Screening Centers." Basically what it meant is that I would not serve any jail time or probation but would have to participate in drug rehab and weekly drug screening. "Wow!" I said, "If you can get me that you’re the best lawyer in the world!" I would come to find out later that this program was "standard" for all first offence drug charges and I would have gotten it even without a lawyer. So I had wasted $6,000 but at this point I didn't care because I wasn't going to be a jailbird sex slave. Around this same time my dad was going to be starting radiation and chemo therapy for throat cancer and asked me if would come to Alabama and stay with him for a few weeks to help out my step-mom with driving him to treatments. I thought it would be a great way for me to get away from the area and the temptation to use crack so I agreed. My TASC program was set to start for another month so I took advantage of the situation. While I was in Alabama I had a lot of time to catch up with my dad. We had not seen much of one another for the past 15 years. I have always looked up to my dad and respected him very much. Having to tell him my present situation, especially in his condition was yet another very difficult task. As I drove him to and from his treatments each day I couldn't help but think about the things I was told while in the rehab center. "Mike, you have a disease. It is a disease called addiction and you will never be able to cure it, only arrest it." Sitting in the driver's seat and looking at my dad slouched over in his seat after having radiation bombarded into his body for an hour made me feel about two inches tall. How in the world could I accept that I have a disease and use that to justify my irresponsible behavior when my dad really does have an incurable disease and may well die from it any day? He was suffering intense physical pain and mental anguish for something he had no control over. He couldn't just wake up tomorrow and decide, "I don't think I will have cancer anymore." Here I was fighting what I was told was a disease yet I was suppose to just decide not to do it anymore? "How can it be a disease if I have a choice," I thought. I remember the "professionals" telling me that I would always have it but by choice and hard work I could "arrest" it. I had then and still have now accepting that I chose to use crack cocaine and when it truly comes down to it, I can stop using crack cocaine by choosing not to, yet my dad will have cancer forever regardless of what he chooses to do or not do. My stay with him woke me up to reality and my own mortality for a while, but I would soon forget those feelings when I returned to Arizona. As they say, "out of sight, out of mind." When I returned to Arizona my I contacted my lawyer who put me in contact with my TASC officer. A TASC officer is much like a probation officer only without the ability to handcuff you and send you to jail if you screw up. It wouldn't take me long to figure out how non-effective both my TASC officer and the TASC program really was for me. One would think that having to urinate into a bottle twice a week would be a deterrent to using. It all seemed to easy. Don't use, go to your UA twice a week, stay clean and your legal troubles go away. I was told that if I completed the TASC program successfully I would have my record wiped clean at the end of 12 months. In the beginning it seemed like a simple enough task, but I would soon learn that getting off as easy as I did was not in my best interest. I have always been a very crafty and manipulative person when I needed to be. Those two character traights had worked well for me for over 30 years and helped me to be very successful in many things. I figured this would be no different. As the program started I was told that I didn’t have to go to the rehab because I had already been to one. All I had to do was attend at least 3 12-step meetings a week and come drop a UA (Urination Analysis) twice a week at random times. This was really a great opportunity for me to redeem myself for all the trouble I had made for myself over the past four months and slowly get my life back. Hell, within a year it would be as if it had never happened. I was so happy I decided that since I had gotten off so easy I might as well enjoy using crack for a little while longer. All I had to do was figure out how to beat the system. Going into a room to urinate in a bottle while another person is watching you knowing that you smoked crack two days before is not the most pleasant feeling. By the third week I had learned that my "color" would only come up twice per week. My color is what TASC used to indicate I had to come in and perform the peepee dance. Every night after 8:00 PM I had to call a number and it would tell me the color for the next day. if my color came up I would not use. Then after I left my UA I knew it would be at least three days before my color would come up again. I had this down to a science and was able to use about three times a week and still come up clean. The problem began when three times a week just wasn't doing it for me anymore. I began to get reckless and since I knew I had gotten off easy the first time I assumed if I were caught I would just get a slap on the hand. Well, the first time I came up dirty and my TASC officer called me in I told her I was sorry and I had used because I had hurt my ankle and was in so much pain I just could not deal with it so I gave in and bought some crack. I even went as far as to tell her that after I bought it I thought about throwing it away but just couldn't resist. Amazingly enough, I did only get a slap on the hand and was told to go to more meetings. "yeah, that’s the ticket, go to more meetings." Ha! like that will stop me. I had just dodged another bullet and was feeling pretty bullet proof. I would come up "dirty" 3 more times over the next few months. I had managed to find a "dealer" by this time and obtaining crack was just too easy. Each day I would say, "That's it, I'm not doing it anymore" and then turn around and do it again, and again. One of the times I went out using my son came down with appendicitis. When I came home he was hurting really bad. My wife was at work so I had to take him to the hospital high as a kite. It was very difficult to pay attention to the doctor when all I could think about was crack. After a few hours of tests and agony for both of us,obviously for totally different reasons, the doctor decided to admit him and perform surgery. The night after the surgery I was on my way home from visiting with my son and decided I would get me some crack. I ended up using all night and into the next day. When I went to visit him in the hospital that night I called the TASC "color" line and found out that my color was coming up the next day. I knew that I had already come up dirty four times and my luck was running out. Once again, I looked at someone I loved laying helpless due to a condition that they had no control over and here I was killing myself with something I chose to use. I went to the store and bought green tea, apple juice, vinegar, baking soda, you name it and must have drunk ten gallons of water hoping I could get it all out of my system before my UA the next day. When I finally did go in the following day I was feeling the kind of fear I had experienced only as kid when I was scared of the dark. I knew I was done for. I knew there wouldn't be any excuses this time. I knew I was right back in the same situation I was in before that first court date. I feared the worse. Once again I was having nightmares of jail and roach infested prison cells. |
