An alcoholic goes on an outing...(Excerpt #2 from new chapter in 'Soul Cancer')

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Aspen, Colorado - March, 2007.  [excerpt from new chapter in 'Soul Cancer']

Kills more people than heroin, cocaine, marijuana, prescription painkillers combined.

Shit, I'm still shaking. I must somehow force the remainder of my dwindling bottle of 1-litre solution (90% vodka, 10% Gatorade) down my esophagus, into my stomach where it will be absorbed into my bloodstream......and hopefully stop the shaking.  I'm not in any shape to leave the house like this, so I've got to stop the shaking.  I notice I have a few pills left of Xanax in my 'last resort' pill bottle, meaning it's the only thing left in my house that might get rid of the shakes.  So I down the vodka/solution, vomit a little bit, but manage to keep most of it down, and then I swallow the 4 or 5 Xanax pills I have left in the last-resort bottle.  All this in an attempt to appear presentable enough to 'drive' to one of the local liquor stores to procure some more 'solution,' which will then allow me to repeat this hellish process over again, because my brain is telling my body that I have no choice -- it must be done.  The fact that I was contemplating driving my car in such a state was a non-issue -- I had to do what was necessary to stay alive, and to me, at the point, staying alive meant consuming more booze and drugs.

The combo of the vodka solution and Xanax makes me a bit too woozy to focus.  After all, I haven't eaten in days, so the booze and pills are absorbed much more quickly into my bloodstream than they would have if I had some food in my stomach.  But I didn't, and I start to wane and wobble.  Thank god I still have about an 1/8 of an ounce of pure-grade powder cocaine lined up on my bedside table for just such an emergency.  I cut it up and snort the entire 1/8 ounce in two big rails (lines) with due haste.  Whooooo!  Now I'm alert.  And the shakes are gone.  I look like shit, but it's ski season here in Aspen, so I cover up my appearance with a big snow jacket, a hat, sunglasses and a hood.  I now look like any other yuppie ski bum headed for the slopes. Only I'm merely headed for my favourite liquor store at the bottom of Ajax Mountain in the village of Aspen.  Somehow, I manage to make it out the door, drive my car smoothly and slowly all the way to the liquor store where my daily schedule really begins.

I walk into the store.  All the guys there know me, just like they know the other alcoholics who show up around opening time mid-week to purchase large bottles of straight liquor.  I'm way passed any feelings of shame or embarrassment by this point.  These guys see me several times a week.  After all, Aspen is a small town, so there are only three liquor stores within driving distance, so they all know me.  I don't care anymore.  My body's need for alcohol far supersedes any hesitation or reluctance on my part to get what I need.  And what I need for the day is a gallon-and-a-half of straight Absolut vodka, plus a few bottles of Gatorade to temper my palate.  Without the Gatorade, I wouldn't be able to keep the booze down.

I buy my booze, get back in the car and drive back home.  Relief.  I now have enough booze to last me through the day and hopefully the night too.  There's just one problem -- I consumed my remaining cocaine supply before I left the house.  This is not good.  I need to order some more, ASAP.  My brain requires it, just as it requires air to breath and water to drink -- it's a primitive survival mechanism buried deep in the animal part of my brain -- at least, that's what the doctors tell me.

Fortunately, my cocaine dealer delivers.  I call him up and tell him I need a 'full carton of cigarettes' -- this is code for an ounce of cocaine.  He says it'll be the usual price ($850) and that he'll be over in an hour.  I said fine, the sooner the better.  In the meantime I start drinking b/c the shakes are coming back.  45 minutes later, my dealer arrives, and he asks me if he wants him to cook it up for me -- 'rock' it up.  This means cook into rock form, aka crack cocaine.  This is an offer I cannot refuse, b/c the stuff is pure, and the pure rock is ecstacy.

I hate powder cocaine.  I can't stand it.  But it allows me to stay up longer so that I can drink more booze.  This will make absolutely no sense to a normal human being, but it is perfectly logical for an addict. Now, crack cocaine, on the other hand, is a whole different story.  Good rock cocaine can get a person about as high as anything else in this world.  And I need to feel that high, the escape, the oblivion.  I need to numb myself so badly so I can forget my miserable existence....at least for a little while.

One Day Supply of Rock

So Reggie, my dealer, cooks up the ounce of cocaine into beautiful crystalline rock cocaine.  I share some of it with him -- his reward for being a master cook.  And then eventually he leaves, and I spend the next 24 hours getting high as a kite in the sky, using the vodka as a way to even myself out once my heart rate starts pounding so fast that I feel like I'm about to have a heart attack.  You see, it's a constant balancing act.  The crack skyrockets me into space, and the booze brings me back down somewhere close to earth.  The cocaine makes me paranoid as hell, so I spend hours at a time peeking through my curtains to make sure there's not a SWAT team trying to break into my house or hiding in the trees or anything.  My own private reality.

This scenario I just described above went on for about three months.  Straight.  The entire ski season in Aspen, from December to late March passes me by as I hide in my house, shuddered away from the terrifying reality of the normal world outside.  I only leave the house to go to the liquor store, and my only visitors are my drug dealer Reggie and the occasional 'girl(s)' who will do anything for the drugs I may or may not want to share, depending on my mood.

I was totally psychotic, delusional, paranoid, malnourished and dancing with death for those months hidden away in my mountain cabin in Aspen.  Refusing to answer my phone.  Cutting myself off from reality.  Slipping further and further into the darkness.  What a life.  I remember writing out a few different codicils to my will, in the event I overdosed and died.  It was a very morbid existence to say the least.  I hid in my closet, in my shower, anywhere I thought I'd be safe from the imaginary police officers I thought would break in at any moment.

Eventually, an old friend of mine came and found me in my house and convinced me to go back to rehab.  I think he really saved my life.  His name is Jay C, and I'm forever indebted to him.  I was no longer a human being at that point.  Simply an automaton with a radar for cocaine and alcohol.  I had no control over my decisions.  The monster -- the addict inside me -- had completely consumed me at that point, and no amount of willpower, strength or logic could help me help myself.  I needed to be rescued, and luckily I was.

It's hard to believe I could fall further from a morality standpoint than I did during that lost winter in Aspen, but I did.  I really did.      (more to come).

Peace/Warm Regards:

Jude Blues

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Alcoholic wakes up in the morning...(new excerpt from 'Soul Cancer')

Aspen, Colorado, January 2007

Am I still asleep?  I think so. I can't see anything. I open my eyes.  I still can't see anything. I have a blanket wrapped around my head to keep the light out, so I see black even when my eyes are open.

Is that chirping? I'm hearing something. I think it's the chirping. 2, maybe 3 chirping sounds.  Damnit.  It must be the birds.  The fucking birds chirping.  There's no avoiding it now. I must face the fact that a new day is, indeed, beginning, and that, reluctantly, I'm still here, alive and breathing, to witness this terrifying ordeal. I am awake. And I'm horrified.

I first try to pretend it's not really happening -- that it's still dark out -- that the new day has yet to begin.  So I can just slip back into unconsciousness -- back into the darkness. Alone. Quiet and alone.  But my brain has other ideas -- it keeps reminding me that a new day is upon us, and that I must wake up (officially) and get out of bed.  I dread the thought of accepting such a profoundly discomforting suggestion.....the suggestion that I simply 'be.'  Just be. Exist. And continue to exist until one day when perhaps I will never again awaken when the morning light and the dramatic chirping continue to torture my soul to no avail.  Yes, that would be nice.

Morning Ritual

I feel it now. The rapid heartbeat. A symptom of the anxiety coursing through my veins. The anxiety itself a symptom of my alcoholic condition that imprisons me in this privately logical world in which I exist.  I must seek relief from this relentless anxiety.......a nervous state with such profundity that it prevents me from functioning at all.  I've got to get some booze or some pills in me so I can think, so I can function.  But first, I must vomit.  Because simply the thought of consuming the poisons to which I am addicted is so incessantly nauseating.  I heave and heave, emptying the contents of my stomach into on or around my toilet. Violently. Like a projectile. Projectile vomiting. Only there is nothing inside of me -- I hadn't eaten in a couple of days -- what comes out is just some strange bilious fluid that smells rancid, which makes me nauseous. So I vomit some more.  All in all, I devote about twelve minutes to vomiting in order to properly start the day.

I'm dehydrated.  Feel like I'm dying of thirst.  I manage to drink a few sips from a bottle of spring water to soothe my dried out innards.  And then I vomit that up with due haste.  What I'm really reaching for is that bottle of vodka.  That one litre bottle of medicine. The solution.  It contains a mixture of my own making. 90% vodka, 10% Gatorade -- something my palate can just barely tolerate.  But it does the trick, nonetheless.  The difficult part is getting a large amount of the solution into me via oral consumption without vomiting any of it up, rendering the vomited portion economically wasteful and physiologically pointless.

Ahh....relief.

I manage to take a few sips of my solution, gagging several times, yet able to keep myself from vomiting for the time being.  What a relief.  This is wonderful news.  This means I will likely be able to get properly drunk this morning without the usual accompanying mess.

Yes,  a few more sips, and my stomach warms.  As does the blood flowing through my arteries and veins and into my brain.  Only now, just now, and just a small window of now, do I fell, somewhat, normal.

Now I'm ready to face the day.....!


Peace/Warm Regards:
Jude Blues

Jimmy Kimmel: You are a child; a sad excuse for a 'man,' etc...

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Dear Jimmy Kimmel:

This is difficult for me to write, because I actually like your sense of humour and wit.  Nevertheless, just because I like you doesn't mean I don't think you're an idiot.

I suppose this blog post could be directed to the other late night talk show host dudes out there as well (Leno, Conan, etc.), but, Jimmy, you are the primary target for this particular rant.  So, Jimmy, if you and/or any of your fans happen to read this, please note that I am not looking for feedback.  

Jimmy, you seem to be spending a surprising amount of time on your show poking fun at quite possibly the easiest target of the century -- Mayor Rob Ford of Toronto.  A lot of your material in that regard is indeed funny, witty and brutal and typical given your disposition as a late night comedian.  And no amount of continuous ridicule and utterly disgraceful, shameful, embarrassing rhetoric could possibly be enough for Rob Ford, a man who continues to self-destruct on camera for all the world to see.

Rob Ford

I'm writing this to give you a bit of a different perspective, okay, so bear with me.  I have some questions for you.

Jimmy, if your mother, wife, child, friend or anyone else close to you perhaps suffered from a terminal brain tumour -- a tumour that affects certain parts of the brain in charge of regulating motor activity, cognitive function, social behaviour, speech, etc. -- would you treat this person the same way you treat Rob Ford??  You might be asking yourself, what the hell are you talking about, right?  I'm talking about the disease of addiction, and if you did your research/homework you would already know the information that follows...

Addiction is a brain disease -- it is a chronic, progressive, relapsing terminal disease.  It has no cure.  The pathology is very similar to that of cancer.  It can be successfully treated and even permanently abated, but only for  a certain percentage of those afflicted with the illness.  Rob Ford is in the early stages of this disease of addiction.  Unfortunately, many of the symptoms of addiction manifest behaviourally, not just physiologically.  In other words, in addition to causing damage to the physical body (liver, kidneys, brain, etc.), addiction affects cognitive function, behaviour, motor ability, intellect, sex drive, and so on.  Just like certain forms of cancer and a host of other illnesses, like Alzheimer's, strokes, etc.

Severe strokes also can cause a person to behave so erratically and bizarre, that those around such a person usually think he/she is 'crazy' or insane in some way.  But no, that is not the case.  These are brain diseases.  Are you starting to get an idea of what I'm getting at here?  The target of your ridicule, Rob Ford, is fully in the grip of a devastating, ultimately fatal illness.  And it is not so funny.  Yes, some of the actions caught on video, some of his ramblings to the press -- these things do appear to be funny when presented in a certain context.  If you're mother, wife, child, etc. was acting the same way, would you relentlessly ridicule them on national television.  Rob Ford has children, and their father could very possibly be dying.  Hilarious...

No, you wouldn't.  And none of it matters, b/c you guys love to poke fun at behaviour caught on film without any subtext or real context.  It's part of your job, and your viewers like it.  There are reasons for that.  Here are a few of those reasons, Jimmy...

Jimmy, you're a relatively unattractive man with a limited vocabulary and an fairly undeveloped intellect.  You're actually more like a child trapped in an adult male's body.  Like many of your viewers, and like many Americans, you never seem to grow up.  This is a big reason your country is continuing to self-destruct in an abysmal pit of greed, stupidity, gluttony, pride, nationalism and arrogance.  You do have a good sense of humour, and your comedy appeals to the large majority of children("men") who watch your show.  And, I admit, you are witty, but it's the kind of wit that appeals to your average couch potato.

Jimmy Kimmel

And, apparently, just like much of the rest of your country, you'll do anything for money.  Which, in your professional case, means "ratings."  Ratings equals money, yes?  Rob Ford is good fodder for ratings right now, which means more viewers and more ratings.....and more money for you.

If you had any balls at all, any inkling of a spark of courage, you would perhaps enter into a real conversation with someone like me.  But, since you don't know who I am, and neither do your viewers, this would not likely put any money in your pocket.  So this is a moot point.  Regardless, I would verbally rip you to pieces in about thirty seconds flat.  Ask anyone who knows me.  I'm worse than Teflon.  There's nothing you could throw at me that wouldn't come back at you 100 times harder.....relentless.  You would likely end up a suicidal child begging for mercy.  That kinda stuff is fun for me.  You see, I've already been to hell and back a few times....and survived.  As a recovering alcoholic and drug addict myself, I tend to stick up for those who suffer the same devastating disease that almost destroyed me.  I've written publicly about my experience with addiction.  I have nothing to hide.  Fortunately, none of my behaviour was ever caught on camera, but I've done a lot of the same thing my mayor Rob Ford is guilty of (oh, and yes, I live in Toronto by the way).

I've hit all the textbook 'bottoms' of addiction.  I've been to jails, prison, multiple rehabs and treatment centers, psych wards, hospitals, etc.  And I have nothing to hide.  I've gotten DWI's, I've been beaten up by cops, I even got pepper-sprayed at a strip club in Texas.  There's nothing you could say to me to cause the slightest bit of a change in my mood.  Because I'm a man, not a child...Jimmy.  I was a very sick guy, with very serious symptoms -- symptoms that manifest behaviourally and that apparently serve as humorous fodder for guys like you.  I was dying, I was suicidal and I lost everything and everyone.  I was even kicked out of the United States for prescription fraud.  I was also a lawyer, an entrepreneur, a husband, a father, a loving son, brother and friend to all.  But, I had an illness that robbed me of all the good things and that almost killed me.  Hilarious...

Anyway, I have a busy day, so for now, go fuck yourself -- at least you would be having sex with someone better looking than your ex-wife.  Now, remember, I do actually like you, so toughen up and take this talking-to like a man.  And, by the way, I'm not looking for feedback.  I'm untouchable -- you can't hurt me.  It's a good position to be in.  And grow up already, then maybe I'll buy you a coffee or something...

-peace/warm regards:
Jude Blues

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CNN, shame on you.

I'm getting really sick and tired of listening to journalists and news anchors -- who purport to represent an impartial, objective disposition-- heap judgement upon judgement onto public figures who have had a 'fall from grace.'

Rob Ford, mayor of Toronto, is the easiest target these days.  I watched Carol Costello (I think that's her name) on CNN a couple of days ago asking one of her guest pundits, "Why isn't this man in jail; why hasn't he been charged with a crime; he's publicly admitted to smoking crack, why hasn't he been arrested???"

Carol Costello

First of all, Ms Costello, you need to tone down the cosmetic facial surgery -- it's starting to show a bit too much through the hi-def TV screen.  You need to pace yourself, my dear, with those collagen or botox injections or whatever the hell it is you're doing to make yourself look like Ms. Potato Head.

Second of all, stop asking stupid questions.  A journalist in your position -- a relatively powerful position -- has millions of Americans tune in every morning to watch the 'news' and many of them  actually agree with you and your opinions.  So, when it comes to stupid questions, your should really do your homework before spitting indignation in every direction.  You need to learn the answers to said stupid questions before asking them in such a dramatic, exasperating way.

Here's the deal, at least in the U.S., Canada and any other constitutional democracy (with very few exceptions).  It is not against any law to simply admit to using drugs.  This should be pretty obvious, and the fact that someone who has reached the position of CNN news anchor does not know that no crime has been committed upon the simple admittance or confession of the use of drugs, is sad, negligent and misleading.  Because the tone in which such questions are asked give the impression that the simple consumption of an illicit substance, whether it be crack cocaine, marijuana, prescription meds, etc. should be dealt with from a law enforcement angle.  But more importantly, it drives home the old stigma that those who have abused drugs are immoral, bad, shameful people.  This is a major component of the larger issue that results in the stigma of drug addiction  being perpetuated continuously in our 'civilized' world.  In other words, because that fat man said he smoked crack, he is a bad, bad human being and should be in jail.

Rob Ford

Ms. Costello, it is a crime to possess illegal drugs and it is a crime to sell or traffic illicit drugs.  It is not a crime to smoke, snort, inject, or otherwise consume anything, unless you can catch the person in the act while he/she is still in 'possession' of the substance.  So, no, you can't throw a guy in jail for saying "I smoked crack."  And to even imply that an obviously sick man should be criminally prosecuted for certain legal manifestations of a complicated disease (i.e., addiction), is irresponsible and reckless.

And to all of you other news people in positions of influence, stop the judgement already.  Not only is it hypocritical (I've personally seen and been around many media people who were wired on cocaine, MDMA, and assorted other treats, for example), but it is also false.  So cut the bullshit, look in the mirror and focus on the cracks in that made-by-botox face of yours and reflect on this for a moment.  Before you judge a sick man, try to fix your own sickness.

-peace/warm regards:
jeremy

Yeah, Happy Thanksgiving...sorta.

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Well Happy Thanksfuckingiving...

Let's see, I do actually have some things to be thankful for.  Like...basic necessities.  Food, shelter, etc.  I'm definitely grateful for those things.  And I'm thankful that the Ritz-Carlton hotel in downtown Toronto started serving its legendary hot chocolate this morning in the lobby.  I'm also thankful for the music that moves my soul and for the devices that inject the music into all the right places - the mp3 players, the serious headphones, the laptop.  I'm thankful there's a piano in my building's lobby, so I can tickle the ivories when I need some music therapy...

I'm thankful for the blues.  There's nothing like the blues.  When it's played to perfection, when you can feel the emotion pouring out of that guitar or that voice.  Like this guy (Clapton) on stage, for example.  When you've lived the blues - and I mean really lived the blues man....when you've lived the blues, there's nothing like listening to the blues.  So I'm grateful I have my blues music.

I'm thankful that my close family and friends are all healthy and okay in their lives.  It's very hard for me sometimes, up here in Canada, not allowed back into the United States (see Soul Cancer for more on that one).  I worry that if someone I love in the States is in trouble, or dying....you know? I can't just hop on a plane and get down there like I should be able to.  It's complicated.  It's not really fair.  And, of course, I always yell at the fucking United States of Bullshit for creating an obscure immigration law that swept me up in its web a few years ago....when I was deported to Canada, the country of my birth.  After living in the U.S. from the age of 6 to 37.  All for what?  For the stupid 'crime' of forging a couple of prescriptions for Vicodin while I was in the midst of the unrelenting grip of an opiate addiction.....It just seems so ridiculous to me that such minor nonsense can totally alter the course of a life.  People throw out platitudes like, "That's the Law," "The law's the law," "You break the law, you do the time." "Don't mess with Texas."  They're pretty serious on that last one.  Granted, I should stop the self-pity-party right now.  I own my behaviour and I'm moving forward...slowly.

It's scary to me when the large majority of an allegedly civilized 'society' is comfortable with the concept of putting human beings who commit minor nonviolent criminal offences in cages alongside violent criminals (i.e., 'real criminals').  For minor offences.  Because it's the law.  Because it's written.  It's statutory.  So it must be right, right? Right??  Just stick all the criminals in the same cage -- the psychopaths, rapists, pedophiles and murderers end up sharing cells with a tax evader or a guy who drove drunk one too many times or a wino who was caught shoplifting at the liquor store, and on and on and on.  I've seen this happen.  And it's ridiculous.  But it's the 'law,' so that makes it right, right?  RIGHT??

Wrong.  It's one of the biggest diseases currently infecting America.  The United States of Incarceration.  Incarceration Nation.  The same shit happens up here in Canada, but they're much more reasonable up here with regards to length of prison terms and such.  Up here, they don't do things like send non-violent, repeat criminals to prison for life sentences.  I read an article last week that said there's something like over 4,000 human beings currently serving life sentences in Unites States prisons for non-violent crimes.  How is this even possible?  Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.  I don't understand how judges can sleep at night when they hand out such ridiculous sentences.  Anyway, I digress...as I typically do.

So, yeah, I still have a little bit of a resentment about that little 'technicality' that totally shifted and altered my life in the blink of an eye.  I watch the international news channels talking about how America is back to it's old bad habits.  The government decided to print some more money, so the Fed is flush with liquid cash again.  And now this facilitates the big investment banks in loaning 'free money' again just like they did for years before the bubble burst in 2008.  When they got richer.  And they'll get richer again when the next bubble bursts.  So the income disparity continues to increase to the largest degree since before the Great Depression.  It's totally insane.  I mean I watch these 'pundits' on CNN talking about how they're destroying the country, and then they just shift topics like what's the latest on Lady Gaga or that storm system building up down the coast....the news.  LOL.  There's nothing new about the news.  Really.  It's just fear-mongering.  The media has devolved into an industry that serves up fear in just about every possible format.

They push fear into my email 'breaking news' updates.  They terrorize my Twitter feed with scary stories about something I need to keep watching so they'll get more ratings so the advertisers will pay more money to the....real people in control.  The few smart, devilish guys who really pull the strings.  In other words, the dudes with the most money.  Follow the money, and you will always find the ugly truth about this planet Earth.

Eh, enough for now -- thanks for letting me vent. I need to refill my coffee and go kiss a pretty girl.  And then I think I'll run for mayor...

-peace/warm regards
jeremy

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Soul Cancer

Did you know that your body is programmed to develop cancer and die? I know, it seems counterintuitive, but it’s true. This isn’t classified. It’s not a secret. If nothing else kills you, and you live long enough, you will get cancer. And die. The human body contains certain mechanisms that regulate the growth of cells. Our cells grow at a certain rate, and ultimately, with the passage of time, our built-in cellular growth-regulating mechanisms wear down and fail. When that happens, some cells start to grow uncontrollably. And that’s cancer. 

This means that cancer is perfectly natural. In other words, it is not a foreign ‘bug’ or virus. It’s more like a self-contained time bomb. This actually makes sense if you think about it. I mean, if the human experience is supposed to include the reality of mortality, it’s logical to assume that the body has a way of destroying itself at some point in time. Certain genetic or environmental variables can increase one’s risk of developing cancer earlier than ‘nature’ intended, which is why we have things like skin cancer and lung cancer and breast cancer. 

Cancer comes in many different ways and many different forms. It is capable of invading all parts of the physical body. Some cancers are worse than other. It comes in varying degrees of severity and complexity. It is a cunning adversary, and it is also very patient and powerful. And it has baffled doctors and scientists for many, many years. 

Cunning, baffling and powerful. Cancer. The exact same words – “cunning,” “baffling” and “powerful” – are used to describe alcoholism in the basic text for Alcoholics Anonymous.\

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I suppose any number of diseases, disorders and other medical maladies may contribute to a person feeling lonely and isolated. Sad and depressed and anxious and frustrated. And scared – absolutely terrified. Cancer for sure. Blindness. Severe burns. Obesity. AIDS. Bipolar Disorder, Schizophrenia and other ‘mental’ illnesses. Multiple Sclerosis. Assorted debilitating phobias. Amputations and congenital physical deformations. Stomach-related issues. Heart failure. Whatever. All kinds of horrible sickness. And on and on and on. However, the disease of addiction might be the only medical condition that actually intends to cause a human being to feel lonely and isolated and fearful. The specific aim of addiction – its actual modus operandi, for want of a better term – is to totally isolate a person. And then to kill the person. Alone in a room, usually a small, unpleasant room. Addiction, through its cunning and baffling tactics, methodically and progressively sets out to destroy its host. Sometimes quickly, but much more often very slowly and deliberately. Like cancer, addiction is generally defined by the medical community as a chronic, progressive, relapsing disease with no cure. It is a terminal disease that ultimately results in death – a very painful death. It can be successfully treated and even permanently abated, but only for a relatively small percentage of those truly afflicted with the illness. 

But unlike cancer – which left untreated will also completely destroy its human host and result in death – addiction negatively impacts and severely damages anyone and anything related to the afflicted individual. It severs relationships with loved ones. It tears apart families, businesses, and all manner of material property. It warps the lives of children. It results in bankruptcy, loss of certain freedoms and privileges. It is by far the largest contributor to jail and prison populations in Western society. Addiction is at the root of most domestic violence. It leads to endemic levels of suicide. Accidental and fatal overdoses. It often results in the death of innocent ‘bystanders,’ so to speak, in the form of drunk driving accidents, drug deals gone wrong, armed robberies, burglaries, and the list goes on. 

Addiction further burdens its host with the very heavy weight of an antiquated social stigma, derived from long-standing misconceptions and ignorance about the disease. Back in the days when nobody knew what addiction was, when such a ‘sickness’ was believed to be nothing more than a morality problem and a weakness of the will, the addicted were regarded as disgraceful reprobates, devoid of will-power. And these poor souls were judged accordingly. The sick and dying addicts were simply treated like any other categorically insane mental patient. They were often locked up in dungeons and asylums. Some were sent to live in exile on island colonies or placed on large ships that never made landfall. Addicts were deemed ‘lost causes’ who were quite a nuisance to civilized society at large. Presently, the collective scientific knowledge and wisdom about addiction is light years ahead of where it was just fifty years ago. Great advances in medical technology and increased sophistication in the speciality of addiction medicine have provided doctors and scientists in multiple fields of study the ability to demonstrate that addiction is an identifiable brain disease; the modern medical community has clearly shown time and time again, through all kinds of studies and clinical trials, that, at a biochemical level, the brain of an addict is literally hijacked by the addictive substance (e.g., alcohol, cocaine, heroin, prescription narcotics, etc.). In other words, when the addict is actively using his or her addictive substance(s) of choice, said addict loses control of the brain – a biochemical ‘hijacking’ that puts a monster at the control panel. Even when the addict decides to attempt a life of sobriety, the neuropathways in the brain have been forever altered, which effectively means that, on certain occasions – the most severe cases – in certain individuals, the brain is ‘hijacked’ before the addictive substance even enters the addict’s body. It’s an incredibly complex mechanism, but it does become quite clear and logical if one is simply willing to learn about this disease that plays a significant role in the destruction of modern society. 

Nevertheless, quite a large percentage of the ‘general public’ still believe that the only thing an addict must do to be cured is to merely make the choice to stop. That prisons are full of addicts who want to be there. That millions of otherwise perfectly rational and reasonable human beings would actually choose to suffer repeated, progressively worse, humiliating and ultimately fatal consequences brought about by addiction. That the homeless wino passed out on a park bench in a snowstorm just decided that it would be a good idea to die of exposure. It’s a tragedy that addiction causes so much damage to society in so many different ways, and it is because of that damage that the stigma is perpetuated. 

Nobody chooses to be an alcoholic. And no-one wakes up one day and says, “I think I’d like to become a drug addict. And then I want to give up everything I love for everything I loathe. Furthermore, I hope to spend some time in prisons and hospitals. After that, I think I’ll retire, penniless and alone and dig my own grave and die.” Yeah, sounds like a great idea...

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This story is a true tale of addiction and consequences. Addiction is a chronic, progressive relapsing disease. And that’s what I am – a chronic, progressive relapsing alcoholic and drug addict. Addiction personified – that’s me. No Hollywood rehab or celebrity crackhead or slaps on the wrist. No, no, no. This is real. This is addiction in its purest and rawest form – and it goes on everywhere – and its sick and twisted and angry and focused, and it causes so much more damage to society than most people can possibly comprehend. I truly think addiction is a cancer of the soul. In addition to all of the tangible, evident damage addiction causes to its host and everyone else, and once the afflicted individual has been rendered totally dysfunctional, the disease eats away at the very humanity of the sufferer. It kills the soul. It takes away everything about the person it afflicts – everything that makes that person more than just a physical shell. It eradicates dignity, self-respect, creativity, compassion, love, sex drive, appetite, intellect and anything else that makes the person who he or she is or was in the eyes of those who have known the person since the pre-addiction days. Once the addict has lost everything and gets to that point where he or she is holed up in that dark, lonely little room waiting to die, addiction continues to eat at what’s left. It takes away the desire to live. The will to continue existing in such an impossibly painful state of being. It takes away the soul. Soul Cancer.

My name is Rob Ford, and I am definitely.....an........?

Step One of the '12 Steps' reads as follows:  "We admitted we were powerless over alcohol (or cocaine, food, sex, money, whatever substance, behavior, just fill in the blank); that our lives had become unmanageable.

Step One is playing itself out right now, through the media, the press.  Our mayor.  Rob Ford.  It's all happening right now, in public, for all to see and witness.  This is textbook Step One.  The illusion that I'm still in control, still managing things, still showing up for work, still making money...for my city...

If I'm still 'functioning,' then I could not possibly be an alcoholic....or a drug addict...

Such a delusion.

Addiction is commonly defined as "continuous use of a substance, despite negative consequences."  I'm not sure anyone can argue at this point that our mayor has not experienced a few negative consequences, eh?

As we watch and observe and gawk at this theatrical spectacle of a circus going on at city hall and around the city, I can only feel sad for the poor bastard.  Not angry or even disappointed.  Just sad.  He's not in control.  Something else is.  Something far more powerful.  THE ADDICT is at the control panel of the Rob Ford machine, and it is doing exactly what it set out to do -- progressive, chronic......negative consequences piling up one after another after another after another until the man either dies or ends up in the hospital or other psychiatric institution or jail.  That's the exit strategy for addiction -- death, hospital, jails, psychiatric institutions.  Asylums.  Insanity.

Hopefully he doesn't have a heart attack.  I just pray that he gets help and survives.  After that, he might be ready for his first AA meeting...

-peace,
jeremy