I walked into the small, overheated, stuffy office for our weekly staff meeting. Andrea, the rector, was there, her gangly body looking uncomfortable on the wooden office chair, her pinched sour face more unpleasant than usual, and her short mousy hair typically unkempt. The light from the window behind her dazzled my eyes, making it hard to look her in the face. To her left sat Frank, ...more

We who are in recovery are all good people. None of us prayed to be sick, none of us asked God for addiction.

The first gift I received was intervention. For some time, I had been drinking before going to work—fighting the nausea and gag reflex at the smell and taste—and drinking at work as well. My boss called me into the office; there sat the Rector of the parish, my Bishop, and our senior elected Lay Officer. My Bishop said, “I want you to go, do not worry about the cost, I want to see you well.” ...more

You set me to sail, beyond the banks of the usual challenges, daily demands, and paltry appreciations. I prefer terra firma but lately I’ve been dreaming of sailing—gliding effortlessly out from the safety of my ordinary harbor. Trouble is, I don’t know if my provisions match the demands of a rigorous sea. Calm waters could swiftly turn ugly and I’m not an experienced mariner. I don’t even know the fore from the aft, nor how to navigate with only the sun and stars. Instead, I will steer toward you as my only point of reference. ...more

The atmosphere at CAB Health & Recovery Services and at other holding facilities for people facing alcoholism and addiction that I have spent time in is full of fear. A “waiting for death” syndrome engulfs the people there. Call them patients, residents, inmates, or detainees—regardless of the label, the experience is the same. I saw fear and dependence often during the six months I resided at CAB in 1997-98. I have seen it often when I have returned, as I still do occasionally, to carry the message of hope to the 170 or so men held there. ...more

When I met and fell in love with my charming, fascinating, creative ex-husband, I never saw the addict. We came together as poet and painter, with great passion for our respective gifts and for each other. It would be six months before I would begin to suspect that this exciting roller coaster ride of joint inspiration and creativity came with “another woman”—Lady Crack Cocaine. ...more

When I arrived at the cardiac Intensive Care Unit at Massachusetts General Hospital, Gene Mason was lying in his bed, conscious but sedated. He was suffering from complications after a six-way coronary bypass surgery—what Gene called his “triple double.” His blood pressure had been so high for so long that he had developed congestive heart failure, making it necessary for the operation.

Gene had really fallen apart this time, physically. ...more